LIBRARY
OF
THE
PHILADELPHIA
MUSEUM
OF
ART
THE
a&eposttorp
OF
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, 8$c.
THE THIHD SERIES.
Vol. VIII.
July 1, 1826.
N° XLIII.
EMBELLISHMENTS. page.
1. View of Norms, Isle of Wight, the Seat of Lord Henry Seymour 1
2. ArPULDURCOMBE, IsLE OF WlGHT, THE SEAT OF THE EARL OF
Yarborouoh
3. Ladies' Walking Dress
4. Evening L)ress
5. Horizontal Grand Piano-Forte
6'. Muslin Patters.
57
ib.
.58
20
2<;
MISCELLANIES. pack
Views or Country Seats. — Norris, Isle
of Wight, the Seat of Lord Henry
Seymour
Appuldurcombe, Isle of Wight, the Seat
of the Earl of Yahbokough ....
Sketches and Characters. No. 1. — Pe-
ter Paragraph
The Rev. Richard Hole
The Friendship of Ancient Chivalry
Confessions of a Criminal
Popular Superstitions of the French
Provinces. No. I. The Countess's
Tower
The Weird Beaut}'
The Literary Coterie. — No. XVII. —
The Misses Porter's Tales Round a
Winter- Hearth— Mrs. Radcliffe's Gas-
ton tie Blondvville, dec— Milman's An-
na Bolei/n— Joanna Baii.lie's Martyr —
Mrs. He mans' Forest J\'Jinstrel—CA\\-
rington's Dartmoor — Bowies' Little
Villager's Verse-Book 32
A Direct Road to the Temple of Hymen 42
Society of Arts 43
Anecdotes, Historical, Literary, and
Personal. — Notion respecting the Gift
of Cutting Instruments — Funeral of a
Wig — Damiens — Louis XV. — Relics
at Dobberan — Frederic the Great —
Dancing-Dress at the Court of Louis
XIV. — Ludicrous Mistake — Tale of a
Traveller 47
MUSICAL REVIEW.
Burrowes' Companion to the Piano-
forte Primer 51
Klose's Study of the Piano-forte . . 52
Kalkbrennek's Grande Sonate . . . il>-
Burrowes' La Rosiere 53
Arrangements, Variations, &c.
Klose's Selections from II Crociafo —
53
CONTENTS
Purkis's Airs from II Crociato —Hod-page
so ll's Col lection of Duets — Rimraui.t's
Petit Rondo— Rimbault's Adaptation
of Mozart's Grand Symphony — Ki-
allmark's " Oh ! merry row the bojimie
bark"
Vocal.
Solis's " Alas ! he's gone" — Ball's
" Oh ! sweet was the hour" — Bail's
" O beauteous river" — Ball's " Rising
in her holiest lustre" ...... 54
Hah i', Guitar, Violin.
Mazzinghi's First Duet — Bochsa's Se-
cond Petit Melange — Bociisa's Drama-
tic Scenes from Italian Operas--Soirees
Dramatiques — N usee's Fantasia for
the Guitar — Howell's Six Quartette 55
FASHIONS.
London Fashions. — Ladies' Walking
Dress 57
Ladies' Evening Dress .......
Fashionable Fuiiniiuiie. — Horizontal
Grand Piano-forte . •
INTELLIGENCE.
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC .
POETRY.
Lines on the Death of a Dormouse. By
the late Thkodosia Candler.
Stanzas to Amanda ib.
INature's universal Theme, u Forget me
not " By J. M. Lacey
The Meed of Virtue. From the German
of Schiller
A String of Plays, entitled " Matri-
mony." By J. M. Lacey ....
On what is called " Love at first Sight."
By James Campbell
To Anna
Address to the Butterfly. From the
German of Matthisson ib.
ib.
58
ib.
ib.
ib.
62
ib.
ib.
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can she favour us with another ?
ERRATA.
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" counteracting," read " countenancing ;" page 337, column 2, line 40, for " eighty," read
" forty ;" page 339, column 1, line 11, for " Wood," read " Ward."
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THE
BeposWorp
OF
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, fyc.
THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII.
July 1, 1826.
N°XLIII.
VIEWS OF COUNTRY SEATS.
NOltltIS, ISLE OF WIGHT, THf; ST
Tins castellated mansion is situ-
ated on the extremity of the chain
of calcareous hills that runs through
the island from east to west. It is
placed on the most northern point,
over against the main land. The
hill rises above East Covves over the
river Medina, which is here seen to
advantage. From its situation on
this bold hill it has a commanding
appearance, which is borne out by
the plain and severe outline of the
building. It is a work of Wyatt's,
and thought to be one of his most
chaste productions ; and when time
has thrown its varied but sombre
hue over this pile, it will become at
once, in feeling and effect, all that an
ancient castle should be; in ruins
it will be rich, as it is now in its sim-
plicity.
The principal building, or tower,
Vol. VIII. No. XL1II.
AT OF LORD HENRY SEYMOUK.
embellishes the view from Ryde on
the east, while on the other side it is
seen to great advantage from the
Southampton Water, to which the
lawn slopes from the castle, in a
beautiful manner, to the water's edge.
A lofty tower is placed on the high
ground, which at once serves as a
sea-mark and lodge. The views
from the castle are as fine of the
kind as well can be imagined : the
Solent Sea lies before it in all its
beauty, the playful outline of its
banks being perfectly commanded ;
as well as the line of woody coast
from Barton to Nettleston, in all its
varied perspective. The view em-
braces also the entire extent of the
Southampton river, with the town of
Southampton at ten miles distance,
its spires and towers forming a de-
lightful termination to thiy bewitch-
B
APPULDURCOMRF, ISLK OF WIGHT.
ing scene. Still farther west appear
in all their splendour the woods of
the New Forest, stretching along
the coast, and continuing the rich
circle along the horizon, in the cen-
tre of which Calshot Castle rises
pleasingly on the extreme point of a
narrow slip of land, which gives it
the appearance of rising out of the
sea. This point marks the separa-
tion between the Solent Sea and the
Southampton river.
In looking to the east, Portsmouth
is seen extending itself along the ho-
rizon, seemingly into the very Chan-
nel (which here opens delightfully),
with its mass of shipping, ever chang-
ing in quantity, position, and colour ;
thus keeping up a moving city on
the water to delight the eye and
charm the senses. Over against this
is Ryde, swelling into pre-eminence,
with its lengthy pretty accommo-
dating pier.
The castle is built of a silicious
limestone, called rag stone; it is ex-
tremely durable. His lordship has
also constructed a fine terrace with
the same materi Is, to prevent the far-
ther encroachments of the sea. The
stone has a curious appearance ; many
parts are filled with casts of shells
resembling helix vivipara, Linn, and
other fresh-water turbinated shells.
The entrance to this fine mansion
excites a solemn feeling, from its ex-
treme simplicity. The entrance-hall
partakes of this effect, and the same
pervades the whole of the pile, it
being uniform and consistent in all
its parts. The hall communicates
with a circular library, delightfully
fitted up, which again communicates
with a dining-room, breakfast-room,
&c. The range across these apart-
ments is most pleasing : superb chan-
deliers are suspended from the cen-
tre of each ; a vista is gained from
the entrance through the hall, termi-
nated with a stained glass window,
which has a most pleasing effect.
APPULDURCOMBE, ISLE OF WIGHT,
THI£ SEAT OF Till'; EARL OF YAlUKHtOUGH.
Tins magnificent house is of the
Corinthian order ; it has four regu-
lar fronts. The annexed view dis-
plays the east and south fronts, the
latter shewing a fine stone colonnade,
which has been added to this front.
The principal entrance in the east
front is through a spacious hall, 54
feet by 24, embellished with Ionic
columns and pilasters resembling
porphyry. This fine apartment con-
tains a quantity of Grecian antiques
and busts, with some fine portraits
and paintings ; in fact, every apart-
ment in this mansion abounds in
valuable works of art, collected by
the late Sir Richard Worsley, at an
enormous expense, during the years
1765, 1766, and 1767, in his tour
through Italy, Spain, Greece, Egypt,
Asia Minor, and Tartary. He en-
gaged some excellent artists, who ac-
companied him, and even freighted
a ship for himself and suite. Two
very sumptuous volumes, descriptive
of the superb collection which adorns
this mansion, have been published, in
Italian and English, under the title
of Museum Worsleianum.
The south hall of entrance is ra-
ther small for the size of the mansion.
On each side of the door, within,
placed in niches, are antique figures,
a priestess of the Temple of Apollo,
APrULDUKCOMBK, 1SLK OF WIGHT.
.3
and an infant Hercules, with a few
good pictures :
Holy Family. — -Shidone.
Cleopatra. — Murillo.
Portrait of Sir R. Worsley. — Stroeh-
ling.
Kemble as Coriolanus. — Lawrence.
Descent from the Cross. — Daniel de
Volierra.
Portrait of Roxelana, in a Venetian
dress. — Gentile Belline.
Roxelana was mistress to Soliman
II. who afterwards married her, and
applied to the Doge of Venice to
permit Gentile to take her portrait:
the artist accordingly went to Con-
stantinople for the purpose.
Nessus, who, in bearing off Dejanira,
is seen staggering with the arrow of
Hercules in his side.
To the left of the hall is the li-
brary, which contains a choice col-
lection of pictures. This room is of
moderate dimensions. Over the
mantel-piece is a superb landscape,
by Salvator Rosa. Here are also a
lovely little Scene on the Ice, by
Cuyp ; a Booth, with Men and Cattle;
Cupid stretching a Bow, by Albano;
and a portrait of Charles I. given by
that sovereign to the Worsley family,
who attempted his escape ; Charles
Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and the
Dowager Queen of France, widow
of Louis XII. and several others, bv
Vandyke ; Henry VIII. by Holbein ;
Edward VI. &c. with a portrait of
Essex by Zucchero, and others by
Jansen, &c.
A small room adjoining the draw-
ing-room contains —
The Earl of Pembroke, a small whole-
length. — Vandyke.
Martyrdom of St. Stephen. — Domini-
chino.
Holy Family, small. — Albano.
Venus and Cupid. — Correggio,
Superb View in Italy. — Claude.
Virgin and Infant, small. — Domini-
chino.
Circumcision, small. — Benvenuto.
Holy Family, small. — Parm -giano.
Head of Madonna. — Carlo Dolce.
A superb Holy Family- — Del Sarto.
Bath of Diana. — Titian.
St. Bruno. — Andrea Sacc/ii.
De Witt and Family. — Terburg,
Portrait of a Young Lady. — Grevze.
Rubens' two Children, by himself, in
a bouquet of flowers.
Berghem,with dog and gun, by himself.
Dead Christ and Mary in the Sepul-
chre.— Caracci.
Infant Jesus and John. — Vandyke.
Landscape. — Brill.
Satyr Family.
The above are nearly all cabinet
pictures.
The drawing-room contains many
beautiful specimens of the various
masters :
A Magdalen. — Titian.
Holy Family. — Leonardo da Vinci.
St. Peter. — Caracci.
A Sibyl. — Spagnoletli.
Portrait of the old Duchess of Lor-
raine.— Rembrandt.
Earl of Essex.— Sir A. More.
Queen Mary. — Ditto,
Four Family Heads of Females. —
Titian.
Joseph and Infant Christ. — Baroccio.
A Nun. — Titian.
Portrait of Pope Alexander. — Ditto.
Salvator Mundi. — Leonardo da Vinci.
Over the mantel-piece is a superb
Titian, representing the Pilgrims at
Emmaus, or Christ breaking Bread
with two of his Disciples.
The saloon is a superb apartment,
and contains the following pictures :
Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise.
— Schiavone.
Holy Family. — Schidone.
A Concert. — Jordaens.
John the Baptist in the Wilderness. —
Caracci.
B 2
APPULDURCOMBE, ISLE OF WIGHT.
Spanish Girl. — Velascpicz.
Spanish Boy. — Ditto.
Venus at a Mirror. — Caracci.
St. J^pome. — Salvator Rosa.
Descent from the Cross. — Tintoretto.
A superb picture, a Consecration of a
Bishop. — Ditto.
Two portraits of Philip and Isabella
of Bourbon. — Parga.
Also many beautful antique pieces
of sculpture, with Mosaic specimens.
Over the mantel-piece is a superb
picture of the Annunciation, by
Guercino, painted in 16^9, purchased
of the Confraternity of the Holy
Cross at Reggio.
The dining-room contains that very
beautiful picture of a Storm by Tur-
ner ; two very fine views by Zuc-
carelli ; Latona changing the Pea-
sants into Frogs, by Dominichino;
a fine Poussin, Scene from Rinaldo.
A small room adjoining the dining-
room has many sweet pieces of sculp-
ture, with some water-colour draw-
ings. There are days in the week
set apart by the noble owner for
the public to view this splendid col-
lection.
This mansion was begun by Sir
Robert Worsley in 1710, and com-
pleted by Sir Richard, who extend-
ed and improved the plan. The
whole is of freestone; the offices
are most commodious ; the bed-
chambers, with their dressing-rooms,
amount to about twenty.
The principal entrance into the
park is through an elegant gateway
of the Ionic order, which has a fine
appearance, and bespeaks the style
and magnitude of the mansion to
which it leads. On the summit of
the park is an obelisk of Cornish
granite, nearly seventy feet in height,
erected to the memory of Sir Robert
Worsley. On a rocky cliff, eastward
of the house, is an artificial ruin,
called Cook's Castle, which has a
pleasing effect as viewed from the
mansion, which is surrounded with
hills, being nestled down, as it were,
in a well -wooded valley. From
Steephill-Shoot a fine view of this
sweet vale is obtained ; the woods
appear to the best possible advan-
tage, the valley being spread out
most pleasingly, with its rich pastur-
age, small farms, and streamlet. The
beech-trees are of uncommon mag-
nitude, and the venerable oaks yield
to few that we are acquainted with;
being, in this sequestered place,
screened from the sea air, they
stretch their tree-like limbs, and form
delightful shade for the herds of
deer that are kept here. The house,
from its situation, has only its own
beautiful home-scene, but the sur-
rounding hills command most ex-
tensive and magnificent prospects.
Steephill-Shoot has a beautiful view
of the Undercliff; while to the east
are seen St. Helen's road, Spithead,
and Portsmouth ; on the north, the
New Forest and the Solent Sea ; on
the south, the British Channel; while
on the west, in addition to the Un-
dercliff, may be seen the cliffs at
Freshwater, the Dorset coast, and
the Isle of Portland.
The name of Appuldurcombe is
derived from certain Armoric and
Saxon words, signifying " a pool of
water in a valley." It was formerly
a monastery of the Benedictine or-
der, held under the abbey of Lyra,
in Normandy, and suppressed in the
second year of Henry V. 1414. It
was afterwards granted to the abbess
and nuns of the Minories, of the
order of St. Clare, without Aldgate,
and at the dissolution by Henry VIII.
sold to Sir James Worsley. The
PETER PARAGRAPH.
5
old house of the prior was situated
at a small distance from the present
mansion, and was pulled down in the
beginning of the present century by
Sir Richard Worsley.
Sir Richard, the historian of his
native island, died at this his fa-
vourite retreat in 1805, and was suc-
ceeded in the title by the Rev. Dr.
Worsley, of Pidford-House, after-
wards Sir Henry Worsley Holmes,
Bart, who was succeeded by Sir
Leonard Thomas Worsley Holmes.
The late baronet, Sir Richard, suc-
ceeded his father, Sir Thomas, in
1768, and in 1775 married Seymour,
one of the daughters of the late Sir
John Fleming, Bart, by whom he
had one son, who died before him.
By this failure of male issue, a join-
ture of 70,000/. reverted to Lady
Worsley, and Sir Richard leaving
no will, his estates and property de-
volved to his niece, the daughter of
the Hon. Bridgman Simpson, and
were carried by marriage into the
Pelham family.
SKETCHES AND CHARACTERS.
No. I.
PETER PARAGRAPH.
I have now in my mind's eye ho-
nest Peter Paragraph, the village
schoolmaster of , and the col-
lector of births, marriages, and deaths,
with other remarkable incidents in
that vicinity, for the county paper,
published in the neighbouring town
of . Peter, at the age of six-
ty, was a " hale, hearty old man ;"
the snow of winter had silvered his
locks, but his cheek had not lost its
ruddy tinge; and you might walk
many miles and not meet with one
who carried his years better. Like
Shakspeare's Adam,
" He was strong and lusty :
For in his youth he never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors to his blood j
Nor did he, with unbashful forehead, woo
The means of weakness and debility ;
Therefore his age was as a lusty winter,
Frosty but kindly."
Peter had more occupations than
any individual in the village, not ex-
cepting even the barber. He col-
lected the rents of my honoured
papa, the squire, and the parson's
tithes : he wrote love-letters for all
the younr, lads and lasses of the vil-
lage, who, like Cade, thought it a
suspicious accomplishment to be able
to write, and preferred making their
marks, like " honest and plain-deal-
ing men and women;" and, at the
period to which I am alluding, that
number was much more considerable
than it is now, when we have so
many " aids and appliances" to boot,
to make the rising generation learn-
ed, if not wise. He drew up mar-
riage-articles and made wills; and
he had under his care, as school-
master, some thirty or forty ragged
urchins, whom he instructed in " Eng-
lish reading and grammar; writing
and arithmetic; geography and the
use of the globes:" so at least his
card set forth. Then, as I have said
before, he was a collector of para-
graphs for the county paper; and
his eye sparkled, and his honest
countenance assumed a ruddier hue,
when any extraordinary incidents oc-
curred, such as a grand christening,
Christmas festivities, a churchwar-
6
SKETCHES AND CHARACTERS.
dens' dinner, &c. which would enable
him to exert his descriptive faculties
for the edification of the readers of
the Hum-Fum Herald; and having
gathered the particulars viva voce,
if he were not himself a spectator,
or a party concerned, he would set
him down at his desk, push his black
velvet cap (which lie always wore
when writing) half off his head, dip
his pen in the ink with the utmost
glee, and scribble away his " locals"
with as much self-complacency and
self-importance as if the fate of em-
pires hung upon his pen.
Honest Peter! on these occasions,
and at the wedding-feast, he was in
Iiis glory, but more particularly at
the latter ; and it was rarely that a
couple were married at the village of
but Peter was at the dinner.
It was atone of these happy festivals
that I first met him. An industrious
carpenter in the village had per-
suaded my mother's maid to take
him " for better for worse ;" and in
order to grace their nuptials, my mo-
ther, with whom Betty was a favour-
ite, gave a dinner to the bride and
bridegroom, with their friends, at
the King's Arms Inn. In the after-
noon the good old lady — heaven
rest her soul ! she has been dead now
for seven years, and I may truly say,
" I ne'er shall look upon her like
again" — thought it would only be a
proper compliment to her favourite
maid, if she stepped down to the
village, and looked in upon the
guests who were made happy by her
bounty. My father was then absent
on the service of his country (he
commanded a man-of-war, and did
good service at the battle of Tra-
falgar) ; and she took me — then a
frolicsome youth of some eighteen
or twenty summers — as her squire.
Our arrival occasioned no little bus-
tle : honest Peter was placed at the
head of the table ; his broad face
shining with warmth, and the adhe-
sion of certain glutinous particles of
the viands, with which, whilst helping
others, he had not forgotten to serve
himself. On his right sat the bride,
who, though no beauty, was yet a
very comely young woman, and seem-
ed duly impressed with the awful-
ness of his situation; the bridegroom,
a good-looking young man, about
thirty years of age I should suppose,
supported him on his left ; and Tom
Tonsor, the village barber, was at
the bottom of the festive board : the
intermediate space, on each side,
being filled with the brothers and
sisters and sisters' cousins, and cou-
sins a hundred times removed, and
schoolmates and playmates, &c. of
the newly married couple, to the
number of twenty or thirty. When
we entered the room, we found the
cloth drawn, and Peter was on his
legs, in the act of filling the bride's
glass out of a bowl of rum-punch
which stood before him. As soon
as he saw "the lady" and "the young
master," the ladle dropped from his
hands, he pushed back his chair, and
elevating his right arm till it formed
an angle of forty-five degrees with
his head, he exclaimed, " Lo! the
donor of the feast comes to do her
servants honour; rise, ye caitiffs, rise,
and do homage to the noble lady
who deigns to witness your festivi-
ties !"
" Nay, nay," said my mother, " sit
still," for all the company were si-
multaneously obeying the commands
of their chairman; " if I disturb any
of you, I shall immediately retire.
But Betty has been a good and a
faithful servant; and a wish to sti-
PE'fKIt PARAGRAPH.
mulate others to follow her example,
has induced me to break from my
habits, and to intrude upon you, to
see that you are comfortable, and to
wish her and her husband health
and happiness."
" Spoken like an oracle, noble ma-
dam," said Peter, on whom the punch
had evidently begun to take effect;
" spoken like an oracle; and would
your goodness please to drink the
bride's health in punch ?"
" No, Mr. Paragraph, my good-
ness will drink it in wine."
Old Truman, the landlord, entered
with some genuine port, which my
mother had ordered to be sent up;
and having both of us drunk the
health of the bride and bridegroom,
and my mother having told both she
should be happy to see them at the
Hall, after they had got a little settled
in their new estate, we left the room.
As the door closed, we heard Peter
roar out at the very top of his voice,
" Now, my lads and lasses, here's the
health of Lady Touchstone, and
young Master Frank, and, as we've
plenty of time, we'll drink it with
cheers." The windows of the room
occupied by the wedding party look-
ed out upon a green in front of the
house, which we had to cross, and
I had the curiosity to cast my eyes
in that direction. Peter was elevated
on his chair, giving the time for the
cheers with all the precision of a ve-
teran fugleman; and his " Hip, hip,
hip, hurrah !" reverberated on our
ears, accompanied by the hearty
cheers of the guests. We walked
home, and did not enjoy our own
dinner the less for having given plea-
sure to so many honest hearts.
Thinking Peter a bit of a humour-
ist, from that day I cultivated his ac-
quaintance; and we remained inti-
mate friends till his death. I expected
to find him, from the specimen I
saw at the wedding feast, a complete
bon-vivant, but was agreeably dis-
appointed. He detested drinking,
and was never betrayed, by the slight-
est chance, into any thing like ine-
briety, except on one or two great
occasions : this wedding being one ;
and the day that the news arrived
at of my father having re-
ceived the honour of knighthood,
the other. He was always in a bus-
tle; punctual in doing what he knew
must be done; but fond of procras-
tination, when he saw that no parti-
cular necessity existed for exertion.
In the latter case, when urged to
complete any thing which he had
taken in hand, " O we've plenty of
time," was his reply. He was a
great admirer of the fair sex, whom
he sometimes described
" As stars of the night, as gems of the mom,
As dew-drops, whose lustre illumines the
thorn."
Yet he was a bachelor. I once ral-
lied him on this point, and urged him
to marry. " O we've plenty of
time, Master Frank," was his reply ;
but he died, as he had lived, a single
Benedict, never becoming " Bene-
dict the married man."
There was not a soul in the vil-
lage but knew Peter, nor was there
an individual that did not respect
him; and there was scarcely a dry
eye in the place at his funeral. Peter
was a true patriot, one of the old
school, who understood patriotism
in the right sense. Every one will
recollect the enthusiasm which the
news of the battle of Waterloo
created throughout the country; and
as my father was then at the Hall,
he determined that all the villagers
should have a gala in honour of Wel-
lington. Peter was consulted, and
8
THE REV. ItK'HAItD HOLE.
took an active part in planning the
arrangements, which included a din-
ner to every individual, served up
in a large barn belonging to the
King's Arms, appropriately deco-
rated for the occasion, and a ball in
the evening, besides rustic sports on
the green. Peter wrote a copy of
verses on the occasion, which his head
scholar got by heart, for the purpose
of repeating them on the lawn in
front of the house, to which all the
scholars were marched in procession,
led on by Paragraph. I never saw
the good old man look so joyous or
so happy. He was dressed in his
broad best, a suit of sombre black,
something resembling the ancient
costume of our physicians ; he had
large silver buckles in his shoes,
a gold -headed cane in his hand,
and his three-cornered hat, which
never saw the light except on high
days and holidays, was placed jaun-
tily on his head. His scholars fol-
lowed him two and two. The orator
acquitted himself capitally, and no
small portion of praise was awarded
by my father and his guests both to
the verses and to the reciter. The
urchins were regaled with cake and
wine, and returned home in high
glee. They had nearly a mile to go
to the village, and unfortunately a
very heavy shower of rain began to
fall before they cot half way. The
boys soon scampered home out of
the rain ; but Peter could not move
with so much celerity, and before he
reached his home, he was completely
wet through. Most imprudently, he
continued for some time in his wet
clothes, the hilarity of the day tak-
ing off all thoughts of himself; and
next morning he dispatched a spi-
rited account of the proceedings to
it was the last paragraph he
ever wrote. The damp had struck to
his bones ; he took to his bed, and
died in a fortnight. I followed him
to his grave, and now never pass
through our homely church-yard, but
I think of Peter Paragraph.
Fkancis Touchstone.
THE REV. RICHARD HOLE.
The late Rev. Richard Hole of
Exeter, a classical scholar of superior
excellence, possessed great poetical
genius, which expanded very early,
and usually exhibited itself in a pe-
culiar vein of dry and comic humour.
In the year 1765, when Bishop Kep-
pel first took up his residence at Exe-
ter, Lady Waldegrave, Lady Kep-
pel's sister, accompanied him. Her
extraordinary beauty excited univer-
sal admiration; and among others,
Mr. Hole's uncle,the Rev. Mr. Wight,
and the chanter, Mr. Snow, kindled
into poetry in her praise. Mr. Hole
sent the following letter as from an Ex-
moor shepherd (his father's living, Bi-
shop's Nymmett, being in that neigh-
bourhood), with the lines annexed :
" Madam,
" Though I cannot pretend to
chant your ladyship's praises like
these two gentlemen, I am, with equal
respect, your ladyship's most faithful
and devoted."
Happy the fair whose matchless charms
Can such cold breasts inspire!
Lo ! the 'White frost her beauty warms,
And turns e'en Snow to fire.
Lady Waldegrave was so well
pleased with the compliment, that
" the Exmoor Shepherd" was her
frequent toast.
Mr. Hole was also the author of the
following jen-tV esprit, on the reco-
THE FRIENDSHIP Ol' ANC1KNT CHIVALRY.
9
very of a young attorney of little prac-
tice from a dangerous indisposition:
On his sick-bed as Simple lay,
A novice in the laws,
The hapless youth was heard to say,
11 How cruel to be snatch'd away,
And die without a cause .'"
Jove wondering hears; his gracious nod
The youth from death reprieves :
Yet, with submission to his god,
His case is still extremely odd,
Without a cause he lives.
Mr. Hole's poetical talents, how-
ever, were by no means confined to
effusions of wit and humour, as his
spirited Ode to Imagination and
beautiful translation of Homer's
Hymn to Ceres abundantly testify.
In 1772, when the admiration of
" Ossian's Poems" was general and
warm, Mr. Hole published his ele-
gant and flowing version of Fingal;
and in 1789, his poetical romance of
Arthur, or the Northern Enchant-
ment; a composition, in many respects,
superior to any of his former pro-
ductions, the notes on which dis-
play a copious and extensive know-
ledge of Scandinavian mythology,
and a careful discrimination of Cel-
tic and Gothic customs, so often
confounded by authors even of dis-
tinguished reputation.
THE FRIENDSHIP OF
The products of agriculture be-
gan to assume yellow tints beneath
autumnal skies, when Lord de Bre-
chin left his fortalice, with the avow-
ed purpose of deer-stalking in Mor-
vern forest of Aberdeenshire, where
many of the northern chiefs had as-
sembled for the pastime of hunting
and the joys of sociality. The vas-
sals, menials, and retainers antici-
pated the pleasure of relaxation from
their several duties; but some youths
envied the distinction and indulgence
accorded to the melancholy minstrel,
who alone, of all his numerous do-
mestics, was called upon to attend
their lord; and they conjectured that
the large package intrusted, a few
days previous, to Vogra, the wander-
ing armourer, must have contained
the garb and apparatus of the chase.
As the bounding fawn of seven
moons strains his unpractised sinews
to keep pace with a leader-stag, the
champion of the high-antlered herd ;
soLauncelot Gam climbed the steeps
or skimmed the vales after David de
Vol. fill. No. XLIII.
ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
Brechin, the far-renowned nephew
of Robert Bruce, the first of that
name King of Scotia. Though slen-
der in person, mild and retiring in
his demeanour, and passive on trivial
occasions of offence, the minstrel,
with unconquerable resolution and
spirit, had, during a course of years,
participated the toils and dangers
encountered by his warlike lord. The
scorching heats of the East could
not enervate his devoted mind, nor
had the icy winds of Scandinavia
chilled his zealous exertions. Amidst
adversaries and adventures, by sea
and land, the diminutive Launcelul
Gam pressed through hostile ranks,
the inseparable, undismayed attend-
ant upon David de Brechin; and
every mark of preference was con-
ferred as the meed of faithful, un-
daunted, and persevering service.
On the first day of their journey,
Lord de Brechin and his minstrel-
page took their route through the
most populous hamlets, leading north-
wards; but at night, when the waning
C
10
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIENT CHIVALRY*
moon threw her pale light over the
copse-woods that marked the south-
ern skirts of Aberdeenshire, Vogra,
the grandson of Mother Hillella,chief-
tainess of a race sprung from the
followers of red-cross knights, cauti-
ously emerged from a thicket, and
in silence delivered the package com-
mitted to his charge. Lord de Bre-
chin took a key from his pouch,
opened the triple-locked leathern
sack, and the minstrel attendant drew
forth a shepherd's grey plaid and
bonnet, with which the warrior co-
vered his padded 2)ourpointeries and
enveloped his steel head-piece and
frontlet. Launcelot then produced a
trusty sword and atwo-edged dagger ;
within the folds of the plaid both
found concealment; a shepherd's
scrip, filled with homely provisions,
hung down from the shoulders, and
a shepherd's staff was grasped by the
right hand, that never struck a suc-
cessless blow, nor raised its prowess
against a suppliant enemy — the hand
which, from the gripe of a Saracen,
wrenched the double-edged poniard,
when directed to the heart of Ro-
bert, the future King of Scotland.
Launcelot having equipped his lord,
took from the leathern sack a pil-
grim's garment, and seeking the clo-
sest shade of the birch-grove, en-
twined by honeysuckles, a reputed
work of fairy fingers, he disarrayed
himself of the minstrel's vesture, and
over his armour of leather, strength-
ened by thin plates of metal, he laid
the pilgrim's cassock of the coai'sest
German linen. He then carefully
folded his robe of fine Spanish cloth,
wrapping within it the blsegel en
amies for his breast, and with his
lute and harp inclosed in their re-
spective cases, he deposited all in a
leathern bag. As he locked the
triple fastenings and restored the key
to his lord, he shuddered with un-
definable presentiments. His fears
were, in some measure, abated by a
brief communication from Vogra;
but they rose in new horrors on per-
ceiving that Lord de Brechin had
diverged from the north, and con-
ducted him westward, through a wil-
derness of pines, coeval perhaps with
the earliest vegetation in Scotland,
and bordered by heathy deserts,
trodden only by the animals that
fly from the approach of man. If
tradition speaks true, these are the
haunts of malignant sprites, that oft
mislead the stranger in his way : yet
De Brechin ventured to pass the
shaking bogs, scaled mountains ne-
ver climbed by the most active hunt-
ers, and from their summits the
chieftain gazed around, evidently ap-
prehensive that his progress might
be observed by unfriendly eyes. At
times he lost the intended path,
crossed rivers near their hidden
sources, and endeavouring to retrace
some tracks of human feet, the second
night of their pilgrimage brought
them within view of Mordun, the
giant mountain of Perthshire. De
Brechin, always gay and amusing,
often looked back to invite his fel-
low-traveller's nearer approach ; but
the minstrel referred to a vow he made
on becoming a follower of the Lord
de Brechin, and kept an humble dis-
tance. Wreaths of evening vapours
thickened to masses of sombre fog,
obscuring all landmarks, except the
rocky peaks of Mordun, where entire
stillness of the air permitted lighter
mists to float like gathering snow,
slowly rolling into crevices of the
stony or grassy hollows.
The warrior stopped suddenly, and
exclaimed, " Launcelot, where art
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
11
thou? I cannot see thee; and if I
mistake not, we are very close upon
the fathomless lochans and trea-
cherous marshes, where so many un-
wary nightwanderers have perished.
Thou must take my arm, that we
may not separate."
" Let me hold by a corner of the
plaid, my lord," answered Launce-
lot; " my vow sanctions no more."
" I lament, but reverence thy scru-
ples," answered De Brechin.
Sheltered from the north by the
towering mountain, grew a belt of
oak, hazel, and sallow.
" Here we might find a pleasant
resting-place," said the knight, " but
the leaves are dripping with the dew.
We must ascend a part of Mordun;
and perhaps, even amidst darkness,
I can reach a well-known projecting
crag. Here it is. Launcelot, if
thou wilt not share my plaid, thou
must take it all. Unfit is thy slender
frame to bear the damps of night. I
am chilled by them, though born a
hardy northern. In such a case the
most rigid vow will not prohibit
thee from obeying thy lord, that we
may reciprocally impart a cherishing
warmth."
'■ My ever gracious lord, pardon
the reserves enjoined by holy lips,
and rendered sacred by vows. More-
over, this is to me a season of pe-
nance. I may accept no defence from
any severity of the weather; and, oh!
the cares of Launcelot Gam soar so
high beyond his own sphere, that
privations or external incommodities ',
are unfelt, unheeded. My lord, ever
indulgent to the poor minstrel, if in-
deed the humble fidelity of a weak j
servant may plead for a pi'ivilege of
free communion, may I speak from
a breast labouring under fears more j
appalling than the dread of imme-
diate death to myself?"
" Hast thou seen a frightful vi-
sion, my poor son of music?" said De
Brechin smiling. " Solitude, fasting,
and melancholy beget strange fan-
cies."
" I would it were the most hideous
creation of the brain that ever im-
pressed the nerves of a feeble mor-
tal, rather than danger, substantial
danger, to my lord. Pardon my
boldness! I speak in ignorance and
presumption, but in devoted attach-
ment to my honoured lord."
" Thou knowest, Launcelot, that
I shun no dangers, nor guard against
assault, unless where my honour is
the mark of a foe ; nor art thou a
craven follower. Scotland is at peace;
my fame is established above the
reach of the shaft* of malice. Some
idle talker makes sport of thy sensi-
tive nature : yet gpeak with the free-
dom of a trusted friend ; a full dis-
closure of thy thoughts may dispel
their gloom."
" May the humblest of his ser-
vants, with the most profound de-
ference, offer counsel to the coun-
sellor of princes and heroes?"
" Speak with the ample licence of
a trusted friend. De Brechin, if he
cannot approve, will assuredly take
thy monitions kindly."
" Then, O my lord, let us meet
the northern chiefs in Aberdeenshire,
or return to Brechin castle. Perfi-
dy lurks in the south and western
district."
" Take care, Launcelot; use no
insinuations which thou canst not
explain. Thou knowest I spurn
darkling hints, and I require thee
to utter thy notions without disguise."
" Then, my lord, I shall declare,
that when Lord Soulis and his train
awakened the echoes of Brechin hills,
some of his retinue, inflamed with
wine, spake fiercely of good King
C 2
12
THE FRIENDSHIP OF A NCI I NT CHIVALRY.
Robert's demand for a sight of the
charter by which his nobles held
their territories ; and in terms ambigu-
ous, yet to me intelligible, subjoin-
ed, that their mighty lord, endowed
with powers beyond the common
reach of man, had a right to the
crown, which by the nearest rela-
tives of Robert was admitted, and
would be supported with bowstring
and point of steel."
" Credulous self-disquieter! never
ma) est thou be long at peace, if the
idle bragging of menial pride finds
belief with thee. Now to set thy
mind at ease, I will divulge to thee
the purport of my journey. Know
that I am pledged to meet a few
chosen friends of Lord Soulis, to ar-
range measures for releasing his do-
mains from wadset to Mantalant, a
knight of new name, who is enriched
by the spoils of lands far remote."
" Most honoured Lord de Bre-
chin, not on light suspicion would
the poor minstrel dare to trouble
the reposing confidence of your ge-
nerous soul. Precise and deep were
the notes of jeopardy conveyed to
me, and in faithful solitude repeated
to your ear; I may not say whence
the alarming sounds vibrated to my
heart. I would die to prevail with
Lord de Brechin to avoid the Tor-
wood, even for one week; but I dare
not live a perjured informer. I may
but allude to Mother Hillella and
her tribe. Their accuracy and truth
are unquestionable, and they are un-
changeably bound to serve the Lord
de Brechin with hand and spirit.
On my knees I beseech thee, Da-
vid de Brechin, not to mix thy no-
bleness with the malecontent Soulis
and his partisans."
" Minstrel, thou hast computed
too largely the extent of my en-
durance, and thou seemest to forget
how the blood royal in my veins
must abhor all malecontent devices.
Hast thou no memory for the recital
I made to thee of the defence of Kil-
d rummy castle, where I first raised
my arm against the foes of Scotland.
I at least should keep in mind, and
never shall forget, that Lord Soulis
spared my life, when all were put to
the sword, or died by the stroke of
the executioner. My mother perish-
ed in the flames communicated to
the castle by the English. I had
been two days confined to bed by
sickness, which raged in consequence
of fatigue and scanty and bad pro-
visions in our beleaguered fortress.
Roused by the conflagration, I leap-
ed from the bartizan in weeds of
night. My youth, for I was a strip-
ling of thirteen years, and my pro-
fusion of flaxen hair, made Lord
Soulis take me for a girl; but even
after he knew I was a kinsman to
the Bruce, he treated me with fa-
vour, and did not give me up to the
English; and should I refuse to help
in saving his fortunes from ruin, I
must be the basest niggard that ever
scraped the mud for sordid ore."
"Thrice honoured warrior, the ob-
scure minstrel hath indeed too boldly
tempted your forbearance. Let his
blood atone for renewing his impor-
tunity! His zeal and urgency are
irrepressible. Your darkening looks
cannot intimidate him, when the ha-
I zard or loss of life may avert from
| his lord evils more dire than natural
, and honourable death. Send this
! point to my vitals; it gleams through
j the fog, and I fear not to have it
I sheathed in my breast. It cannot
j inflict a pang so bitter as the refusal
i of that boon I have taxed all my
j feeble eloquence to obtain. One
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
13
week to delay the meeting with Lord
Senilis will place beyond all doubt
the real intention of this conference."
" Good Launcelot, peace! Thy
words are wasted in vain. De Bre-
chin hath given Lord Soulis the
pledge of a true knight to meet him
to-morrow evening, and will keep
his appointment, though death and
desolation were the certain issue.
I charge thee on thy duty to thy
liege lord, speak not another word
on this offensive and unavailing topic.
Sleep glides over my senses. Let
the same oblivious soother hush thy
bootless cares. Compose thy per-
turbed spirit; and since thou wilt not
accept my plaid, stretch thy limbs
under the screen of this hollow rock
to the left, and pray to the saints;
or tell thy beads, and sleep will soft-
ly weigh down thine eyelids."
The page obeyed ; but in the pray-
ers he offered for his lord, sad fore-
bodings mingled with devotion. The
night-breeze sprung up; the fogs
and dews were dissipated; a sable
shroud of obscurity still hung over
every object, and the sound of wa-
ving trees, with the low murmurs
of a rivulet, lulled the warrior to
rest. Not so tranquil passed the
silent watches with the minstrel.
Groping his way from the sheltering
rock, he threw himself on the cold
sods at some distance. Smothered
groans and half-stifled sighs betrayed
the dolorous current of his meditati-
ons. The voice of De Brechin came to
his ear. He wiped his swollen eyelids,
and answered the supposed summons
with mute alacrity. He found his
lord fast asleep, and was again with-
drawing, when, in words more dis-
tinctly articulated, De Brechin said,
" Launcelot Gam, faithful servant,
true frierjd, in the love of David dc
Brechin second to none, except Ele-
anor de Mowbray — Eleanor de Mow-
bray, loved, forbidden name 1"
The minstrel crossed his forehead
and breast, then wrung his hands,
and with irregular movements regain-
ing his former station, sunk in the
attitude of humble supplication to
the supreme object of worship. The
call of his master summoned him from
these prostrate effusions of anguish.
" Behold, Launcelot," said De Bre-
chin, " how the faint, yet lovely dawn
of morn incites activity ! Ah ! my
self-disquieting page, now I view thee
near, I can perceive in what manner
the hours have worn away in thy se-
clusion. I have been too hasty, too
thankless for thy faithful remon-
strances. They indeed deserved a
kindlier reception. Lave thine eyes
in yonder mountain stream : the
traces of grief on thy cheeks upbraid
the rash humour of thy master: yet
trust me, that if the paramount fa-
vour of De Brechin could diffuse un-
clouded sunlight over thy fate, no
sigh would heave thy bosom, no wish
of thine remain un gratified. Think
gaily on thy lady-love ; quaff to her
health from my wine-cup. I under-
stand thy repelling fingers : why
hast thou fettered thy life with vows
of mortification ? Is celibacy includ-
ed ? If not, intrust me with thy
wishes, and question not my endea-
vours to promote their success."
" My gracious lord, in solemn
truth I declare, my breast has never
harboured a fond thought of woman-
kind. To live and die a trustworthy
follower of the Lord de Brechin is
the height of my pride and my feli-
city."
" Trustworthy hast thou ever been ;
yea, thy prudence and valour have
been the guardian angels of a reck-
14
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIKNT CHIVALRY.
less, restless leader; and when he
ceases to value thee and thy service,
he must be lost to himself. Cheer
thee, my minstrel of vast price, and
let this morning morsel recruit thy
strength. My repast and a few hours
of rest have invigorated all my pow-
ers. A little food and a little sleep
go a great way to brace the sinews
of a warrior. Lo ! this beautiful
dawn presages a glad evening; and
if I have rejected thy solicitations
regarding myself to-day, I will grant
thee, on thy own account, to-morrow
whatsoever thou shalt ask."
Once more the minstrel on his
knees, and in a voice agitated by
intense anxiety, said, " My lord most
honoured, suffer me again to implore
from thee, even for three days, a
postponement of the journey to Tor-
wood."
Lord de Brechin sprung from his
moss-covered seat, and in a tone of
displeasure replied, " Silence, good
Launcelot, on this important theme !
I am off* for Tor wood. Follow when
it likes thee."
De Brechin bounded through a
track clothed with herbage so luxu-
riant as shewed it to be unvisited by
man or beast, and the intervening
wood concealed it from the common
road, which on the hill might be dis-
cerned afar off. Launcelot quickly
pursued the rapid progress of his
lord, saying to himself, " My last
hope is now the influence and ex-
plicit communications of Mother
Hillella !M
De Brechin with frank cordiality
spoke to Launcelot when overtaken
by him. They proceeded westward
by a course the least exposed to ob-
servation, and twilight brought them
close upon the forest so dreaded by
the minstrel. He looked for Mother
Hillella — she came not — and while
he stood peering in every direction,
his lordship asked him for his golden
spurs. " They are in the leathern
sack," answered the page.
"Ishall then get them atTorwood.
A messenger from Lord Soulis would
meet Vogra last night, and receive
my accoutrements. Thou, Launce-
lot, art recommended to the holy
fraternity in the religious house whose
lights are twinkling very near us. I
must go unattended to the confer-
ence with Lord Soulis and his friends.
The dignity of a noble must be
guarded by every delicate precau-
tion, nor may I infringe the rules on
which we agreed for that effect."
With vehemence of language and
gesture Launcelot begged leave to
accompany his lord ; and when per-
emptorily forbidden, his distracted
importunity almost shook the firm
nerves of De Brechin; but rallying
his fortitude, he recapitulated the
considerations that withheld his com-
pliance. Launcelot's agony subsid-
ed, and he compromised for allow-
ance to spend the night in prayers
for his lord on the spot where they
were to part. De Brechin wrung
the hand of his mournful follower,
and plunging amidst the trees, was
soon concealed by their thick um-
brage. During this tedious night,
the afflicted, the almost frantic soli-
tary listened with excruciating alarm
to every sound, or glared with wild
impatience to ascertain the cause
of hurried accents and inconstant
lights which seemed to pass and re-
pass beyond the distant interior of
the forest. Sometimes he fancied
that a gleam from unsheathed wea-
pons flashed upon his sight, and as
it became certain, he rushed through
the trees, every pulse throbbing with
4'JIK FRIENDSHIP OF ANC1RNT CHIVALRY.
1/3
eager haste to find his lord. He ob-
tained his wish— hut, oh ! how obtain-
ed ! A stately figure wrapped in a
horseman's cloak was strapped be-
hind a mounted soldier. The care
taken to prevent the populace from re-
cognising their idol assured Launce-
lot, too truly, that the prisoner
must be David do Brechin. His
visor was closed ; but the cloak, too
short for a prisoner of uncommon
stature, could not hide from the keen
glance of the minstrel the golden
spurs bestowed on his nephew by
King Robert, in acknowledgment of
many heroic actions, and of sav-
ing his own life. Launcelot could
not withdraw his eyes from this woe-
ful spectacle, though it froze his
blood, and almost suspended every
vital function. At that trying crisis
a secular priest laid hold of his arm,
and hardly conscious of life or mo-
tion, the unhappy minstrel was thus
dragged to a barrier-gate of Edin-
burgh Castle. The priest slipped a
piece of gold into the fist of the sen-
tinel, was admitted into the fortress,
and witnessed the commitment of the
prisoner to the keep for state crimi-
nals. The priest drew Launcelot
aside, and whispered, " We have
looked upon a sorry sight."
" Oh! oh!" replied the minstrel in
a voice half suffocated by groans,
" it was a dream of horrors that
might divorce soul and body. Now
that I am awake, do yon, whoever
you are, in pity bring a poor bewil-
dered creature to his lord — the Lord
de Brechin — that I may know of a
truth that he is safe and free."
" Poor lad ! is indeed your mind
clean gone? No wonder you have
not found me out by the natural voice
I now take in speaking to you ; but
that is no wonder, since you believe
a miserable reality to be a dream.
Recal your wits, and think of Mother
liillella and her grandson. Return-
ing from where I last saw you, I
found the mother and one of my
aunts in our hiding-place, half way
to the Torwood ; my other aunt was
gone in search of a horse, or ass, or
any beast of sure feet for the mother:
she had fallen from a high-spirited
shelty, and dislocated her ancle. I
hurried back to your lord with the
messages and proofs which Hillella
wanted to deliver from her own lips;
but though I traveled without rest,
like a shooting meteor, I was hours
too late. Alas! that the mother,
with the over-caution of age, would
trust no one but herself to undeceive
the noblest, the most betrayed of lie-
roes !"
" Blessed saints, have mercy upon
my scorching brain, my bursting
heart!" said Launcelot. " I am now
awake to my fullest wretchedness —
yes — yes — I feel — I know all."
" Son of sorrow," answered Vo-
gra, " you are not in a state to be
left alone: yet I dare not fail to bring
speedy tidings to the mother. I must
see you lodged with a friend. Some
of our blood has warmed his brave
heart, and at my bidding he will be
kind to you. However, keep your
own secret, and to him be no more
than a pilgrim. If you are forced
to trust somebody, let it be him. He
has fought and bled with him— that,
shame on his betrayers, will lift a
spear never more."
" Say not so, if you would not kill
me ; and, O holy Mary ! let me ex-
pire before "
" Poor mourner, praise to the
prophet, thy brain is not quite dry! I
just wished to set thy tears abroach;
but vent your thoughts in a lower
16
CONFESSIONS OF A CRIMINAL
key. You must not be known for a
follower of him, who, but yesterday,
had the best in Scotland proud to
belong to his train. Dry your cheeks,
and be more of a man. My heart
is half broken for him that was the
best protector of our tribe ; but I
will not wail like a woman. Women
were made to weep; but toman every
loss may be made up by stout cou-
rage in fighting against ill fortune.
Come, come, take heart! We are
now near your safe lodging, and off
I must be."
While speaking, the armourer had
drawn Launcelot Gam to a cluster
of inferior houses, erected by vete-
ran soldiers, under protection of the
castle-walls. Vogra introduced the
pilgrim, and spoke to his kinsman in
their own foreign lingo. The host
set bread and beer before his guests.
Launcelot recollected that the last
morsel he tasted was given from the
hand of his lord, and his senses
failed. He was laid on a truss of
straw ; the soldier covered him with
a cloak, and then tried to open his
mouth, that he might receive a little
brandy ; but Vogra begged him to
desist, as the pilgrim was under vows
of abstinence.
" A pestilence upon the shaven
crowns!" said the soldier. " They
forbid brandy to their dupes that
they may have the more for their
own gullets." Launcelot, a little reco-
vered, begged for a draught of wa-
ter. The soldier offered beer ; but
the minstrel shook his head against
it, and renewed his entreaty for wa-
ter : having obtained it, and refused
to take a piece of bread, he said he
would try to sleep. The kinsmen
sat by the fire ; the soldier placed a
measure of brandy on the bench
which served for a table ; Vogra pro-
duced from his pouch a massy slice
of beef, and divided it with the sol-
dier. They talked in their own dia-
lect, and after a hearty meal, Vogra
departed.
(To be continued.)
CONFESSIONS OF A CRIMINAL.
In a large city in the south of Ger-
many, there lived many years ago a
judge who had acquired the surname
of the Just. By him the low as
well as the high, the poor as well as
the rich, were sure to be righted and
redressed. He drew forth guilt from
its most secret haunts, and punished
without respect of persons. Some
there were, it is true, who found
fault with him for being too severe,
and exhorted him to be merciful.
" It is the duty of a judge," he would
reply, " to be just, not merciful :"
and in these words he uttered a
grand truth. Mercy is commonly
weakness, and clemency is often the
greatest injustice. Others, again,
charged him with cruelty; not consi-
dering that this was the fault of the
laws, which then decreed much more
painful punishments than are deemed
expedient in our milder age. A third
party accused him of a love for the
bottle ; and this allegation, though
not absolutely true, was, unluckily,
not absolutely false. It did certain-
ly sometimes happen, that in the so-
cial circle he was induced to take a
glass more than his head, weakened.
by nocturnal vigils and close appli-
cation to business, was able to bear ;
though it is equally true that he very
seldom vielded to such temptations.
CONFESSIONS OF A CRIMINAL.
17
His evenings this judge would ge-
nerally spend in visiting the gaols and
conversing with the prisoners, by
which he won their confidence, and
acquired an accurate knowledge of
the human heart. There he learned
that one and the same crime may, in
different individuals, originate in to-
tally different motives ; that a delin-
quent is not always led on step by
step to the deed whereby he forfeits
his life, but that sometimes a single
moment, in which man loses his trust
in God, renders the unfortunate
wretch ripe for the scaffold.
One evening he went to see a cul-
prit who, as an incendiary and the
murderer of two persons, was to ex-
piate his guilt the next day upon the
wheel. He expected to find the
wretched man in wild despair, or ab-
sorbed in sullen reverie ; but was
not a little surprised when he walked
coolly up to him, took him by the
hand, and thanked him for bestow-
ing a moment on an unfortunate
creature in the last hours of his life.
The judge expressed his sorrow to
see him in such a situation. " I am
astonished at it myself," replied the
prisoner. " I was just considering
what it really was that brought me hi-
ther. You may look, sir ; but believe
me, notwithstanding all you know
from the proceedings, you are not
yet acquainted with the circumstance
that had most influence on my fate.
If you can spare a few minutes — "
The judge seated himself beside
the straw couch of the prisoner, who
thus began :
" I was one of the wealthiest tai-
lors in this city : while others were
wholly unemployed, I was only puz-
zled how to satisfy all my customers.
My success excited universal envy
and. enmity. I strove, indeed, to be-
Vol VIII. No. XTJII.
nefit some of my less fortunate col-
leagues, and divided my work among
them as well as I could; but the
more my trade increased, the great-
er was the hostility raised against
me on all sides. Meanwhile I qui-
etly pursued my way, neither doing
nor fearing harm : but one of my
profession, who by vicious courses
had reduced himself to poverty, had
vowed my ruin, little as I deserved
this treatment at his hands. Too
soon did he find an opportunity of
executing his base design. The
lady of a high officer of state was
about to give a grand entertainment ;
the stuff for a new dress, which had
been ordered from a great distance,
arrived only the preceding day. I
fell to work on it with all my men,
and finished before the appointed
hour. With a light heart I hastened
away to try it on, and to my conster-
nation found it totally spoiled. One
of my people, bribed for the pur-
pose, had secretly cut two or three
stripes out of it. The lady was be-
side herself with rage, and even
threatened me with the house of
correction. I sneaked away unob-
served in the confusion, well aware
that I must never enter that house
again ; but I was far from imagining
that the revenge of a disappointed
woman could be carried so far as
hers was : in a short time I lost all
my best customers.
" I submitted to my lot with re-
signation, knowing that my misfor-
tunes were not brought upon me by
any fault of my own. My wife, how-
ever, tormented me late and early
with the keenest reproaches, ceased
to pay attention to her domestic con-
cerns, and, to spite me, launched out
into greater expenses than before.
I was soon brought to poverty. Peo-
D
CONFESSIONS OF A CRIMINAL.
pie advised me to sue for a divorce ;
but I deemed this an unchristian
procedure, and was unwilling to de-
prive my children of their mother.
My creditors at length came upon
me, seized my handsome house, sold
uiy garden, in which I took great
delight, and left me nothing hut the
clothes on my back, and some bed-
ding which I begged of them for my
poor innocents. Even this stroke I
bore with fortitude. I removed to a
small house in the suburbs, support-
ed myself by my work as well as I
could, and might yet have enjoyed
happy days, had not my wife turned
this hovel into a hell.'"
" And why did you not seek re-
dress of me?" asked the judge.
" I did, sir : but, pardon me, you
are after all but man, and cannot
penetrate the intricacies of all things.
You did not, indeed, dismiss me
without consolation ; you promised
to assist me, but my inauspicious
fate decreed otherwise. When I left
you my strength was exhausted by
hunger and despair. I went to a
tavern, the keeper of which owed
me money ; he did not pay me, and
served me with adulterated wine.
The intoxicating beverage confused
my weak head ; I reeled home, and
found the unnatural mother beating
my youngest, my favourite child, in
the most cruel manner, because it
cried for bread. I seized her, and
thrust her furiously against the wall.
During the scuffle the child was
thrown down, and its head struck
with violence against a bench. The
screams brought in some persons
who were passing ; they parted us,
and held me fast. My wife stormed,
the children cried, the neighbours
inveighed against me, while I sat as
if inanimate, deprived by rage and
wine both of sense and speech. At
this moment you, sir, entered the
room. Appearances were against
me. Instead of granting me redress,
you sent me to prison for a week, as
a brawler and a drunkard."
A gloom overspread the face of
the judge, and after a brief pause
he begged the prisoner to proceed.
" No sooner," resumed the latter,
" was I released from confinement
than the great dearth befel the coun-
try. Ah! sir, how much might be
said on that subject ! But you, and
those who have never known want,
would not understand me. I worked
night and day; but, good God! what
1 availed it ? Our distress was ex-
treme. My wife lay ill of a decline,
the eldest boy had severely wounded
his hand by falling on a glass bottle,
and two little girls were crying with
cold. We had neither fuel, bread, nor
money. When I saw my children
perishing with hunger and cold, my
anguish was keener, I am sure, than
it will be to-morrow when I am going"
to the place of execution. At night,
on my wretched pallet, I was still
more miserable ; scarcely did I close
my eyes, when I was awakened by
the moaning of the poor children,
who could not sleep for hunger. In
this state we languished for a quarter
j of a year, by which time I had been
j obliged to sell every thing, even to
| my last shirt. My wife was in her
j coffin ; my boy, from the wrong
treatment of an ignorant surgeon,
! was condemned to lose his arm ; my
landlord threatened to turn me out ;
my creditors loaded me with insult
and outrage ; I ran like a maniac out
at the gate of the city. A voice
seemed to whisper to me, " Rob, to
preserve your children." I shud-
dered and ran on, as if striving to
CONFESSIONS OF A CRIMINAL.
19
escape from myself. ' For your
children ! for your poor starving chil-
dren V resounded incessantly in my
ears. I fell on my knees. No, I
cried, I will beg rather than turn
robber. I must have a dollar; if I
can collect so much, I will take it for
a sign that I must not rob. Ah !
full well do I now know that this was
wicked, that it was tempting God ;
but then I was incapable of reflec-
tion. I stationed myself by the road-
side. At first I was tolerably suc-
cessful ; some compassionate persons
put their hands in their pockets, but
they had only coin of the lowest de-
nomination to throw into my hat. A
gentleman superbly dressed, with a
large star at his bosom, presently
passed by. I must take courage,
thought I ; farthings will go but a
very little way. I asked for the value of
sixpence. ' Can you give me change
for a double louis-d'or, my friend V
scornfully replied the stranger, and
pursued his way. A little country boy
came up ; he probably discovered my
distress in my countenance : he gave
me a piece of bread which he held in
his hand, and then reached me a full
bottle that he was carrying to his
father. Ah ! how delicious did this
refreshment seem to me! indeed it
did more good to my bleeding heart,
than to my craving stomach. The
benevolence of this boy ought, I
confess, to have inspired me with
better thoughts ; but I was already
too hardened. No sooner was he
gone, than a splendid equipage pass-
ed along the road. Reckless from
despair, I threw myself in its way,
and implored the lady in the car-
riage to bestow on me half a guilder
to save four human lives. ' Impu-
dent wretch !' cried she, ' go sleep
and get sober, and then work or
starve.' Her lap-dog barked furi-
ously, the coachman cut at me with
his whip, one of the horses brushed
against me and threw me down,, and
the carriage drove off. * One more
trial V I exclaimed, gnashing my
teeth, ' and then— then' It was
not long before a man earne riding
up on a stately horse. I laid hold of
the bridle. ' A robber V exclaimed
the rider. — ' Not so, sir,' said J, with
as mild a look and manner as I could
command ; and from my trembling,
indeed, it might have been seen that
I was not a practised villain ; s only
an unfortunate man whom a guilder
would save from destruction.' — ' A
good-for-nothing scoundrel !' cried
the rider : ' how long have beggars
dared to impose a tax on travellers?'
I implored him once more to give
me half a guilder — a few groschen,
and at last fell on my knees, and so-
licted the smallest donation, that I
might not wholly despair of the mer-
cy of God and man. ' Not a heller,
scoundrell' cried the cruel man,
galloping away. — 'Scoundrel!' I eja-
culated aloud, ' be it so, then ; but
be my guilt upon his head !' Not
far off stood a detached farm-house;
thither I stole as soon as it grew
dark. I clambered up, unobserved,
to a window, entered and groped
about till I found a door, which I
opened. By the glimmer of a rush-
light I perceived an old nurse fast
j asleep, and a cradle near her head.
I advanced softly, but the old woman
awoke, and set up a shriek of terror.
I ran to her, and clapped a pillow
upon her face ; the light was thrown
down and set fire to the bed-curtains.
The rest you are acquainted with. I
meant to take but one dollar — so
true as I must appear to-morrow be-
fore my God, I intended to steal no
D 2
20
THE COUNTESS S TOWl.K.
more than the worth of a single dol-
lar, and was fated to burn a house
and deprive two fellow-creatures of
life. As I escaped unseen, I might
have remained undiscovered, but my
conscience allowed me no peace; I
was constrained to make atonement
to the laws. They have sentenced
me to death, and I die cheerfully.
My wretched lot has awakened hearts
which feel pity for my unfortunate
children. By nothing less than a
painful and ignominious death could
their father save them from famish-
ing. I have done with the world,
and in heaven I hope to find a Being
who will judge me in mercy, as I
forgive from my heart the wrongs
done me by men. With half the
money, probably, which that lady
gave for the collar of her lap-dog,
she might have rescued me from
everlasting perdition, and preserved
their father to three orphans; and
the gentleman on horseback had but
needed to take off his silver spurs to
furnish us all with a comfortable sub-
sistence till harvest. Think you not,
sir, that this collar and these spurs
will once weigh heavy, very heavy, in
the balance above ? I knew the lady
well; she was the wife of a high
officer of state — the same who, on
account of her spoiled dress, de-
stroyed the happiness of my whole
life ; and that horseman, sir, was no
other than — yourself! Nay, start
not, I have just finished. You were
coming from a convivial party : you
may perhaps still recollect, that the
spirited horse which you rode threw
you twice running at a very little
distance from me."
The judge had meanwhile started
from his seat, shuddering with hor-
ror. His agitation deprived him of
the power of speech. He hurried
home, and fell on his knees, beating
his breast, and incessantly ejaculat-
ing, " God be merciful to me a sin-
ner
Next day the prisoner underwent
the sentence of the law ; but early
in the morning, before the passing-
bell tolled, the judge repaired to the
royal palace, resigned his offices into
the hands of the monarch, made over
the greatest part of his property to
the children of the sufferer, and fled
in haste from the city. The unhap-
py man buried himself in one of the
rigid convents, many of which still
existed in Germany. There, after
the lapse of a few years, death re-
leased him from his misery. His
last words were, " Let none be tardy
in doing good : the life of a fellow-
creature often hangs upon a minute."
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS of the FRENCH PROVINCES.
No. I.
THE COUNT
There are still to be seen in the
little town of Lusignan, the ruins of
a castle which formerly belonged to
the Counts of Poitiers. Time, which
has nearly destroyed the building,
seems, however, to have respected a
high and massive tower that still
ESS'S TOWElt.
bears the name of the Countess's
Tower. It is said, that when a de-
scendant of the family is about to
die, a female figure in white is dis-
tinctly seen on the top of the tower.
The story of this apparition, which
has now been current in the pro-^
THE COUNTESS S TOWER.
i\
vince during some centuries, is de-
rived from the following romantic
legend.
In the early days of chivalry, a
Comte de Poitiers, a loyal and worthy
knight, brave as his sword, hand-
some as Adonis, and endowed with
all the virtues of his race, which was
even then illustrious, chose for the
lady of his affections the beautiful
and virtuous Leontine de Nevers.
In our days, noblemen shew their
love by feasting and flattering their
mistresses; our ancestors had harder
work of it; they spent years wander-
ing about in search of adventures,
overcoming giants, exterminating ty-
rants, destroying monsters, and libe-
rating captive virgins. The Comte
de Provence had done all this, and
yet he did not think himself worthy
of Leontine. He ventured, how-
ever, to express to the comte, her
father, the hope that he entertained
of being one day found deserving of
her hand ; and the noble Nevers
readily promised it to him, upon a
condition to which the enamoured
lover instantly subscribed.
" Noble knight," said the Comte
de Nevers, " he who would win the
hand of my daughter, must avenge
the injuries of our race. It is now
some years since the estates of my
nephew, Robert, were seized, and
he himself treacherously murdered,
by the infamous Raoul, who, apos-
tate from the laws of his God and
those of honour, seeks in necroman-
cy that aid which brave and free
knights derive from their good
swords. I should have sought long
since to avenge my lamented ne-
phew's murder, but my forces alone
would have been wholly insufficient;
and to lead my brave followers against
Raoul, would have been to consign
them to certain destruction. Join
your forces to mine, assist me to
conquer the usurper, and the hand
of Leontine shall be the reward of
your valour."
The overjoyed Albert hastened to
prepare for his expedition, bade
adieu to his mistress, who promised
to offer up her prayers for his suc-
cess, and set forward at the head of
his brave troop, accompanied by the
Comte de Nevers and the flower of
his vassals. They were two days'
march from the territories of the
usurper, and their intention was to
surprise him, if possible, in a de-
fenceless state. They halted for the
night in the midst of a thick wood.
The Comte de Poitiers felt little
disposed to seek that rest which
his brave associate and their sol-
diers eagerly coveted ; his thoughts
were with his Leontine, and it was
near midnight when he threw him-
self at the foot of a tree, to recruit
by a short repose his wearied frame.
As he lay vainly courting sleep, he
heard his name pronounced in a
clear and harmonious voice ; and look-
ing up, saw at his side a lady of ravish-
ing beauty. " Brave knight," said
she to him, " the beneficent spirits
whom the Most High permits to aid
the children of men, see with plea-
sure the courageous proof thou
givest of thy love for Leontine ;
and they will assist thy noble pur-
pose. Take this sword and shield;
they will render thee invincible.
Adieu ! March to glory, and believe
that a high destiny awaits thee!"
She vanished as she spoke ; and
the comte would have thought the
whole a dream, had he not seen the
sword and shield lying by his side.
He seized them immediately, and
sought in vain to compose himself to
94
THE COUNTESS S TOWER.
sleep ; he could think of nothing
but his mysterious adventure. Need
we say that he performed prodigies
of valour? His first care was to
single out the usurper, who, carrying
also a charmed sword, strewed the
ground with the dead and the dying.
The combat between them was
dreadful, but Raoul found his mas-
ter; twice he was unhorsed, without
receiving any wound. The second
time, he had no sooner touched the
ground than he assumed the form of
a monster, half wolf and half man,
and nimbly avoiding the deadly blow
which Albert aimed at him with his
magic sword, disappeared in an in-
stant.
Thrown into confusion by the loss
of their chief, the usurper's army
soon yielded to their enemies. They
threw down their arms, received
quarter, and the Comte de Nevers
took immediate possession of the
estates of his nephew. He would
have ceded them to Albert, whom he
already looked upon as his son, but
the knight, as generous as brave,
refused to receive them ; declaring
positively, that during the lifetime
of the comte he would take nothing
from him but the hand of Leon tine.
Leaving a strong garrison in his
new possessions, the Comte de Ne-
vers and his brave associate returned
to Nevers, where they expected to
be received with every demonstration
of joy. They wondered that a de-
putation of the inhabitants did not
come out to meet them ; and this
wonder was changed into terror,
when, on entering the city, they
found the streets hung with black,
and all the houses closed. At the
same moment the governor of the
town, followed by a deputation of
the inhabitants, all clothed in the
deepest mourning, advanced in pro-
cession to meet them, and announced,
in a voice stifled by sobs, that the
victory had cost them dear ; for that
on the preceding evening, as the
princess sat surrounded by her ladies,
a horrible monster suddenly appear-
ed in the midst of them, and seizing
her in his enormous claws, instantly
vanished with her.
At these dreadful tidings, a loud
cry of despair burst from the miser-
able father, and the unfortunate
lover stood transfixed with horror.
Suddenly a ray of hope entered his
heart : " All is not lost !" cried lie ;
" the disappearance of the princess
must be the effect of magic. I fly
to seek her, and something tells me
that I shall succeed." He instantly
departed, and hastened to the forest
where the lovely vision had appeared
to him, full of the hope that the be-
neficent being who had already so
powerfully aided him, would assist
him to regain his adored Leontine.
He threw himself under a tree, and
awaited, with a heart throbbing alter-
ternately with hope and fear, the
hour of midnight : no sooner had it
struck than his benefactress appear-
ed. " Rise, comte I" said she; " fol-
low the guide that I give thee ; be
discreet and be fortunate." She va-
nished as she spoke, but Albert saw a
few paces from him a fiery serpent,
who flew before him : he instantly
mounted his horse, and followed the
luminous guide. A little before day-
break, the serpent entered a ca-
vern at the foot of a mountain ; the
knight tied his good steed to a tree,
and without hesitation proceeded for-
ward in a narrow winding path, on
each side of which was a frightful
abyss. The light that emanated
from the serpent was the only one
THE COUNTESS'S TOWER.
<3*
3
that shone in this dreadful place, i
which the knight continued to tra-
verse for many hours with unshaken
perseverance. At length he found
himself in the midst of a subterra-
nean plain, which was lighted by
pillars composed of precious stones.
Here he saw a number of swarthy
little beings, all engaged in extract-
ing from the earth precious metals,
or gems. At the sight of the knight
they desisted from their work, and
hailed him with a universal cry of wel-
come. " Thou art the first mortal,
brave knight," cried one, approach-
ing him, " who has ever penetrated
into the kingdom of the Gnomes;
but we receive thee with the re-
spect due to the chosen of our sove-
reign. Yes, noble Albert, the queen
who reigns over the spirits of the earth
and the air, has ordered us to serve
thee, and we obey with pleasure. We
know you seek the lady of your love ;
mine is the task to conduct you to
her." He seized the hand of the
knight; the earth opened to afford
them a passage, and after descend-
ing with incredible rapidity, and in
darkness, during a long time, they
stopped at an iron gate, which the
Gnome had no sooner touched with
his wand than it opened, and they
entered a frightful dungeon. " It
is here," said the Gnome," that you
will find your mistress. But remem-
ber the command of your protec-
tress: it is discretion, and not va-
lour, that will give her to your arms.
If you attempt to enter the magic
circle within which she is confined,
before you have vanquished her per-
secutor, she is lost to you for ever."
The comte bent his straining eyes
forward, and saw, by the sepulchral
light of a lamp, the beloved of his
soul extended on the earth, her de-
licate limbs loaded with chains. The
infamous magician, Raoul, in his na-
tural form, lay sleeping at her feet.
" Traitor!" cried Albert, drawing
his sword, " hope not, this time, to
escape my vengeance!" The usurper
started up, uttered a hideous yell,
and in an instant the dungeon was
filled with flames. But the undaunt-
ed Albert pressed on through them,
unharmed, to his savage foe, who,
perceiving the effect of his first spell
destroyed by the courage of the
knight, stamped with his foot upon
the earth, repeating at the same
time some magic words; and instant-
ly an innumerable multitude of toads,
serpents, bats, and owls, issued from
the different corners of the dungeon.
Albert waited their approach with
unruffled mien; but he had no sooner
touched them with his enchanted
sword than they disappeared.
The magician seeing his enemy
thus powerfully protected, quitted
his natural shape ; in an instant he
stood before the knight in the form
of a giant, brandishing an enormous
club, and waited with firmness the
attack of the knight. The combat
was long and obstinate ; at last, the
magic sword of Albert shivered the
club of the magician into a thousand
pieces. The monster fell to the
earth, but as the comte stooped to
inflict the death he had so well de-
served, he suddenly sunk into it, and
these words were heard as from afar:
" Tremble, wretch, in the bosom of
victory, at the price thou must one
day pay for thy triumph !"
The comte flew to release his be-
loved ;. but no sooner had he touched
her chains, than the lovers found
themselves in the palace of the Comte
de Nevers, which their presence con-
verted in an instant from the abode
24
tiik countt.sss tower.
of misery to that of joy. Their re-
turn was celebrated by the most
splendid fetes, and immediate pre-
parations were made for their union.
But in the midst of the universal
joy, the comte perceived with dis-
may that Leontine appeared a-t times
unhappy. He earnestly inquired the
cause, and she confessed that her
sorrow was occasioned by the words
which the magician uttered after he
had disappeared. " Hear me, noble
knight," continued she, seeing the
comte about to interrupt her; " the
malice and the power of that mon-
ster may well excuse the alarm which
I feel. He will seek our destruction
by all the means that his infernal art
can furnish ; and, alas ! in marrying
you, I must exact from you a condi-
tion which will leave us but too open
to his malice. You must promise,
that on one day in every week you
will allow me to remain alone for
twelve hours. Without that promise
I cannot marry you ; and the breach
of it will infallibly cause your de-
struction. Judge, then, if I have
not reason for my fears."
Though internally surprised and
grieved at what he heard, Albert
doted too fondly on his Leontine to
hesitate about subscribing to the sole
condition on which she solemnly de-
clared he could obtain her hand.
He pledged his knightly word, which
he had never yet broken, to leave
her to herself once a week for twelve
hours ; but as he gave the promise,
a sentiment till then unfelt by him
oppressed his heart with sadness.
The nuptials were celebrated with
a splendour till then unknown; they
bade adieu to the Comte de Nevers,
and returned to Poitiers, where one
of the first cares of the young com-
tesse was to cause the tower above-
mentioned to be added to the mag-
nificent palace of her husband. Un-
til it was built, she secluded herself
one day in every week in her own
apartment; afterwards she passed that
day in the tower. Excepting this
singularity, her whole conduct was
open, amiable, and affectionate in
the highest degree. Peace and order
reigned in that princely mansion, of
which she was the brightest orna-
ment; her vassals adored her, and
the fame of her beauty and her vir-
tues caused the lot of her husband
to be regarded with envy.
Yet in the midst of this apparent
felicity, a secret thorn rankled in the
breast of the comte; he often thought
of his promise, and he felt that his
wife's continuance in her mysterious
course of life was an infringement
of the duty she owed him; but he
confined his discontent to his own
breast, and never reproached her
either by word or look. At the
expiration of a year she presented
him with twins, a boy and girl, lovely
as the day. The comte welcomed
them with transport, and hoped that
their birth would change the com-
tesse's mode of life. To his sorrow it
had no effect; she still shut herself up
as usual, and though at other times
she could scarcely bear her children
from her sight, on that day she saw
them not.
Six months had passed since the
birth of the infants; the comte grew
every day more unhappy; but he
still kept his promise. One evening
while his wife was as usual secluded,
he wandered in his park, where he
met an old man, whose venerable
appearance inspired him with re-
spect ; he saluted him, and, in the
manner of those times, asked his
blessing.
THE COUNTESS S TOWEIJ.
Sv5
" You have it, my son," cried
the old man : " I wish that it could
chase the cloud that hangs upon
your brow."
" Ah, father ! that cloud is caused
by an evil for which there is no re-
medy."
" And why not ? May not a pro-
mise rashly given be broken?"
" What !" cried the comte, with
astonishment, * do you then know"
He stopped.
" Yes, I know your honour de-
mands that this mystery be immedi-
ately cleared. Your wife has been
long the dupe of an illusion; the
moment of her and your destruction
approaches. You can save her only
by entering the tower."
" O heavens ! can it be possi-
ble?"
" Nothing is more true. Fly, my
son, and break the spell that even
now is working your ruin."
The comte staid not to hear more.
He hastened to the tower, entered
it, and beheld a vision that wrapt
him in awe and astonishment. Two
females, the lustre of whose charms
no mortal eye could bear to look
upon, were seated near each other ;
wings, in which a thousand different
hues sparkled in dazzling brightness,
issued from their shoulders; and a
radiant light played around their
lovely forms. Scarcely had the asto-
nished Albert presented himself be-
fore them, when, with a mournful
shriek, they vanished, and he beheld
at his side the enchanter Raoul, who
greeted him with a loud insulting
laugh. " At last," cried he, " my
vengeance is complete ; Leontine is
lost to thee for ever! She was no
mate for thee, nor was she the Leon-
tine thou hast so fondly loved. The
daughter of the Comte de Nevers
perished by sudden death, while
thou and her father were combating
against me ; and Etherine, the love-
liest of the sylphid race, the daugh-
ter of their queen, assumed her form,
that she might bestow herself upon
thee. Lonff had I loved and wooed
her, but my prayers and threats were
vain ; aided by her mother's power,
she braved me, and the enchanted
sword forced me from the body of
Raoul, which I had possessed for a
hundred and fifty years, to suffer all
the torments that rebel-spirits en-
dure. But I fall not unrevenged,
since thy happiness is blasted for
ever."
The evil spirit vanished. His
words had raised a conflict in the
breast of the unhappy comte too
strong for reason to subdue. De-
spairing ever to regain her whom he
had lost through his own fault, and
unable to live without her, he threw
himself upon his sword.
The children of this singular mar-
riage lived long and happily ; but
their mother never more appeared
to mortal eyes, till she was seen upon
the top of the tower the night be-
fore the death of her son, the suc-
cessor of his father in the title and
estates of Poitiers ; and since that
time her unearthly form, wandering
round the battlements of the tower,
has been the constant harbinger of
the dissolution of all her race.
Vol. VIII. No. XLIII.
E
■26
THE WEIRD BEAUTY.
" Fly the weird charmer,
Though lovely as the mildest beam of spring:
The sparkle of her eye shoots witching ills;
Her wishes strike as messengers of fate."
The first and second weeks of
November 1542, were unparalleled
in the memory of the oldest Scots
for severe vicissitudes in the weather.
The army embodied by James V.
suffered extreme hardship from every
change; as the snowdrift, which an-
noyed the soldiers in marching for-
ward, became heavy rain, and tem-
pestuous winds sent drenching show-
ers to penetrate their garments.
With a full moon, the weather set-
tled in keen frost, and a great ebb
favoured entering England by the
sands of Solway. The Scottish king,
with a chosen body of reserve, se-
cured a position to hold in check the
Duke of Bedford and his veteran
troops that had possession of Ber-
wick. James was oppressed by me-
lancholy, supposed to arise from the
failure of George Gordon of Hunt-
ley in an enterprise against the pil-
lagers of the border ; but the death
of both the king's sons, almost at
the same hour, so tallied with the
denunciations uttered by Sir James
Hamilton and Lady Jane Douglas,
immediately before their cruel exe-
cution, that the sovereign was filled
with the most gloomy terrors of su-
perstition ; his dreams, awful and
portentous, deprived him of refresh-
ing sleep ; debilitated in mind and in
bodily constitution, he allowed great-
er ascendancy to the priesthood than
formerly ; and they employed nume-
rous hidden devices to aggravate the
forebodings of evil, that gave them
a command over their royal master.
Preparations for war roused new
energies in the bosom of James; he
appointed Lord Maxwell to lead his
forces; but at the same time gave
a secret commission to Oliver Sin-
clair to keep a minute journal of all
proceedings, and to forward to him
a duplicate of the same every twelve
hours. Oliver punctually attended
to these instructions ; but his mes-
sengers were intercepted and made
prisoners by a dexterous band of
Northumbrians. Disguised as pil-
grims, as minstrels, or foreign men-
dicants, these gallant yeomen espied
every movement of the Scottish ar-
my ; seized stragglers, searched tra-
vellers of suspicious appearance, and,
in short, cut off all communication
with the body of reserve.
Days and nights of watchful sus-
pense grew so intolerable, that James
resolved, at all hazards, to discover
the cause of Sinclair's apparent neg-
lect of the confidential orders. The
trust he had reposed in the favourite
could not with safety be imparted to
any of the courtiers or officers at his
camp; and to give his secret to their
inferior might be still more danger-
ous. He had often and successfully
extricated himself from a dilemma
by his own agency; and why not try
this expedient on the present occa-
sion ? His swift and sure-footed nag,
Tantallon, had borne him on excur-
sions both political and frolicsome ;
and many times had he been saddled
by the royal hand, that, in the silence
of the night, carrying a dark lan-
tern, found and speedily equipped
him for the road.
In the garb of a church dignitary
James left his camp ; the pass-word
THE WEIHD BEAUTY.
n
afforded him free egress; and hav-
ing crossed the firth of Solway about
the dawn of day, he saw two pea-
sants, better mounted than himself,
pertinaciously tracing his steps. He
had some advantage of his pursuers,
in that Tantallon was accustomed to
hill and dale, bog and moorland, and
would never be retarded by a rugged
way. With many doublings he left
the peasants at fault, and plunging
into Nikel forest, leaped from his
galloway and climbed a beech-tree,
trusting for concealment to the russet
hue of the leaves, so nearly the co-
lour of his cloak. He ventured to
look from the topmost boughs, and
saw the peasants at different stations,
evidently lying in wait for him. He
concluded that he must remain till
darkness should favour his escape.
Clinging to the branches, his limbs
were benumbed by frost and want of
motion ; and with darkness the cold
increased. Sleep was gradually con-
fusing his perceptions, and he durst
not taste the cordial in his travelling
flask, lest its narcotic influence might
quite overwhelm his senses. In a
short time he suffered extremely
from thirst. The rising moon gave
him an extensive prospect of the
country beyond the west and north-
ern verge of the wood. He looked
anxiously for water — a cupful of
that simple element would have been
luxury to the crowned chief of Sco-
tia ; but not a streamlet reflected the
luminaries of night. It was, how-
ever, some consolation that the state-
ly steeds were no longer within view :
yet it was probable that they were
removed only with a design to throw
him off his guard, and that the riders
were ready to entrap him. What
course should he adopt ?
Notwithstanding the impulse of
anxiety, his eyelids were weighed
down by sleep, his limbs almost
without sensation, his head became
dizzy, his sight impaired, captivity
or death approached. He might
drop from the tree, and become the
unconscious, unresisting prisoner of
England ; or he was likely to expire
unnoticed. His death must bring
ruin upon Scotland, Torn by in-
ternal factions, she would fall an easy
conquest to the ambitious Henry of
England ; or should his emissaries
make the imprudent wanderer a cap-
tive, the ransom demanded for him
would exhaust his impoverished trea-
sury. He unsparingly blamed his
own rashness in hazarding mis-
chances so formidable; but one bold
effort might avert the worst conse-
quences ; and could the descendant
of a long line of heroes be wanting
to his kingdom in emergency ? livery
sacrifice was his bounden duty, and
he would risk all for the good of
his people.
For a moment his thoughts were
concentrated by impending danger;
the tread of a horse drew nearer and
more near. James had been inured
to nocturnal rambles and to actual
warfare more than any monarch of
his era. He was enterprising, brave,
and resolute: yet his firmness was
shaken by supposing his retreat to
have been discovered. However,
he determined to sell his life and li-
berty very dearly, and to meet the
foe. When near the ground, his foot
touched asaddle, and the well-known
voice of Tantallon greeted his ear.
He returned the half-drawn sword
to its scabbard, and repeatedly cross-
ing his breast and forehead, offered
thanksgivings to St. Andrew, the
tutelar saint of Scotland, for the sea-
sonable attendance of his equine ser-
E 2
28
THK WI-.IRD BEAUTY*
vant, and relying upon supernal aid,
took, the bridle, giving himself up to
the marvellous guide. Tantallon
proceeded at an easy pace through
the intricacies of Nikel forest, until
he arrived at a small rick of fodder,
which doubtless had attracted him.
James released him from the bit,
and, with kind caresses, encouraged
him to banquet on the hay.
The moonlight was fading away;
but a cottage beyond the rick where
Tantallon regaled, offered the king a
hope of allaying the torment of thirst.
He reconnoitred the premises, where
a few feeble rays of light transpired
through seams in the door. He
knocked gently, holding his weapon
in readiness for defence, if needful.
His low tap was answered by a fe-
male voice, saying, " Good gaffer, I
have long and impatiently expected
thee." The latch was raised, and a
woman in homely attire, yet dignified
and prepossessing in the maturity of
her charms, held a lamp to the face
of James. On seeing a stranger,
she retreated a few steps, and said,
in a tone of solemn emphasis, " Let
suffering and death, the common lot
of human nature, find reverence due."
—"Lady," replied the traveller, "my
sacred garb might have prevented
your evident alarm. A perishing
wanderer solicits your charity; half-
frozen with cold, parched with thirst,
and sinking under fatigue." The lady
welcomed and invited the holy man
to take a seat by the fire, and made
haste to bring a flaggon of ale, which
she warmed with a toast held to the
clear coals by her own fair hands.
James took a draught, and thank-
ed his hostess in terms more gal-
lant than beseemed his clerical cha-
racter: but this impropriety passed
unheeded by the lady; her attention
was engrossed by an aged sufferer
laid on a couch on the opposite side
of the hearth. A deathlike paleness
had not quite extinguished the ex-
pression of his noble features; though
the feeble restlessness of his hands,
the convulsive starting of his jaws,
and his eyes, half open, rolling in
vacancy, shewed the last struggle of
vitality. James, who was chafing his
bands in the genial warmth, had all
his presence of mind on the stretch
in this abode of uncertain security ;
however, he forgot selfish caution
when he beheld the dying man, and
the tears of the beautiful attendant
at his pillow. He rose, and with heart-
felt sympathy recommended some
cordial that might act as an opiate.
The lady said she had expected
some medicines and cordials all the
preceding day, and was sorely disap-
pointed that the good gaffer delayed
coming. James produced a flask,
assuring the lady that a few drops
of its contents had often relieved the
distressed poor. A small quantity,
diluted with water, was eagerly re-
ceived by the patient, and he ap-
peared to wish for more. He was
indulged. After a few minutes he
drew a long sigh — opened his glazy
eyes — fixed them on the stranger,
and faintly articulated, " Jam — es!
Jam — es!"
"He raves continually about James
of Scotland," said the lady. " By
him was my dear honoured father
reduced to this misery. Yet why
trouble you with our sad story V*
" Lady, I beseech you to relate
it," answered James. " From the
first moment, I perceived that your
russet stole could not veil noble birth
and courtly address."
" And I, father," responded the
lady, " take upon myself to infer,
THIS WJ 1RD BEAUTY.
29
that the priestly vestments have not
long hound you to mortification.
Your countenance speaks of accus-
tomed pre-eminence in command, and
of passions unrestrained."
" Your penetration could not be
eluded, if I should desire to with-
hold the truth from you, fair daugh-
ter," answered the king ; " but ere I
declare it without reservation, let me
hear how and wherefore I see you
in a situation so obscure. The gen-
tleman sleeps quietly; will it dis-
turb him if we talk in a low voice V
" Alas!" answered the lady, " no
sound affects his ear since he greatly
overheated himself, keeping pace on
foot with James of Scotland on
horseback."
" James of Scotland must be a
tyrant," responded the seeming ec-
clesiastic, " since he has reduced you
to behold your venerable parent clos-
ing the scene of life in this miserable
hovel. England, that affords the
poor shelter, will perhaps avenge
your wrongs."
. " God forbid! God and the bless-
ed army of the saints forbid ! If the
sovereign meets disaster, my dear
country will also suffer ; nor do I
now imprecate vengeance upon the
oppressor of my father. I have
borne to him the most profound and
deadly hate : yet in filial obedience
I have forgiven our irreparable in-
juries. The only coherent sentences
spoken by my dear father in this ill-
ness, enjoined me to cleanse from my
heart all resentment against James
of Scotland; and. I will not disobey
the command. Holy man, you are
shocked by my inveteracy ; listen
then to my provocation. Behold in
me a maiden of Scotland, who loved
and revered her father with a devot-
edness only surpassed by religious
adoration. I was the offspring of
his old age, his only daughter. My
brothers were slain in the wars of
Scotland, or in fighting the battles
of our allies, the French. My mo-
ther pined in grief and died. I alone
was left to console my father in his
grey-haired sorrows ; he cherished
me as the idol of his tenderest af-
fections. Could I be insensible to
his fond indulgence? I speak it not
in the boast of womanish vanity, but
in sooth to excuse my strong resent-
ment against the oppressor of a faith-
ful subject, that, when bereaved of
hereditary possessions and exiled
from his native land, my father was
forced to take refuge abroad, I re-
jected splendid offers of marriage,
and accompanied a banished parent
to France. He had given an asylum
to the Count de Marcon when in
disgrace with his court, and the ser-
vice was now repaid by the count.
Years passed away, when my father
perceiving a rapid decay in his
strength, became anxious to lay his
bones with the dust of his ancestors.
He proposed leaving me with the
Countess Marcon, while he threw
himself at the feet of his sovereign,
imploring pity for an old servant,
once a favourite, distinguished by the
name of Greysteil, the king's most
admired hero of romance; and more-
over the exile could justly plead, that
no offence had been imputed to him;
he was merely included under the
general sentence against a turbulent
clan. I reminded my father, that
King James had sworn never to shew
lenity to the race of Douglas; and in
agonies of dismay I said, that if my
only protector left France I would
cling to him in every step of his pil-
grimage. On my knees I besought
him by the spotless fame of my de-
30
THE WEIRD BEAUTY.
parted mother, and by his own ho-
nour, not to leave me the helpless
prey of strangers."
" Hal" interrupted James, "your
words remind me that Francis, the
Catholic king, was deeply enamour-
ed of a fair damsel of Scotland, whom
men call the Weird Beauty, on ac-
count of her fascinating charms; and
it was believed, that by unholy in-
fluences she fixed her own image in
the heart of Francis, so that he had
no rest by night or day from the
haunting vision; and he sent far and
wide, with magnificent proposals, to
induce the return of his enslaver,
or, at least, to obtain a release from
her incessantly present idea or love-
ly phantom."
" Catherine of Kilspindie speaks
to you, reverend father ; and I hold
the meanest of my clan to be far
above the place of dishonoured com-
panion to any monarch. If men call
me the Weird Beauty, they may
seek in their own wayward nature
for the power of my witching arts.
They eagerly pursue the object that
disdains their wiles. My honest
pride, my untainted virtue was all
the magic I employed, all the shield
I could use against a mortal enemy
in the disguise of an obsequious
lover. I had for some time suspect-
ed the Count Marcon of a design to
barter my innocence for the royal
favour: yet I dared not breathe the
apprehension to my father. He would
have challenged Francis and his mi-
nion to combat ; and his grey hairs
and the justice of his resentment
would not have protected him from
the penalty he must incur by draw-
ing his sword against the king. Let
me be candid, and while condemn-
ing others, let me not spare my own
weakness. I felt that the most dan-
gerous foe was lodged in my own
bosom. The bounty of Francis, the
honours he bestowed, raised my fa-
ther to full equality with his country-
men who came as envoys or visit-
ants to the court of France, and my
gratitude exceeded due limits. My
only safety could be found in avoid-
ing the adulation with which, in
every captivating form, I was hourly
assailed by the most engaging of de-
luders. I saw that the Countess of
Marcon wished to supplant me, and
would readily assist in my departure;
and as I could not prevail upon my
father to take me with him, I applied
to the countess to help me in following
at a short distance. In the sem-
blance of a gipsy mendicant, I kept
sight of my parent^ and did not
make myself known until it became
necessary to crave his interference
to obtain for me a passage from St.
Brieve, in France, to Dungarvon bay,
in Ireland. I could then reveal why
I fled from the court of France; and
all my fears, my sorrows and fatigues
were forgotten in my father's appro-
bation, and the comforts of his so-
ciety.
" With many a weary step my
dear father reached Carrickfergus,
and he seemed to be reanimated
when he inhaled the air of Scot-
land. I still followed him at a little
distance; but seemingly unknown and
unconnected with him. In the twi-
light we conversed in a lone wood,
or a by-way, screened by rocks.
Our pleasure in meeting was alloyed
by my father's regrets at seeing me
in the despised garb of an Egyptian,
and I procured as soon as possible
the dress peculiar to descendants of
Mother Hillella. Since the days of
good King Robert, the progeny of
the Easterns that came to Scotland
with the knights of the holy war
had sadly degenerated : yet they re-
Till: WEIRD BEAUTY.
31
tained a portion of the valuable qua* >
lities that the mother instilled into
her descendants and followers. They i
were, therefore, a trusty, useful, and j
ingenious tribe; and as artisans, they j
far excelled the lately introduced fo- j
reigners, who professed armoury and
working in gold and silver, or more
arrogant pretensions to divination.
All my interest in those peculiarities j
has passed away. Let me then go
on to the crisis of our adventures, j
My father and I came late in the |
evening to Stirling: I was allowed in
charity to creep for the night into a
nook under the same roof with him;
and next day my straining eyes pursu-
ed his every movement, watching the
king's return from a deer-hunt. How
my heart fluttered as between life
and death when I heard James ex-
claim in merry tones, ' By the mass,
there is my Greysteil, Archibald of
Kilspindie 1'
" I saw my honoured parent kneel
on the hard cold ground; his locks,
bleached by more than seventy win-
ters, blown about by the winds; and
so had been scattered the remem-
brance of his services. I heard his
entreaties for leave to spend his few
remaining days, penniless and ob-
scure, in his own country, that his
corpse might lie in the beloved soil
that gave him birth. The king rode
off without vouchsafing a word or
look to him, in whose arms he was
often carried during childhood, and
whose blood had been shed in the
wars of his manhood. Still hoping
to soften a royal heart, the suppli-
cant, though encumbered with ar-
mour under his garments, kept pace
with the king's gallant hunting steed ;
but his voice and uplifted hands were
disregarded. Spent with fatigue, and
overwhelmed with grief, he sat down
at the gate of Stirling Castle, and
asked for a draught of water. Even
that humble boon was denied; for
the menials of the great imbibe the
spirit of their employers. I flew to
the nearest well, and brought a drink
to my almost fainting parent, mutter-
ing to myself as I held it to his lips,
' Power of justice! be thou inexo-
rable to James of Scotland in his ut-
most need; and, like my father, may
he die of a broken heart!' But I
have recalled this imprecation. My
father, meek, yet high-minded, never
swerved from loyalty. He exhorted
me to forgive; and after a long strug-
gle with the feelings of nature, I for-
gave our oppressor, as I hope to be
forgiven by the Supreme Judge of
all the earth.
" Without one friend to sooth or
sympathize in his calamity, Archi-
bald of Kilspindie regained his poor
lodging, followed by the beggar-girl.
We set out for Edinburgh, and fi-
nished the journey just in time to
witness the cruel and unmerited exe-
cution of our kinswoman, the La-
dy Jane Douglas, sister to the Earl
of Angus. Before we were aware,
the crowd had fixed us within sight
and hearing of the heroic victim. I
averted my eyes ; but could not ex-
clude from my ears the calm, digni-
fied, convincing affirmations of inno-
cence she addressed to the populace,
and the tremendous visitations of evil
she denounced against her persecu-
tors. My father and I could not ex-
tricate ourselves from the awful, the
heart-rending spectacle. I gave one
involuntary glance to the victim of
perjured enemies; she appeared as
an angel of loveliness and virtue tak-
ing a last farewell of a sinful world.
I looked almost in distraction, and
called upon the King of kings to
avenge her barbarous murder."
(To be concluded in our next.)
32
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
No. XVII.
Present, the Vicar, Mrs. Miss, and Miss Rosina Primrose, Reginald Hildebrand,
Mr. Mathews, Mr. Apathy, and Mr. Montague.
The Vicar. Ouit friend Counsel-
lor Eitherside has written me a let-
ter, to account for his absence. Shall
I read?
Omnes. Yes, yes.
The Vicar. Thus he begins :
, June 5, 1826.
My dear Sir, — I am now at this
place for the purp'ose of superintending
my friend 's election, which is like-
ly to be very warmly contested ; so here
am I — I who have been living a quiet
retired life for several years past — I who
have become so nervous as absolutely to
dread the appearance of turmoil and
strife, and who would as soon encounter
the tongues of a hundred scolding fish-
wives, fresh from Billingsgate, as again
embark in those scenes of strife and com-
motion which are to be found in the
courts where I spent all the best days of
my life — here I am, I say, now up to
my ears in all the hurry and bustle of a
canvas, preparatory to a contested elec-
tion. Ours is the popular party though ;
and that is some consolation. I can
imagine nothing more frightful — nothing
more horrible — than to canvas a town,
the inhabitants of which are warmly op-
posed to you ; to be exposed to con-
tumely, hisses, and groans ; to be oblig-
ed to press the greasy palm of every
" unwashed artificer," and perhaps to
kiss his child, reeking with impure
odours — fah! the very thought makes
me sick — and even, after having gone
through this ordeal, to be compelled to
listen to his senseless abuse, and to hear
him say, instead of promising you his
support and interest, " I vote for thee!
I'll see thee hanged first."
But from this worst of all possible
evils I am preserved. My friends name
is highly popular. The lower class are
all Tories ; and so are most of the mid-
dling and higher classes : his canvas has
more the appearance of a triumph than
any thing else ; and the ladies — God
bless them! — shower their smiles and
blue favours upon us in abundance.
Of the other candidates, one is a good
Tory, like my friend ; the other a tho-
rough-paced Whig ; and as he is sup-
ported by the united interest of the cor-
poration of the borough and a neigh-
bouring aristocrat, I shall have much
pleasure in beating him. This, by the
way, we are sure of doing. So you must
make my excuses to the Coterie, and tell
them to drink in a bumper success to
my friend 's election.
Frank Eitherside.
Mr. Apathy. I shall drink no such
thing ; for I hope, wherever there is
a contested election, the Tories will
go to the wall.
Mr. Mathews. And I wish the To-
ries every success. The Whigs are
such a
The Vicar. Come, I won't have
my friend's letter made the means of
introducing election politics. Let
us change the subject. Reginald,
open your budget.
Reginald. I have another offspring
of female genius to lay at the feet
of the ladies — Tales round a Win-
ter-Hearth, by the Misses Porter:
two ladies who have contributed
their full share to the fictitious lite-
rature of England ; and the elder of
whom undoubtedly was the founder
of that species of romance, the ge-
nuine historical; which has since,
from the magic pen of the author of
THK UTKUAUY COTEK13.
.11
Waverley, assumed such a fascinat-
ing form and become so popular*.
* Perhaps the following brief sketch of
these ladies may not be uninteresting to
our female readers : Miss Jane and Miss
Anna Maria Porter are the daughters of
an officer in the army, who has now been
dead some years. Their mother, a lady
as venerable for virtue as for years,
is still living ; their elder brother, Dr.
Porter, is a well-known physician at
Bristol ; and the name of their younger
brother, Sir Robert Ker Porter, the au-
thor of Travels in Persia, and several
other works, must be familiar to all our
readers.
The first literary production of Miss
Porter was Thaddeus of Warsaw, an his-
torical novel of great interest, in which
the characters are finely contrasted, and j| perusing this fresh accession to the
drawn with much force and discrimina- il already numberless list of books, let
tion ; particularly that of the hero. This
work has been followed by The Scottish
Chiefs, The Pastor's Fireside, Remarks
on Sidney's A/ihorisnis, and Duke Chris-
tian of Luneburg. Tltaddeus of War-
saw appeared in 1803 ; it has gone
through a number of editions, and is still
read very generally. The Scottish Chiefs
is, however, Miss Porter's most eminent
production ; it is that with which her
name is most generally coupled, and
which will be the means of conferring
upon her a deathless fame.
Mr. Apathy. Something on the
plan of Miss Lee's Canterbury Tales,
I suppose ; but I question whether
equal to them.
Reginald. I am a great admirer of
Miss Lee's Tales, and must always
read them with pleasure ; but those
by the Misses Porter are of high
merit. They are supposed to be
told at the domestic tea-table of a
quiet family in the country, where
the party was unexpectedly detain-
ed by a sudden snow-storm; and the
first and second are said to have
been " related to the writer by a
lady of high rank, distinguished for
many accomplishments."
Mr. Mathews. As you appear to
have been beforehand with us in
us have a sketch of the contents.
Reginald. Willingly. The first
tale, called the The Castle ofGlenar-
The Misses Porter are as amiable as
they are accomplished ; and it is a little
remarkable, that they should still be liv-
ing a life of " single blessedness." They
reside, we believe, with their mother,
who may well be proud of her children,
destined as they are to shed a lustre on
the name of Porter, which will never be
The genius of the younger sister, Miss II effaced.
Anna Maria Porter, is scarcely inferior ,1 As for the style of these young ladies,
to her sister's. Perhaps she does not j! perhaps Miss Porter's is rather more ele-
soar quite so high in her flight; and yet 'j vated than her sister's; it is more the
we cannot help thinking, that her works i' language of poetry; but that of Anna
display more of imagination than even I Maria's is often the language of feeling,
those of Miss Jane Porter. Her prin- II In drawing her characters, Miss Porter
cipal productions are, The Hungarian
Brothers, Don Sebastian, The Recluse of
Norway, The Knight of St. John, The
Fast of St. Magdalen, and Roche
Blanche, or the Hunters of the Pyre-
nees. The only joint production of the
two sisters, as far as we are aware, is
The Tales round a Winter -Hearth.
Vol nil. No. XLIII.
usually soars into the beau ideal of ro-
mance, and presents us " faultless"
beings ; but they are not monsters. Her
sister's heroes and heroines approach
nearer to common life. We scarcely know
which we prefer ; but we heartily re-
commend the works of bath to aur
readers.
F
34
TUB LITERARY C0TKR1R.
von, is a Scottish tradition of the year ,
1745. It contains nothing remark- i
able, either in the story itself, or in !
the manner in which it is narrated, j
It is scarcely equal to the general !
standard of Miss Porter's produc- i
tions. The second, Lord Howth, is i
founded upon a most singular tradi- ;
tion, which the narrator informed ;
Miss Porter is still religiously be-
lieved in Ireland. It reminds us of
the fairy transformations which we
read of in the nursery. Lord Howth,
an amiable young nobleman, but of
a violently irritable temper, on one
occasion preserved the life of a young
water-rat, which was attacked by a
dog belonging to one of his compa-
nions. This rat afterwards followed
him wherever he went, and became
quite familiar, so much so, that a
kind of sentimental attachment en-
sued between them ; and his lordship
fastened a gold thread round the
foot of the animal, as a sort of dis-
tinguishing mark. Teased and ri-
diculed, however, by his companions
about this singular follower, he re-
solved, at length, to quit Ireland ;
but the rat followed him, and in a
moment of frenzy, at some taunting
remark made by a companion, he
accidentally killed his little pet at
an inn at Holyhead. This incident
preyed upon his spirits and affected
his health ; but he recovered, and
returned to his estate, devoting his
life to acts of useful humanity. One
day (the third anniversary of that :
on which he had killed the rat) he j
was traversing the beach, " under a j
sky of portentous gloom," when a
vessel in distress hove in sight, and j
first striking against a rock, was then
engulphed in the bottomless abyss. J
But one human form was seen float- j
ing upon the waves after the vessel sunk ; i
it was that of a woman, whom Lord I
Howth had seen throw herself into the
water as the sloop struck.
Still impatient and impetuous, my hero
leaped into the boiling sea; and, as it
happily drove the female form towards
him, he succeeded in catching at her
white garments, and dragging her through
a tremendous surf to land.
The lady appeared quite dead; but
Lord Howth, animated by the hope of
being allowed to restore a life during
this day, on which he bewailed having
taken one, as if endowed with super-
natural strength, hurried with her in his
arms to his own house, and there, by the
aid of Mrs. Florence [his aunt], had the
joy of witnessing animation restored.
Even while the fair stranger lay sense-
less on Lord Howth's shoulder, he re-
marked the uncommon loveliness of her
form and features, the alabaster white-
ness of the throat falling back from his
support, the long and shining tresses of
raven hair which streamed, sea-drop-
ping, over a cheek that wanted only life
to kindle into a rare beauty. Even these
passive charms fixed his admiring gaze.
But when, reviving, the stranger open-
en her dark dewy eyes and fastened
them upon him, the look penetrated him
with a feeling hitherto unfelt, and from
that moment he certainly gazed less with
the eyes than with the heart.
As Mrs. Florence addressed the res-
cued lady, the latter sadly shook her
head, laid her hand on her bosom in to-
ken of gratitude, pronouncing in silver
tones, accompanied by gushing tears, a
few words in some unknown language.
Miss Primrose. Well, what is the
end of all this?
Reginald. You shall hear: the
lady recovers, is taught to speak
English, and becomes the bride of
Lord Howth. They lived most hap-
pily for some time; though the con-
stitutional irritability of his lordship
is somewhat excited by the pertina-
city with which Alma — such is the
"THH LITIiHAUY C'OiKIUK.
35
fair-one's name, refuses to take off!! made a few steps forward; the liglit fell
a curiously wrought bracelet that j, direct upon the face of his wife, which,
encircled her arm, and which his
lordship fancied had belonged to a
former favoured lover. On one oc-
casion his temper broke out into vio-
lence; but the gentle soothings of his
Alma subdued him, and the subject
of disagreement was forgotten.
Some few weeks after this scene, Lord
Howth, who was going to bathe, and
had therefore risen early, returned from
his dressing-room, ere he descended to
the hall, to steal a kiss from his sleeping
wife.
The weather was unusually hot ; and
Alma had unconsciously thrown herself
partly out from the bed-clothes, and was
now lying with no other covering oyer
her beautiful face and shoulders than the
loosened tresses of her abundant hair.
Through its black and shining tresses,
the roseate tints of her cheek and the
ivory whiteness of her finely rounded
throat appeared almost dazzling.
As the doting husband stood and
watched her slumbers, at each soft breath-
ing the roses of her cheek seemed unfold-
ing visibly, deepening in colour with
every breathing. At once a lover and a
poet, Lord Howth murmured to himself,
" The fresh air,
Stirring the living roses of her cheeks,
Bears their rich fragrance with it."
He might have finished his rhapsody,
had not Alma changed her position, and
flung one arm out of bed. It was that
on which she wore the bracelet! Like
Parian marble, and rounded with the
sculptor's art, that beauteous arm fixed
the gaze of Lord Howth ; but it was nei-
ther the matchless form, nor the blue
veins, crossing and intersecting each other,
under its transparent surface, which ar-
rested and fixed him — it was that fatal
bracelet.
Alma drew a troubled sigh ; he looked
intently at her — she had sighed in her
by the alteration of her position, was now
completely exposed to observation : he
saw tears standing on her cheek, like
dew-drops on roses newly gathered.
" She is dreaming of her former lover,"
he muttered to himself — " perish all me-
morial of him !" And as he spoke, with
momentary madness, he tore away the
fatal ornament.
Alma roused with a piercing shriek :
once before only, Lord Howth had so
thrilled with a cry. She opened her eyes,
and turned them upon him : that look !
it went to his soul; it was the last from
her dying eyes. She strove to raise her-
self with outstretched arms to meet his
distracted embrace ; but, even in the act,
her eyes closed, and she fell back upon
the pillow, no longer his living Alma.
Wild, yet stupefied, Lord Howth stood
for a few moments incapable of motion.
Alma might have fainted only, from
strong emotion! But no! there is a fear-
ful something in the presence of dead),
which makes itself be felt : who may mis-
take it ? While the grief-shrunk husband
stood rooted by the bed, he saw some-
thing stir near Alma : what was his
amazement and horror when he beheld
a rat start forth, cast at him such a look
as Alma herself had given him, and dis-
appear from his sight! With maddened
impulse, Lord Flowth looked atthebrace-
let in his convulsed grasp ; it was gorge-
ously worked without, but within he be-
held the identical gold thread which he
had fastened round the foot of his little
favourite.
Miss Rosina. And Lord Howth ?
Reginald. Died shortly after ;
thus fulfilling an ancient prophecy,
that the last of the Howths should
owe his death to one of the rat spa-
cies.
The Vicar. A singular tale, cer-
tainly; but traditions of that kind
sleep. He looked again at her arm, and i are still currently believed in Ireland.
F 2
35
THE L1TKRAKY COTUllF.
I have heard many a wild and ro-
mantic tale of superstitious lore from
the peasant's wife, as, seated by her
peat-fire, she has called to remem-
brance the stories she had heard or
read in the days of infancy.
Miss Primrose. You have often
promised to relate to us some of those
teles, papa; but I think the promise
is yet unfulfilled.
The Vicar. Well, my child, some
day I will collect a few of the tradi-
tionary anecdotes I have heard, and
throw them into some sort of form
for your amusement.
Mr. Apathy. What is the subject
of the next tale?
Reginald. It is a delightful sketch
of the lives and fortunes of some in-
dividuals of humble life in Scotland,
that land of romance, which has be-
come so familiar to us all, since the
author of Waverlcy first drew our
attention to the various gradations of
character which exist among the
people ; and, by his animated and
picturesque descriptions, brought be-
fore our mind's eye some of its most
celebrated scenes. Jeannie Halli-
day, the tale in question, contains a
touching picture of true love, both
in man and woman ; and some of the
incidents possess the most vivid inte-
rest. The most important of the
tales, however, occupies the whole
of the second volume, and is ushered
in by a narrative of the adventures
of a lady of " the old house of Hun-
tercombe," where a manuscript is dis-
covered, which contains " The Pil-
grimage of Berenice, a Record of
Rurnham Abbey"
Rosina. A tale, I suppose, of
monkish superstition and bigotry ?
Reginald. Not exactly. It is a
record of the life of Berenice, the
daughter of Eustace de Bouillon,
brother of Godfrey, the first King of
Jerusalem, one of the most renown-
ed chiefs of the Crusades. It is not
a very well told tale, for the lan-
guage is, in many places, slovenly
and incorrect ; but it contains some
brilliant and vivid passages, worthy
of the fame of the fair authoresses.
The character of Eustace de Bouil-
lon is the best in the tale. It is well
drawn, and seems to have been the
writer's favourite.
Mr. Mathews. The posthumous
work of Mrs. lladcliffe, that we have
heard so much of, has also appear-
ed ; it is embued with all that vivid
genius, that sublimity of conception,
which abound in her earlier works;
but there is a deviation in the machi-
nery. In The Romance of the Fo-
rest, and The Mysteries of Udol-
pho, all the apparently supernatural
events are brought about by human
means : in Gaston de Blondeville,
however, a real spectre is intro-
duced ; a visitor from the unknown
world of spirits comes upon the
scene, and develops circumstances of
strange import, which I shall leave
to you ladies to find out upon per-
usal.
Miss Primrose. That is very un-
gallant of you, Mr. Mathews, to ex-
cite our curiosity, and then refuse to
gratify it.
Mr. Mathews. Curiosity, you
know, is said to be the besetting sin
of your sex ; and sins should be
curbed, restrained, and mortified —
certainly not gratified.
Miss Primrose. Worse and worse.
I declare you grow such a mere cy-
nic, that it is impossible to get a civil
answer from you. I shall request
Mrs. Mathews to lecture you very
severely, unless you improve, and
that very shortly too.
THE LITKKAUY COTUlllE.
37
Mr. Mathews. Well, if she com-
plies with your request, I must do as
I did when forced to remain in
M'Culloch's lecture-room, out of po-
liteness to a Scotch friend, whilst the
professor was prosing about political
economy.
Miss Primrose. How's that ?
Mr. Mathews. Why I must make
up my mind to bear it as patiently as
I can, and pray for a good deliver-
ance, and soon.
Reginald. There are poems, I
think I heard, appended to the ro-
mance ?
Mr. Mathews. Yes ; the principal
one is called St. Albans Abbey, the
most striking passage in which I
think I remember:
" Throned in the vale and pomp of wood,
The Norman Abbey darkly stood,
And frown'd upon the place of blood,
Beneath the lowering western cloud;
Till the sun, from stormy shroud,
Look'd out in fierce yet sullen ire,
And touch'd the towering pile with fire.
Below, each battled turret seem'd
The martyr's crown of flame to wear;
"While through the airy arches there,
The sun's red splendour stream'd.
But transept roofs and aisles between
Lay stretch'd in darker tint and mien,
As if they mourn'd the slaughter'd dead
Laid out in blood beneath their shade.
Slowly the vision changed its hue,
In sullen mists the sun withdrew,
A ball of lurid fire, from view :
Yet curving lines of burnish'd gold
(Traced where light clouds their edges fold)
Through the red haze his station told.
Then evening fell o'er all the vale,
Faded each tower and turret pale;
Till, shapeless, huge, obscure as doom,
The Abbey stood in stedfast gloom;
Vast, indistinct, and lone,
Like being from a world unknown."
Reginald. There is something of
the spirit of the mighty wizard of
the North, Sir Walter Scott, in
those lines : they have his rapid,
smooth versification ; his power of
description ; his admiral tact in giv-
ing " a local habitation and a name"
to the creations of fancy, the emana-
tions of genius.
Mr. Mathews. I was much pleased
with a short poem entiled Decem-
ber's Eve at Home, so much so
that I committed it to memory :
" Welcome, December's cheerful night,
When the taper-lights appear;
When the piled hearth blazes bright,
And those we love are circled there!
" And on the soft rug basking lies,
Outstretch'd at ease, the spotted friend,
With glowing coat and half-shut eyes,
Where watchfulness and slumber blend.
" Welcome, December's cheerful hour,
When books, with converse sweet com-
bined,
And music's many-gifted power,
Exalt or sooth th' awakeu'd mind !
" Then let the snow-wind shriek aloud,
And menace oft the guarded sash,
And all his diapason crowd,
As o'er the frame his white wings dash.
" He sings of darkness and of storm,
Of icy cold, and lonely ways ;
But gay the room, the hearth more warm,
And brighter is the taper's blaze.
'* Then let the merry tale go round,
And airy songs the hours deceive ;
And let our heartfelt laughs resound,
In welcome to December's eve!"
Reginald. Pretty, but somewhat
tame. By the bye, we have lately
been inundated with poetry. Mil-
man's Anna Boleyn, Joanna Baillie's
Martyr, Carrington's Dartmoor, and
Mrs. Hemans' Forest Sanctuary,
have been sent me by my bookseller
within the last month ; together with
some volumes of verses and poems,
so called, in which nothing is disco-
verable but an absence of every re-
quisite that we look for in poetry.
Miss Primrose. What do you
think the great requisite in a true
poet ?
Reginald. Imagination, which, in-
spired by true genius, enables him
38
THE I.ITKftAUY COTliJUR.
to embody his ideas in words that
breathe life and animation even to
the most torpid heart — imagination,
which conceives things that common
minds ne'er dreamt of, and commu-
nicates them to the world in lan-
guage fraught with feeling and with
force — imagination, which enables
him to take in the whole range of
creation, and even to penetrate " the
world unknown," for subjects for his
" Muse of fire."
*« The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heavcu to earth, from earth
to heaven ;
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy
nothing
A local habitation and a name."
Miss R. Primrose. And what are
the proper objects of poetry?
Reginald. You appeal to me, as if
I were capable of settling a question
on which so much has lately been
said, and which has engaged the ta-
lents of a Byron, a Bowles, a Camp-
bell, a Roscoe, and a Gilchrist, in
the controversy : but, really, I must
confess my inability to execute a task
of such magnitude.
Miss Rosina. But you can give
your opinion : are objects of nature
or of art the most adapted to poe-
try?
Reginald, I should say neither,
exclusively ; and that very often
both combined form the finest sub-
jects for poetical description. For
instance, take one of the noblest
productions of art, standing by itself,
and unconnected with other associa-
tions— York Minster; or take one
of the most awful of nature's works
— Vesuvius, when exhaling showers
of fire and streams of lava: both
might be made the subject of a fine
poem, the latter certainly affording
the finest materials to work upon.
But still finer would be found in the
description of a gallant vessel strug-
gling with the conflicting waves, and
enduring all the horrors of the storm.
True genius, however, can dignify
almost any subject ; there is nothing
so trivial or unimportant which it
will not adorn ; whilst to the more
exalted feelings and affections, pas-
sions and objects, it imparts still
higher attractions.
Mr. Apathy. I think Milman's
Anna Bolcyn displays very few signs
of genius.
Reginald. No ; it is tame in most
places, in some absolutely insipid :
yet, in other parts, there are passages
which rise into eloquence. For in-
stance, the speech of the queen on
being carried prisoner to the Tower:
" Back, back, I say! —
I will not enter ! Whither will ye plunge me?
Into what chamber but the sickly air
Smells all of blood ? The black and cob-
webb'd walls
Are all o'er traced by dying hands, who've
noted
In the damp dews indelible their tale
Of torture; not a bed nor straw-laid pallet
But bears th' impression of a wretch called
forth
To execution. Will ye place me there,
Where those poor babes their crook-back'd
uncle murder'd
Still haunt? — Inhuman hospitality!
Look there! look there! Fear mantles o'er
my soul,
As with a prophet's robe; the ghostly walls
Are sentinell'd with mute and headless spec-
tres,
Whose lank and grief-attenuated fingers
Point to their gory and dissever'd necks,
The least a lordly noble, some like princes t
Through the dim loopholes gleam the hag-
gard faces
Of those whose dark unutterable fate
Lies buried in your dungeons' depths; some
wan
With famine, some with writhing fingers fix'd
In the agony of torture ! Back, I say !
They beckon me across the fatal threshold,
Which none may pass and live."
THE L1TEUAUY COTERIE.
>9
Mr. Montague. Milraan never)
wrote any thing equal to his Fazio. j
That production stamped his fame
as a poet ; and if he had never writ- j
ten any thing else, he would have j
stood on a proud eminence, from
which each succeeding work has only
still further removed him. This is j
much to be regretted, because I be-
lieve he has all the innate genius ne-
cessary to constitute a good poet;
but he sacrifices his own feelings
and opinions to the force of a foolish
prejudice. He thinks it indecorous
in a clergyman to write for the stage;
and hence, though his powers are
purely dramatic, and he is capable
of producing, I firmly believe, even
a finer tragedy than his Fazio, he
mars all his works by curbing the
bent of his genius, and writing dra-
matic poems for the closet, instead
of plays for representation.
The Vicar. I have no hostility to
the stage, far from it ; I hold it to
be, when properly regulated, a good
school for virtue, and a scourge for
vice: but I still think that a clergyman
maybe more appropriately employed
than in writing plays.
Mr. Montague. Granted : yet as
Mr. Milman does write upon subjects
not connected with his profession, I
think the world would sooner forgive
him for writing a good tragedy, than
it would for producing a bad drama-
tic poem ; and that there would be
no greater moral crime in the one
than in the other.
The Vicar. There I agree with
you; and I also think Milman has
failed in the choice of his sub-
jects : they are more suited to the
epic than the dramatic Muse ; and
he would have succeeded better, I
think, had he assumed the mantle of
Milton, instead of that of Shak-
speare.
Mrs. Primrose. Does Joanna Bail-
lie's Martyr sustain her former fame?
Reginald. I think it does : it is a
simple story, of the era of Nero's
persecutions, beautifully told. 1 have
read and re-read it with increased
admiration. Joanna Baillie and Mrs.
Hemans I deem the master female
spirits of the age. The Forest
Sanctuary, by the latter, is a de-
lightful poem.
Mr. Matheivs. I like her smaller
poems better than her more extend-
ed compositions. " lie will never
smile again," Gertrude, and a hun-
dred others I could name, make an
impression on the heart which can
never be effaced.
Reginald. I grant you that her
longest are not her most finished
pieces ; but the Forest Sanctuary
contains some exquisite passages. I
will quote only one in support of my
opinion, because I wish you all to
read and judge for yourselves. Inez,
a lovely young Spaniard, is about to
suffer martyrdom at an auto da /<?,
as a victim to the Inquisition, when
her lover rushes in :
" But she, as falls a willow from the storm,
O'er its own river streaming— thus reclined
On the youth's bosom hung her fragile form,
And clasping arms, so passionately twined
Around his neck — with such a trusting fold,
A full, deep sense of safety in their hold,
As if nought earthly might th' embrace
unbind !
Alas ! a child's fond faith, believing still
Its mother's breast beyond the lightning's
reach to kill.
" Brief rest ! upon the turning billows'
height,
A strange, sweet movement of some hea-
venly strain,
Floating between the savage gusts of night
That sweep the seas to foam ! Soon dark
again
40
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
The hour — the scene— th' intensely present,
rush'd
Back on her spirit, and her large tears gush'd
Like blood-drops from a victim, with swift
rain
Bathing the bosom where she lean'd that
hour,
As if her life would melt into th' o'erswelling
shower.
" But he whose arm sustain'd her! — oh! he
knew
'Twas vain, and yet he hoped! he fondly
strove
Back from her faith her sinking soul to woo,
As life might yet be hers ! A dream of love
Which could not look upon so fair a thing,
Remembering how like hope, like joy, like
spring,
Her smile was wont to glance, her step to
move,
And deem that men indeed, in very truth,
Could mean the sting of death for her soft
flowery youth !
" He woo'd her back to life — ' Sweet Inez,
live !
My blessed Inez! visions have beguiled
Thy heart — abjure them! thou wert form'd
to give
And to find joy; and hath not sunshine
smiled
Around thee ever ? Leave me not, mine own,
Or life will grow too dark ! for thee alone,
Thee have I loved — thou gentlest! from a
child,
And borne thine image with me o'er the sea,
Thy soft voice in my soul — speak ! oh! yet
live for me !'
" She look'd up wildly; there were anxious
eyes
Waiting that look— sad eyes of troubled
thought,
Alvar's, Theresa's! Did her childhood rise,
With all its pure and home-affections
fraught,
In the brief glance ? She clasp'd her hauds
— the strife
Of love, faith, fear, and that vain dream
of life,
Within her woman's breast so deeply
wrought,
It seem'd as if a reed so slight and weak
Must in the rending storm— not quiver only
—break !
" And thus it was— the young cheek flush'd
and faded,
As the swift blood in currents came and
went ;
And hues of death the marble brow o'er-
shaded,
And the sunk eye a watery lustre sent
Through its white fluttering lids: then trem-
blings pass'd
O'er the frail form, that shook it as the blast
Shakes the sere leaf, until the spirit rent
Its way to peace — the fearful way unknown !
Pale in love's arms she lay — she! what had
loved, was gone !"
Mrs. Primrose. Beautiful ! Mrs.
Hemans writes with a true woman's
feelings, and her descriptions come
home to every heart.
Reginald. Dartmoor is an admi-
rable poem. Camngton, the author,
is a schoolmaster, not very well en-
dowed, I believe, with this world's
goods, who resides at Devonport. I
wish most heartily this work may be
the means of making him better
known.
Mr. Apathy. I have read Dart-
moor, and have been delighted with
the many exquisite touches with
which it abounds. It is certainly one
of the best descriptive poems in the
English language.
Reginald. It often reminds me of
Thomson ; not that remembrance
which arises from perusing the ser-
vile imitation of some vile poetaster,
but that which the similarity of
thoughts and feelings between two
great geniuses often excites.
Mr. Apathy. I think I can recal
to my recollection one passage — an
Invocation to Spring:
" O welcome Spring ! whose still small
voice is heard
E'en by the mighty tempest of the North.
Who strays amid thy empire, and feels uot
Divine sensations ? — feels not life renew'd
At all its thousand fountains ? Who can bathe
His brow in thy young breezes, and not bless
The new-born impulse which gives wings to
thought,
And pulse to action ? But for me, the gale
That wantons with the flower, and fans the bud
Into the living leaf, and wafts around
Fragrance and health, breathes not. The
bird which sing*
f
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
41
His touching lay of liberty and love
To thousands, sings not to my ear. The
hymn
Of earth and sky — the breeze, the flower, the
brook —
All sights and sounds delicious — cheering
still,
From morn to eve, the blushing vernal hour —
Are for the joyous many, who can stray
At will, unshackled by the galling chain
That fate has forged for Labour's countless
sons ;
A chain unbroken and unloosen'd oft
From youth to toiling age, save just to taste
How sweet a thing is liberty; to mark
How green the earth, how beautiful the sky ;
How all-magnificent the sea— and wear
The hated bonds again. On me the sun
Has seldom shone — a freeman ; free to rove
At morn, and hear the feathery nations pour
Their strains full-hearted, ere the ray has
drunk
The dew-drop of the vale; to hear the rills
In joyful tumult rush adown thy slopes,
Devonia ; and with lightsome step to scale
Thy hills green-breasted, and delighted view
The infinite of prospect; free at noon,
By fringed brooks, in meditative mood,
To rest where nothing breaks the hallow'd
pause-
But lapse of living waters; free at eve
To tread some sun-illumined ridge, and gaze
Enraptured on the cloud that sails the west,
With hues celestial tinged, and hear the
song
That bids the day farewell : how seldom
free,
Through life's dull, dreary, heartless round,
at night —
Dear night! — to draw my curtain on the
world,
Invoke the Muse, commune with ages past,
And feast on all the luxury of books!"
Reginald. I recollect that pas-
sage; and the poem abounds with
equally fine ones. The Rev. W. L.
Bowles has also published a volume
of beautiful little poems, entitled
The Little Villager s Verse-Book.
It is delightful to see minds like his
unbending for the improvement of
the humbler classes of society. The
Child and Blind Grandfather is
equal to any thing in Wordsworth :
" Though grandfather has long been blind,
And his few locks are gray,
He loves to hear the summer wind
Round his pale temples play.
" We'll lead him to some quiet place,
Some unfrequented nook,
Where winds breathe soft, and wild flowers
grace
The borders of the brook.
" There he shall sit as in a dream,
Though nought he can behold,
Till the brook's murmur — it shall seem
The voice of friends of old.
" Think no more of them, aged man,
For here thou hast no friend ;
Think— since this life is but a span—
Of joys that have no end."
Mr. Montague. Have you read
the Life and Times of Frederic
Reynolds ?
Reginald. Yes ; and a most amus-
ing book it is ; full of anecdote —
piquant and lively. The author
seems to have infused his own spirit
into his characters of Vapid, Gossa-
mer, &c.
The Vicar. Well, there rings the
supper-bell : such of you as prefer
mental to corporeal food, remain
here ; those who like the latter, fol-
low me.
I must confess all followed our
worthy host; and we were soon as
busy in the supper-room, discussing
the excellent viands set before us, as
we were in the library, in settling
the merits of the various literary
productions brought under our no-
tice.
Reginald Hildehhand.
Elmwoob-Hail,
June 11, 1826.
Vol. VIII. No. XLIII.
G
42
A DIRECT ROAD TO THE TEMPLE OF HYMEN
A true Story ; containing important Tiut/ts for the Fair Sex.
Tiik circumstances we are going
to relate occurred some ten years
since; and have been recalled to me-
mory by two publications eminently
calculated for affording edification to
the ladies. The first in date is a
volume on the culinary art, by Mrs.
Margaret Dodds, of the Cleikum
Inn. The introduction and notes
are adorned by learning, wit, and hu-
mour, worthy to entertain a mascu-
line and cultivated mind; the receipts
are all practical, and many of them
rare or new; and the style, though
plain, is spirited and elegant. The
other more recent work is publishing
in four parts, at a very low price ;
the pious editor being more anxious
to disseminate enlightened views of
the phenomena of nature, than for
individual advantage. It is entitled
Popular Philosophy, or the Book
of Nature laid open upon Chris-
tian Principles, and agreeably to
the Lights of Modern Science. By
J. Millar, Dunbar, editor of the
" Cheap Magazine," &c. &c. The
first part only has come out; and it
affords, within a narrow compass, a
fund of information, calculated for
elevating religious impressions, and
for rational amusement, in lightly
treading the paths of modern dis-
covery. If the pretty girl, of whom
we are now to speak, had been an
attentive reader of the above-men-
tioned productions, or, as they were
not then extant, had been led to re-
gard domestic economy and mental
improvement as entitled to a higher
place in her thoughts than dress and
small-talk, she might have been a
happy matron, instead of being now
a faded beauty, in single life, killing
time with a tasteless succession of
frivolities. She was well born and
accomplished in fashionable educa-
tion, and might be near the age of
nineteen when a young gentleman
of handsome fortune was advised by
a relation to ask her in marriage.
"If Miss — — could be always young,
and I was to see her only in a crowd,
your advice might be taken ; but,"
said Mr. , " what qualification
does she possess to supply the charm
of youth, or to endear her by a re-
collection of domestic hours sweet-
ened by her influence or exertions ?
I have tried her on many points ; for,
I confess, her lovely face and playful
refinement of manners laid hold on
my fancy ; but ignorant of arithmetic,
how could she regulate household
expenses? and despising or neglect-
ing the arrangements of her father's
table, how could she direct mine ? I
| have asked her the ingredients in
i such and such dishes in a strain of
j raillery, yet with serious intentions.
Her answers shewed she knew no-
thing, and desired to know nothing,
of the matter. As a companion, she
does admirably for badinage in a gay
party; but I could never know heart-
felt satisfaction with a wife who could
not talk with me as a reasonable re-
flecting being — a being whose reli-
gious principles are grounded upon
a deep and enlightened conviction of
the goodness, the wisdom, the all-
pervading power of God. A per-
petual round of amusements cannot
be supposed to increase the capacity
of a young lady for the duties of a wife
and mother, nor to cherish the love
of home and of simple pleasures."
Mr. married a voun^ relation
SOCIKTt OF ARTS.
4:3
of his own, not distinguished for per-
sonal attractions, but genteely edu-
cated, though far from pretending to
blue-stockingism, and qualified to give
unassuming opinions upon most sub-
jects. Her mother had been dead a
few years, and she presided in her
father's house, with a superintendence
of her younger sisters, almost ma-
ternal. Her household and table
were conspicuous for econom3r, neat-
ness, and elegant propriety. She
has a large family of daughters, who,
by her precepts and example, are
trained to unite graceful accomplish-
ments with humble usefulness. Mrs.
• says she was not out of child-
hood when she heard a remark of
Lady C 's, which she never for-
gol — that mothers, in their husband-
hunting projects, mistake the infal-
lible and direct road to the temple of
Hymen. A man of sense requires
in a wife not merely an agreeable
person and fashionable manners ; not
a mere musician, paintress, or dancer;
he expects to have his family affairs
judiciously managed; his servants
instructed, if deficient in some points;
and, above all, he desires a friend,
whose counsel may assist his judg-
ment, and whose habitual love of
home will fix her in the sphere of
duty.
I have always remarked that young
ladies who are usefully employed,
especially such as give much atten-
tion to housekeeping and the regu-
lation of a handsome table, are hap-
pily settled in life before beauties, if
they neglect the minor virtues that
are in hourly requisition to produce
substantial comfort. The insect in
the fable fluttering gaily through the
summer, in winter melancholy and
deserted, is a fit emblem of giris who
spend the transient season of youth
in idleness and gaiety, thoughtless of
the inanity and sadness awaiting their
old age.
Lord Lyttelton beautifully incul-
cates the domestic virtues here re-
commended :
The household sceptre, if lie bids you bear,
Make it your joy his servant to appear ;
From fond concern about his weal or woe,
Let eacli domestic duty seem to flow :
Endearing thus the common acts of life,
The mistress still will charm him in the wife j
And wrinkled age will nnperceived come on
Before his eye observes one beauty gone :
Ev'n o'er your cold, but ever-honour'd urn
His faithful heart will never cease to burn.
Mentoii.
SOCIETY
The annual meeting of the Society
of Arts, Manufactures, and. Com-
merce, for the distribution of the
rewards adjudged during the last
year, was held, as it has been for
several years past, at the King's The-
atre in the Haymarket, on the 29th
of May; and, notwithstanding the
unfavourable state of the weather,
collected a large concourse of per-
sons interested in the proceedings
of the day. The general effect of
every part of this splendid house
was very striking; the pit, boxes,
OF ARTS.
j stage, and the front of the gallery, be-
| ing crowded chiefly by well-dressed
i females.
Mr. Aikin, the secretary, first read
an address on the purposes of the
Institution, and the success which had
attended the cultivation of several of
the branches which it is its object to
cherish. The Royal President, the
Duke of Sussex, then presented the
honorary and pecuniary rewards to
the various candidates, one hundred
i and twelve in number, in the follow-
I ing order:
G %
44
SOCIETY OF AIMS.
IN MECHANICS.
Mr. T. Collett, Upper Greystoke-place,
Fetter-lane, for a pair of shears for making
tags for laces — silver Vulcan medal.
Mr. George Hooper, Chelsea, for a build-
er's level — five guineas.
Mr. C. Hartley, Battle-bridge, for a hand-
rail sector — large silver medal.
Mr. W. Spencer, Chatham, for his improv-
ed method of letting go an anchor — gold Vul-
can medal.
Mr. E. Carey, Bristol, for his improved
dead-eyes for shipping— silver Vulcan medal.
Mrs. Henry Goode, Ryde, Isle of Wight,
for a blind for circular-headed windows —
silver Vulcan medal.
Mr. James Skinner, New Park - street,
South war k bridge, for an improved stage-
coach— thirty guineas.
The same, for a trap for vermin — five gui-
neas.
Mr. Joshua Jenour, jun. Hampstead-road,
for a shot-cartridge — fifteen guineas.
Mr. J. Ad cock, Leuian-street, Goodman's
Fields, for an adjustable door-lever — silver
Vulcau medal.
Mr. J. T. Towson, Devonport, for a bank-
ing for a chronometer — silver Vulcan medal
and ten guineas.
Mr. W. Palmer, Clifton-street, Finsbury,
for an improved ruling machine for engrav-
ers— large silver medal.
Mr. D. Magson, Harp-alley, Fleet-street,
for a valve and stand-pipe for water-mains —
five guineas.
Mr. G. Edwards, Lynn, Norfolk, for a le-
velling and surveying instrument — gold Vul-
can medal.
Mr. C. Fay, Piccadilly, for his forceps for
dentists — large silver medal.
Mr. J. D. Holmes, Old Fish-street, for his
craniotomy forceps — gold Vulcan medal.
Mr. J. P. Clark, King-street, Holborn, for
his improved cupping apparatus — silver Vul-
can medal. ,
Joseph Goodwin, Esq. clerk of the stables,
Carlton Palace, for his table for veterinary
operations — gold Vulcan medal.
Mr. S Williams, Ratcliff, for his drag for
drowned bodies — silver Vulcau medal and
five guineas.
R. Cowen, Esq. Carlisle, for his apparatus
to carry off the dust produced in dry-grind-
ing—large gold medal.
Mr. J Alderson, Pimlico, for an instrument
for describing arcs of circles the centres of
which are not given — ten guineas.
Mr M. A. Alderson, Manchester, for a set
of working drawings of a steam-engine — thir-
ty guineas.
Mr. P. Henry, Limchouse, for a setof work-
ing drawings of a boat steam-engine — twenty
guineas.
The Thanks of the Society have been presented,
to the following Gentlemen, and their re-
spective Communications have been directed
to be inserted in t/ie next Volume of the So-
ciety's Transactions.
Bryan Donkin, Esq Chairman of the Com-
mittee of Mechanics, for a German boring
bit and a French drawing pen.
G. Mainwaring, Esq. Marsh-place, Lam-
beth, for a working drawing of an hydraulic
pressure-engine, erected by him at Whitby.
IN CHEMISTRY.
Mr. J. H. Abraham, Sheffield, for his mode
of neutralizing magnetism in the balances of
watches — large silver medal.
Mr. J. Roberts, St. Helen's, Lancashire, for
his improved safe lamp for miners — silver
Vulcan medal and ten guineas.
Mr J. Cathery, Hyde-street, Bloomsbury,
for a mode of coloured etching on ivory —
five guineas.
Mr. W. Cooke, jun. Seymour-street North,
Clarendon-square, for improvements in etch-
ing on steel — gold Isis medal.
Mr. W. Humphrys, Charlotte-street, Rath*
bone-place, for his menstruum for etching on
steel plate — gold Isis medal.
IN COLONIES AND TRADE.
M. Barbc, the Mauritius, for importing
76 tons of cocoa-nut oil — gold Ceres medal.
The Thanhs of the Society were voted to
Mr. Huxhamof Travancore, for his method
of preventing leakage in casks of cocoa-nut
oil, and the same was ordered for publica-
tion.
IN POLITE ARTS.
Mr. C. Galpin, of Charmouth, Dorset, for
his mode of applying black-lead in draw-
ings— silver Isis medal.
Mr. W.Tusou, Queen-street, May Fair, for
models in wax of fruit— silver Isis medal.
Mr. D. Fox, Derby, for an improved mode
of casting in plaster of Paris— large silver
medal.
Copies in Chalk, Pencil, or Indian Ink.
Mr. J. Bizo, White Rose-court, Coleman-
street, for a drawing in Indian ink of a head
— silver palette.
Mr. W.J. Chambers, Long- Acre, for a copy
in pen and ink of an historical subject — sil-
ver Isis medal.
Mr. F. II, Crace, Kensington, for a copy in
pencil of an historical subject— large silver
medal.
Miss Eliza Stephens, West Brixton, Sur-
rey, for a copy in chalk of figures— silver
his medal.
SOCIETY OF ARTS.
45
Miss Mannofr, Regent's-park, for a copy
in chalk of figures — silver palette.
Miss B. S. Wiggins, Piccadilly, for a copy
in pencil of a landscape — silver Isis medal.
Miss Arabella Thynne, Old Palace-yard,
for a copy in pen and ink of a landscape —
silver palette.
Miss F. H. Henslow, Cambridge, for a
copy in Indian ink of an historicaUsnbject— .
silver Isis medal.
Copies in Water- Colours.
MissM. A.Cockburn, Regent's-park, for a
group of portraits — large silver medal.
Miss M. E. Friend, Shoreditch, for a copy
in water-colours of a landscape — large silver
medal.
Miss Clark, Kensington, for a copy in wa-
ter-colours of flowers — large silver medal.
Miss Birtha Thatcher, Walham-green, for
a copy in water-colours of fruit — silver me-
dal.
Original in Water-Colours
Miss Charlotte Chapman, Great Russell-
street, for a composition of flowers — large
silver medal.
Mr. W. Downor, Woolwich, for a compo-
sition of flowers — large silver medal.
Miss Matilda Jones, Coleman-street, for a
portrait, a miniature — silver palette.
Miss Twining, Norfolk-street, Strand, for
a portrait, a miniature — large silver medal.
Miss Buckton, Birmingham, for a land-
scape— large silver medal.
Original in Oil.
Mr. J. P. Andre, jun. York-place, City-
road, for a landscape composition — large
silver medal.
Miss Manning, Leatherhead, for a group
of portraits — large silver medal.
Artists.
Copies in Chalk, Pencil, or Indian Ink.
Mr. C. Bradbury, Strand, for a drawing in
pencil of a figure — silver palette.
Miss Caroline Derby, Hampstead-road, for
a drawing in chalk of a head — silver palette.
Mr. W. Chevalier, Clarendon-square, for a
portrait in pen and ink— silver Isis medal.
Mr. James Eke, Somers-town, for a draw-
ing in Indian ink of Ionic capitals — silver
Isis medal.
Mr. J. Slade, Hatton-garden, for a draw-
ing in pencil of a landscape — silver palette.
Mr. Henry Guest, Bear-street, Leicester-
square, for a drawing in pencil of a land-
scape— silver palette.
Miss Raimbach, Warren-street, Fitzroy-
sqoare, for a drawing in pencil of a land-
scape— silver Isis medal.
Mr. Cornelius Durham, Arundel-street,
Strand, for a drawing in chalk of animals-
silver Isis medal.
Drawings and Paintings from Statues and
Busts.
Mr.W. Smith, John-street, Crutched-friars,
for an outline of the dancing faun — large
silver medal.
Mr. G. F. Ball, John-street, Fitzroy-
square, for a finished drawing from a statue
— large silver medal.
Mr. S. A. Hart, Newcastle-street, Strand,
for a finished drawing from a statue — silver
Isis medal.
Mr. S T. Jarrett, Hackney, for a finished
drawing from the life, the silver Isis medal.
Mr.T. Brigstoeke,Charlotte-street,Blooms-
bury, for a drawing in chalk from a bust —
large silver medal-
Miss Alabaster, Piccadilly, for a drawing
in chalk from a bust — silver palette.
Mr. J. Reeve, Brunswick-street, Black-
friars, for a drawing in chalk of a horse's
head — silver Isis medal.
Copies in Water- Colours
Mr. James Walsh, Chiswiek, for a compo-
sition of fruit— silver Isis medal.
Miss L. J. Green, Argyll-street, for a por-
trait, a miniature — large silver medal.
Original in Water- Colours.
Miss M. Ross, Upper Charlotte-street,
Fitzroy-square, for a group of portraits, a
miniature — gold Isis medal.
Miss Jane Drummond, Rathbone-place,
for a portrait, a miniature — silver Isis medal.
Mr. Edward Stow, King-street, Portman-
square, for a landscape from nature— large
silver medal.
Miss Eliza West, Bath, for a landscape
from nature — silver Isis medal.
Mr. W. Hay ley, Southampton -street,
Bloomsbury, for a composition of fruit —
large silver medal.
Miss A. Gwennap, Suffolk-street, Pail-Mall
East, for a composition of shells — silver Isis
medal.
Mr. C. Bentley, Mile-End-road, for a land-
scape from nature — large silver medal.
Copy in Oil.
Mr. D. Pasmore, Salisbury-court, Fleet-
street, for a composition of figures — large
silver medal.
Original in Oil.
Mr. II. T. Bone, Charlotte-street, Port-
land-place, for a portrait — large silver me-
dal.
Mr. J. P. Downes, Doughty-street, for a
portrait — gold Isis medal.
Mr. R. W. Buss, Jewin-strect, Aldcrsgate-
street, for a portrait— silver Isis medal.
46
S0C1KTY OF ARTS.
Mr J. W. Solomon, King-street, Covent-
garden, for a portrait — silver palette.
Mr. R. A. Clack, Somers-town, for a por-
trait— silver Isis medal.
Mr. W. R. Patterson, Broadway, West-
minster, for a landscape from nature — large
silver medal.
Miss A. M. Arnald, Weston-strect, Penton-
ville, for a landscape from nature — silver
]sis medal.
Mr. T. Clarke, Guildford-street East, Spa-
fields, for a composition of flowers — large
silver medal
Mr. W. It. Earl, Kennington, for a group
of animals — large silver medal.
Models.
Mr. R. D. Webb, Charles-street, Middle-
sex Hospital, for a figure in the round, a j
copy — silver palette.
Mr. James Hacker, Camdcn-town, for a
bust from the antique — silver palette.
Mr. M. J. Crake, Norton-street, Fitzroy- j
square, for a figure in the round, a copy
— silver Isis medal.
Mr. George Lege, Folcy-strect, Portland-
place, for a figure in the round, a copy — [
large silver medal.
Mr. E. G. Physiek, Regent's-park, for an \
original group of figures — large gold medal. J
Model in Wax.
Mr. 'F. Taylor, Soho, Birmingham, for a j
miniature whole-length portrait —
Carving in Wood.
Mr. H. Bailes, Oxford-street, for a carving
of a bird — silver palette.
Architecture.
Mr. Richard Richley, King-street, Hol-
born, for an original design for a national
gallery — gold medallion.
Mr. Benjamin Bond, Upper Montague-
street, Montague-square, for an original de-
sign for a national gallery — large silver
medal.
Mr. J. H.West, Villiers-street, Strand, for
models of the arch of Constantino at Rome,
and the west front of Peterborough Cathe-
dral—
Engraving and Etching.
Mr. \V Hill, Birmingham, for an engrav-
ing of a landscape — silver Isis medal.
Mr. E. Radclyffe, Birmingham, for an en-
graving of cattle — silver palette.
Mr. J. H. P. Stubbs, New Road, for an
etching of cattle — silver Isis medal.
Miss Eliza I.ee, Kensington-square, for
an etching of a landscape— silver palette.
Surgical Students.
Mr. J. It Aleock, New Burlington-street,
for a coloured model in wax of a dissected
arm — large silver medal.
Mr. H. Attenburrow, New Burlington-
street, for an original coloured drawing of a
dissected arm — large silver medal.
Mr. Joseph Towne, Royston, Cambridge-
shire, for a model of a skeleton — large silver
medal.
AGRICULTURE.
Mr. W. Stickney, Ridgemont, near Hull,
for his improved variety of i^y-grass — large
silver medal.
Mr. J. Milton, Great Marybone-strect, for
an improved bee-hive — silver Ceres medal.
MANUFACTURES.
Miss Pether, for silk raised in England —
large silver medal.
Mr. Joseph Long, Barham, near Ipswich,
for a hat of British Leghorn — ten guineas.
Messrs. J. and A. Muir, Greenock, for a hat
of British Leghorn — large silver medal.
G, Maiuvvaring, Bennenden, near Craul
brook, for a hat of British Leghorn — ten
pounds.
Frances Cobbing, Bury St. Edmunds, for a
hat of British Leghorn— eight guineas.
Mrs. Ingledon, Aldborough, Yorkshire, for
a hat of British Leghorn — live guineas.
Mrs. Lourey, Exeter, for a hat of doubled
split wheat-straw — five guineas.
Mr. J. Home, jun. Kenninghall, near
Bury St. Edmunds, for Leghorn plat made
of English spring wheat — ten guineas.
The following Candidates in Polite Arts had
each a Medal awarded to them; but hy the
Rules of the Society were precluded from
receiving it, having had on farmer occasions
an equal one in the same Class of Art :
Miss S. Field, Lower Tooting.
Miss H. Salmon, Piccadilly.
Miss Is. Waters, Hackney.
Mr. E. W. Webb, Tamworth, Staffordshire.
Mr. II. Pearsall, Bath.
Mr. S. Clint, Rolls-buildings, Fetter-lane.
The continued prosperity of this
useful Institution may be inferred
from the circumstance of the elec-
tion of seventy-six new members
since the last distribution.
47
ANECDOTES, &c.
HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
the occasion. The clay arrived, bat
the wig was not sent home. At
length a messenger was dispatched
to the wig-maker, who, it appeared,
NOTION RESPECTING THE GIFT OF
CUTTING INSTRUMENTS.
The superstitious notion which
still prevails among the vulgar, that
it is unlucky to give away a sharp
or cutting instrument without receiv-
ing something in exchange, formerly
prevailed among persons of the high-
est rank. An old French work, Le
Cabinet tie Louis XI. contains a
letter from Antoine de Chabannes,
Count de Dampmartin, steward and
favourite of King Charles VII. and
Louis XI. to the Marshal de Gie,
who had solicited the gift of a sword
from him. He thus writes: " My
nephew, Vigier, has acquainted me
with your wish to have a sword in
my possession. It would afford me
pleasure to have it in my power to
gratify you in any other way. You
should have it in preference to any
one else. I am determined to ad-
here to the maxim of the late king,
Charles VII. who disapproved the
making a present of any cutting-
instrument. I will therefore send
the sword to M. de Bajaumont, and
he may dispose of it to you." A me-
morandum subjoined to this letter
states, that the said M.deBajaumont
sold the sword which he received
to the marshal for six blancs ; for
which one mass was said, that the
sword might not be considered as
absolutely given away.
had been in a good deal of trouble.
His wife had a few days before been
delivered of a child, which had died
the following day, and the mother
was still in imminent danger. These
circumstances would, he trusted, be
a sufficient excuse for his not keep-
ing time with the lieutenant. " The
wig is nevertheless ready," said the
friseur, " only I had nobody to send
with it. There it is in that box."
The valet, curious to see it, opened
the box, but found that, instead ot"
the wig, it contained the dead infant.
" Good God ["exclaimed the friseur,
" then they have buried the wig !"
This was actually the case ; and it
required a special order of the arch-
bishop and the municipality before
the wig could be disinterred, and the
remains of the infant committed to
the earth.
D AMIENS.
When Damiens, who attempted
to assassinate Louis XV. was exe-
cuted, a lady of distinction hired a
place at a window in the Place de
Grove for twelve loui§ - d'ors, and
amused herself with playing at cards
till the malefactor was brought forth.
This fact was related to the king,
who, covering both his eyes with
funeral OF a wig. II his hands, exclaimed, " Fi, la vi-
lli a letter written in 1777 by the l| laine!" Another lady, pitying the
celebrated Madame d'Epinay to the
Abbe Galiani, she relates the follow-
ing anecdote: The lieutenant of po-
lice was one day invited to a grand
dinner, and bespoke a new wig for
horses which required a good deal
of beating before the muscular frame
of Damiens could be torn asunder
and quartered, cried repeatedly,
" Ces pauvres chevaux /" The king,
48
ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
who considered the malefactor as in-
sane, and would have granted him
his life, never called him by his name,
but only Monsieur or Le Monsieur.
LOUIS xv.
Louis XV. was extremely afraid
of death. " You are getting old,
commander," said he, once address-
ing M. Souvre ; " where will you be
buried?" — " At your majesty's feet,"
replied the commander. The king
spoke not another word the whole
evening. Notwithstanding this dread
of death, Louis felt a particular in-
terest about graves, corpses, and fu-
nerals.
RELICS AT DOBBERAN.
The church at Dobberan, in Ger-
many, contained several centuries
back, when it belonged to an abbey,
many relics which were carried off
during the Thirty Years' war, and the
place of which has been supplied by
others. The principal was a piece
of the cross of Christ, presented to
the abbey by Duke Henry the Pil-
grim. The curious are here still shewn
the following articles: 1. Some flax
from the spinning-wheel of the Vir-
gin Mary. 2. A bundle of hay left
behind by the three wise men of the
East. S. A rag belonging to the
garment of poor Lazarus. 4. The
first joint of the thumb of St. Chris-
topher the Great. 5. A shoulder-
blade of the same saint. 6. A piece
of linen which the Virgin Mary made
with her own hand. 7. A piece of
the head of the fish which would
have swallowed Tobias. 8. A bit
of the napkin of the bridegroom at
Cana, in Galilee. 9. Some bones of
Adam's grandmother. [The person
who shews these curiosities, when
he comes to this lot, takes care to
remark, that this Adam was not the
first man, but Abbot of Dobberan.]
10. The piece which Potiphar's wife
tore out of Joseph's mantle when
he Hed from her caresses. 1 1 . The
knife with which Dalilah cut off
Sampson's hair. 12. A piece of the
apron of the butcher who killed the
fatted calf on the return of the Pro-
digal Son. 13. The stone with which
David killed Goliah. 14. A piece
of the swaddling-clothes of Christ.
15. The Virgin Mary's night-cap,
in which are some bones of the In-
nocents massacred by command of
Herod. 16. The night-cap of the
infant Jesus. 17. Half of the head
of unbelieving Thomas. 18. and 19.
The heads of Paul and Peter, whose
sculls are but half as thick as Tho-
mas's. 20. A piece of Peter's rent
net. A bone of St. Ignatius Loy-
ola, some hairs out of St. Jerome's
mustaches, a piece of Judas's en-
trails, and a small sprig from the tree
on which Absalom was left hanging,
are not now extant; but an image of
the Virgin is still shewn, which, be-
ing once stolen and carried out to
sea, raised so violent a tempest, that
the thieves were obliged to carry it
back to Dobberan.
FREDERIC THE GREAT*
Not long before the king's death,
Lucchesini, Herzberg, Gorz, and
other ministers came to him as usual.
" I have not closed my eyes all night,"
said the king, " and in the morning,
when I felt disposed to sleep, I was
obliged to attend to business." —
"YourMajesty,"repliedGorz,"might
surely have indulged yourself."—
"What!" rejoined the king, looking
stedfastly at him, " do you suppose I
am paid by the state to do nothing?"
ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL. 49
DANCING DRESS AT THE COUUT OF
LOUIS XIV.
In Moliere's time, as it is well
known, ballets were so much in vogue
at the French court, that Louis XIV.
himself danced in them. The dress
of the ladies would appear extraor-
dinary at the present day: the robe
was slit up at both sides, and under
it they wore black drawers reaching
to the knee and white silk stockings;
otherwise, in side steps, the leg and
thigh as high as the hip would have
been exposed.
LUDICROUS MISTAKE.
Reynolds the dramatist, in the
interesting Memoirs- which he has
just given to the world, furnishes an
amusing instance of the ludicrous
mistake to which travellers are liable
in a foreign country with the language
of which they are not well acquaint-
ed.
" Wanting to walk on the pier"
(at Calais), says he, " I asked the
garcon, who spoke English very to-
lerably, the French for it. He think-
ing, as Milord Anglais, I could mean
nothing but peer, a lord, replied
paire. Away then I went, and pass-
ing over the market-place and draw-
bridge, stumbled on the pier, with-
out having had occasion to inquire
my way to it by the gar con's novel
appellation. There I remained strut-
ting my half hour till dinner-time.
At the table-d'hote the command-
ant of the troops of the town sat
next to me, and among other officers
and gentlemen at the table were the
president of the council at Ratisbon,
a Russian count, and several Prus-
sians, in all amounting to about twen-
ty, not one of whom, as it appear-
ed to me, spoke English, except a
Vol. VIII. No. XLIII.
remarkably pretty Irishwoman. I
thought I could never please a French-
man so much as by praising his town.
' Monsieur,' I said condescendingly
to the commandant, ffai vu votre
paire 1 meaning, I have seen your
pier — but which he naturally under-
stood, I have seen your p£re, father.
This address from a perfect stranger
surprised him. ' II est beau ct grand,
monsieur^ I continued. The com-
mandant examined me from head to
foot with an astonishment that impart-
ed to me an almost equal share. I saw
there was a mistake, and I attempted
to explain, by pronouncing very ar-
ticulately, ' Out, monsieur, jai vu
voire paire sur le havrc.' — ' Eh Lien,
monsieur,'' replied the commandant,
' et que disait-il?' — I was astounded,
and looking round the room for the
keeper to the supposed madman, I
discovered that the eyes of the whole
company were upon me. ' Monsieur,'
I cried, again attempting to explain,
with as much deliberation and preci-
sion, and in as good French as I could
command, ' monsieur, esl-il possible
que vous resides ici, et que vous ne
connoisscz pas votre paire — votre
paire si — si lo?ig!' This speech na-
turally only increased the incompre-
hensibility of the whole conversation;
and the commandant beginning, in ra-
ther haut en bus terms, to demand an
explanation, like all cowards when
driven into a corner, I became des-
perate. ' Messieurs,' I cried, some-
what boisterously, ' iljaut que vous
connoisscz votre paire — le paire de
votre ville, qui est fait de pier re et a
la tcte de bois — et a ce moment on
travaille a lui racommoder sa fin, a
laquelle le vent a fait du mail This
was the coup-de-grace to all deco-
rum; every Frenchman abandoned
H
50 ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND I'EUSQNAL.
himself to his laughter till the room j
fairly shook with their shouts, and
even the astonished commandant him-
self could not help joining them.
* Allow me, sir,' said a gentleman
sitting by the side of the Irish lady,
and whom I had not previously ob-
served— ' My dear sir,' interrupted
I, * you are an Englishman — pray,
pray explain.' — ' Sir,' he replied,
' you have just told this gentleman,'
pointing to the commandant, ' that
his father is the father of the whole
town — that lie is made of stone, but
has a wooden head — and at this mo-
ment the workmen are engaged in
mending his end that the wind has
damaged.' I was paralyzed. ' Tell
me,' I cried, as if my life had depend-
ed on his answer, 'what is the French
for pier?" — ' Jette, or according to
the common people, pant? he replied.
I had scarcely sense enough left to
assist the Englishman in his good-
natured attempts to unravel the er-
ror. He succeeded, however, and
then commenced in French an ex-
planation to the officers. At this
moment the waiter informed me the
St. Omer diligence was about to de-
part. I rushed from the scene of
my disgrace, and stepped into the
vehicle just as the termination of the
Englishman's recital exploded an ad-
ditional eclat de rire at my expense.
TALE OF A TRAVELLER.
From the same writer to whom we
are indebted for the preceding arti-
cle, we extract the following:
" Travelling by the night-coach
(fromBath toLondon),when we reach-
ed Chippenham, we were joined by a
most garrulous, but at the same time
a most agreeable, passenger, at least
such he appeared to me.; and as he
may probably prove not unentertain-
ing to others, I will risk narrating
some of his anecdotes. This young
gentleman had lately been on a visit
to Lord Harcourt, at Nuneham, where
he had met divers persons of cele-
brity, amongst others Mrs. Siddons,
of whom he spoke in terms almost
of rapture, both of her public and
private life. ' During the summer,'
he said, ' he had been at an evening
party at her favourite cottage at West-
bourn, on the Harrow road, to which
pleasant residence only one annoy-
ance was attached— an adjoining small
tavern and tea-garden. So narrow
was the separation between the two
houses, being merely divided by a
hedge, that the publican, after dis-
playing in large letters, ' Licensed
to sell wines and spirituous liquors,'
left remaining in larger letters, long
placed there to mark the separate
establishment — ' N.B. No convec-
tion with next door.' Proceeding to
another subject, our indefatigable ora-
tor now informed us, that he was pre-
sent at the first reriew of the Prince
of Wales's corps after Andrews' ap-
pointment to the colonelship. Be-
ing asked by a countryman standing
near him, who was the commander of
the regiment, our witty fellow-tra-
veller pointed to Andrews, whose
celebrity in a particular branch of
dramatic composition must be re-
membered, and said, ' He with the
epilogues on his shoulders.' Our
amusing friend had likewise seen,
what many others of that day had
seen, a multitude of martial heroes,
who, owing to Buonaparte's threaten-
ed invasion, had suddenly entered
volunteer corps, and assumed a red
coat and a flashy outside; but he had
never seen the dramatic writer, he
added, who, resisting this military
mania, had returned to the deputy-
MUSICAL 15KVIKW.
51
lieutenant on the printed circular,
as a ground of exemption from ser-
vice— ' Lame and a coward! — ' Cer-
tainly,' he continued, ' very candid,
and not in the least similar to Falstaff
or Bessus. My father, however,'
he went on, ' has seen the said dra-
matist (Reynolds), and he says that
lie talks much better than he writes.
In my opinion, certainly, this is no
very difficult task, as any gentleman
here, who, like myself, has had the
misfortune to witness the representa-
tion of any of his innumerable five-
act farces, will also, I am sure, willing-
ly testify.' — ' I have seen many of
of them,* I replied, ' and judging by
the specimens of dialogue they offer,
I should imagine that the author
could not even possess so much con-
versational talent as you are pleased
to allow him.' — - I beg your pardon,
rejoined my companion: " my father
once met him at Dr. Parr's, where
the conversation turning on the He-
brew language, Reynolds, among the
rest, proceeded to give his opinion;
when he was suddenly interrupted
by the author of a confused and fail-
ing novel, then lately published, who
jeeringly cried, ' Come, come, Mr.
Dramatist, you know nothing of this
matter — no, not even one of the
names of the few Hebrew books now
in existence.' — ' Don't I?' rejoined
the playwright, ' I know the names
of two: one is The New Testament,
and the other your newnoveU — *This
retort completely silenced Mr. No-
velist, I assure you.' — \ No doubt,' I
rejoined, ' for a very neat retort it is:
indeed I have only one slight fault
to find with your whole story, and
that is, in the first place, this retort
was never made by Reynolds; and,
in the second place, Reynolds never
dined with Dr. Parr.'—' Indeed, sir!'
said my amazed companion, * and
pray who told you so?'—4 Reynolds
himself, who at this moment has the
pleasure personally to assure you of
the truth of his assertion.' Owinn-
to the darkness of the night I could
not perceive the alteration of his
countenance, for that there must have
been a very striking one J infer from
the striking change in his conversa-
tion. From this moment he became
extravagantly and ridiculously civil,
helping me most prodigiously at sup-
per, superintending the removal of
my luggage from one coach to ano-
ther, raising and lowering the win-
dow at a hint or even a gesture; in
short, during the remainder of the
journey, I had an active and zealous
servant free of all expense. And this
is not the first, nor will it be the last
time, that an author has gained as
much by censure as by panegyric.
Any thing but obscurity!'''
MUSICAL
A Companion to the Piano -forte
Primer, containing the Rudiments
of Fingering, <yc. with Remarks
on the Mode of Practising in ge-
neral, intended to assist the Stu-
dent in the absence of the Blaster,
by J. F. Burrowes. Op. 14. Pr.
10s. 6d. — (Goulding and Co.)
Thk present work, joined to Mr.
REVIEW.
B.'s Piano-forte Primer, forms a com-
plete body of instruction on that instru-
ment; the former containing the the-
oretical branch, while " the Compa-
nion" is exclusively appropriated to
execution. Treatises of the latter de-
scription have appeared frequently of
late, and several of them have been
[I commented upon in our critiques.
H 2
5d
MUSICAL REVIEW.
Their contents are so similar, that a
detail,in the present instance, appears
to us scarcely necessary. Every spe-
cies of digital and manual drill, and
of passages on record in classical
works, is illustrated by the necessary
exercises, accompanied with direc-
tions for their proper performance.
In this respect, Mr. B.'s book pos-
sesses decided advantages, from the
great number and variety of exam-
ples (4o9 in all), and the aptitude, as
well as the perspicuity, of the didac-
tic portions of the work. The in-
structions given " on the mode of
practising" in general are very va-
luable, however brief. The chapter
" Of Expression," as in most trea-
tises, is confined to the due observ-
ance and proper execution of the
marks affixed by the composer; and
the nature of this kind of works
may, perhaps, be pleaded as a jus-
tification for not transgressing these
limits, narrow as they are. The
written directions of the composer
can embrace but a small part of what
we would comprehend under the term
of expression, and much of which
we conceive to be capable of posi-
tive illustration by means of short
examples. Expression, in our sense
of the term, consists in properly re-
presenting the musical sense of a
period, giving it its due musical utter-
ance, its declamation, as it were, with
reference to accent, variation of force,
general meaning, and feeling.
Upon this subject, scarcely any
thing has, as yet, been said in books
of instruction ; and, although a great
deal, no doubt, must be left to the
taste and feeling of the performer,
we are convinced that even so much
as can be positively exemplified would
be of infinite use to the student, were
it only to call his attention to so im-
portant an object, and put him into
the right path for ulterior investiga-
tion. Even so little as six or eight
pages devoted to this chapter would
go a great way. When we reflect
on the mass of musical publications
incessantly put forth, it is a matter
of regret not to see a few sheets ex-
clusively appropriated to the pur-
pose in question by some one of our
numerous professors sufficiently qua-
lified for the undertaking. As Mr.
Bi ranks high among that number,
our present hint may perhaps in-
duce him to think of the matter, and
devote a portion of his time to so
laudable an object.
Study for the Piano-forte, consist-
ing of a daily Practice on the
Scales in all the Major and Minor
Keys, 8fc. composed and arranged
by F. J. Klose. Pr. 3s.— (S. Chap-
pell, Bond-street.)
Mr. Klose's book (9 pp.) sets out
with stating the general rules, and
their exceptions, for fingering all the
major and minor scales. These rules
are next exemplified by an exhibition
of the scales themselves, accompa-
nied with short observations ; and
last of all, a table is given of the
signatures of the major keys, as well
as of the minor keys on the same
note, and of the relative minor keys
of each major key, duly arranged
for the purpose of a general view
and comparison. As all this is done
with proper care and perspicuity,
the book cannot fail to be useful.
Grande Sonate a quatre mains pour
le Piano-forte, dedite a Monsr.
Onsloiv, par Fred. Kalkbrenner.
Op. 76. Pr. 10s. 6d.— (Clementi
and Co. Chappell and Latour.)
It is not often that, in these times,
a composer for the piano-forte ven-
tures upon a work of such extent as
MUSICAL REVIEW.
53
the present sonata, which contains
an allegro | in F major (33 pp.) an
andante | in F minor (8 pp.) and a
rondo | (22 pp.) in all 63 pages for
both performers ! All this volumi-
nous aggregate of music is written in
a superior style, with abundance of
science, modulation, counterpoint,
&c. brought into play with taste,
and with that maturity of composi-
torial knowledge and experience for
which Mr. K.'s works are generally
remarkable. But we are free to
own, the quantum of sterling origi-
nal melody is comparatively small.
There is less to touch the heart
than to employ the head and fingers.
Under the hands of two good per-
formers, this sonata will be found
highly effective ; for the two parts
are interwoven into each other with
great skill, and with an obvious view,
nay, we may well add, with an evi-
dent certainty, of their conjoint re-
sult.
La Rosiere, a Divertimento for the
Piano-forte, composed by J. F.
Burrowes. Pr. 3s. — (Latour,
Bond-street.)
This divertimento we feel warrant-
ed in introducing to the notice of
amateurs of moderate proficiency,
with strong recommendations. We
meet, it is true, with various ideas
not altogether original (the Crociato,
among others, has not remained un-
remembered) ; but there is a capti-
vating ease and elegance of style and
treatment, an absence from any af-
fectation of learned profundity, and
yet a due portion of science, dis-
played in La Rosiere, which, we
doubt not, will please all parties, in-
cluding even the adepts in the art.
Every thing is clear and good.
ARRANGEMENTS, VARIATIONS, &C.
1. A Selection of favourite Airs from the
Opera of " II Crociato in Egitto " com-
posed by Meyerbeer ; arranged for the Pi-
ano-forte, with an Accompaniment for the
Flute, by F. J. Klose. Pr. 3s. 6d.--(C'hap-
pell and Co.)
2. Favourite Airs selected from Meyerbeer's
celebrated Opera, " II Crociato in Egitto,"
arranged as a Divertimento for the Piano-
forte, with an Accompaniment for the Flute,
by J. Purkis. Pr. 3s. — (Hodsoll, High
Holborn.)
3. Hodsoll's Collection of Duets. No. 57. pr.
Is. 6d. ; Nos. 58. and 59- pr. 2s. 6d. each.
— (Hodsoll, High Holborn.)
4. Petit Rondo for the Piano-forte, composed
by S. F. Rimbault. Pr. Is.— (Hodsoll.)
5. Mozart's celebrated Grand Symphony,
adapted for the Piano-forte, with Accompa-
niments for a Flute, Violin, and Violoncello,
ad libitum, by S. F. Rimbault. Pr. Gs.;
without Accompaniments, 4s. — (Hodsoll.)
6. " Oh! merry row the bonuie barb," with
an Introduction and Variations for the
Piano-forte, composed by G. Kiallmark.
Pr. 3s. — (Goulding and Co. Soho-square.)
1. Mr. Klose's collection has three
fine airs from the Crociato — " Vedi
il legno," the charming chorus and
dance, " Cara Mano," so justly ad-
mired for its elegant simplicity, and
" Giovinetto Cavalier," which, in va-
rious shapes, has occupied our criti-
cal pen more than a dozen times.
These tunes Mr. K. has arranged
very neatly and effectively, yet so as
to require no great skill of execu-
tion ; and there is moreover a good
flute part to them.
2. The favourite airs selected by
Mr. Purkis from the Crociato are —
" Giovinetto Cavalier" (of course !) ;
the march, " Queste destre ;" " Cari
oggetti ;" and " Ah questo e l'ul-
timo." The several subjects have
been strung together under various
transpositions of keys, in a manner
similar to that adopted in Mr. P.'s
previous operatic divertimentos, to
which this selection may be consi-
dered as forming an additional link
in the chain, full as interesting and
.5-1
MUSICAL RKVHiVr.
unclogged by difficulties as any af
its predecessors.
o. 4. 5. The contents of the three
above-mentioned numbers of Mr.
llodsoll's Collection of familiar Duets
are as follows : No. 57. the waltz
from poor Weber's Frcyschutz ;
No. 58. three airs from Salieri's Ta-
rare ; No. 59. Rossini's u Una voce
poco fa." The arrangement of all
three is by our indefatigable friend,
Mr. Rimbault, who has done the
needful with great propriety and in
a workmanlike manner. It is curi-
ous to observe the vast difference of
style between what was considered
good music forty years ago (Salieri's),
and indeed is so still, and the two
airs of Weber and Rossini. It is
scarcely necessary to add, that the
arrangement is perfectly easy.
Our No. 4. also by Mr. Rimbault,
is a rondo of very slight materials
and texture, obviously intended for
juniors, and proper enough for that
purpose.
No. 5. is a well-known symphony
of Mozart's in B b , with the beauti-
ful andante in three flats, the eighth
in the series of Mozart's Symphonies
published by Mr. Hodsoll. The
adaptation by Mr. Rimbault is, as
usual, very meritorious and complete.
No. 6. The introduction to Mr.
Kiallmark's variations upon this
Scotch theme is satisfactory. Of the
variations themselves we cannot say
much, either in the way of praise or
blame. There is nothing very strik-
ing in any of them, except perhaps
the end of var. 4. which is showy.
In the finale, pages 8 and 10, some
fair ideas occur to attract a certain
quantum of attention. But upon
the whole, the publication cannot
have cost much trouble to its author.
VOCAL MUSIC.
1. " Alas! he's gone," a Moral Song, com-
posed by E Solis. Pr. Is. 6d.— (Horn,
borough-road.)
2. *' Oh! sweet ivas the. hour," a Canzonet,
written, and adapted to a favourite Italian
Air, by W. Ball. Pr. Is. 6d.— (Chappell,
Bond-street.)
3. " 0 beauteous river," written, and adapted
to a favourite French Air, by W. Ball.
Pr. Is. 66.— f Chappell.)
4. "Rising in her holiest lustre," written, and
adapted to the favourite French Air, " 7'e
bieli aimer," by W. Ball. Pr. Is.— (Chap-
pell.)
1 . The poetry of Mr. Solis's moral
song is so so ; and the first line of the
second stanza is so materially defec-
tive, that it cannot be sung to the me-
lody. As to the latter, it affords,
amidst some minor objections, suf-
ficient grounds for exhortation to
continued lyric exertion.
The circumstance of the vocal pe-
riods having but three bars, uncom-
mon as it is, presents no ground of
objection here, due metrical symme-
try of periods being preserved. In
the melody itself, a greater degree
of unity of character and of tonic
would have been desirable. The
signature is D minor, and the vocal
portion occupies just four lines ; but
in this short space four different to-
nics are brought into action, I) mi-
nor, F major, C major, and A minor,
besides resolving dominants, se-
venths, &c. of different kinds and
shapes. Here, therefore, the har-
mony is too varied and chequered,
considering the compass of the air,
and — what thus was scarcely avoid-
able— the transitions from one har-
mony to another are sometimes too
sudden.
Setting aside the above objection,
which, in fact, is finding fault with
having too much of a good thing, we
are free to say, that a high degree
MUSICAL IlIiVIKW.
55
of tasteful conception, and, occasion-
ally, strong touches of deep feeling,
are observable in this composition.
One would almost think the com-
poser, in bewailing the loss of a pro-
mising boy, had been influenced by
stronger impressions than those which
a mere effort of his art could excite.
2. 3. 4. The numerous foreign
melodies of Mr. Ball's adaptation,
which we have noticed on different
occasions, appeared to us invariably
selected with taste and judgment.
Those referred to under the above
numbers, have already been brought
before our readers in other shapes,
and they are all extremely attractive.
The two French airs, in particular,
are simply sweet, and altogether
truly fascinating. The accompani-
ments, although presenting no strong
features of interest, are sufficient and
proper. The poetry is fair enough
upon the whole ; but there are words
here and there which do not adapt
themselves kindly to the original
melody.
HAM*, GUITAR, VIOLIN.
1. First Duet for the Piano-forte and Harp,
arranged and composed by J. Mazzinghi.
l'r. 4s.— (Goulding and Co.)
2. Second Petit Melange for the Harp, on
favourite Airs from " II Croeiato in Egitto,"
composed by N. C. Bocbsa. Pr. 4s —
(Chappell.)
3. No. 3. of Dramatic Scenes from Italian
Operas, containing the favourite Military
Chorus in "La Donna del Lago,"' arranged
for the Harp and Piano-forte, with Accom-
paniments for the Flute and Violoncello, by
N. C. Bochsa. Pr. 6s. — (Cbappell )
4. Soirees Dramatiqnes, select Airs from the
latest and most admired Italian, French,
dnd German Operas and Ballets, arranged
as Solos for the Harp, with Accompaniment
of Flute, ad libitum, by the most celebrated
Composers for that Instrument. Pr. 4s.
— (Boosey and Co.)
5. Fantasia for the Spanish Guitar, composed
by J. A. Niiske. Pr. 3s. 6d.— (Boosey and
Co.)
6. Six 2uartettsfor two Violins, by T. Howell.
Pr. 7s. 6d.— (T. Howell, Bristol.)
1. Mr. Mazzinghi's duet for the
piano- forte and harp consists of the
theme " nel cuor piu non mi sento,"
with variations and digressions of
divers kinds, shared alternately by
both instruments, and requiring a
certain degree of executive dexteri-
ty. Under the latter condition, the
duet will be found highly effective,
and as interesting as the universal
currency of the theme for these forty
years and more will admit of.
2. Of Mr. Bochsa's second me-
lange from the Croeiato, we have
only to say, that it contains four or
five very fine airs from the opera,
arranged with great taste for the
harp ; not very difficult, yet in a
style so as to demand some expe-
rience and practical knowledge.
3. The third number of Mr.
Bochsa's dramatic scenes from Ita-
lian operas contains the grand mili-
tary chorus in La Donna del Lago,
together with the andante sung by
Roderick Dhu ; the arrangement
for the harp, piano-forte, flute, and
violoncello is rich and most effective,
even without the aid of the two last-
mentioned instruments. It would be
difficult to point out a more brilliant
and interesting adaptation of this
kind.
4. Messrs. Boosey and Co. have
commenced their selection of Soi-
rees Dramatiques for the Harp,
with a real novelty ; the first number
containing four or five pieces from
the new opera, La Dame Blanche,
by Boieldieu, which has caused great
sensation in France, and is now per-
forming with enthusiastic applause,
not only in Paris, but in most of the
great theatres in the provinces. The
music certainly has considerable me-
rit, and is, we conceive, superior to
our own dramatic compositions of the
present day ; but the French over-
56
MUSICAL UEVIEW.
rate its value in pronouncing it a
classic work, likely to maintain a per-
manent reputation. Many of its
pieces are pretty and melodious, and
exhibit occasionally striking drama-
tic touches, especially the choruses.
On this account they are well calcu-
lated for instrumental extracts of the
present description, and the anony-
mous adapter of the number before
us has performed his task with taste
and judgment.
5. Of Mr. Nuske's fantasia for
the Spanish guitar we can only speak
theoretically, our acquaintance with
that instrument not being of a prac-
tical nature. There is a largo and
andantino of considerable extent,
and these are followed by six varia-
tions upon " God save the King."
The score of these is uncommonly
full and complete, the same invaria-
bly embracing three, and even four,
distinct parts, besides divisions and
amplifications of considerable rapi-
dity and intricacy. An experienced
player is therefore indispensable to
do justice to Mr. N.'s fantasia.
6. Six Quartetts for two Violins!
Two and two used to make four, but
here, it seems, twice one is four. To
be sure, as there is such a thing as
killing two birds with one stone, it
would follow, according to Cocker,
that four might be hit with two. Mr.
Howell literally has two strings to
his bow, which exactly amounts to
four strings for two bows ; and this,
at once, will let our readers into the
secret of his publication, without at-
tributing the mystery of its title to
the neighbourhood of the Irish Chan-
nel, from whence the work has reach-
ed us. Each violin has two parts,
i.e. double notes, almost throughout ;
and we thus certainly have four
parts, but still not quartetts; for the
terms duet, trio, quartett, &c. are not,
at least in instrumental music, de-
duced from the number of parts as-
signed to each instrument, but from
the number of performers for which
the piece is intended : otherwise we
should have innumerable duets, trios,
&c. for one performer on one piano-
forte, on which instrument not only
two hands are at all times brought
into action, but three, four, and more
distinct parts are often allotted to
one player.
But enough of the title, the cor-
rectness or incorrectness of which is
of secondary consideration. The
object of the work will best appear
from the author's own explanation :
" These quartetts are intended to
form a study particularly designed
to remove the great difficulty of play-
ing nicely in tune, by affording a
combination of sounds, that can be
more accurately judged of by the
student, than a melody, by which the
ear is more easily deceived; they
will likewise tend to form an excel-
lent position of the left-hand fingers,
and to give a correct knowledge and
command of the most general dou-
ble stops on the instrument," &c.
&c.
Mr. H.'s intentions in writing these
duets — quartetts, we were going to
say — are certainly laudable and ju-
dicious ; and we feel no hesitation in
declaring that he has successfully
accomplished his object. He has
furnished the student with a well-
digested and very useful book for
practice, especially as regards the
execution of double notes with the
necessary facility and purity : in fact,
upon the aforesaid principle of hav-
ing two strings to one bow, every
piece may be said to furnish a double
lesson, and the pupil, moreover, can-
-
LONDON FASHION:
.07
not fail to become intimately ac-
quainted with the nature and the
true distances of every interval on the
violin ; while, at the same time, Mr.
II. 's arrangement will go a great way
in familiarizing the pupil with all
sorts of harmonic combinations.
In conclusion, we have to add that
the composition is so arranged as to
admit of the first violin being played
without the aid of the second violin
part ; or, as the author states, " these
quartetts may be played as duets for
1 one violin."
FASHIONS.
WALKING MU5SS.
Pjslisse of straw-colour gros de
Naples, fastened in front; the collar
low, but rather deeper, and projecting
as it reaches the back, admitting a
narrow ruche of fine tulle: the waist
is long and drawn behind, but made
to fit the shape in front. The sleeves
are large and full to the elbow, v, hence
they gradually lessen, and are finish-
ed with a plain neat cufF. The skirt
is trimmed down the front with the
same material by a continuation of
scrolls, enlarging as they descend,
attached on the outside by buttons,
and within united by their circular
termination. The effect is very pleas-
ing. Pelerine ox fichu of straw-colour
gros de Naples like the pelisse, trim-
med with a double ruche; narrow at
the ceinture, and expanding towards
the shoulders. Hat of straw-colour
gros de Naples; the brim large, cir-
cular, and flat in front, but shallow
behind, ornamented with rays of roy-
al purple ribbon, and a bow at the
edge on the left side; the strings
uncut; the crown rather high, fully
and fancifully trimmed on the right
side with broad purple and straw-co-
lour ribbon. Cornette of tulle; the hair
in large curls; red cornelian brooch,
ear-rings, and bracelets. Gloves of
pale blue kid ; geranium-colour shoes ;
Vol VIII, No. XLIII.
LONDON FASHIONS.
pale rose- colour parasol, with a white
border.
EVENING DRESS.
Dress of white satin Turque; the
corsage cut bias, plain and close to
the shape, made rather high and cir-
cular, and ornamented with a pale
blue satin trimming, having very deep
scollops corded at the edge; between
each scollop is a gold-colour satin
piping. The sleeve is very short, mo-
derately full, and set in a band, and
has a second row of trimming on the
shoulder. The skirt has two flounces ;
the upper headed by a blue satin
rouleau, from behind which golden
straps proceed at equal distances,
fall over, and sustain the deep scol-
lops, and conceal the commencement
of the lower row, which reaches half
oyer the wadded hem at the bottom
of the skirt: gold-colour satin sash.
The hair is in ringlets, and parted in
front a la Vandyke, with bows of
blue satin on each side, just above
the ear. Gold chain with an orna-
mented cross; long pendant gold ear-
rings and necklace; cameo bracelets
outside the long white kid gloves,
which are French trimmed. Shaded
grenadine scarf; white satin shoes;
painted horn fan.
58
FASHIONABLE FURNITURE..
HORIZONTAL GRAND PIANO-FORTi:.
Tiik knowledge of music is now
so generally diffused, that musical
instruments are almost become an
essential part of furniture, and among
them we can reckon none more fre-
quently used than the piano: we have,
therefore, selected it for the subject
of the annexed plate, which repre-
sents a horizontal grand piano-forte.
As this, from its size, would be a
leading feature in any apartment, it
ought to partake of the style of de-
coration adopted for the latter.
This instrument being totally un-
known to our ancestors, and only in-
vented within the last half century,
we can merely decorate the given
forms by traceries and other Gothic
ornaments best calculated to assist
the sound, and to fulfil the intent of v
the instrument. We have chosen
the style of the 15th century, as be-
ing the most applicable to our pur-
pose, and admitting the greatest va-
riety of arrangement.
The stool partakes also of the same
character.
The appellation piano -forte is
compounded of two Italian words,
which signify soft and loud, intimat-
ing that this instrument can be played
in either manner; and in this respect
it differs from the harpsichord, which
is not capable of that variation.
INTELLIGENCE, LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, &c.
The public is already aware that, a
few years since, Drs. Spix and Martius
were sent by the King of Bavaria for the
purpose of making scientific researches
in the interior of Brazil, and more parti-
cularly into the natural history of that
country. An English translation of the
first volume of the Travels of these gen-
tlemen has already appeared : the second
volume of the original, containing Tra-
vels through the provinces of Pernam-
buco, Piauhy, Maranhao, Para, and Rio
Negro, as far as the frontiers of Peru,
will appear in the course of the present
year. The most remarkable subjects in
the animal kingdom, collected by these
travellers, and deposited in the Brazilian
Museum at Munich, are described by
Dr. von Spix, in several distinct por-
tions, with numerous coloured plates ;
and the botanical part is treated in like
manner by Dr. Martius. The whole
forms the most valuable and splendid il-
lustration of the natural productions and
scenery of Brazil that has yet been given
to the world.
Mr. Ackermann is about to publish,
in two quarto volumes, a Spanish trans-
lation of the History of Ancient Mexico,
by the Jesuit Father Clavigero. It is a
singular circumstance, that this work,
though originally written in Spanish,
should never yet have been printed in
that language, as the manuscript was de-
posited in the Vatican library, and first
became known to the public by an Italian
version, from which the translations into
other European languages were made.
The present translation, executed by Mr.
J. J. de Mora, a distinguished Spanish
scholar, and author of many reputable
works in prose and verse, will be illus-
trated by twenty engravings.
A new division of The iVurldvi Mi-
niature, containing the Costumes, &c. of
Great Britain, in four volumes, illus-
trated by upwards of eighty coloured
engravings, by the author of " Wine
I .
INTELLIGENCE, LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, &C.
59
and Walnuts," is just ready for publica-
tion.
The Russian sloop Predprietie (En-
terprise), commanded by Captain Kotze-
bue, has arrived at Portsmouth, from a
three years' voyage of discovery ; and it
is the intention of her commander to sail
again for St. Petersburg immediately.
Professor Eschschlotz the naturalist, who
accompanied Captain Kotzebue, and who
is at present in London, has undertaken
to draw up for publication a narrative of
this voyage, which will probably extend
to two volumes, and be illustrated by
plates and maps. The observations in
natural history and other sciences will
be rei-erved for a distinct work.
Miss Landon, author of " the Impro-
visatrice," " The Troubadour," &c. has
a new work in the press, entitled The
Golden Violet, with its Tales of Romance
and Chivalry, and other poems.
The sixth number of Mr. Williams's
Seleel Views in Greece will be published
in the course of July.
Illustrations of Conchology, according
to the system of Lamarck, in a series of
twenty engravings, on royal 4to. each
plate containing many specimens, by
C. A. Crouch, is nearly ready for publi-
cation.
Reflection, a tale, by Mrs. Hoffland,
is in the press.
The Little World of Knoivledgc, ar-
ranged numerically, and designed for
exercising the memory, and as an intro-
duction to the arts and sciences, his-
tory, natural philosophy, belles lettres,
&c. &c. by C. M. Chasse, will appear
next month.
[jcctures on Astronomy, accompanied
and illustrated by the Astronomicon, or
a series of moveable diagrams, design-
ed for the use of schools and private
students, by W. H. Prior, will be ready
for publication in a few weeks.
Dr. Elliotson is preparing a translation
of the last Latin edition of the Institutes
of Physiology, by Dr. J. F. Blumenbach,
Professor of Medicine in the University
of Gottingen.
In the press, with plates, The Sheffield
Anti-Slavery Album, or the Negro's
Friend.
In the press, A Concise Historical
View of Galvanism, with observations on
its chemical properties, and medical
efficacy in chronic diseases, by M. La
Beaume.
A Selection of Sacred Harmony, by
J. Coggins, is in the press.
Messrs. Nichols have announced for
publication, by subscription, An Histori-
cal, Topographical, and Satistical Ac-
count of the City of Westminster, includ-
ing biographical anecdotes of the most
illustrious and eminent individuals con-
nected with the city. It will be publish-
ed in five or six parts, forming two 4to.
volumes.
Mr. Sass is preparing for the press, A
History of the Arts of Painting and Sculp-
ture in England, as far as is connected
with his own time, detailing their pro-
gress for the last twenty-five years; with
remarks on the works of the artists dur-
ing that period, giving an account of the
different institutions, and drawing a com-
parison between the British school of
painting and the modern school of France
and Italy.
Mr. W. G. F. Richardson has in the
press, a translation from the German of
the Life of Carl Thcodor Komer, written
by his father, with selections from his
poems, tales, and dramas.
Mr. P. F. Robinson, architect, is pre-
paring for publication, A New Vitruvius
Britannicus, comprehending plans and
elevations drawn from actual measure-
ment, and accompanied b;T scenic views
of all the most distinguished residences
in the united kingdom remarkable for
their architectural features, with historic
notices of each.
The Principles of Light and Shadow,
being the second part of Practical Hints
on Composition in Painting, illustrated
I %
60
I3TJ&LLltii£KCI3, LITI-.KAIIY, SCIENTIFIC, &C
by examples from the most eminent
painters, by John Burnet, is in the press.
A History of the Parish of St. John,
JJampiteadf particularly during the last
thirty years, with some curious informa-
tion respecting its church, &c. is an-
nounced as in preparation for the press
by an old inhabitant.
A gentleman educated for the Church
at Magdalen College, Oxford, has in the
press, Four Years in France, or Narra-
tive of the Residence of an English Fami-
ly there during that Period, preceded by
a memoir, giving an account of the con-
version of the author to the Catholic
faith.
Proposals are issued for publishing
by subscription, Specimens of the British
School of Painting, in a series of highly
finished lithographic drawings by Messrs.
J. 13. Harding and R. J. Lane. The
work will appear in quarterly numbers,
each containing four subjects, and no
more than five hundred copies will be
printed.
NEW LOCOMOTIVE BOILER AND ENGINE.
The march of science and art is gene-
rally steady and progressive, each, ac-
companying the other onwards to the
improvement and happiness of mankind.
Sometimes, however, they separate, and
it not unfrequently happens that science,
plodding on, oppressed with difficulties
and obscurities, outstrips its lighter com-
panion; for it is observed, that the float-
ing knowledge of the world, on some
subjects, is far in advance of its applica-
tion to useful purposes. In no case is
this more observable than in the pheno-
mena and application of steam.
The power of water when converted
into steam under certain circumstances,
the peculiar laws by which the change
takes place, the cause of its mechanical
force, are all matters which science has
explained and left behind for several
years ; but the best means for applying
this knowledge to our uses are still very
defective. Every day, however, art gains
ground, and, perhaps, ere long we shall
see it close at the heels of its mighty
companion.
Perhaps, amongst the rapid advances
that have been observed in the arts for
the last few years, none is of more im-
portance, or likely to benefit this coun-
try so much, as the one we are about to
notice.
For all purposes where locomotion is
necessary, the present steam-engine can-
not be applied without annihilating a
considerable portion of its power ; the
great weight of the machinery having the
direct effect of retarding its motion, and,
in some cases, destroying its action alto-
gether. We may instance a steam-ves-
sel, and a steam-carriage on common
roads, as cases in point. In other cases,
again, transportation to situations where
steam-engines would be of the greatest
value is impossible ; for instance, from
this country to the interior of Mexico :
in other cases, equally important, the
present weight of the steam-engine must
for ever prevent its employment.
For some time experiments have been
made by Mr. Gurney, of Argyle-street,
a gentleman well known to our scientific
readers, with a view to reduce the weight
of the steam-engine. The boiler being
by far the most ponderous part of the
machinery, and the laws of heat having
been his more immediate study, induced
him at once to endeavour to construct a
smaller and lighter apparatus for the
purpose of generating steam. How far
he has succeeded our readers will judge
when we state, that a boiler, weighing
only 230lbs. has been at work for some
time, and is at this moment driving an
eight-horse engine in the manufactory
lately occupied by Mr. Perkins in the
Regent's-park. Our readers will recol-
lect, that an ordinary boiler, to do the
same work, must weigh from four to five
tons. There can be no mistake respect-
ing the properties of this apparatus ; the
engine is open to public inspection, and the
power of the boiler has been carefully
POETRY.
61
estimated by the quantity of water eva-
porated in a given time, as well as by
the work actually performed.
We regret that this subject did not
come to our knowledge in sufficient time
for us to notice it more fully in our pre-
sent Number.
We have just time to state, in addi-
tion to the above, that Mr. Gurney has
invented a steam - carriage, which has
been successfully propelled by this boiler
on the road with apparent ease. This
fact is as important as the former : we
shall, therefore, in our next Number give
a particular description of both the boiler
and carriage.
^oetip*
LINES
On the Death of a Dormouse.
By the late Theodosia Candler, of Ipswich.
Gray, in harmonious plaintive lays,
Once deigned a favourite eat to praise ;
And three domestic playful hares
Were once the gentle Cowper's cares.
But neither Tabby's gambols gay,
Nor Puss, nor Bess, nor Tiney's play,
Philander's Dormouse could excel,
Whose fate the youthful Muse will tell.
When winter's snows the earth o'erspread,
Retir'd within its wooly bed
It long enjoyed a sleep profound,
Nor cold, nor care, nor hunger found.
But spring reviv'd its torpid powers,
And life infus'd for joyous hours ;
And then would evening's shades delight,
And lunar beams to mirth incite.
Around its ample cage it played,
And there were nuts and apples laid,
Of dainty food a plenteous store ;
And what could Dormouse wish for more?
Whether for friendship's joys it pin'il,
Companions social of its kind —
Or long'd for liberty denied —
The little favourite drooped and died.
Alas ! no more its winning play
Shall chase Philander's care away ;
Its sports amusing all are o'er,
Its beauteous form exists no more.
STANZAS TO AMANDA.
Amanda, mark, where shrinking from the
gale,
Its silken leaves yet moist with early dew,
That faint fair flower, the lily of the vale,
Droops its meek head, and looks, methinks,
like you !
Wrapped in a shadowy veil of tender green,
Its snowy bells a soft perfume dispense j
And bending, as reluctant to be seen,
In simple loveliness it sooths the sense.
With bosom bared to meet the garish day,
The glaring tulip, gaudy, undismayed,
Offends the eye of taste, that turns away
To seek the lily in her fragrant shade.
With such unconscious beauty, pensive, mild,
Amanda charms, Nature's soft, modest child.
NATURE'S UNIVERSAL THEME,
" FORGET ME NOT."
By J. M. Lacey.
" Forget me not !" — what magic sounds ! —
Nature, throughout her mighty bounds,
Disowns them not:
Each vocal tenant of the grove
Seems warbling to a god of love,
" Forget me not !''
The flow'ry gems that deck the plain,
Or harvest-field of golden grain
In some lone spot,
With piety seem bending there,
And fancy well might deem the pray'r
Of each, " Forget me not!"
When tempests roar 'midst winter's cold,
Each trembling tenant of the fold,
By man forgot,
Crouches and bleats in bitter tone,
And seems to say in ev'ry moan,
" Forget me not!"
And shall not man — in whom we find
God's image in the godlike mind —
In court or cot,
Join Nature in her gen'ral cry,
And let one chorus fill the sky,
While this shall be its minstrelsy,
" Forget me not?"
THE MEED OF VIRTUE.
From the German of Schiller.
To Virtue's meed two ways are given
To mortals by indulgent Heaven :
The fortunate by deeds attain it j
By suffering the patient gain it.
Happy the man whose mortal days
Are mark'd by both these different ways.
(>£
POETRY.
A STRING OF PLAYS, ENTITLED
»' MATRIMONY."
By J. M. Lacey.
" Lover's Vows," if sincere, no " Blind Bar-
gain" can prove,
But "The Way to get Married" will shew ;
It* the snitor, " Poor Gentleman, " gives
" Love for Love,"
Soon " A Cure for the Heart-Ach" he'll
know.
" A Bold Stroke for a Wife" brings " The
Wedding-Day" near;
If a " Clandestine Marriage," what then ?
" Isabella," if willing, " The Stranger" will
cheer,
And make him the happiest of men.
If " Three Weeks after Marriage," " The
Honeymoon" o'er,
" Lovers' Quarrels" begin to appear;
Then 'tis " All in the Wrong," peace deserts
from their door,
While the high " Road to Ruin" is near.
That sometimes "Such Things are," is, alas!
iery true,
And give grief to some fair " Mourning
Bride ;"
Or to some " Provoked Husband" give good
cause to rue
That in wedlock he ever was tied.
ON WHAT IS CALLED " LOVE AT
FIRST SIGHT."
(From " The Judgment of Babylon, the Siege
of Masada, with other Poems, hy James
Campiseu.," just published.)
No, never from a transient glance
Can genuine pure affection spring;
Passion or fancy may perchance,
But love — oh no ! — 'tis no such thing !
Beauty of form hath charms, 'tis true ;
And he that with indifference can
Its fascinating witchery view
Must be — or more or less than man.
But lovely features, beaming eyes
Of purest blue or brilliant jet,
Cheeks which the blooming rose-blush dies,
Love's genuine flame ne'er kindled yet.
Thousands by beauty's charms deceiv'd,
Have to the treacherous idol bow'd,
Its power love's influence have believ'd,
And deathless constancy have vow'd.
Too soon, alas ! the spell which bound
Their captive souls in willing chain,
Dissolves in air — no more is found —
Indifference and disgust remain.
True love is gendered by esteem;
True excellence its growth supplies;
Unlike fierce Passion's feverish dream,
Such love endures— it never dies.
Hence though no feature of the face
Is cast in beauty's perfect mould ;
Though in the form few lines we trace,
Such as in sculpture we behold :
Yet sense combined with sweetness may
The soul subdue, the heart engage,
And love inspire, which no decay
Shall feel from youth to withering age:
Whose steady flame shall brightly shine,
UndimmM by sorrow's wintry blast;
Whose glow shall cheer life's last decline,
When all the fire of youth is past;
Whose light shall triumph o'er the gloom
Of death— then rise to worlds above,
And Heaven through endless years illume,
Foster'd by him whose name is Love !
TO ANNA.
Anna, thy charms my bosom fire,
And waste my sonl with care ;
But, ah ! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair !
Yet in thy presence, lovely fair,
To hope may be forgiven ;
For sure 'twere impious to despair
So much in sight of heaven.
ADDRESS TO THE BUTTERFLY,
On Plato's Personification of Psyche freed,
or the Soul released from Mortality, Frwn
the German of Matthisson.
O beauteous sylphid, flutter still
From rose to rose, and in the rill
Gaily thy flower-like form display ;
Drink th' ethereal breath of spring,
Then rest from mazy flight thy wing
On myrtle spray.
Glad may thy short existence seem,
Like a bright flitting May-day dream;
Henceforth may no ill-natured bee
Presume to chase thee from thy store
Of sweets, and Venus' doves fly o'er,
Nor injure thee.
When Orchus bids thy fluttering cease,
On Plato's brow thy shade in peace
May rest; his doctrine first decreed,
That after death the soul, like thee,
Released from earthly veil, shall flee
As Psyche freed :
That, like thy renovated birth,
Bursting its chrysalis of earth,
The eternal spirit upward flies ;
No longer check'd by the controul
Of gross mortality, the soul
Shall seek the skies.
Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand.
THE
&ejpogttorj>
OF
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, 8$c.
THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII.
August 1, 1826.
N° XLIV.
EMBELLISHMENTS.
View of Wimbledon-House, Surrey, the Seat op Mrs. Marry at
West-Farm, Herts, the Seat of Bevan, Esq. .
Ladies' Promenade Dress .......
■ Evening Dress ..... t . .
1.
2.
S.
4.
5. Flower-Stands
6*. Muslin Pattern.
AGE
GS
65
120
ib.
121
CONTENTS.
MISCELLANIES. page
Vikw« op Country Seats. — Wimbledon-
House, Surrey, the Seat of Mrs. Mar-
kyat 63
West-Farm, Herts, the Seat of ■■ ■ Be-
tas, Esq 65
Popular Superstitions op the French
Provinces. No. II. The Devil's Barn ib.
The Friendship of Ancient Chivalry.
(Continued) 72
Sketches and Characters. No. II. —
What is Life ? 78
Whimsicalities and Peculiarities of the
London Cries. By J. M Lacey . . 83
The Weird Beauty. (Concluded) . . 85
The Poisoned Traveller .... . . 91
The Literary Coterie. — No. XVIII. —
The Plain Spealter, by Hazlitt — Alia
Giornata — Captain Maitland's Nar-
rative of the Surrender of Buonaparte
—Secret Memoirs of the Royal Family
of France 94 |
Abeu Hamet, the last of the Abence-
rages 103
An Adventure at Venice 105
Aphorisms, Reflections, &c 108
Exchanging Cards 109
Anecdotes, Historical, Literary, and
Personal. — Invention of Steam-Navi-
gation— The Fashionable Salad-mater
— Denon's Curiosities — The Matrimo-
nial Lottery Ill
MUSICAL REVIEW.
Hummll's Grand Sonata 114
UoHROwes' " Le Pas de Pologne " . .115
Wesley'* Voluntary ib-
Akkanghmknts, Variations, &c.
Pi.p.yel's " Una voce poco fa" — Perez'
" Aletillo" — Burrowes' Select Airs
from Bishop's Aladdin — Knight's
"Are you angry, mother ?" — Powell's
Fantasias — Sacchini's Airs — Carna-
iiy's Parade March — Poole's Seville
Waltz— Poole's New-Year's-Day —
Hodsoll's Collection of Popular
Dances . .
Vocal.
Bisho'ps Selection of Popular National
Airs — Eaves tapp's Selection of French
Melodies— Sous' "Say what can hap-
less woman do?" — Klose's " The
Tear" — Crouch's " Cupid's Visit" .
Harp and Flute.
Bochsa's Three National Polonaises —
Bociisa's Arrangement of Fleyel's In-
troduction and Rondo— Bochsa's Se-
cond Set of Bagatelles — Bochsa's
" Are you angry, mother ?' — Bochsa's
" Petite Pastorale" — Dressler's Se-
lection of favourite Melodies — Saust's
Sacred Melodies
FASHIONS.
London Fashions. — Ladies' Promenade
Dress
Ladies' Evening Dress
Fashionable Furniture. — Flower-Stands
INTELLIGENCE,
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC .
POETRY.
Maids and Men. Extracted from Field-
Flowers. By H. Brandreth, juu. Esq.
Glenallen: A Ballad
The Poet's Wreath. By J.M. Lacby, Esq.
115
117
119
120
ib.
121
ib.
123
124
ib.
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THE
aaeposttorp
OF
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, §c.
THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII.
August 1, 1826.
N° XL1V.
VIEWS OF COUNTRY SEATS.
WIMBLEDON -HOUSE, SURREY,
Within the short space of ten
miles from the metropolis most of
our wealthy merchants possess places
of retirement from the fatigue of
business, and among the numerous
edifices which have been constructed
of late years (at least during the
rage for modern improvement), none
surpasses Wimbledon-House ; in-
deed, it may scarcely be credited,
but it is not the less true, that this
place (considering its local situation)
possesses attractions equal, if not
superior, to those of most of the re-
sidences of the nobility. This cir-
cumstance has no doubt arisen
from its having had so many owners,
and most of them having expended
a portion of their wealth in embel-
lishing the estate.
The house is situated at the south-
ern extremity of Wimbledon com-
mon ; and although the principal
Vol. VIII. No. XLIV.
THE SEAT OF MRS. M A II II Y AT.
front, which forms the subject of
our view, does not possess much in-
terest in point of architecture, yet
the grounds and plantations are such
as to inspire the most lively emo-
tions, and to gratify the taste of
every visitor. The principal apart-
ments, after passing a spacious hall,
are mostly on the ground-floor, and
they are all fitted up in the most
elegant style. In the saloon, which
opens to the lawn, are several choice
works of art, but the best of them
is a fine piece of sculpture of Bac-
chus and Ariadne, said to have been
executed by a pupil of the cele-
brated Canova. The drawing-room
has a circular roof, from which is
suspended an elegant chandelier; it
is fitted up in the most costly man-
ner and in the French style, and has
a very imposing effect. Among its
numerous ornaments are two China
K
I
64
WIMBLEDON-HOUSE, SUKllI-Y.
vases of English manufacture, high-
ly deserving of notice ; and in the
saloon is a curious table, composed
of various specimens of marble, and
which was the property of the late
Lady Hamilton. In the dining-par-
lour, which has also a circular roof,
are two large pictures, one of Still
Life, and the other representing the
Death of St. Cecilia, by Andrea
del Sarto ; but the former is consi-
dered the most valuable. In the li-
brary are several works of art, among
which is a very beautiful picture by
D. Teniers, another by Schalken,
and a fine Head of a Cardinal.
Here is also a fine bust of the late
Samuel Marryat, Esq. by Behnes.
The books comprise a valuable se-
lection in every branch of literature,
fitted up in the most elegant style.
In the anti-room, a large picture by
Claude has a very striking effect ;
but although it possesses great merit,
yet the back-ground has not that de-
licacy of touch for which that truly
great artist was so much celebrated.
Here is also a fine Cattle-Piece by
Cuyp, and a few other pictures of
inferior merit. Adjoining the con-
servatory is a very neat billiard-
room, which is embellished with two
paintings by De Loutherbourg ; and
over the fire-place is also a fine sta-
tue of Hebe, by the same artist as
the Bacchus and Ariadne above-
mentioned.
On ascending the staircase leading
to the upper apartments of the man-
sion, a large painting of a Boar-
Hunt, \>y Snyders, has a very impos-
ing effect. The whole of these
apartments are also fitted up in the
most elegant and comfortable man-
ner, and embellished with many ob-
jects of curiosity ; but the boudoir is
particularly deserving of attention.
Here is a most elegant cabinet, con-
taining an immense number of stuff-
ed birds, minerals, fossils, &e. In-
deed, to particularize the whole of
these interesting curiosities would
far exceed the limits of our work.
On the western side of the man-
sion is a large building which has
been frequently used as a ball-room ;
near it, a winding path leads to a
very beautiful and extensive flower-
garden, which in summer is a most
delightful spot. The green-houses
are also very spacious, and contain a
great variety of the most valuable
plants. It is but justice to remark,
that most of the embellishments in
the grounds have been completed
under the direction of Mrs. Mar-
ryat.
The promenade through the plan-
tations extends nearly two miles, and
they are so formed as to be really
enchanting. Here is also a very
handsome grotto, very similar to
that at Menabilly in Cornwall ; be-
sides fish-ponds, rustic bridges, and
numerous other objects to promote
enjoyment. But such is the uncer-
tainty of happiness, that we can only
participate in the general feeling of
regret for the loss of the individual
who was once the proprietor of this
desirable estate, and whose distin-
guished character as a British mer-
chant and a member of Parliament
is too well known to need any eulo-
gium here.
For the above particulars, we are
indebted to Mr. F. W. L. Stockdale.
\
6i
WEST-FARM, HERTS,
THE SKAT OF BKVAN, ESQ.
West- Farm, near East-Barnet,
Herts, is pleasantly situated on the
road leading from Southgate to Pot-
ter's Bar, about ten miles from Lon-
don. Its late proprietor, Mr. George
Idle, expended nearly 8000/. in al-
tering and improving the house and
grounds. The house, a south-west
view of which is given in the plate,
contains on the ground-floor, an en-
trance-hall, with orangery above ; a
drawing, breakfast, and dining-
room, en suite ; the former commu-
nicating by folding doors with a
green-house ; the latter leading to a
billiard- room, beautifully painted in
fresco by Aglio ; beyond which is a
bath and dressing-room, communi-
cating with a conservatory, also paint-
ed in fresco by the same artist. The
billiard-room and conservatory are
heated by steam from the bath. On
the north-east side of the house arc
the kitchen and other domestic of-
fices. Attached to the house are
the dairy, laundry, brew house, ser-
vants' hall, coach-house, stabling,
&c. &c. on an extensive scale.
The house, according to the draw-
ing, commands an extensive and
beautiful view towards Barnet, Had-
ley common, Whetstone, and over a
vast extent of country. The sketch
was taken by B. Frost in 1823; and
Mr.Bevan, partner in the firm of Bar-
clay, Tritton, and Co. bankers, Lom-
bard-street, the present proprietor,
purchased the estate in the same
year for about 3500/. at public auc-
tion. The land belonging to it con-
sists of about forty-two acres, of
which about two and a half are laid
out in garden, lawn, and pleasure-
grounds.
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS of the FRENCH PROVINCES.
No. II.
the devil's barn.
In the beautiful province of Cham-
pagne might be seen until very lately
a barn, which, for nearly a century,
was currently believed to have been
built by the devil. The legend which
has been handed down to us respect-
ing it, is still often repeated and im-
plicitly credited among the peasantry.
An honest peasant, named Jean
Mullin, lived in peace and comfort
upon the produce of a small farm,
which he cultivated with his own
hands. He had been some years
married, and he saw, not only with-
out uneasiness but with pleasure, the
annual increase of his family. His
wife was an active industrious wo-
man, very fond of her children and
her husband ; and his greatest plea-
sure was to work for her and them.
She had already brought him five,
and when she informed him of the
probability of another addition, he
answered, " So much the better !
when God sends mouths he always
sends meat, and we shall find enough
to feed the new-comer, I warrant
thee."
But he who relies upon the con-
tinuance of good-luck too often rec-
kons without his host; and so it fared
with our honest farmer. Lightning
fell upon the farm, and not only de-
stroyed the house and all the offices,
K g
m
the n;:viLs i;aun.
but consumed also the whole of the
crops which were stored in the barn
and the granary ; nothing was saved,
and poor Mullin would have been
entirely ruined had he not fortu-
nately possessed a round sum of mo-
ney, which he had saved during the
preceding years.
Grieved, but not despairing, be
lost no time in vain regrets, but set
himself to work immediately to re-
build his farm, for which he flattered
himself that he had sufficient funds;
but he soon saw with sorrow that he
had miscalculated, for by the time
the house was finished his cash ran
very low. He contrived, however,
to complete his stables, and had be-
gun his barn, when all at once he
found his money exhausted. He ap-
plied successively to his relations and
friends, who, as usual on such oc-
casions, had nothing to give him but
expressions of sorrow and regret, of
which they were not sparing. Some
had no money to lend, others were
bound by oath never to lend any.
One friend could have given it to
him if he had applied the year be-
fore ; and another might, perhaps,
be able to oblige him in a twelve-
month to come. In short, the poor
fellow came back empty-handed, and
sorrowfully repeating to himself, "An
ounce of help is worth a pound of
pity."
What to do he did not know, for
as his farm was at a distance from
any other, he could not avail himself
of the barns of his neighbours, and
he saw with the greatest uneasiness
the autumn approach, and the barn
no nearer to being finished. One
evening as he was walking in a cross-
road near his house, thinking of his
sad situation, he saw a tall man dress-
ed in black coming towards him ; he
wore boots of a singular form, which
entirely concealed the shape of his
feet, and his hands were covered with
flame-coloured gloves.
Accosting Mullin with a frank cor-
diality, he asked what made him so
sad : the other very readily told him.
" Courage, my friend !" cried the
stranger; "only trust to me, and you
shall soon see your barn finished." —
" How so?" said Mullin.—" Why,"
replied the other, " I am — but don't
let it frighten you — one that you have
heard a great many lies about. The
priests, who have a mortal hatred to
me, say, that I am always employed
in doing mischief: 'tis no such thing;
if now and then I do play a malicious
prank, lam not always ill-natured;
and to prove that I tell the truth, I
am willing to do you a considerable
service for a small return. I am par-
ticularly fond of little children, and
if you will only agree to give me the
one that your wife is now pregnant
with, your barn shall be finished be-
fore the cock crows." — " Jesu! Ma-
ria !" cried the terror-struck farmer,
crossing himself devoutly. The man
in black disappeared that instant,
and left Mullin firmly persuaded that
he had just received a visit from the
devil.
He hastened home trembling like
a leaf, and did not say a word to his
wife of what had passed, but he
swore in his own mind never to make
such a bargain. Yet when the har-
vest drew quite near, and he was still
without the means to finish the barn,
he often recollected the offer of the
devil, and though he rejected the
thought with horror, it continually
occurred to him. " After all," said
he one day, " if I could see him
again, and he would offer other terms \
But no — has he not said that he 13
THE DKVlLg BARN.
67
particularly fond of little children?"
— and poor Mullin renewed, shudder-
ing, his resolution never to give the
fiend one of his.
The month of July came, his si-
tuation appeared utterly hopeless,
and his reflections became more sor-
rowful. In one of his evening strolls
he returned mechanically to the place
where the devil had appeared to
him; it was just nightfall; he seated
himself on the turf, and sighed bit-
terly. At that moment he heard a
slight noise, turned round, and saw
the man in black. " Well, Mullin,"
said he, " have not you made up
your mind yet ? You have five
children, what wilL you do with the
sixth if the others and their mother
die of hunger? Besides, what have
you to fear in giving it to me ? I
shall take care of it, and you will be
rich."
Mullin would have tried to pro-
cure other terms, but Beelzebub
would not hear of them ; and he drew
such a hopeless picture of the farm-
er's situation, that he succeeded in
frightening him out of his consent :
in short, the unfortunate man signed
with his blood an engagement, by
which he agreed to deliver to the
bearer the child with which his wife
was then pregnant, on condition that
his barn should be finished that night
before the cock crew. No sooner
was the engagement signed than the
devil vanished. Mullin returned sad
enough to his house ; he could eat
no supper; and when every body
was in bed, he went into the yard to
see what was going on. He found
it full of little imps, all as busy as
bees ; they brought beams, straw,
planks, and mortar ; and worked in
silence, but with incredible rapidity.
Their flame-coloured visages, crook-
ed claws, and cloven feet; their horns,
and the long tails that they switched
without ceasing, convinced him di-
rectly that they were inhabitants
of the infernal regions. Their chief,
a monster of gigantic dimensions,
hurried on the work. Mullin recos-
nised him directly by his voice for
the fiend with whom he had signed
the contract; but his heart died
within him when he beheld him in
his native ugliness. He was naked;
his body black, but stained here and
there with flame-colour; his legs were
crooked and covered with coarse
black hair, and his feet cloven. He
had the head and beard of a goat,
the talons of a vulture, the ears of
an ass, and a mouth still more fright-
ful than that of any known animal,
filled with teeth prodigiously large
and sharp. Sulphureous flames is-
sued from his enormous eyes ; and,
as he moved to the right and left, he
lashed with his long tail those devils
who did not get on so fast as he
wished.
Poor Mullin's blood ran cold at
the sight of this horrible monster ;
he thought with the keenest agony
on the fate to which he had consign-
ed his poor child. Suddenly a ray
of hope beamed upon him, and he
quitted the yard precipitately to run
and tell the curt of his parish.
He was obliged to pass through
the house, and in doing so he met
his old nurse coming in search of
him. She had been in the family
from the time she suckled him, and
was as fond of him as if he had been
her own son. Perceiving his dejec-
tion and want of appetite, and think-
ing that the latter circumstance, a
very unusual one, boded no good,
she was coming to look for him.
Seeing the state in which he was.
68
THE DEYILS DARN.
she laid hold of him, and protested
that he should not move till he had
told her the cause ofit; which Mul-
liu, fearing lest he should be too late
-with the cures did in a few words.
One may easily conceive the fright
of the good nurse. She hurried him
off with the speed of lightning, call-
ing upon all the saints to quicken his
steps, that he might be in time to
break the infernal bargain.
Hardly was he gone, however,
when she began to despair of his
success. The night was already so
far advanced that it appeared impos-
sible for him to go and return before
cock-crowing. This thought filled
the mind of Marie with dismay ; for,
being learned in these matters, she
knew that if the devil finished the
job, the child would be lost without
resource, as the contract had been
drawn according to the regular forms
of the French law on one hand, and
signed on the other in the usual man-
ner of the courts below, by the hu-
man contracting party in his blood.
Thus Beelzebub, who, it must be
confessed, is no fool in such affairs,
had contrived to bind the poor fel-
low both ways, and Marie shuddered
to think that it was next to impossible
for hitn to escape the clutches of the
fiend.
Thus every moment appeared an
age to her. At last she summoned
courage to go into the yard; but we
may conceive the consternation that
seized her when she found the barn
not only raised, but very nearly
covered. " Eh! good Lord!" said
she to herself, " is there no way to
outwit that renegade Beelzebub?"
and inspired, no doubt, by her good
angel, she ran to the door of the hen-
house, and shook it with all her
might. The cocks, thus rudely rous-
ed from their slumbers, crowed loud-
ly, and at the same moment the whole
infernal band disappeared with a
tremendous yell. Truly it was time
to interrupt their labours, in another
minute there would have been no
resource, for there remained only
about the breadth of two feet of the
roof to cover in.
It was nearly a quarter of an hour
afterwards when the farmer and the
cure arrived, out of breath with run-
ning. We may easily guess the joy
and gratitude of Mullin. The cure
applauded the nurse's stratagem, and
exacted a promise from Jean, which
he readily gave, and religiously kept,
never to have any more dealings with
the black gentleman, from whose
clutches indeed he did not consider
himself yet thoroughly extricated.
All the neighbours were astonish-
ed when they saw the barn, and heard
how it had been built. Several of
them said they should not be sorry to
make a similar bargain with his in-
fernal majesty ; but he appeared no
more. Forewarned forearmed, says
the old proverb ; having been once
tricked, no doubt he had no mind to
expose himself to such treatment a
second time. The corn was reaped
and stored in the barn, which was
very complete in all respects except
the hole in the top, and that they
strove in vain to cover; for whatever
they did to it in the day, was sure to
be undone in the night. Finding
then that Beelzebub was determined
tliat none but his own workmen
should have a hand in this job, Mul-
lin desisted, and was contented to
use it as it was.
Our readers will easily imagine the
anxiety with which Mullin and his
wife waited for the birth of their
! child ; it took place at the regular
Till! ni'VU, S I1AKN.
09
time. Catherine was delivered, after
a very sharp labour, of a girl, whom
they took care to have baptized im-
mediately. She was very weakly and
hard to rear, but by the incessant
care of her mother she grew up one
of the prettiest girls in the province.
Nothing remarkable occurred in re-
gard to her, but in the year that fol-
lowed her birth all the inhabitants
of the farm-house were dreadfully
alarmed on the anniversary of the
building of the barn. At the hour
when the devils had been sent about
their business, a tremendous noise
was heard all over the farm, and par-
ticularly round the barn. The most
horrible yells, mingled with claps of
thunder, were heard during the up-
roar; and the neighbours declared
that they had seen the most hideous
monsters jumping on the roof of the
barn, and flying round it; they had
bats' wings, cloven feet, long tails,
and red horns.
The girl, whom they named Man-
nette, grew up, as we have said, ex-
tremely pretty, and when she had
attained the age of fifteen, her pa-
rents determined upon marrying her,
to rid themselves at once of the fears
which they still entertained of the
devil. They were not at a loss to
find her a husband, for several of
their young neighbours had already
asked her hand; but she had hither-
to shewn no preference for any one :
however, at the desire of her pa-
rents, she promised that within a
a month she would fix her choice,
and accordingly she set herself se-
riously to think about it. The task
was not a very easy one for her. She
had no mind to leave a home where
she was perfectly happy; she thought
first of one, and then of another of
her sweethearts, without being able
to determine which she liked best.
She was strolling one evening, in a
melancholy mood, ruminating upon
this subject in a wood near the house,
when she saw a very handsome young
man approach her ; it was evident
from his air and his dress, that he
was much superior to any one she
had ever known. He fixed Ins spark-
ling eyes upon her ; their amorous
expression caused her to blush and
cast hers down. He then took her
hand, and kissing it, said, "You are
about to choose a husband, charming
Mannette ; if your choice is not al-
ready made, look with a favourable
eye upon me. I can place you in a
very different situation from what
you will have if you marry any of these
clowns who pay their addresses to
you." Mannette blushed, and stam-
mered out something about her fa^
ther : the stranger, without appear-
ing to notice it, said so many fine
things that he succeeded in turning
the poor girl's head. He prevailed
upon her, before they parted, to pro-
mise that she would meet him the
next night. She kept her word. He
was still more urgent than in the first
interview, and he drew from her,
without much difficulty, a promise to
be his, and his alone, for ever. He
charged her to say nothing of what
had passed to her parents, and pro-
mised, before the expiration of the
time appointed for her answer, to pre-
sent himself to them, and to ask her
hand. The time, however, drew on ;
he came not, and Mannette began to
be very unhappy. Mullin asked her
several times in vain, which of her
suitors she meant to have. He re-
ceived always the same answer, that
she would tell him when the time
came. At last, irritated at hearing
continually this reply, he swore that,
70
THH DRVILS BA11N'.
if she did not choose then, he would
choose for her. There remained
only three clays till the expiration of
the time. Mannette's faith in her
unknown lover began to waver ; and
as she was strolling that evening in
the wood where she first met him,
she reflected sorrowfully on what she
should do if he did not come. "Ah!"
said she aloud, " is it possible that he
can be so perfidious?" — " No, love-
ly Mannette," said a voice close to
her, " it is not possible;" and turning,
she found the stranger at her side.
The artless girl betrayed plainly
enough the joy she felt at seeing
him again. She would have led him
directly to her parents, but he begged
of her first to hear what he had to
say; and after abundance of fine
speeches, he proposed to her to flee
with him to his estates, which were,
he said, at a great distance. This
proposal was a thunder-clap to our
pretty villager. But in spite of her
love for the handsome stranger, she
had the courage to resist it firmly.
In vain he wheedled and flattered,
and reminded her of her oath to be
his ; for she always replied, that she
would be his, but it must be with the
consent of her parents.
" Well," said he, at last, in a very
angry tone, " since thou wilt have
it so, I will take thee from their
hands, but not to-night." He turned
sullenly away, and Mannette hasten-
ed back to the house. No sleep
closed her eyes that night, and she
kept repeating incessantly to herself,
" Ah ! if he should be offended and
should come no more!" Scarcely
had the clock struck twelve, when
she heard at a distance a frightful
noise, accompanied by claps of thun-
der and flashes of lightning, in the
midst of which she perceived by her
bed-side a horrible spectre. She
was about to cry out, when he placed
his death-cold claw upon her mouth,
making her at the same time a sign
to be silent. It was unnecessary ;
for the poor girl, sinking with fright
and horror, had not the power to cry.
He then seated himself by the bed-
side, and stooping over her, look-
ed at her in silence, and with eyes
which seemed ready to devour her,
for almost an hour ; then rising, and
taking her hand, he cried in a terri-
ble voice, " Thou art mine to all
eternity ! thou hast sworn it to me."
And with these terrible words he
vanished, leaving in the chamber a
poisonous stench, and in the heart
of the unfortunate Mannette all the
terrors of hell. Her screams soon
brought assistance. We may easily
conceive the alarm of her parents
when they heard what had hap-
pened : they instantly sent for the
cure, who came and watched her
during the two following nights, but
nothing appeared, and they began to
think that the supposed spectre was
only the night-mare. The next day
was that fixed for making her choice :
she had till then said nothing about
the stranger ; but pressed on all
sides, she could keep silence no
longer. She owned what had passed
between them.
Honest Mullin heard her with in-
dignation. "What!" cried he, "thou
hast the presumption to fancy that a
great lord like this will marry thee ?
Foolish girl! his only design is to
ruin thee: he has shewn that plainly
enough ; but I will be a match for
him, I warrant. You shall choose a
husband this day, or I will choose
one for you ; for you shall not bring
shame upon me in my old age." In
vain the poor girl wept, in vain the
TUB DEVJL's BAfttf.
t
mother entreated, for, mother-like, it
did not appear to her improbable
that a great lord might take a fancy
to her daughter, the old man was
inflexible, and finding that the clay
wore away without his daughter's
coming to any resolution, he sent to in-
vite her suitors to supper, determined
that her choice should be made that
night. The hour of supper drew
near ; the poor girl was almost in
despair, when, to her infinite joy, the
stranger appeared. " Cease," cried
he in a stern tone, " cease to torment
this maiden ; she is mine by right,
and I come to claim her." The
farmer uttered a cry of terror, for he
recognised in the tones of the hand-
some young pretender to his daugh-
ter's hand, the voice of the fiend to
whom he had sold her yet unborn.
Beelzebub, for it was he sure enough,
finding himself discovered, no longer
kept any measures; quitting his as-
sumed form in the twinkling of an
eye, he stood before the astonished
Mannette in the exact shape of the
horrible monster who had presented
himself at the bedside. " Hope not
to escape me," cried he in a voice of
thunder, " since thou art mine to all
eternity ! thou hast sworn it to me."
At this dreadful sight, at these
frightful words, the suitors all but
one ran away, and he, seeing the
fiend spring forward to seize his
prey, threw himself in the way ; but
the mother had already made a ram-
part of her body for her daughter,
whom she held closely clasped in her
arms, crying to Heaven for assist-
ance. The fiend declared, with hor-
rible blasphemies, that the maiden
was his by all the ties that could ren-
der a compact sacred, since he had
both her own consent and that of her
Vol. VIII. No.XLIV.
father ; and that if any further op-
position was made to his taking his
own, he would carry off not only
Mannette, but all the inhabitants of
the farm ; and in proof of what he
could do, he instantly raised a most
dreadful tempest, accompanied with
strange noises and the appearance
of the infernal band who had built
the barn.
At this moment Marie came un-
dauntedly forward. " Since," cried
she, " this unfortunate girl has given
her consent, it is of no use to attempt
to save her. We acknowledge then
that you have right on your side, but
if we consent to yield her up to you
without more ado, at least you will
not refuse to allow her time to bill
farewell to her parents and to me.
We ask but a short delay, only till
the candles, which are now half
burnt, are consumed."
The devil had not expected to get
ofF so well, for he reckoned, no doubt,
on having a tough struggle for his
prey. He consented then, after a
moment's silence, to the terms offer-
ed ; and Marie, triumphing in the suc-
cess of her stratagem, instantly ex-
tinguished the candles, and plunged
them into a vase of holy water, which
was placed, according to the custom
of the times, in a corner of the apart-
ment. Thus the fiend was obliged
to retire without his prey. He va-
nished, with his infernal troop, in
the midst of the most horrible yells
and execrations. Mullin and his
wife fell at the feet of Marie, whom
they called their guardian angel. She
joined them in recovering Mannette
from a swoon, into which terror had
thrown her. No sooner did she
open her eyes than she fell at the
feet of her parents and her deliverer,
72
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
begged their pardon for the unduti-
ful action which had nearly been so
fatal to her, and readily gave her
hand to the honest young miller, who
had courageously disputed the pos-
session of her with the devil. They
were speedily married, and lived long
and happily together, without ever
being disturbed by her infernal lover.
Mullin, his wife, and Marie ended
their days quietly and comfortably
in the farm ; and the latter was ge-
nerally known all over the province
by the name of the old woman who
got the better of the devil and his
horns.
THE FRIENDSHIP OF
(Continued
Launcelot had .slumbered — his
dreams were filled with images of
the Lord de Brechin. He seemed
to figure the charm and grace of
festive hours, at the social board,
or in the dance, or he trod the hills
gay and free as a hunter, or shone
terrible in ranks of war — now he
was a captive to barbaric hosts and
bathed in blood. The minstrel cried
out, " My sword! my dagger! I will
rescue the Lord de Brechin or die
with him!" His own voice awoke the
sleeper. A light flashed close to
his face, and looking up, he saw the
soldier with a lamp, as if scrutinizing
his countenance.
"Where, where am I ?"said Launce-
lot.
" In safe keeping," replied the
soldier, " and safe shalt thou be,
though thy own lips have betrayed
thee. Thy ravings in sleep have
told that thou hast served the Lord
de Brechin. He is now on his trial,
awful to the bravest, for the bravest
quake if their fair fame is assailed.
The loss of life is but as the scratch
of a thorn to mortal anguish for tar-
nished honour."
" Who shall dare to tarnish the
honour of Lord de Brechin?" said
the minstrel. " I give them the lie
to their teeth, and this arm shall
vindicate my words."
ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
from p. 16.)
" This is raving awake, poor mourn-
er," answered the soldier. " If cou-
rage and might could justify thy lord,
his own hand would vanquish his
false accusers; but, alack! he was
caught in a trap, he was caught as
the confederate of traitors, and the
haste of his judges to convict him
shews no touch of lenity; and a mur-
rain on them all that sported in the
warm light of the great star of Scot-
land ! they have to a man deserted
him in his fall, except the high-mind-
ed English gray-haired glory of chi-
valry, Sir Ingram de Umfraville: yet
he is not the only lord or cavalier of
the court that owes his life to the
hand disarmed by lying witnesses."
" You give me a ray of comfort,"
said Launcelot; " but are you sure
that Sir Ingram owes his life to the
bravest of men, and adheres to him
in his desolation?"
" Hast thou never heard of that
noble exploit, and hast been so long
in his train? Yet it is possible thou
mightst live ages' with the Lord de
Brechin and never be told of his
achievements. I can relate to thee
how he snatched Sir Ingram de Um-
fraville from the death-points of fe-
rocious enemies. These eyes saw
him light his way through a crowd
of assassins with the wounded Sir
Ingram on his back; and this old
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
73
fist, with a blade of our own tem-
pered steel, and supported by a
handful of Scots and a k\v faith-
ful English, defended the gallant
David on his rear. Many a piece
of coin had he given me in memory
of that action when I chanced to
meet him alone; but never would he
mention it if other ears would share
the tale. However, I have not told
you how the fray began. You surely
know how Isabella of France, the
stain of womanhood, wandered from
the honest love of her royal consort
to a foul passion for Mortimer ; and
from him her vagrant fancy fixed
upon Ilildebrand de Umfraville, the
most beautiful and handsome youth
that ever attracted a female's glances.
Mortimer, stung with jealousy, col-
lected a number of desperadoes to
force Ilildebrand, dead or alive, from
his father's castle. The youth had
served under the Lord de Brechin
in the Eastern wars, and they loved
like brothers. Lord de Brechin, with
a small retinue, visited Sir Ingram
de Umfraville and his son at their
castle; and while engaged in hospi-
table and social pleasures, a fierce
band beset the walls, and got in at the
portal under a sham of coming as
messengers from the court. When
the gates were unbarred to give ac-
cess to half a score men who first
shewed themselves, the rest burst
forward ; and when the knight and
his son and their Scottish guest went
to see the cause of a tumult, a ruf-
fian sprung at Hildebrand,and thrust
him through the heart, before his
father or De Brechin could turn
aside the murdering stroke. The
villains also aimed at Sir Ingram
de Umfraville, and in the name of
the king denounced him and his
son qs traitors. I bear on my body
the scars of that fight ; and, though
our enemies were at least five to one,
we got from them, for some of the
monsters were more intent upon
plunder than of seizing the knight.
I have already said he was borne off
upon the back of our heroic leader,
and some of us wounded severely
and few quite unhurt, we got on
board Lord de Brechin's ship in
Druridge bay. Sir Ingram never
returned to England."
" Saint Mary be praised," said
Launcelot Gam, " that Lord de Bre-
chin has still one fast friend ! Oh ! let
me get speech of Sir Ingram de Um-
fraville! With very little aid of mo-
ney from him to purchase the senti-
nels, I may set my lord at liberty. I
can climb like a wild cat. I could scale
the keep. I am light, and in such
a cause I could be bold and nimble.
I want but to know the exact point
where I may soonest enter. My
life is of no value. I can but lose
it in this attempt, and I wish not to
survive my honoured lord."
" Thou art a brave and faithful
page. At first I could be sworn thou
wast of the tender sex; but thy cou-
rage proves manhood. Yet think
not of a risk so foolish and unavail-
ing. I am no coward, and readily
would I hazard my few remaining
years to save the Lord de Brechin ;
but it would be more desperate than
valiant; it would be foolhardy to
bid defiance to twenty fearless Scots
on guard at keep, and all the garri-
son on the alert to prevent a rescue."
" If you, brave veteran, are so at-
tached to David de Brechin — if Sir
Ingram de Umfraville openlyadheres
to him, because he saved his life —
what should not I peril to serve my
generous master in this extremity ?
I can but die; and if any man that
L 2
74
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIKNT CHIVALRY.
knows the access to the keep would
shew me the way, I would hazard all
I have to lose, for him to whom I owe
life and all I have been, Valiant
soldier, if ever you have gained ho-
nour in following the banner of Lord
de Brechin — if ever his voice of
kindness has been felt at your heart
— if ever his open hand relieved you
in need, carry this hallowed token
to the noble De Umfraville, and bid
him name where I shall see him. In
pity help me to rise ! if I can stand,
I may be able to walk. I have taken
long rest, that I might be fit for ac-
tion. I can stand — yea, and I can
walk. Good veteran, speed thee to
Sir Ingram, and, oh! return as soon
as thou hast done thy errand !"
" My heart cannot withstand thee,"
said the soldier, taking the rosary,
and hastening on his mission. It
was near midnight when he re-ap-
peared, and found Launcelot like a
statue in the same spot where he was
left. Like a person suddenly roused
from sleep, he asked what news.
" Question me not," the soldier
replied. " I thought my heart was
hardened by scenes of bloodshed ;
but here I am a very woman."
" A woman '."sighed the minstrel;
*' but man must learn firmness, and
learn to endure the worst tidings
that "
" We have no moments to waste
in words," said the soldier: " Sir
Ingram de Umfraville waits thee at
a dark corner of the ruined rampart,
where Vogra took thee from obser-
vation in thy sorrow."
" Come, let us fly to find the
knight," said Launcelot, running as
he spoke, and vaulting up the steep
and broken stair of the rampart, in
tones of agony asked Sir Ingram for
the Lord de Brechin.
*' He desires to see thee," said Sir
Ingram, " and the king has allowed
thee a last interview. His mighty
heart is pierced with grief for the
son of his sister. He would spare
De Brechin if the laws permitted
mercy, but misprision of treason is a
crime upardonable. He believed
the assertion of the prisoner, that
on his part no conspiracy was ever
imagined ; so is believed by the
king, but, taken with those against
whom their own papers prove trea-
son, his nephew must share their
doom."
" Oh! let me die with him, if I
may not die for him !" said Launce-
lot. He then detailed his purpose
of scaling the keep, and could hard-
ly be dissuaded from the attempt,
until he saw how impregnable were
the walls, and how bristled with
spears in the hands of men selected
by the enemies of De Brechin to
repel any wild effort for his libera-
tion. Sir Ingram made the unfortu-
nate minstrel take his supporting
arm in crossing the outer ballium of
the keep ; and at sight of the king's
signet all the bolts of the inner pri-
son were opened. Sir Ingram led
his sad charge to the door of Lord
de Brechin's ward, and beckoning to
the gaoler to retire with him, they
left the master and devoted servant
to unreserved communion. Lord de
Brechin, with a breviary in his hand,
stood bending towards the lurid light
of his lamp, his back turned to the
door, and regardless of the creaking
of hinges and bars, his attention was
fixed upon the offices of religion,
until a stifled moan from Launcelot
attracted his ever-susceptible feel-
ings. He would have clasped his
humble follower in his arms, but the
mourner sunk on the ground, and,
clinging to the feet of his lord, -firm-
ly resisted all efforts to raise him.
TllR tiUHNDSmr of ancient chivalry.
15
" Tliou faithful unto death!" said
De Brechin : " death levels all dis-
tinctions. No longer a servant, but
a loved and trusted friend, refuse
not my first and last embrace. The
distance between us subsists no
more."
Launcelot still persisted in declin-
ing his lord's caresses, repeating,
" To the last — to the last, may I
hold the honourable place of ser-
vant to the best and noblest of men !
and O Lord of life ! in thy pitying
mercy, then take me from this earth."
" Not so, my dear, my only un-
alienable follower !" answered De
Brechin, forcibly lifting the minstrel
from his prostrate attitude : "I have
much to say to thee, and our time is
short. Let us seat ourselves on this
bench ; shrink not from occupying
the same resting-place. In the eye
of God and man, thy vows of ex-
treme and superfluous distance and
respect are cancelled by the doom
pronounced on David de Brechin.
Weep not, my kind friend, but
prove thy obedience to thy some
time master, by an exertion of for-
titude, and by listening with ear-
nest composure to his last request.
Thou hast professed a desire to con-
tinue subservient to David de Bre-
chin while he exists — act up to thy
profession, and hear his injunctions
and behest. Thou must be his
knight-errant to bear this golden
crucifix to a lady — the lady Eleanor
de Mowbray. It was her gift ; I
promised my own heart to keep it
until death. Restore it to her, with
the fondest adieus and blessings.
— Why didst thou start ? Why that
tremor in thy grief-exhausted frame?
Thy sensitive rectitude need not
be appalled at the name of a be-
loved, a spotless female. The name
of Eleanor de Mowbray can be as-
sociated with no recollections to sting
the conscience of a dying man, and
a brief sketch of our disastrous story
will remove from thy scrupulous mind
all objections to seek her out, and to
deliver the pledge of my unalterable
esteem for her virtues. Years are past
since we have seen each other, and
two months earlier than your entry
into my household was the first date
of our acquaintance. A few weeks
preceding that most interesting point
in my existence, I was sent with a
large command of soldiers and mari-
ners, to check the pirates that so
often ravaged the coast of Ayrshire.
The spoilers had spread such terror,
that all who were unable to defend
themselves fled, and removed their
property to inland fortresses. The
marauders laid every building in
ashes, and while my men were bu-
sied erecting huts, they sheltered
themselves by night in the caves of
Culzean. It was in. stormy weather
that the pirates made the most suc-
cessful attacks upon our shores; and
during a violent gale which sprung
up late in the evening, I gave orders,
in case they might come, to prepare
our boats to repel them. I was
buckling on my sword to take the
direction of our force, when a man,
reputed a champion in mountain
warfare, but who was never at the
sea-side until he attended me in Ayr-
shire, left his post, and darted into
my cave, with his countenance dis-
torted by affright. I ordered him
to account for having left his post ;
and, gasping with terror, he answer-
ed that a flaming demon was riding
on the waves, and would be upon us
befoi*e our prayers could avert his
landing ; for too surely mother Hil-
lella was at her cantrips to welcome
76
THE FRIENDSHIP OV ANCIMNT CHIVALRY.
the evil spirit. ' If mother Hillella
has any influence/ I answered, ' she
will not employ it to our hurt.'
When I gave this reply I had left
the cave, followed hy the quaking
soldier. A voice responded, ' Hil-
lella is in duty and inclination hound
to serve the Lord de Brechin, hut
the demon so formidahle to that
white-livered champion is a ship on
lire.' I waited to hear no more ;
hut all hands exerted every nerve to
push our boats out to sea. The
night was dark, but the flaming ship
shewed to us three boats struggling
against the raging billows. Before
we could reach them they ran foul
of each other, and all our endea-
vours could save only one slender
being, whose lightness .and the buoy-
ancy of her wide garments floated
her. The father of Vogra, a brave
and active fellow, snatched her from
death, and gave her to my care. I
had dispatched a boat to desire mo-
ther Hillella to have beds ready for
the sufferers we hoped to rescue.
Her wisdom had anticipated my
suggestion, and I found the prepara-
tions completed. I had the lady
carried to my own cave, purposing
to shift for myself among my vassals,
and I left the patient to mother Hil-
lella and her daughters. One of
the younger girls soon came to say,
that acute sense of pain had called
the lady to life, and that the mother
wished me to give my opinion of the
cause. Since the days of Josina,
the ninth king of Scotland, all the
nobles and chiefs have paid great
attention to leechcraft, and I had
much practice during the wars. I
found a fracture of the lady's collar-
bone, and her shoulder bruised,
which gave occasion to the torture
she endured when the women un-
dressed her. I attended her as a
leech, a friend, and — must I confess
it? — as a lover. I forgot my compul-
sory betrothment to Margaret Doug-
las ; I forgot all but the charms, the
excellencies of Eleanor de Mow-
bray. Those are as fresh in my
mind as if no more than days had
elapsed since I beheld her. My ex-
istence has since been a blank, filled
only by impressions associated with
her idea. Even now, on the verge
of another world, I seem to gaze on
the ship that bore the lovely Elea-
nor to our shores. I see the horrid
piles of smoke, surmounted by flashes
of ruddy light ; the heaving, yawn-
ing surges, threatening to swallow
up the boats where her crew took
refuge; and I almost hear the yells
and groans of those that had not got
into the boats, and of the unhappy
beings who, flying from a devouring
conflagration, were ingulphed by the
watery element. Perhaps the strong
excitement created by this scene dis-
posed my heart to deeper suscepti-
bility. The sweet delirium had no
intermission until all my hopes were
blasted. A special messenger called
me to bring the mariners and sol-
diers under my command to the
northern coast, which was menaced
by a Scandivian fleet. I was obliged
to obey ; and, separated from Elea-
nor de Mowbray, I recollected my
engagements to Margaret Douglas,
with indignation against her for en-
! snaring my youth. I was but six-
teen, and Margaret Douglas within
I one year of double my age, when
her beauty and address flattered my
' vanity in being singled out by the
I blandishments of the most admired,
; the most exalted lady at the court of
I King Robert. I fancied myself cap-
! tivated by her, and when the king,
THR FRUiNDSHIl' OP ANCIENT CHIVALIIY.
77
my uncle, proposed our betrothment,
I consented with the facility of a
giddy boy. The king saw his own
advantage in my alliance with Sir
James Douglas, the most powerful
chieftain in the realm. I soon re-
pented my enthralment, and twice
volunteered to foreign wars, to shun
riveting my chains by marriage. I
know that to the resentment of the
Douglases I may attribute my pre-
sent condition : yet, weep not, my
soft-hearted friend ! death is prefer-
able to an enforced marriage, and
such has been the alternative offered
to me. Be comforted, and hear
how I was separated from Eleanor !
I am now certain that some creatures
of the Douglases were spies on my
conduct, and gave notice that a lady
lodged in the caves of Culzean. To
that centre of my wishes I hastened
to return. Cold, dark, cheerless was
the place where I hoped to find a
congenial soul. I rushed with impe-
tuous speed to Hillella's cave, the
cave where she chiefly resided. In
answer to my inquiries for Eleanor
de Mowbray, she gave me a slip of
parchment, on which was written,
' Eleanor de Mowbray is now aware
that the Lord de Brechin is the be-
trothed spouse of the Lady Mar-
garet Douglas; and Eleanor adjures
him by every sacred name to fulfil
his engagement. She exhorts him
to look upon the golden crucifix, as
a monitor that duty should rule in-
clination. Eleanor de Mowbray has
taken a vow of celibacy, and no
search can discover the place of her
retreat.' I read this fatal scroll,
and life seemed departing from me.
I was long ill, and may ascribe my
recovery, kind Launcelot, to thee :
thy offices of faithful service, of
friendship, have been innumerable ;
crown them by seeking Eleanor de
Mowbray. I shall die satisfied, if
thou wilt promise never to remit thy
search while any means are left un-
tried to find her. Promise this,
good Launcelot — thou canst no
longer doubt her innocence."
The minstrel, in broken, tremu-
lous accents, replied, " On that
head, my honoured lord, be assured
of my fidelity. With truth I speak
it, that, with the aid of mother Ilil-
lella, I may confidently engage to
deliver the crucifix to Eleanor de
Mowbray. She will "
These words were interrupted by
the entrance of Sir Ingram de Umfra-
ville with the father confessor. Lord
de Brechin rose, and taking the
right hand of Sir Ingram, placed
within it the cold passive hand of
Launcelot Gam, who now seemed
unconscious of any presence or trans-
action. " My dear Sir Ingram,"
said De Brechin, " I have done with
all earthly concerns : when this poor
minstrel is placed under your guar-
dianship, the king will allow him a
pension from my heritage."
" I take Launcelot Gam under
paternal guardianship," said Sir In-
gram, " but I require no pension for
him. My fortune will suffice for us
both, and he shall be my heir. God
and the saints, and this holy father,
are witnesses to my promise ; and
may all the heavenly powers forsake
me, if I break the engagement !"
The appearance of a priest with
Sir Ingram de Umfraville apprised
the minstrel that his lord drew near
the final hour. The stupor of over-
whelming sorrow paralyzed his fa-
culties. No tear, nq word vented
his feelings. Sir Ingram and the
father confessor raised him from his
seat, gave him in charge to the old
78
WHAT IS LIFE?
soldier with whom he had lodged,
and a trusty domestic of the English
knight was directed to take him to
his house within the precincts of the
court. As Launcelot left Lord de
Brechin's ward, the noble victim
crossed his arms on his breast, and
breathed a prayer for his afflicted
servant, whose mind, overpowered
by anguish, was insensible to all
around him. Sir Ingram's domestic
took him by one arm, the soldier
seized the other, and several of the
running footmen belonging to the
knight's household gathered round,
that their tall figures might screen
the diminutive minstrel from obser-
vation. He was taken to the apart-
ment destined for him. Bread and
wine stood on the table ; the ser-
vants withdrew, leaving the soldier to
attend Launcelot Gam. It was no tri-
vial proof of the popularity of Lord
de Brechin with all who served un-
der him, that when Launcelot re-
jected a goblet of wine, and the ve-
teran half raised it to his own lips,
he set it down, muttering, " No, no,"
I could not swallow any liquor from
the best vintage of France, and he
— I cannot speak the rest. Often
has he led me to victory. Would
that the hero had died in battle !"
To this soliloquy, though the most
touching to his heart, Launcelot I
gave no attention. With person im-
moveable, his every feature fixed,
and his eyes glaring, he remained
until late at night, when Sir Ingram
returned to his house. He spoke to
the minstrel, but received no answer.
He shook the poor wasted arm, and
squeezed the slender fingers. The
minstrel jumped on his feet, looked
wildly around, and recognising Sir
Ingram, exclaimed, " Ah ! ah ! I
now remember. Has — how could I
forget — I must, I will see him !"
" For that end have I come," re-
plied Sir Ingram. " Let me conduct
you where he lies."
" Did you say ' where he lies V "
said Launcelot ; " then I have no
more concern with the world, but
will join in the last office of the
church for his soul."
Sir Ingram took the minstrel to this
solemn scene of interment. The
king permitted all honours for the
obsequies of his long-loved nephew.
Launcelot never left the grave while
Sir Ingram continued in Scotland ;
and they departed together in less
than twenty-four hours after the ex-
ecution of David de Brechin. We
shall attempt to give our readers
some account of that cruel exhibi-
tion.
(To be continued.)
SKETCHES AND CHARACTERS.
No. II.
WHAT IS LIFE?
The other evening I was " invited
out," as the song says, to spend an
hour or two with an old maiden
aunt, who resides in one of our
northern cities (I shall not say which),
where I am at present on a visit. I
went at seven o'clock, and was ush-
ered into a very handsome apart-
ment, brilliantly lighted, in which I
found four tables set for cards, and
only one person in the room (besides
my aunt), who was dressed in all the
fashionable frippery of the times,
and flounced and furbelowed like any
What js lips?
70
young girl, though Time had set his
mark upon her brow, and I could
perceive from beneath her borrowed
tresses a grey hair or two slily
peeping, silent mementoes which she
utterly disregarded, and though her
whole frame began also to warn her,
that a time was approaching when
she must abandon all the frivolous
gaieties of this life, in which she
seemed too much inclined to indulge.
There is nothing I so completely
dislike as to see old people, men or
women, assuming the manners and
the garb and following what ought
to be the exclusive amusements of
young ones. " There is a time for
every thing," and the pursuits of
youth, its follies, and even its harm-
less gaieties, are incongruous with
the state of man or womanhood,
much more with what can fairly be
called old age. Old people are ne-
ver so respectable as when they
adapt their conduct and their habits
to their time of life ; when they re-
flect that they are " falling into the
sere and yellow leaf," and that sober
and steady and rational objects
should be their proper pursuits ; and
not the idle amusements which served
very well to pass away the joyous
hours of youth, but which should be
laid aside as man approaches nearer
to " that bourne from whence no
traveller returns."
My dear aunt, though too much |
given, with an easy facility of dispo-
sition, to " do at Rome as the people
at Rome do," is an old woman whom
I can love and esteem. She dresses
respectably, but soberly ; is religious
without cant, charitable without os-
tentation, and is sure to win the af-
fections of all who know her. I
found she was much visited by the
idle dowagers of the place, out of
Vol. Fill. No. XLIV.
compliment to whom this party was
given ; and, as a stranger, I was in-
vited, though gentlemen in general
were excluded from their coteries.
Well — thirteen more ladies ar-
rived soon after I had made my bow.
With the exception of two, whom I
afterwards found to be nieces to the
lady whom they accompanied, they
were all past the middle age, and
some verging fast upon four-score,
to judge by their haggard looks and
infirm gait. As they entered they
sat down at the different tables, and
cards being brought, the amusement
of the evening began. Tea, " the
cup which cheers but not inebriates,"
was introduced about an hour after-
wards, and taken at the card-table
without any cessation of playing. In
the course of the evening various
refreshments were sent round, but
still the game went on ; the eternal
cards were shuffled and cut, and
dealt and played, sans intermission ;
whilst the conversation was some-
what of the following description :
" You have heard of poor Miss
S.'s misfortune?"
" No, ma'am — what is it?" — " Oh,
you want a spade. I haven't one in
my hand — there's a trump."
" Well-, as I was saying, I was at
Mrs. F.'s last night : such a set-out !
I am afraid them people are living
too fast."
" My dear sir (this was to me),
you have revoked. Why positively
I believe you are listening to that
noise in the street, instead of mind-
ing your cards."
At that moment, a man and wo-
man were singing " Bonny Doon"
just under the window, with a pa-
thos which I have rarely heard ex-
celled. I was certainly paying much
more attention to them than to the
M
80
SERTCHK* AND CHARACTERS.
bits of painted paper in my hand,
and merited my partner's rebuke. I
begged pardon, and promised to be-
have better in future.
At another table (in an interval
when my partner and our two oppo-
nents were engaged, for a minute or
two, in munching a biscuit and drink-
ing a glass of wine), I overheard the
subjoined interesting colloquy :
" Four by honours and two by
cards, ma'am."
" Yes, ma'am — my niece is a very
fine girl of her age. I always make
it a point to introduce her into a se-
lect society, and that gives girls a
proper degree of confidence, without
making them bold."
" We are the odd trick, ma'am."
" I called upon her yesterday —
found the house shut up, and a bill
on the shutter announcing the furni-
ture for sale. I always said what it
would come to."
Nothing more intellectual passed
during the six hours I was chained
to the card-table; and on inquiry of
my aunt the next morning, I found
that this was the way in which old
and middle-aged ladies generally
spent their time in ; gossip-
ping about all the morning, to collect
anecdotes of scandal, that are eager-
ly retailed at the card-tables, to which
the evenings are devoted. In short,
I found this was what they called
" life !"
J thought this a most irrational
mode of spending time ; for although
I have no objection to a merry round
game, and like very well to play
at Pope Joan, speculation, or com-
merce, with my fair cousins at the
Christinas holidays — and do not
think, as a gentleman mentioned in
Shenstone's Essays is said to have
done, (hat " if a person offers me
cards, it is his private opinion that I
have neither sense nor fancy," yet,
the sacrifice of so great a portion of
time to such an irrational amusement
certainly does appear to me the very
acme of absurdity.
This is not the only absurdity, how-
ever, which a residence in the world
will enable an observer to notice,
nor are the old dowagers of
the only persons who seem to have
a curious opinion of " life."
There's your fox-hunter, for in-
stance ; he sets out in the morning,
habited in his scarlet coat, buck-
skin breeches, and jockey cap, mount-
ed on a spirited horse, and followed
by dogs equally spirited. He dashes
" up hill and down dale," swims ri-
vers, leaps fences, and runs the risk of
breaking his neck ; and for what?
Why to see the dogs worry an ani-
mal which, when caught, is not worth
a farthing, and perhaps to attain the
high honour of being in first at the
death, and thus winning the brush !
The chase over, a good dinner as-
sembles the members of the hunt
round the social board ; the toast,
the joke, the laugh, and the song go
round. Those who have not heads
strong enough to bear half-a-dozen
bottles of wine tucked under their
belt, are left under the table in a
happy equality with the dogs who
make their lair at their master's feet.
And this they call " life."
Then there's the frequenter of the
turf; he has his favourite horse, on
which he bets thousands. The day
of trial comes ; the race-course is
thronged with the young and the
gay ; and all the beauty and fashion
of the neighbourhood are collected
on the grand stand. The scene is
animated even to those who do not
bet? to those who do it is enchant-
WHAT IS LIFE?
81
ing. But sec! the riders are now at
the scales, they are weighed, they
mount, and the horses are taken to
the starting-post. The signal is
given, and they are off with the fleet-
ness of the wind ; the horse on which
the better has staked his money takes
the lead — he keeps it; he offers to
bet another thousand — " done" and
" done" resound from various parts
of the stand : he now leaves all the
others far behind ; he offers one
thousand to ten, and still " done's"
the word. But, behold! scarlet Comes
up, he nears the favourite: the back-
ers of the latter begin to look blue;
as they approach the goal the jockeys
exert all their powers; they urge the
horses to the very utmost of their
speed; scarlet passes, and a shout,
long and loud, rends the air. Now
whip and spur are at work; the back-
ers of the favourite attempt to hedge
off; they offer any odds, which
are refused ; the inveterate better
whom we have in our eye stands the
gloomy victim of despair, till another
shout announces that the race is de-
cided. He rushes to learn the re-
sult; finds that the horse he had
betted on so largely is beaten ; a
stupor comes over him; he hurries
from what was the scene of enchant-
ment, but which now seems a very
pandaemonium, and wakes to reflec-
tion in a gaol. And yet this, too, is
" life !"
Then there is your sportsman of
another class ; he who thinks
" 'Tis » life' to see the first dawn stain
With sallow light the window-frame ;
To dress — to wear a rough drab coat,
With large pearl buttons, all afloat
Upon the waves of plush ; to tie
A kerchief of the king-cup die
(White-spotted with a small bird's-eye,)
Around the neck, and from the nape
Let fall an easy fan-like cape."
He is at home at the Fives-Court
knows all the boxers by their names,
is familiar with Cribb, ami hand-in-
glove with Belcher. lie can drive
four-in-hand, handle the gloves like
an adept, drink bine ruin, kick up
a spree, and floor a Charley. He
patronises the ring, and is never ab-
sent from the Hurst when a battle is
to be fought. He thinks it " life"
" To see a prone!
And dauntless man step, hill of hopes,
Up to the P. C. stakes and rops-.*,
Throw in his hat, and with a sprhig
Get gallantly within the ring:"
" To watch the noble attitude
He takes, the crowd in breathless uiood ;
And to see, with adamant start,
The muscles set, and the great heart
Hurl a courageous splendid light
Into the eye — and then — the fight?"
Aye, " the fight!" which ends in beat-
ing one champion to a mummy, whilst
the other is sometimes borne away in
triumph amongst the huzzas of the
crowd; atothers is himself, though the
victor,so exhausted, as to be insensible
to the congratulations of his friends.
Not unfrequently, too, life is forfeit-
ed in these pugilistic encounters ;
and always rogues and pickpockets
reap a rich harvest amongst the dis-
sipation and confusion which pre-
vail. And this is " life !"
The soldier sees " life" in the
tented field, when he hears the spi-
rit-stirring trumpet, and when his
war-horse neighs proudly, and snuffs
the air, as if in impatience to be led
to the charge. He thinks not of the
miseries of war; of towns destroyed,
of wives made widows and children
fatherless — he thinks not of these
things, till, wounded and in pain,
upon his bed of straw, they are
brought home to his breast by some-
what like a personal feeling: yet, even
then, if he be a patriotic soldier, his
I heart beats high for his country's
I cause ; and even, as " life" ebbs from
M 2
82
SKRTCKES AKD CJ1ARAC1I, US.
his death-wound, his last sigh is for
that and victory !
The sailor's "life" is to be on shore,
after a long cruise, with plenty of
" yellow boys" in his pockets, a brace
of girls, and a fiddler to play his fa-
vourite tunes, whilst he drinks his
grog, and puts round the toast, which
is so often given on the forecastle on
a Saturday night:
The wind that blows, the ship that goes,
And the girl that loves a sailor.
Forgotten then are all the perils of
the deep, the gales which threaten
tp overwhelm the shattered barks,
and the rocks and quicksands on
which many a gallant vessel is wreck-
ed. Jack thinks not of these in the
hour of enjoyment ; but with his full
bowl before him, a short pipe in his
mouth, his hat (bedecked with blue
ribbons) knowingly cocked on one
side, a black silk handkerchief tied
round his neck, he bids the fiddler
strike up " God save the King," and
" Rule, Britannia;" and says, " D —
me, this is ' life !' "
The lawyer sees " life" in a crowd-
ed court, where he can talk of pleas,
rejoinders, and demurrers, and set
the gaping crowd a-staring at the
fluency with which he harangues the
bench and jury, or at the dexterity
with which he extracts the truth from
the unwilling witness. This is his
" life ;" he thinks not of the evils
caused by the law's delay, the ex-
penses of litigation, or " the glorious
uncertainty" of his favourite science:
ambition blinds him to all this ; his
profession constitutes his " life," and
'he perseveres in the pursuit, till a silk
gown or a seat on the bench — the
sammum bonum of his ambition — re-
wards his efforts. This is the "life"
of the lawyer.
In there is another class
of society, besides the old and mid-
dle-aged ladies, whose notion of" life"
deserves to be mentioned. These
are the better sort (as they call
themselves) of tradesmen. Their
" life" is to give a splendid party
during the Christmas holidays, to
which every body they know is invit-
ed. Each tries to outdo his neigh-
I bour in the style of his appointments,
the number of his guests, and the
profusion and elegance of the re-
freshments with which he supplies
them. His pleasure is not complete
if all his friends are not present to
witness it; and friendship in
consists in inviting a man to a party
once a year, and turning up your
nose at him if you meet him in the
street the next day. To give these
entertainments I have known many
men half starve themselves and their
household during the remainder of
the twelve months; but then they
were enabled to give a more stylish
party than Mrs. Furbish; they had
two more persons squeezed into their
rooms ; they gave port, sherry, and
Madeira, whereas Mrs. F. only gave
port and sherry, and their macaroons
and rout-cakes were allowed to be
much more exquisite! This is no ca-
ricature ; it is the plain fact, and is
" li fe" among the shopkeepers of ,
The " higher orders," as they
call themselves of , are not
much more rational in their notions
of " life :" with the ladies of this class,
it is life to spend their nights at a
card-table, their mornings in bed,
and midday in shopping or scolding
their maids: with the gentleman, the
billiard-table or the news-room is
the only resource. During the winter,
concerts and assemblies are given:
from the former tradespeople are
tacitly considered as excluded, or, if
WHIMSICALITIES AND PECULIARITIES OF THE LONDON CU'IES.
8.3
they go, they are eyed with con-
tempt ; and the same persons who,
perhaps, have two or three years'
bills standing in their books, sit aloof,
and look down upon their creditors,
as if their presence was contamina-
tion. This is the more inexcusa-
ble, as the " quality" are not suffi-
ciently numerous to support concerts
of themselves; therefore, they never
hear any distinguished performer, but
are compelled to put up with some
provincial Squallini, who strains her
throat beyond her natural pitch, as-
cends to the skies in the enthu-
siasm of her professional passion, and
thinks she is a second Catalan!, be-
cause she cracks the ears of all who
hear her. To the assemblies no
tradespeople are admitted; and they
are, without exception, the dullest
parties I was ever present at. A
few quadrilles and waltzes are dan-
ced ; then the company adjourn to
partake of some stuff called tea,
for which one shilling each is de-
manded. Another dance or two ge-
nerally follows, and then the thirty
or forty persons who are present go
home " soberly," as Lady Grace
says; and this finishes the routine of
" quality life" at — .
But this " sketch" has run out to a
length perhaps more than commen-
surate with my reader's patience; so
here break we off.
WHIMSICALITIES AND PECULIARITIES OF THE
LONDON CRIES.
Much may be said, and doubtless
much has been said, and loudly too,
about the cries of London; our child-
hood has been amused with coloured
pictorial representations of them, and
the various and uncouth beings who
utter them, many of whom are pub-
lic characters in their way ; and even
our " larger growth" has been in-
dulged with something of the same
sort, so fertile is the subject.
Fastidious folks complain that the
whole thing is a nuisance ; and, to a
certain degree, perhaps it may be so;
but to one who endeavours to find
" good in every thing," much of use-
fulness will be discovered in the cir-
cumstance of almost every possible
article you can want being thus
brought, by these ambulatory mer-
chants, to your very door; and in
those parts of this overgrown metro-
polis which are remote from any mar-
ket, this must be particularly the case,
and more especially in the articles of
fish and vegetables. " True it is,
and pity 'tis 'tis true," that these iti-
nerants want a good deal of looking
after to keep them honest ; but, in-
dependent of all that, a variety of
feelings may be, and are, excited, and
amusement created, by the London
cries.
In very early spring, almost be-
fore the dreariness and desolation of
winter have passed away, we are
pleasingly surprised some morning
with the cry of snowdrops or prim-
roses ; and hoarse though the voice
may be that thus intrudes itself upon
the ear, and coarse and dirty the ha-
biliments of the first handmaid of
Flora, to the citizen she is, neverthe-
less, a harbinger of better things,
and leads our thoughts and wishes
to fine weather, and purling streams,
and blooming hedge-rows, and breezy
hills, and all the thousand pleasures
that the lover of the country is fond
of recalling to his mind, when con-
84
WHIMSICAMTIKP A'M> riiCUUAKlTIES Ol THE LONDON CKIKS.
fined amid the closeness of a crowd-
ed city.
There are many singular peculiari-
ties attached to the London cries,
which, from being constantly sound-
ed in our ears by the stentorian cos-
termongers, &c. are not noticed ; for
instance, lavender is always cried by
the pennyworth; and, I suppose, to
induce an idea of its cheapness, one
bunch is not thought sufficient for
that sum, but we are tempted with
" Sixteen bunches a penny, sweet
lavender !" though there may not be
more than four or five heads in each
bunch ; and this I take to have been
a custom, which, like many others,
would be more honoured in the breach
than the observance, handed down
from father to son, and mother to
daughter, from time immemorial, as
is doubtless the case with most other
peculiarities of the sort. Herrings
are always cried by the groat, what-
ever the quantity sold for that sum:
thus we have fresh herrings from six
to sixteen a groat, as the case may
be. Radishes are cried by the mar-
ket hand ; asparagus by the bundle ;
and as to measure, these criers have
no notion that any measure can be so
good as alehouse measure; thus we
have gooseberries a full alehouse pint
for a penny, or currants sixpence a
full alehouse quart ; they know no-
thing about Winchester or imperial
measure, not they — the alehouse is
all in all to them.
Then as to the truth of this noisy
portion of society, we certainly can-
not say much for the immaculacy of
it : we have pretended Thames fish-
ermen, who go about with a bell,
emulating those noisy dogs the dust-
men, and who cry, and I suppose
would not much mind swearing, that
their dark, muddyx Dutch grigs, at
three-pence a pound, are fine silver
Thames eels ; silver is the word for
an eel, not one would slip down a
cockney's throat with any other cog-
nomen.
There never yet was a water-cress
brought into London that was not
young: " My nice yoitng water-
cresses" is the invariable cry, let them
be ever so tough, hot, and old. Then
our peas, if yellow enough to want
to be sent to Hammersmith as the
best way to turn'em green, are in-
ev\tah\y fresh gathered, though they
have been metropolitan residents for
a week or upwards ; and they are
for the most part as inevitably mar-
rowfats, a pea now very rarely seen.
" Cherry ripe" has of late been
a popular cry, thanks to the style of
Madame Vestris's singing the pretty
rondo to which Herrick's quaint old
words are set : now cherries are al-
ways cried round, and as constantly
sound, let them be ever so bruised
or rotten ; and this, with their price
at per pound, makes as pretty a cry-
ing triplet as need be, and may form
a very good lesson for a young poet-
aster. Strawberry pottles are al-
wixys full to the bottom, even though
part of the contents be paper. All iti-
nerant dealers in poultry cry nothing
but " Chicken, or a young fowl,"
though some of the unfortunate pur-
chasers occasionally find their bar-
gains so tough that they can scarcely
hew them to pieces ; but even here
we have a poetical suggestion, for it
reminds me of Bloomfield's Suffolk
cheese, and his descriptive line,
" Too big to swallow, and too hard to bite."
Another remarkable circumstance
is that our fish are all alive. We
have " Sprats alive, oh 1" " Live
mackarel," and indeed most other
fish i and some, by way of out-he-
THK WrillI) IJKAUTY.
85
roding Herod, cry them leaping
alive; and one particular fish is not
only alive but dainty, for we invari-
ably hear " Dainty live cod."
Oysters, let their state and condi-
tion be what it may, are constantly
" All fat, oh /"and let them be bred
where they will are generally natives.
Any small plaice, or other flat fish,
are sold to the flats for Thames
flounders ; and muscles, let their co-
lour be what it may, even a good
copperas green, are always " lily
white muscles."
I had nearly forgotten a quality — a
curious one to attach to fruit — that
of courage, which is ever bestowed
upon currants, and often upon goose-
berries : in the season you may hear
fifty times a day, " Brave ripe cur-
rants,"" Brave red currants," " Brave
white currants," and so on, but all
brave.
These are but a few of the whim-
sicalities and peculiarities of the Lon-
don cries, but even these may afford
five minutes' amusement ; and till
some abler hand takes up the sub-
ject, my readers must take the will
for the deed.
J. If. Lact.y.
THE WEIRD BEAUTY
(Concluded
" Tins' last calamity to the name of
Douglas," continued the lady, " over-
powered my father. His strength
of mind and body were for ever im-
paired. I besought him, since to
me France was full of peril, ami our
country was lost to us, to let us
throw ourselves upon Divine Provi-
dence, which was all-sufficient to
stir up friends for us among the na-
tural enemies of Scotland. My hopes
were prophetic. An English farmer
crossed the Tweed in the same bark
with us; I had laid aside the gipsy
habit, and my father and I now tra-
velled in the garb of decent trades-
people. Our fellow-passenger had
the countenance of old age; yet vi-
gorous, fresh, and cheerful. He
looked at my father with scrutinizing
earnestness, and embarrassed me by
staring intently. ' My good lass,'
he said, ' you need not so highly
colour, when a gaffer of three score
and fifteen years fixes his old eyes
upon you ; and if you knew my
thoughts, you would be flattered.
from p. 31.)
That smile, young maiden, reminds
me of the Lady Kilspindie: are you
of her kin? This changing world
sometimes shares the blood of the
rich with the poor.' — ' Ah !' said I,
' the Lady of Kilspindie was my
mother, and there is my father.'
" * Gracious Disposer of events,'
exclaimed the old man, ' I have
prayed that I might once more see
Kilspindie ; but to meet him so un-
like himself wrings my heart.'
" ' How has my father gained such
an interest in your mind?' I question-
ed: ' when I know the grounds of
your favour, I shall tell you our mis-
fortunes.'
" ' Lady,' answered the farmer,
' you perhaps have heard of the
good town of Alnwick ; but probably
you know nothing of the tax impos-
ed on us by King John. It is worth
telling for pastime, and it leads to
the pith of my story about the Laird
or Lord of Kilspindie. The char-
ter of Alnwick was given by John, as
we call him, Lackland; and as he
80
THE WKIUD BEAUTY.
once in his mad frolics got himself
mired in a dirty pool, since named
the Freeman's Well, he made it a
part of our charter, that when a free-
man is to be chosen, he must leap
the well, where all candidates must
appear on horseback very early on
St. Mark's-day. Each man has a
sword by his side ; he is clad in white,
and a white night-cap on his head.
They dismount, draw up in a body
to some distance from the well, and
making a rush all at once in full
speed, they attempt to leap, but
plunge into the mud, and must scram-
ble out of it as fast as they can.
Then taking a dram and changing
their clothes, they remount their
horses, and, with swords drawn, gal-
lop through and around the district.
Returning to the town, they are met
by the women in all their finery, with
bells and garlands, dancing and sing-
ing, and they go to make merry at
houses distinguished by a great holly
bush. The merriment of youth of-
ten leads to folly; and I, a bold
spanker, had a squabble with the
son of a common-council-man. He
got a broken head, and the arm of
power being against me, I had no-
thing for it but to hurry over the
border. In my haste, and with a
brain confused by liquor, I fell and
broke my leg. The Laird and Lady
Kilspindie taking a morning walk,
found the poor stranger lying near
their house. They nursed me with
as much care as if I had been their
own son, and Douglas wrote to a
friend in Alnwick, and got me off'
from penalties. I have prayed that
I might be able to prove I had an
English heart alive to the calls of
gratitude; but to see him and his
child in such a plight pierces my
very soul. Who has done the cruel
deed?'
'"The ingrate James of Scotland,'
I replied; ' may the Lord requite him
according to his tyranny and injus-
tice !'
" My father had his eyes fixed on
me, and though he could not hear,
he judged by my looks that I was
speaking of King James. He wrote
on his tablets, ' Take care what you
say of your king: you shall be no
child of mine, Kate, if a disloyal
word passes your lips. Let me tell
our story.' I wrote, in answer, that
I would he all obedience, and I in-
formed him to whom I was speaking.
He invited the farmer to come near,
and told our wrongs, so as to soften
all the harshness of our royal mas-
ter. Reverend father, you are greatly
touched; but unless you could know
all we have endured in our wander-
ings, and the bitterness of disap-
pointment to our hopes, and the de-
solate feeling of an exile, you could
not appreciate the Christian meek-
ness, the unshaken loyalty of him
who lies before you on his bed of
death, in a hovel, which, in his bet-
ter days, he would have thought too
wretched for the meanest domestic
animal in his possession."
Grief suppressed the lady's voice.
When she composed herself, she
said, " My narrative is now near a
close. Gaffer Oldmixon took us to
his house, and behaved to us with
the most respectful kindness. I had
saved some trinkets, which, being
rarities in that quarter, sold well, and
my lace and embroidery were in great
request. I hired a cottage, and was
able to earn a decent livelihood for
myself and my father till lately, when
the disturbed state of the border
T1IK WKIKD 1JEAUTY.
87
drove every one that could not fight
to seek refuge in walled cities or
natural fastnesses. My father was
feeble; but I hoped he could bear
the removal to a place of safety.
Alas! the severe weather hastened
the decays of old age, in spite of all
my care to defend him from the sleet
and cold winds. Gaffer Oldmixon
attended our journey, and directed
us to this woodman's summer-hut,
when my father could no longer bear
to proceed. He provides necessa-
ries for us, and comes under the veil
of night to see us: for two days I
have looked in vain — he appears not
— the tread of your horse gave me
hopes."
While the duteous daughter re-
lated her story, her eyes were conti-
nually fixed upon the patient. She
moistened his pale lips from time
to time with a feather dipped in
a cordial, or she softly replaced
the coverings that, in his unquiet
slumbers, he threw from his arms
and breast.
" Pray for the dying '."she exclaim-
ed, with uplifted hands. " This
struggle must soon release his soul."
The king kneeled by the lowly
couch, and in contrite humiliation,
bending his head, he supplicated
the Supreme Lord of Life in mercy
to receive the parting spirit, and to
pardon James of Scotland, by whose
unhallowed resentment the latter
days of a faithful servant were im-
bittered. The dying ear seemed
to have resumed its suspended func-
tions, and to recognise the voice of
James. Douglas opened his eyes,
looked earnestly at the priest, and
exerting all his strength, uttered,
" Jam— es — Jam — es — I — forgive —
and bless — ." The faint accents died
Vol. VIII. No. XLIV.
away, and he expired. The priest
begged Catherine to command his
utmost services.
" I thank you, reverend father,"
she said, " but indeed I can do no
more until gaffer Oldmixon commu-
nicates the instructions my father
gave respecting his interment. I wish
to fulfil his every wish, and if the
gaffer does not soon appear, what
will become of me ?"
" Lady, I am bound on a special
mission to the Scottish camp. I have
some influence with the chiefs of
their army. Douglas of Kilspindie
wished to lay his bones in Ins own
country, and I may venture to pro-
mise an honourable escort of his
countrymen to bear him to the ceme-
tery of his ancestors in the church-
yard of Annan. On his grandmother's
side he is lineally descended from
Randolph, Lord Regent of Scotland,
and with the dust of the Randolphs
he has good right to be laid."
" Father," replied Catherine, " my
heart is almost bursting with sorrow;
but I have been so long constrained
to limit the indulgence of my feel-
ings to hours of privacy, that I can-
not obtain relief in tears until I am
alone. Accept this simple morning
repast, and then I will shew you a
path through the wood, which, in
half an hour, will bring you to the
Scottish camp. I climbed an emi-
nence yesterday to look out for gaffer
Oldmixon, and my woe-worn mind
seemed to have gathered new strength
at the unexpected sight of my coun-
trymen. I have here my father's
cloak. It is well known in this neigh-
bourhood, and whoever wears it will
find there is protection in every sign
of affinity to a good man. These
viands are unpalatable, reverend fe-
N
88
1HK WKlIlt) BEAUTY
ther. If I had better, they should
be at your service."
James had not tasted a morsel. He
had laid his head on the table, and
penitential tears bore testimony to
the worth of the departed servant
he had so harshly driven from his
native land. Catherine Douglas saw
the briny traces on his cheeks, and
the sluices of her grief were opened.
" Lady," said James, " do not im-
pute it to the quality of your viands
that my appetite has failed. I could
not taste the most sumptuous break-
fast ever prepared for Henry of Eng-
land. I must not be tardy when I
go your errand : yet, my daughter,
it is doleful to leave you in solitude
with the dead."
" Alive or dead, the person of my
father is my dearest earthly object,"
said Catherine. " God and the saints
are with me, and mortality should
have no horrors for a creature now
left alone upon earth."
James departed, wrapped in Kil-
spindie's cloak, and wearing his Eng-
lish cap. Catherine Douglas shewed
him a short path to the Scottish
camp, and Tantallon, sure-footed and
wary, soon carried him thither. Ca-
therine, on her knees beside the dead
body of her father, passed the day
in mourning and prayer.
Night began to close in before
gaffer Oldmixon joined her. He
had been ill, and travelled with dif-
ficulty. He was not seated in the
hut, when a large party of Scottish
gentlemen, in sacerdotal habits, ap-
peared. They were led by the priest,
and their garb ensured for them re-
verence even in a hostile country.
James called Oldmixon aside to in-
quire what instructions Kilspindie
gave for his interment' He had
briefly requested to be laid, if pos-
sible, in the soil of Scotland. The
band of priests came provided with
every necessary for a funeral, and a
palfrey for the lady to accompany
the procession. A blaze of torches
shewed the safest track over the Sol-
way. Catherine Douglas, in weeds
of woe, and covered with a long black
veil, rode at the head of her father's
coffin ; the king kept beside her until
she came to the water's edge. He
then put a sealed packet into her
hand, and requesting her to examine
the contents when the last duties had
been paid to the laird of Kilspindie,
he bade her adieu, and turned to the
place where a suitable escort await-
ed their royal master. Catherine se-
cured the packet without bestowing
on it another thought. Her whole
mind was absorbed in the solemn du-
ty she had to perform ; and she did
not observe that, on reaching the
Scottish border, the nobles who form-
ed the funeral cavalcade threw off
their clerical cassocks and cowls, and
received from attendants their plumed
helmets, standing contest as knights
in armour, as beseemed the sepul-
chral train of a warrior renowned in
feats of arms.
The solemn service being finished,
Catherine rose from her knees, and
looked round for a person to whom
she could apply for hospitality to
gaffer Oldmixon for the night — for
herself she had resolved to keep vi-
gils at the grave of her parent. The
composure of her self-possession was
a little disturbed on seeing the eccle-
siastics all gone, and herself encom-
passed by belted knights. Yet even
these were the chiefs of Scotland ;
and though they had forsaken her
father in adversity, they paid the last
honours to his memory. She was
going to address a venerable warrior,
TMi Wtint) BEAUTY.
89
when an aged lady spoke to her, re-
questing her to accept a home with
her for a week or two, that she might
fix upon a settled abode. "A week
or two !" cried Oldmixon, who had
bustled up to Catherine Douglas to
bid her good night; " a week or
two is cold comfort for an orphan.
Make your home with me, dear lady.
I am indeed a poor representative of
of the fatherly protector we have
just laid in his narrow dwelling of
dust; but I and my sons, and their
wives and children, will be your hum-
ble and faithful servants. I leave
you to-night by the grave of him
whom you best loved and all re-
vered. I must join my sons and the
army of my king ; for an Englishman
should never quit his post while he
can stand or move. To-morrow, if
I live, -and am able to ride or walk, I
will meet you on the border, and a
child's part of my substance shall be
yours, whether I live or die."
The earnest and loud voice and
expressive gestures of the honest
yeoman had drawn crowds round him
and the mourner. She was suppress-
ing her emotion to make a reply, when
a grey-haired warrior interposed.
" Before you give an answer, ma-
dam, it may be proper to examine
the contents of the packet I saw our
good King James deliver to you."
" The king !" replied Catherine
Douglas, her pale complexion chang-
ing to the deepest crimson.
" Lady," answered the Lord Hay
of Kinfawns, " I swear to you by
the holy cross of St. Andrew, that
by command of King James I car-
ried to the brink of Solway a packet
wrapped in black silk, and bound
with a silken string of the same co-
lour. There I delivered my charge
to the royal hand, and my eyes be-
held that hand present it to you. In
your grief you received it, and, as
if scarcely conscious of the act, you
placed it in your bosom. Take coun-
sel of an old man ; go with the Lady
Bonnymains, and see the inside of
the kingly gifts. Our good King
James doth not scatter chaff to his se-
lected favourites." — Catherine's eyes
flashed with indignant scorn. — " Par-
don me if I have ill chosen my words,
lady — no ill was intended."
" Of that I am sure," said Old-
mixon. " Take counsel, lady, and
come with your kinswoman for one
hour."
Lord Kinfawns took Catherine's
hand, the Lady Bonnymains laid
hold of her arm on the other side,
and Oldmixon followed. As soon
as they entered the hall of Bonny-
mains, he said, " The King of Scot-
land, in the guise of a churchman,
gave me this purse of gold to be
disposed of as the daughter of Kil-
spindie shall please. I leave it here
at her will, in case spoilers may cross
my way."
While Oldmixon spoke, Catherine
Douglas unwrapped the packet from
its sable envelope, and thercyal sig-
net appeared on broad seals. The
contents were an act of grace, clear-
ing from attainder the late Archibald
Douglas of Kilspindie and his off-
spring; and restoring to Catherine
Douglas, the daughter of Kilspin-
die, all her father's rights and pos-
sessions in land or moveables ; with
a gift of crown-lands in the vicinity
of Annan. A letter, penned by the
royal hand, acknowledged, with ma-
ny thanks, the hospitality of Cathe-
rine, and the momentous safeguard
her father's cloak had afforded. Four
yeomen observed and knew Tantal-
lon as a Scottish nag ; but on seeing
N 2
90
THE WEIRD BEAUTY.
the cloak, the men said to each other,
it would be shameful to molest a
friend of the good Douglas. James
said he would keep the cloak and
cap as mementoes that a king should
never disregard a supplicant; and
that a crown and sceptre may be of
less value in exigency, than the aid
of a true and worthy subject. He
concluded by mentioning, that he felt
it incumbent to remunerate Oldmixon
for his services to Kilspindie and his
daughter, and knowing that the loyal
Englishman would accept no Scot-
tish coin while the sister kingdoms
were at war, he had given the sum
as for the disposal of Catherine. It
may he supposed that the lady, with
unspeakable pleasure, confirmed the
donation to her English friend; and
they parted with a promise to see
her in a few days.
A very few days brought terrible
rumours of defeat, and all the cruel
atrocities which marked the early
wars between England and Scotland
were recollected and denounced as
impending on the border. Since
Catherine Douglas had so lately come
from that country, many applied to
her for her opinion. She said, that,
for the honour of her beloved father-
land, she hoped it never would be
known on the other side of the Sol-
way or Tweed, that Scottish hearts
or Scottish lips could dread or speak
of renewing the barbarities of olden
times, when the enemy on both sides
purchased prisoners for the horrible
brutality of inflicting upon them tor-
turing deaths. The brave feel no re-
sentment against a vanquished ene-
my, nor will they apprehend it from
others.
On the fifth day after Kilspindie
was gathered to his fathers, the de-
feat of the Scots was confirmed by
multitudes flying from Solway. King
James, with his body of reserve, lay
near, and when apprised of the dis-
aster, he said, " The weird wishes of
Catherine Douglas have fallen upon
me!" The words were reported to
the queen, whose inquiries brought
forth the circumstance we have re-
lated ; and certain it is, that James
V. of Scotland died, like Douglas of
Kilspindie, of a broken heart. But
the discomfiture of James's army
was caused by his own infatuated
favouritism, and the ill-timed resent-
ment of his nobles and their great
vassals. The king had given to Oli-
ver Sinclair a secret commission for
the chief command of his army. Ex-
alted upon crossed pikes, the minion
was shewn to the armed host while
his high appointment was proclaimed.
The enraged soldiery broke their
ranks ; the English observing some
confusion among their adversaries,
bore down upon them; the Scots,
panic-struck, dispersed and fled. Se-
ven lords, two hundred gentlemen,
and eight hundred soldiers, were
prisoners to the English ; and they
took twenty-four pieces of ordnance,
at that time a very important cap-
ture. Before a truce could be set-
tled between the contending realms,
the victors ravaged the southern
counties of Scotland, except the
lands and property of Catherine
Douglas ; and her influence saved
many of her friends from pillage.
The Lady Bonnymains perceived
many advantages from an alliance
with an heiress respected even by
the natural foes of the border, and
whose wealth derived lustre from her
wisdom. She advised Catherine to
think of matrimony, and secretly
wished that one of her own sons
might gain the prize. Catherine re-
TIIK POtSOXED TRAVELLER.
91
plied, that she had lived too long
without a master to purchase one in
the decline of her life; and as to
bairns, she had the largest family in
braid Scotland, for every poor wo-
man's bairn would find in her a se-
cond mother. No man would take
her for her own sake, when she had
only herself to bestow « and now
she was not to give her goodly lands
as a bribe for leading her to the al-
tar; and she would prove that a
single woman can rule her heritage
for her own weal and the weal of
her country.
The character of Catherine Doug-
las has been variously represented ;
but all agree that her undertakings
were uniformly prosperous. This
success was ascribed to magical arts
by the Catholics ; Protestants attri-
buted to her prudence the good for-
tune which invariably attended her.
She was a zealous follower of the re-
formed religion, and a mighty pro-
tectress of such as suffered persecu-
tion for their enlightened principles.
She retained her beauty at the age
of fourscore ; a singularity imputed
by the Catholics to necromantic
agency. In their legends she is ac-
cused of numerous witcheries, and
is always styled the Weird Beauty.
But the traditions of the reformers,
and of the reformed professors of
Christianity, delineate the person
and countenance of Catherine Doug-
las as deriving their captivations from
mental endowments. Her courage-
ous, firm, benevolent spirit beamed
in her brilliant eyes, and beautified
every feature, even at the age of
fourscore ; for to the latest period
of her life she thought and acted
for herself with wisdom and unre-
mitting beneficence.
B. G.
THE POISONED TRAVELLER.
TO THE EDITOR.
Snt,
In your last number you gave
from Reynolds' Memoirs, a practi-
cal illustration of some of the incon-
veniences attending the imperfect
acquaintance with a foreign lan-
guage, which indeed, in some in-
stances, proves more embarrassing
than total ignorance. The following
narrative, transcribed from a recent
work, entitled Continental Adven-
tures, which professes to be a novel,
but in which most of the circum-
stances are real, and the descriptions
true to fact, furnishes a still more
humorous elucidation of the sub-
ject, and will at least serve to amuse
your readers, if you can spare a page
for it.
I am, &c. &c.
R. S.
" The mountain of Rossberg, as
well as the Righi, and most of the
others in this neighbourhood (near
the lake of Lucerne), being of an
aggregate formation, and extremely
loose and adhesive, the central beds
of the coarse breccia, or what in
English is called plumpudding-stone,
of which the whole mass is com-
posed, having to support such an
enormous superincumbent weight,
must, when loosened by the long
9:
THIi POISOX.ED TRAVELLER.
continuance of wet weather, be very
liable to give way. On the over-
thrown mountain, beneath which lie
the mangled corpses of the unfortu-
nates whom it overwhelmed, the new
church of Lowerz, an inn, and a
few houses have been built. This
lake is haunted, not indeed by the
ghosts of these poor victims, but by
the apparition of a young female,
whom one of the ancient tyrants of
these cantons carried off, from her
betrothed lover, to the castle of
Schwanau, on one of the islands in
the lake, the ruins of which are still
to be seen. The melancholy tale of
his cruel persecution, and of her
cruel sufferings, is still told by the
peasants as they point out the now
desolate island ; and they relate that
annually, on the anniversary of the
fatal day on which she terminated
her life by throwing herself into the
water, her spectre is seen at mid-
night, on the summit of the ruined
tower, attired in dishevelled gar-
ments, with streaming hair, bearing
a lighted torch, and pursuing the
ghost of her relentless ravisher, who
is armed from head to foot, with
loud shrieks, until both are lost in
the dark waters of the lake. The
caitiff-knight, however, according to
tradition, fell a sacrifice to the just
vengeance of her brothers.
" We had scarcely heard this la-
mentable history, before the sounds
of complaint and distress caught our
ears ; and turning the projecting
point of a cliff, we beheld a tall stout
man in a travelling dress, crying and
wringing his hands in the bitterness
of despair; while his guide, in broken
French, seemed vainly endeavouring
to comfort him. In answer to an in-
quiry of what had happened, the
stranger's perplexed-looking Swiss
guide shook his head, and de-
clared, in very bad French, that
' really he did not know, but that
monsieur had all at once, without
any reason, broke out into this vio-
lent taking.' — ' You lie, you d — d
scoundrel, you lie ! You've poisoned
me, you villain ; and then you pre-
tend you don't know what's the mat-
ter with me!' exclaimed the English-
man, pouring out a torrent of accu-
sation and vituperation against the
Swiss, who continued shrugging up
his shoulders, and making significant
gesticulations that the gentleman was
not in his right mind : while the lat-
ter began anew to wring his hands
and bewail himself, repeating, ! But
it's all over with me now! — I'm a
dead man ! I've not half an hour to
live! — I'm poisoned! Oh! oh! oh!'
— ' What is the matter?' we both
exclaimed, in great alarm. — 'Poison-
ed!'— ? How? What poison have
you swallowed V — ' The poisoned
water he gave me ! — Oh ! oh ! oh ! —
I feel it in my bowels ! — Oh ! oh ! oh !
the agony is coming ! — O Lord ! O
Lord ! what shall I do ? — And in
i this cursed country, too,where there's
! never a doctor to be had for love or
money — Oh ! oh ! oh !' — ' If you
would only explain, sir,' I said, 'per-
haps you might yet be saved. What
poison did he put into the water ?
How do you know it was poison V
— ' He owned it — I made him own
it — a villain ! He acknowledged it
was poisonous after he gave it me !'
exclaimed the man. ' Oh ! oh ! I'm
rack'd — I'm tortured ! — ' He was in-
terrupted by Lady Hunlocke, who
never travels without some medi-
cines, and who had, at the first
sound of his having swallowed poi-
son, flown to the cart, and tearing
open her travelling-bag, seized upon
THK POISONED TKAVELLEtt.
93
a bottle of ipecacuanha wine, with
which she now returned, breathless
with speed, exclaiming, ' Take this !
take this ! swallow it instantly! — this
will save you! — this is an emetic!'
and the poor man seizing the bottle,
poured it down his throat with the
utmost avidity, making, however, an
involuntary grimace at its nauseous
taste, as he finished the draught.
* Do you really think it will save me?'
he asked, in an altered tone. — ' I
have no doubt of it,' said she : ' but
how did all this happen ? and what
poison was it ?' — ' The poisoned
water of the lake, I tell you !' ex-
claimed the Englishman ; ' and — ' —
* The water of the lake poisoned !
but how did he poison it?' — ' He
gave it me to drink, knowing it was
poisonous, and offered me more of
it, pretending it was very good ; and
then he owned afterwards, when I
asked him, after I saw it in the book,
that it is very poisonous. He wanted
to poison me with it, to get my money
and effects — the villain !' — ' But how
did he poison it V — ' Why its poi-
sonous water — the water of the lake
is poisonous.' — ' Poisonous !' — ' Yes,
it's very poisonous ; and after I had
drunk it, the fool gave me this
French book to read about it, and
the first thing I saw — for I under-
stand French — was, that the water
of the lake is very poisonous. You
see here it is : he says ' this lake is
very poisonous — bien poissonneux,'
— shewing us the words in a French
book containing a description of the
lake of Lucerne. Here Lady Hun-
locke and I burst out into an uncon-
troulable fit of laughter. * I don't
know what you see to laugh at,' he
exclaimed, looking very angry : ' for
if you don't believe it, I can tell you
it's true — and too true ; for the ras-
cal himself owned it to my face
when I asked him. He said it was
very poisonous — bien poissonneux —
and he told me, too, of I don't know
how many hundreds of people that
died all in one day with drink-
ing of it— the villain ! But he shall
drink it himself — I'll be hang'd if he
shan't !' And instantly as this thought
struck him, he seized the unlucky
little Swiss by the collar, who kicked
and rebelled with all his might, con-
ceiving himself in the grasp of a
madman, who was going to toss him
into the lake ; but his struggles were
in vain, for he was a shrimp in the
hands of the athletic Englishman,
who dragged him in a moment to
the water's edge, and standing over
him in a menacing attitude, exclaim-
ed, ' Boir ! boir f The trembling
Swiss, who fancied he himself want-
ed to drink, submissively ejaculated,
1 Oui, monsieur /' and filling a lea-
thern cup, which, with a shaking
hand, he drew from his pocket, he
presented it to the Englishman. —
1 You d d impudent rascal !' ex-
claimed the enraged Englishman,
" do you want to poison me again ?'
and seizing him by the shoulders, he
shook him until his bones must have
been nearly dislocated, saying, 'Boire
vous I vous ties to boire /' in a voice
choked with passion. Trembling in
every limb, the poor little Swiss,
now beginning to understand, pas-
sively took a drink. ' There ! now,
I think, I've done for you!' exclaim-
ed the Englishman triumphantly :
• I've paid you up ! But oh ! oh !
— the poison ! the poison ! Oh !
think of dying this way ! — poisoned
like a rat ! Oh ! I'm sick !— oh ! oh !
oh !' Lady Hunlocke, who as well
as myself had been all this time in
convulsions of laughter, now attempt-
94
TI1B L1TERAKY COTKR1E.
■eel to articulate. — ' It is the emetic !
you are not poisoned ! the water is
not poisonous !' — ' Oh ! oh ! you
foolish woman ! Oh ! — why you
don't understand French. The book
says the water is tres poissonneux,
which in English means — ' — ' That
it's very full of fish,' interrupted
Lady Hunlocke. — ' Of poison .' I
tell you. Oh !' ejaculated the poor
sick wretch. — ' Of poisson, which
means fish, certainly ; and poisson-
neux means fishy,' exclaimed Lady
Hunlocke, in a fresh paroxysm of
laughter. When at last he was with
some difficulty convinced that the
lake, instead of being poisonous, mere-
ly abounded in fish, he went nearly
distracted with rage, and rarcd at
his own stupidity, at the guide's stu-
pidity, at our stupidity, and at the
unlucky emetic, which now began to
make him extremely ill in good ear-
nest. We were by this time close
to the little inn of Lowerz, towards
which we began to conduct him the
moment lie had swallowed the eme-
tic ; and having explained the mis-
take to his own guide, and to the
people of the inn, we left the poor
wretch, whom we sincerely compas-
sionated, though it was impossible to
help laughing, to the paroxysm of
sickness which Mas his inevitable
lot."
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
No. XVIII.
Present, the Vicar, Miss and Miss Rosina
drake, Counsellor Eitherside, Mr. Mathe
NAI.D HlLDEBRAND.
The Vicar. Wiclcome back, Coun-
sellor, from your country excursion.
How did your election end ?
Counsellor. Oh ! we beat our man
to a stand-still, and then he gave in:
he hadn't a chance from the begin-
nine : but he was in the hands of
bad advisers, who persuaded him to
stand the contest, to the great joy of
the victuallers and inn-keepers, as
well as of the voters ; but, I assure
you, much to the detriment of his
pocket and ours.
Horace Primrose. Oh ! that of
course; you cannot interfere in elec-
tions without expense.
Basil Firedrake. The man who
exposes himself to all the insults and
outrages of a popular election, and
spends his money, besides, on the
rapacious crew generally dignified
with the name of electors, deserves
Primrose, Captain Primrose, Captain Fire-
ws, Mr. Montague, Mr. Ai-athy, and Regj-
to receive a round dozen at the
gangway. I have detested popular
elections ever since my friend, Sir
Murray Maxwell, was so ill-treated
at Westminster.
Mr. Montague. But there is a
great deal of true English feeling
displayed at popular elections, with
all their inconveniences. They are
component and essential parts of our
constitution, and I would not have
them dispensed with. The little effer-
vescences which occur at those times
soon subside,whilst the benefits which
result from them are solid and lasting.
Reginald. There is nothing I so
much enjoy as an election. I like
all the bustle which attends it; I
enjoy the canvassing. What if you
do meet with a few rebuffs ? they are
counterbalanced, and more than
counterbalanced, by the hearty greet-
THE L1TRUAKY COTERIE.
95
ings of your friends; and the smiles
of the ladies are in themselves a suf-
ficient reward.
Mr. Mathews. But how if the
ladies frown, instead of smile? What
is to be your reward then ?
Reginald. Oh ! the ladies never
frown on a true blue. Were our
cause to be decided by them, we
should carry it in every county, city,
and borough in the kingdom.
Mr. Apathy. What whim could
have influenced the Earl of Radnor
when he returned Southey to Parlia-
ment for the borough of Downton?
Horace Primrose. What could in-
fluence him, but a desire to do ho-
mage f o his talents, which every man
capable of appreciating them is rea-
dy to acknowledge, though fools
and snarlers cavil at, and ridicule,
what they do not understand.
The Vicar. My friend Southey's
habits will never let him sit in Par-
liament. He will feel the obligation
under which the earl has laid him,
but depend upon it he will not take
his seat in Parliament.
Reginald. He has declined that
honour — were you not aware of it ?
The Vicar. No.
Reginald. He has, however, and
very properly. Parliamentary hours
and parliamentary business would
never suit a man of Southey's retired
and studious habits. He also assigns
his limited fortune as another reason
why he should not take his seat.
Mr. Mathews. I should have liked
to see the faces of the mean-souled ca-
lumniators, as they were reading this
announcement, who had circulated
the report, that it was mean motives
of personal ambition which had
prompted him to become the tool of
a borough-proprietor, for the sake of
Vol. VIII. No. XLIV.
having a seat in the House. If they
could blush, their faces must have
been as red as scarlet, on finding
that their malicious surmises were
all false and unfounded.
Basil Firedrahe. Blush, did you
say ? Did you ever see a Negro
change colour ? When you can wash
the Ethiopian white, you may expect
to see these habitual calumniators
blush.
The Vicar. Come, I must put my
veto upon political subjects; we have
had quite enough of a topic which
too often leads to dissension ; and as
we are all friends, differences would
not be agreeable. Mary-Ann, my
love, what are you thinking of?
Miss Primrose. I wanted to ask
Reginald if he knows who and what
Mr. Hazlitt is ?
Reginald. He was once a painter
of bad pictures — now, a writer of
bad books ; a man of whose private
character and conduct I know no-
thing ; but who has taken great
pains to exhibit himself, in his pro-
ductionsj in a most offensive point of
view. But may I ask how you be-
came interested in such a man as
Mr. Hazlitt ?
Miss Primrose. Simply from per-
using some pages in a volume of
which, I have been told, he is the
author. It is called, The Plain
Speaker, or Opinions on Books,
Men, and Things ; and I confess,
that although I regretted to find a
man could exist eapable of holding
himself and his companions up to
the world in such a despicable light,
yet, at the same time, I rejoice to
think that he has enabled us females
to repel a stigma which is often cast
upon us.
Mr. Apathy. What is that?
O
96
THE LlTKItARY C0TEU1H.
Miss Primrose. Why, you lords
of the creation ascribe to us poor
weak women solely the inclination
to asperse and slander each other.
\ou say that we cannot exist with-
out scandal
Basil Firedrake. And there are
more reputations destroyed over a
tea-table, than can possibly be re-
paired in any other place. Tea is a na-
tural generator of scandal. If you la-
dies were to drink grog, as we sailors
do, you would never talk scandal.
Miss Primrose. Hold your tongue,
saucebox ! or I shall throw down
my gauntlet, and dare you to the
field, for the honour of my sex.
Reginald. Basil would not dare
to meet you. He would feel he had
a bad cause ; and though bold as a
lion, he would shrink from the en-
counter. But what pleased you so
in Hazlitt's book — for it is his,
though published anonymously.
Miss Primrose. Why, I made the
discovery that if we women do occa-
sionally amuse ourselves with deve-
loping each other's faults, that you
men are not altogether exempt
from the same foible. But I will
read the passage, which I deemed
so curious that I thought, with Ham-
let, "meet it were I wrote this down."
So here it is. (Reads.)
I don't know what it is that attaches
me to H so much, except that he
and I, whenever we meet, tit in judgment
on another set of old friends, and " carve
them as a dish fit for the gods." There
was L — H — .
Reginald. Leigh Hunt.
Miss Primrose. John Scot.
Reginald. The unfortunate, but
clever editor of the London Maga-
zine.
Miss Primrose, Mrs.
-, whose
dark raven looks in die a picturesque
back-ground to our discourse 5 B ,
who is grown fat, and is, they say, mar-
ried ; R . These had all separated
long ago, and their foibles are the com-
mon links that hold us together. We do
not affect to condole or whine over their
follies ; we enjoy, we laugh at them, till
we are ready to burst our sides, " sans
intermission, for hours by the dial." —
We serve up a course of anecdotes, traits,
master-strokes of character, and cut and
hack at them till ice are weary. Perhaps
iome of them are even with us. For my
own part, as I once said, / like a friend
the better for having faults that one can
talk about. " Then," said Mrs. ,
" you will never cease to be a philanthro-
pist !" The only intimacy I never found
to flinch or fade, was a purely intellec-
tual one. There was none of the cant
of candour in it ; none of the whine of
mawkish sensibility. Our mutual ac-
quaintance were considered merely as
subjects of conversation and knowledge,
not at all of affection. We regarded
them no more in our experiments than
" mice in an air-pump ;" or, like male-
factors, they mere regularly cut down,
and given over to the dissecting knife.
We spared neither friend nor foe. We
sacrificed human infirmities at the shrine
of truth. The skeletons of character
might be seen, after the juice was extract-
ed, dangling in the air, like flies in cob-
webs; or they were kept for future in-
spection in some refined acid. The de-
monstration was as beautiful as it was
new. There is no surfeiting on gall ;
nothing keeps so well as a decoction of
spleen. We grow tired of every thing,
but turning others into ridicule and con-
gratulating ourselves on their defects.
There, gentlemen, what say you to
that? Will you now affirm that scan-
dal is confined exclusively to the fe-
males? This delectable passage you
will find at page 317 of the first
volume, for I like to give chapter
nnd verse.
T1IC UTiRAKY COTERIE.
97
Mr. Mathews. I would not de-
stroy your exultation before you had
favoured us with the passage on
which it was grounded; but, my dear
Miss Primrose, the writer of those
despicable lines, the heartless avow-
er of those contemptible sentiments,
is not a man — we disown him. He
is only a gruel- sip ping, tea-drinking
cockney.
Basil. There, you see, I told you
so! Had he drunk generous flip
or substantial grog, he'd never have
talked scandal, depend upon it.
Mr. Mathews. He has, in another
passage, a little previous to the one
Miss Primrose has just read, avowed
sentiments, if possible, still more !
heartless; expressed opinions even;
still more repugnant to every manly,
every honourable, every humane feel-
ing. I confess I blushed for myself
to think that I belonged to the same
species with the person who could
pen such a passage as this:
I have quarrelled with almost all my
old friends (they might say this is owing
to my had temper ; but) they have also
quarrelled with one another They are
scattered like last year's snow : some of
them are dead, or gone to live at a dis-
tance, or pass one another in the street
like strangers ; or if they stop to speak,
do it as coolly, and try to cut one ano-
ther as soon as possible. Some ©f us
have dearly earned a name in the world,
whilst others remain in their original
privacy. We despise the one, and envy
and are glad to mortify the other. Times
are changed ; we cannot revive our old
feelings; and we avoid the sight and are
uneasy in the presence of those who re-
mind us of our infirmity, and put us upon
an effort of seeming cordiality, which
embarrasses ourselves, and does not im-
pose upon our quondam associates. Old
friendships are like meats served up
repeatedly, cold, comfortless, and dis-
tasteful. The stomach turns against
them.
Reginald. Hazlitt is a disappoint-
ed man ; one of a class of writers,
who endeavoured, if I may use the
term, to denationalize our sound
English feelings and principles: and
whose ability to do evil was cramped
and curtailed by some powerful wri-
ters in Blackwood, who gave them
the cognomen of the Cockney School.
At his first entree into the literary
world, he was praised and caressed
by a little knot of sycophantic flat-
terers, who, utterly destitute of any
thing approaching to talent them-
selves, looked with admiration on
Hazlitt; and received all his fine
wire-drawn deductions, and absurd
paradoxes, and ill -digested, half-
formed ideas, as master -pieces of
human wisdom. Then his connec-
tion with Leigh Hunt procured him
some puffs in the Examiner; and
poor Hazlitt thought himself little
less than a demigod. The world
thought otherwise; and, despised
and neglected, he now seeks to vent
his spleen against all his former as*
sociates, whilst his vanity enables
him easily to reconcile the light es-
timation in which his productions
are held to his own feelings: listen.
(Reginald takes a volume from his
pocket, and reads.)
Here (he is writing from Winterslow)
I came fifteen years ago a willing exile;
and as I trod the lengthened greensward
by the low wood side, repeated the old
line,
« My mind to me a kingdom is!"
I found it so then, before, and since ;
and shall I faint, now that I have poured
out the spirit of that mind to the world,
and treated many subjects with truth,
with freedom, and power, because I have
been followed with one cry of abuse ever
since, for not bcinu n government tool?
o %
93
THE LVl'HRARY COTKRltf.
Here I returned a few years after to fi-
nish some works I had undertaken, doubt-
ful of the event, but determined to do
my best; and wrote that character of
Millimant, which was once transcribed
by fingers fairer than Aurora's, but no
notice was taken of it, because I was not
a government tool.'! and must be sup-
posed devoid of taste and elegance by
all who aspired to these qualities in their
own persons. Here I sketched my ac-
count of that old honest Signor Orlando
Friscobaldo, which, with its fine, racy,
aerial tone, that old crab-apple G*fF**d
would have relished, or pretended to
relish, had I been a government tool!!!
Here, too, I have written Table-Talks
without number, and as yet without a
falling off, till now that they are nearly
done, or I should not make this boast.
I could swear (were they not mine) the
thoughts, in many of them, are founded
as the rock, free as air, the tone like an
Italian picture! What then? Had the
style been like polished steel, as firm and
as bright, it would have availed me no-
thing, for I am not a government tool.'!!!
Thus he goes on; and the end of
the whole is, that he is dissatisfied
with himself and with every body;
that he finds his opinions of men
and of things were not the best
founded in the world; that he has
been " the dupe of friendship, and
the fool of love ;" and that he "hates
and despises himself," and " chiefly
for not having hated or despised the
world enough."
The Vicar. Such a man is to be
pitied. He is incapable of feeling
the generous emotions of which the
buman heart is capable, and insen-
sible to the charms of real friend-
ship; he is dead to the pleasures of
true happiness.
M Nature, in zeal for human amity,
Denies or damps an undivided joy.
Joy is an import, joy is an exchange,
Joy flies monopolists : it calls for two ;
Rich fruit! heaven-planted! never pluckt
by one.
Needful auxiliars are our friends to give
To social man true relish of himself.
Full on ourselves descending in a line,
Pleasure's bright beam is feeble in delight:
Delight intense is taken by rebound;
Reverberated pleasures fire the breast."
Reginald. I would go on with the
quotation, and say,
" Celestial Happiness, whene'er she stoops
To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds,
And one alone, to make her sweet amends
For absent heaven — the bosom of a friend ;
Where heart meets heart reciprocally soft,
Each other's pillow to repose divine.
Beware the counterfeit ; in passion's flame
Hearts melt, but melt like ice, soon harder
froze.
True love strikes root in reason, passion's
foe:
Virtue alone entenders us for life:
I wrong her much — entenders us for ever.
Of friendship'' s fairest fruits the fruit most
fair
Is virtue kindling at a rival fire,
And emulously rapid in her race.
O the soft enmity ! endearing strife!
This carries friendship to her noontide point,
And gives the rivet of eternity.
" From friendship, which outlives my former
themes,
Glorious survivor of old Time and Death j
From friendship thus, that flower of heavenly
seed,
The wise extract earth's most hyblean bliss-
Superior wisdom crowned with smiling joy."
Mr. Mathews. Friendship and
love, which is the most lasting, the
most enduring passion ?
Reginald. Love, to be pure, ought
to be founded on friendship: in fact,
it is only manly friendship refined by
that delicate and ardent sensibility,
which must actuate every man when
he thinks of woman — lovely woman
— without whom society would be
divested of half its charms, the world
would be a blank.
" The world was sad, the garden was a wild,
And man, the hermit, sighed till woman
smil'd."
So said or sung Campbell ; and his
THE LITERARY COTP.HITC.
99
Pleasures of Hope do not contain a
distich that embodies more truth.
Mr. Apathy. But both friendship
and love are frequently the cause of
unhappiness ; and woman — the ladies
will excuse me — though often man's
greatest blessing, is frequently his
greatest curse.
Reginald. Friendship may be mis-
placed ; love may be devoted to an
unworthy object. In those cases un-
happiness, misery, even despair, may
be the result : therefore,
— " since friends grow not thick on every
bough,
Nor every friend unrotten at the core,
First, on thy friend, deliberate witli thyself;
Pause, ponder, sift, not eager in the choice,
Nor jealous of the chosen ; fixing, fix ;
Judge before friendship, then confide till
death."
The Vicar. If that rule were fol-
lowed, we should have few false
friendships, few unhappy lovers; and
friendship and love would then not
be disgraced by having the faults of
vain and capricious attachments —
attachments founded on no good qua-
lity of the object, but merely the
fruit of a restless fancy, or a vain de-
sire, and therefore as evanescent as
the clouds which the beams of the
morning sun disperses — ascribed to
them.
Basil. The charms of friendship
and the delights of love are best ex-
perienced by us tars : we confide
wholly and solely in a friend or a
mistress ; we are distracted with no
doubts or jealousies, but taking the
world as it goes, we let it wag mer-
rily on, satisfied that
u In every man we find a friend, in every
port a wife,"
as the old song says.
Mr. Mathews. There's some phi-
losophy in that, and some comfort and
consolation, as far as the friend may
be concerned ; but for the wife, why
I think one is enough for any reason-
able man ; and I have, certainly, no
wish to find one in every place to
which chance or design may lead me.
Reginald. Indeed ! When I be-
come a Benedict, I think — mind, I
can't, like you married men, speak
from experience — I think I should
like to find a wife in every spot it
might be my lot to visit; but that
wife must be the dear and loved one
to whom I plighted my troth at the
altar, and to whom, with my band, I
gave my heart : I do not mean to ap-
prove of the seamanlike construction
which our friend has put upon Ba-
sil's quotation.
Basil. Faith, it's the correct con-
struction ; and the same is put upon
it by every man in the fleet; many of
whom, I assure you, are practical
proofs of the truth of the honest
rhymester's adage.
Reginald. Then I shall not sub-
scribe to the doctrine of the fleet,
though no one owns the influence of
woman to be more potent than my-
self, or is more attached to the so-
ciety of the fairer half of the crea-
tion : as one of our lyrists says —
(sings)
" O think not that in scenes of noise,
Allured by thoughtless pleasure,
The heart can find those hallowed joys
That memory loves to treasure.
No — seek the bow'rs remote from art,
That love and peace illumine ;
And share the sunshine of the heart,
The smile of lovely woman !
" Believe not in the sparkling bowl
That bliss has e'er resided ;
It lights the eye, but shades the soul —
Then let it be derided :
Go, seek the bow'rs removed from art,
That love and peace illumine;
And share the sunshine of the heart,
The smiie of lovely woman!"
Mr. Apathy. I wonder, Reginald,
you have never yet commenced Be-
nedict.
100
THfi fclTKKAHY COTKICTK.
Reginald. Because I love all wo-
men so dearly that I never yet have
been able to prefer one above the
rest so exclusively as to justify me in
making her my wife; that is, with the
view I have of the devoted attach-
ment a husband ought to feel for his
wife. But, Apathy, you are not In-
quisitor-General, nor is this a time
or place for my confessions ; we will
change the subject.
Mr. Montague. I was lately loung-
ing in shop, at , when a
newnovel lying on the counter caught
my eye, with the curious title of "Al-
ia Giornata, or To the Day. 1
was called out of the shop by my
friend, Tom I Iarebrain, before I could
make any inquiries : do any of you
know any thing of it ?
Reginald. It is a tale full of sen-
timent and romance ; alternately
grave and gay ; but the former pre-
ponderating so as almost to entitle it
to the epithet of dull. The lan-
guage is not classical, nor are the cha-
racters very ably discriminated, or
the plot very clearly developed : yet
it contains a number of amusing in-
cidents ; and is pleasant light read-
ing for this hot weather, when the
thermometer is upwards of 80 in the
shade. It is interspersed with seve-
ral pleasing copies of verses; and the
poetry is of a higher order of merit
than its prose. The page's song in
the first volume is excellent in its way :
" How blest to be that lady's page,
And live at her command ;
To give or leave her soft message,
Or glove her lily hand !
" How sweet to watch her meaning eye,
And ere she breathes a prayer,
Guess, and perform it instantly,
Then read her kind thanks there!
M How blest to catch her raven hair,
That lucky efcance unties ;
The beauteous mischief to repair,
And touch the silken pri-je !
" What joy to place within her arms
The lute she loves so well ;
For o'er it as she bends her charms,
It seems my love to tell !
" For, as her fingers press the strings,
It yields a softer tone ;
And from her touch divine there springs
Sounds all to earth uuknown.
•• Rut of these visions beav'nly bright,
Which pass in fair array,
I'll be content to dream by night,
And sigh for all the day.
" Let me but be that lady's page,
I ask nor fare nor fee ;
To do her bidding I'll engage,
Whate'er that bidding be.
" I'll place my pride in serving her.
My fame beneath her feet;
I'll live and die deserving her,
And think such death is sweet."
The Vicar. I have been reading
Captain Maitland's Narrative of
the Surrender of Buonaparte, and
of his Residence on board the Bel*
lerophon : it contains some amusing
traits ; and if we had no other re-
cord of that extraordinary man, if
no other memorial of him should be
handed down to posterity, he would
hold a much higher place in the esti-
mation of future generations than he
is now likely to do. He appears to
have conducted himself, whilst under
Captain Maitland's surveillance, with
prudence and fortitude ; and such is
the influence of misfortune, when
united with those qualities, that I
confess I rose from the perusal of
our honest sailor's unpretending nar-
rative, with a more favourable opi-
nion of Buonaparte than at one time
I thought it possible I could ever
have entertained.
Capt. Primrose. I think Buona-
parte put a restraint upon his feel-
ings and his conduct whilst on board
the Bellerophon, in expectation of
TUB LITRHAUY ROT&tttJS.
101
being allowed to remain in England, I
which does not authorize us to look
at that period of his life as a fair cri-
terion from which to judge of his
character. I am willing to do all !
justice to his conduct during the time ;
he was with Captain Maitland ; but,
I confess, my general impression as i
to his character and conduct remains
unchanged.
Basil Firedrale. And mine. He ;
was a great man, but a great villain: |
he raised himself to a lofty station,
but more by his crimes than his ta- j
lents; and no real Englishman can i
ever speak of him in terms of respect, j
Mr. Apathy. That's only the pre- \
judice of your profession, captain: j
it is as natural for you to hate Buona- j
parte as it is to become infinitely at-
tached to the first pretty woman you
encounter after a nine-months' cruise.
You cannot help feeling this preju-
dice ; and therefore it is useless ar-
guing with you.
Reginald. Why, upon the cha-
racter of Buonaparte, there is no
room for argument ; the facts upon
which it is established are too noto-
rious for scepticism to cavil at, or ef-
frontery to deny. Captain Mait-
land's narrative proves that he could
conduct himself like a gentleman, and
that he was not always, and par
force, the repulsive person he fre-
quently shewed himself; but it nei-
ther weaker^ the force of historical
evidence already collected relative
to the events of his life, nor changes
the nature of that evidence, so as to
make us look upon him as an ill-used
or ill-rewarded potentate, whom we
have heretofore regarded ao a justly
punished usurper.
The Vicar. Your observations are
just, and we will not prolong the dis-
cussion ; for when we cannot speak
well of the dead, I do not wish to
speak of them at all, if it can be
avoided. But there are many inter-
esting particulars of the individuals
who accompanied Buonaparte which
may be read with interest.
Reginald. Yes ; but a much more
interesting publication to me is the
Secret Memoirs of the Royal Fa-
mily of France, during the Rcvolu-
lution. They are compiled by a
lady high in the confidence of the
Princess Lamballe, from the jour-
nal, &c. of that princess; and are, I
i believe, perfectly authentic. I have
'been assured, from a quarter upon
,, which I can rely, that there can be
;j no doubt on this head.
Counsellor Eitherside. The Me-
moirs are indeed interesting; they
I detail a series of atrocious actions,
II a continued tissue of profligate con-
I! duct, which make us shudder whilst
|| we read ; nor can we wonder that
t| the vengeance of heaven visited the
| unfortunate nation whose governors
'! and leading men were absolute mon-
I sters. I regret that the work is not,
from the too free disclosure of certain
scenes, adapted for the perusal of
the ladies ; but it will form a most
valuable auxiliary to the future his-
torian.
Reginald. There are some very
interesting anecdotes of the murder-
ed queen, the beautiful Marie An-
toinette— her, of whom Burke truly
said, that the age of chivalry was
gone, or ten thousand swords would
have leapt from their scabbards to
avenge her.
One day (says the Princess Lamballe),
her Majesty, Lady Spencer, and myself,
were observing the difficulty there was
in obtaining a correct pronunciation of
the English language; when Lady Spen-
cer remarked, that it only required a
102
THE LlTTiltAUY COTEH1E.
little attention. — " I beg your pardon,"
said the queen, " that's not all, because
there are many things you do not call
by their proper names as they are in
the dictionary." — " Pray what are they,
please your Majesty ?" — "Well, I will
give you an instance : for example, les
culottes, what do you call them ?"-" Small-
clothes," replied her ladyship.--" Ma foil
how can they be called small-clothes for
one large man ? Now I do look in the
dictionary, and I find, pour le mot cu-
lottes, breeches." — " Oh ! please your
Majesty, we never call them by that name
in England." — " Voila done j'ai raison.'"
— " We say inexpressibles !" — " Ah, e'est
mieux I Dat do please me ver much
better. II y a du bon sens la dedans.
C'est nne autre chose .'" In the midst of
this curious dialogue, in came the Duke
of Dorset, Lord Edward Dillon, Count
Fersen, and several English gentlemen,
who, as they were all going to the king's
hunt, were all dressed in new buckskin
breeches. " I do not like," exclaimed
the queen to them, " those yellow irre-
sistiblcs .'" Lady Spencer nearly faint-
ed. " Vat make you so frightful, my
dear lady t" said the queen to her lady-
ship, who was covering her face with her
hands. — " I am terrified at your Ma-
jesty's mistake." — " Comment ? did you
no tell me just now, dat in England de
lady call de culottes irresistiblcs ?" — " O
mercy ! I never could have made such a
mistake, as to have applied to that part
of the male dress such a word. I said,
please your Majesty, inexpressibles." On
this the gentlemen all laughed most
heartily.--" Veil, veil," replied the queen,
" do, my dear lady, discompose your-
self. I vill no more call de breeches ir-
resistiblcs, but say small-clothes, if even
elles sont upon a giant." At the repe-
tition of the naughty word breeches, poor
Lady Spencer's English delicacy quite
overcame her. Forgetting where she
was, and also the company she was in,
she ran from the room with her cross
stick in her hand, ready to lay it on the
shoulders of any one who should attempt
to obstruct her passage, flew into her car-
riage and drove off full speed, as if fearful
of being contaminated ; all to the no small
amusement of the male guests. Her
Majesty and I laughed till the tears ran
down our cheeks.
The Vicar. Poor lady ! her reign
of mirth was soon over.
Reginald. It was indeed. Here
is an anecdote of another class :
May 5, 1780. — At the very moment
when all the resources of nature and
art seemed exhausted, to render the
queen a paragon of loveliness beyond
any thing I had ever before witnessed,
even in her ; when every impartial eye
was eager to behold and feast on that
form whose beauty warmed every heart
in her favour ; at that moment, a horde
of miscreants, just as she came in sight
of the Assembly, thundered in her ears,
" Orleans for ever .'" three or four times,
while she and the king were left to pass
unheeded. Even the warning of the
letter, from which she had reason to ex-
pect some commotions, suggested to her
imagination nothing like this, and she
was dreadfully shaken. I sprang for-
ward to support her. The king's party,
prepared for the attack, shouted, " Vive
leroi! Vive la reine .'" As I turned, I
saw some of the members lividly pale, as
if fearing their machinations had been
discovered ; but as they passed, they
said, in the hearing of her Majesty, " Re-,
member, you are the daughter of Maria
Theresa." — "True! "answered the queen.
The Duke de Biron, Orleans, La Fayette,
Mirabeau, and the Mayor of Paris, see-
ing her Majesty's emotions, came up,
and were going to stop the procession.
All, in apparent agitation, [the scoun-
drels !] cried out, "Halt .'" The queen,
sternly looking at them, made a sign
with her head to proceed, recovered her-
self, and moved forward in the train,
with all the dignity and self-possession
for which she was so eminently distiri-
ADEN IIAMET, TIIK LAST OF THE ABENCERAGES.
10.-3
guished. But this self-command in pub-
lic proved nearly fatal to her Majesty
on her return to her apartment. There
her real feelings broke forth, and their
violence was so great as to cause the
bracelets on her wrists and the pearls on
her necklace to burst from the threads
and settings, before her woinen and the
ladies in attendance could have time to
take them oft". She remained many
hours in a most alarming state of strong
convulsions. Her clothes were obliged
to be cut from her body to give her ease ;
but as soon as she was undressed, and
tears came to her relief, she flew alter-
nately to the Princess Elizabeth and my-
self; but we were both too much over-
whelmed to give her that consolation of
which she stood so much in need.
Mr. Apathy. The fate of Marie
Antoinette was indeed pitiable. She
was of a kind-hearted, generous dis-
position, and had she lived in better
times, would have been a blessing to
the country under her husband's
sway. She was cruelly, barbarously
used.
Reginald. That sentiment, Apa-
thy, will atone in my mind for many
aberrations of which you are occa-
sionally guilty. I can pardon the
faults of the head, when the heart
is right.
* * *****
The supper-bell ringing, here put
an end to our colloquy ; and proba-
bly my readers may think it was high
time.
Reginald Hildehuand.
Elmwood-Hall,
July 11, 1826.
ABEN HAMET, THE LAST OF THE ABENCERAGES.
Such is the title of a new romance
from the pen of the Viscount de
Chateaubriand, forming part of the
collected works of that distinguished
writer, now publishing in France,
from the English translation of which
the following passage is extracted.
Aben Hamet, the last of the tribe
of Abencerages, who, after the
conquest of Grenada, settled in the
neighbourhood of Tunis, revisits
the country of his ancestors. Ar-
riving with his guide at the city
of Grenada, he is conducted to a
khan opened by the Moors of Africa,
who were attracted thither in great
numbers by the trade in silks. The
author then proceeds :
" The Abencerage was too agi-
tated to enjoy much rest in his new
habitation ; the idea of his country
tormented him. Unable any longer
to controul the feelings which preyed
Vol. VUI. No. XLIV.
upon his heart, he stole out private-
ly, in the middle of the night, to
wander about the streets of Grenada.
He strove to discover some of the
monuments which the elders of his
tribe had so frequently described to
him.
" Perhaps the lofty edifice, the walls
of which he could but imperfectly
distinguish in the dark, was formerly
the residence of the Abencerages.
Perhaps it was in this solitary square
(in which the khan was situated) that
in other times those splendid carou-
sals were given which raised the
glory of Grenada to the skies ; there
it was that, on such occasions, troops
of horsemen, superbly dressed,
marched in procession ; there were
stationed the galleys loaded with arms
and flowers, and dragons vomiting
fire, and carrying illustrious warriors
concealed within them — ingenious
104
ABKN HAMKT, THE LAIT OF THK ABENCIiRAGLS.
inventions of pleasure and gallan- 1
try. !
" But, alas ! instead of the sound
of trumpets and songs of love, the
most pro found silence reigned around
Aben Hamet. This mute city had
changed its inhabitants, and the vic-
tors reposed on the couches of the
vanquished. ' They sleep, then,
these proud Spaniards!' exclaimed
the young Moor, with indignation,
' under the roofs from which they
have banished my ancestors ! and I,
an Abencerage, wake unknown, soli-
tary, and forlorn, at the gate of the
palace of my fathers!'
" Aben Hamet then reflected on
the destinies of man, on the vicissi- 1
tudes of fortune, on the fall of em- j
pires, on Grenada itself, surprised j
at last by its enemies in the midst of
pleasures, and exchanging all at once !
its garlands of flowers for chains.
He pictured to himself its citizens
forsaking their homes in gala dresses,
like guests who, in the disorder of their
attire, are suddenly driven from the
halls of festivity by a conflagration.
"All these images, all these ideas,
crowded on each other in the soul of
Aben Hamet. Full of grief and
anguish, his thoughts wrere princi-
pally turned to the execution of the
project which had brought him to
Grenada. Day surprised him in
this reverie : the Abencerage had
lost his way ; he had rambled far
from the khan, to a remote suburb
of the city. All its inhabitants scill
slept; no noise disturbed the silence
of the streets : the doors and win-
dow s of the houses were yet shut;
the crowing of the cock alone pro-
claimed the return of labour and
pain in the habitations of the poor.
" After wandering about for a long
time, without being able to find his
way, Aben Hamet heard a door
open. He saw a young female come
forth, dressed nearly like the Gothic
queens who are to be seen sculptured
on monuments in our ancient abbeys.
A black corset, trimmed with jet,
compressed her elegant waist; her
short petticoats, narrow and without
folds, discovered a beautiful leg and
charming foot. A black mantilla
was thrown over her head ; with her
left hand she held this mantilla,
crossed and drawn up close like a
stomacher, under her chin, in such a
manner that nothing was seen of her
face but her large eyes and rosy
mouth. A duenna walked by her
side ; a page preceded her, carry-
ing a prayer-book ; two footmen in
livery followed at a distance the
beautiful unknown. She was repair-
ing to morning prayers, which were
announced by the ringing of a bell
in a neighbouring monastery.
" Aben Hamet fancied he beheld
the angel Israfil, or the youngest of
the houris. The Spanish maiden,
not less surprised, looked at the
Abencerage, whose turban, robe,
and arms set off his noble counte-
nance to still greater advantage. Re-
covering from her first astonishment,
she beckoned the stranger to ap-
proach, with the grace and freedom
peculiar to the women of that volup-
tuous country. ' Senor Moor,' said
she to him, ' you appear to have re-
cently arrived at Grenada — have you
lost your way ?'
" ' Sultana of flowers !' replied
Aben Hamet, 'delight of men's eyes!
Christian slave, more beautiful than
the virgins of Georgia ! thou hast
rightly guessed. I am a stanger in
this city : having lost myself amidst
its palaces, I was unable to find my
way back to the khan of the Moors.
AN ADYSNTVRtt AT VMNICK.
105
May Mahomet touch thy heart and
reward thee for thy hospitality !'
k " ' The Moors are renowned for
their gallantry,' replied the lady, with
the sweetest smile : ' but I am nei-
ther the sultana of flowers, nor a
slave, nor desirous of being recom-
mended to Mahomet. Follow me,
sir knight, I will lead you back to
the khan of the Moors.'
" She walked lightly before the
Abencerage, led him to the door of
the khan, to which she pointed, then
passed on to the rear of a palace,
and disappeared.
" To what then is the repose of
life attached ? His country no longer
occupies solely and exclusively the
mind of Aben Hamet. Grenada is
no longer in his eyes deserted, for-
saken, widowed, and solitary. She
is dearer than ever to his heart ; but
it is a new illusion which embellishes
her ruins. With the recollection of
his ancestors is now mingled another
charm. He has discovered the bu-
rial-place where the ashes of the
Abencerages repose; but while he
prays, prostrates himself on the
ground, and sheds a flood of filial
tears, he fancies that the young Spa-
nish maiden has sometimes passed
over these tombs, and he no longer
considers his ancestors as so unfor-
tunate."
AN ADVENTURE AT VENICE.
From the (ierman.
At the time that I belonged to the
Pension-Office, in , an old Fran-
ciscan came to us every quarter to re-
ceive his allowance. He was very chat-
ty, and often amused us for an hour,
which we were glad to steal from our
dry avocations, with a description of
his mode of life in the convent, which,
though dissolved, was still inhabited
by him and his brethren. At such
times we frequently entered into little
discussions with him, as we could not
help praising the measures of govern-
ment, and congratulated him on the
liberty he consequently enjoyed;
while he, on the contrary, extolled the
former rigorous system, and asserted
that content depends not on external
conveniences, but on an internal as-
cetic idea, which makes a man feel
as comfortable in a hair garment as
in silks, and sleep as softly on straw
as on a bed of down.
From these disputations, in which
Father Ambrose displayed himself
to us as a man advantageously dis-
tinguished above many of his pro-
fession, he sometimes digressed into
narratives of adventures which had
befallen him in his travels ; for he
had in his younger years had occasion
to visit Rome and Naples, and the
recollections of Italy seemed to cheer
his old asre like flowers in winter.
I will endeavour to relate as nearly
as possible in his own words one of
these adventures, which I still re-
member.
I was once going, began Father
Ambrose, from Trieste to Venice.
The sight of the sea was yet new to
me, for it was the first time that I
had trusted myself on its boundless
expanse. I had retired from the rest
of the passengers and seated myself
on the deck, absorbed in the contem-
plation of the infinite plain over which
the rays of the rising sun poured
upon us from the east like a torrent
P 2
106
AN ADVENTUUK AT VENICE.
of fire. It was not long before I was
joined by a young merchant from
Gratz, who had made the trip se-
veral times, and who was capable of
giving me every requisite information
relative to the sea, shipping, and ma-
ritime commerce : for it was my way
from my youth to make minute in-
quiries concerning all about me, in
order to increase my store of know-
ledge, and to familiarize myself with
the pursuits of men and things.
After a while two Venetians, with
whose profession we were unac-
quainted, came up to us. The
conversation turned to other sub-
jects. "I soon perceived that the Ita-
lians took particular notice of the
merchant, though their attention
seemed to escape him ; for, much as
his manners were polished by travel,
still he belonged to that class of peo-
ple who think more of themselves
than of others, and for that very
reason possess but little skill in phy-
siognomy.
As moderate as were his opinions
in regard to the concerns of private
life, so violent were they on political
topics, in adverting to which he seem-
ed to be a totally different person.
In early life he had probably expe-
rienced severe oppression ; for in no
other way could I account for the
vehemence with which he talked of
liberty and independence, in oppo-
sition to tyranny and arbitrary go-
vernment. Probably too the trite
observation, that a man often feels
the strongest enthusiasm for things
which he cannot see distinctly, and
defends his ideas the more obstinate-
ly the fewer he has, would have ap-
plied to my fellow-passenger. At
length he became so violent that I
began to feel quite uneasy. The Ita-
lians were incensed at the intempe-
rate language of the man, who, con-
ceiving himself to have been injured
in commercial matters by their go-
vernment, was going in person to
seek redress : yet it did not escape
me, that their anger was kept within
bounds by a certain coolness with
which they watched their object.
As soon as I was left alone with
the merchant, I read him a severe
lecture, warned him against the crafty
Venetians, and advised him, for fear
he might involve himself in some-
thing unpleasant — which, from what
I had seen of his temper, I conceived
to be almost unavoidable — to return
by the first vessel, and to leave his
government to fight the battle. At
the same time I reminded him em-
phatically of his wife and children,
who would die of grief if any harm
should befal him. He seemed not
disinclined to follow this counsel, and
acknowledged that he was afraid he
should be unable to restrain himself,
if the Venetian government should
refuse him redress.
We pursued our voyage, but I
had some trouble to prevent the mer-
chant from entering into altercation
with the two Italians. At length the
" Sea1 Cybele" appeared rising at the
horizon out of the world of waters ;
every moment the different objects
became more and more distinctly
visible, and presently we landed in
the canal. No sooner was my fellow-
traveller on shore, than he seemed
to conceive an irrepressible desire to
force the validity of his claims down
the throats of the Venetians. While
I was lost in astonishment at the
strange world around me, he seemed
scarcely to notice any thing ; and I
could perceive how contemptuously,
nay, almost maliciously, he looked at
those who passed us, as though they
AN ADVENTURE AT VENICE.
107
Had all participated in the wrong
which had been done him. I would
have taken him with me to the inn,
and then accompanied him to the
next ship that should sail for Trieste,
but he was now not to be persuaded.
He well knew, he said, the dilatory
progress of business when a man
does not attend in person to his af-
fairs, and seemed to place no parti-
cular reliance on the interference of
his government.
We parted. I went about my own
business, and availed myself of my
leisure hours to inspect the most re-
markable objects of that remarkable
city. Sometimes I was in the Place
of St. Mark, which, of itself, presents
a world wholly unique, at others on
the seashore; now in the magnifi-
cent churches, and now in the mu-
sical conservatories.
In this manner some days had
passed, when one evening, just as I
had descended from the lofty tower
near St. Mark's, where I had enjoy-
ed a view over the prodigious marine
city, the sea, the islands, and the
beautiful shores, by sunset, the wait-
er at my inn came hastily in quest of
me, as a person wished to see me. On
my return I found there a servant of
the government, who had directions
to take me with him.
In the consciousness of my inno-
cence, I accompanied him with more
curiosity than uneasiness. He con-
ducted me to the building of the
State-Inquisition, where I was blind-
folded, with the assurance that no
harm should be done me. After be-
ing led through many a passage, and
up and down many a flight of steps,
I found myself at length in a subter-
raneous vault, in which, dazzled by
the lights after the removal of the
bandage, I could at first distinguish
but little. At length several figures
became visible in the chiaroscuro :
I perceived an officer of justice, with
two sturdy fellows, and, in the back-
ground, a man who seemed to be the
object of these melancholy arrange-
ments.
The first of these persons address-
ed me in a solemn tone, and said that,
as a German priest, I had been sum-
moned to attend a man who had
transgressed against the state, and
who was already acquainted with his
sentence, in his last moments. Though
I had expected something of the
kind, yet I was so shocked at this
communication that I was unable to
utter a word. The officer remarked
my agitation, and strove to reassure
me. '■ Such a duty," said he, " can-
not be new to you ; and as you edify,
warn, and admonish the healthy at
church, and comfort the sick on the
bed of pain, you will surely find a
iew words for this unhappy culprit,
which may excite in him sincere con-
trition for his guilt, and, by inspiring
him with hopes of the divine mercy,
preserve him from despair."
I endeavoured to rally myself: on
a table placed at one side of the dun-
geon I found a crucifix and the con-
secrated wafer. I prepared to hear
the confession of the wretched man;
but what was my horror on discover-
ing in him my fellow-passenger, who
had thus fared much worse than I
had ventured to anticipate! I was
near swooning. He recognised me,
fell about my neck, and wept like a
child.
I pitied him more than I can ex-
press. I conjured the judge to make
one effort to save the poor man. I
related the circumstances which had
occurred on ship-board, and attri-
buted what he might further have
108
APHORISMS, RKPI.ECTIONS, &C.
tlone amiss to defects of tempera-
ment and erroneous principles. The
Venetian listened calmly to me, and
then replied, " With these maxims
we should be obliged to excuse and
release every criminal ; for the rea-
son why a person acts thus and not
otherwise is sure to be found at last
either in education, temperament, or
disposition. The law asks if a man
has wilfully transgressed its ordi-
nances, and in this case decrees irre-
vocable punishment. I can do no-
thing for this delinquent ; nay, you
expose yourself to danger, if you in-
tercede any longer for him, or refuse
to perform what is required of you,
although we know you to be a quiet
and pious man."
My feelings were more harrowed
perhaps than those of my unhappy
companion, whose senses were stun-
ned by the enormity of his fate. He
confessed as well as he could ; I ad-
ministered the sacrament ; I sought,
by the consolations of religion, to ele-
vate his thoughts above the appalling
moment that was to terminate his
life, and to direct them to that un-
known but assuredly promised realm,
where crimes and punishments shall
be alike unknown. The unfortunate
man seemed somewhat more compos-
ed, and clung with a convulsive grasp,
as it were, to the consolation which
I held forth to him.
The servants of justice meanwhile
made their preparations in the back-
ground. The officer gave me a sign.
I embraced the young man — his limbs
were as if disjointed. " Had I fol-
lowed your advice, this would not
have happened 1" he sobbed forth in
a voice scarcely articulate. " Com-
fort, if you can, my poor wife and
children !"
I promised to fulfil his request, tore
myself from him, and tottered, almost
insensible, towards the dark passage.
In a few minutes a light was brought,
and I was again blindfolded and con-
ducted into the street.
My inquiries respecting the nature
of the offence committed by the vic-
tim, in which, however, I was obliged
to use the utmost precaution, were
fruitless; and I felt convinced in my
own mind, that he, like numberless
others, had fallen a miserable sacri-
fice to a cruel form. As to the mode
of execution in these prisons, I learn-
ed so much, that the delinquent is
strangled by means of a rope pass-
ed through an aperture in the wall.
I now did not so much pity the un-
fortunate merchant, who, in the stu-
por of the moment, was hurried away
by a speedy and perhaps not very
painful death, as the widow with her
children, to whom I communicated
the dreadful tidings, but in such a
manner as to spare her feelings as
much as possible ; for, by what I
hope will be considered a very venial
deviation from truth, I represented
his death as the consequence of a
fatal disease which attacked him dur-
ing his confinement.
APHORISMS, REFLECTIONS, &c.
It is sweet, says the agreeable
poet of Venusium, to lay aside our
wisdom, and to indulge, on a proper
occasion, a species of temporary folly.
Charming is the social hour when
solidity of judgment is enlivened by
brilliancy of wit, and the lively sallies
of imagination by a sweet inter-
change of pensive gravity.
Ease, freedom, and the unstudied
EXCHANGING C'AKDS.
109
effusion of the sentiments, which na-
turally arise in cultivated minds, form
a very delightful recreation, and dis-
miss the mind to its serious employ-
ments with new alacrity.
What pleasure and what improve-
ment would be derived from conver-
sation, if every one would dare to
speak his real sentiments, with mo-
desty and decorum indeed, hut with-
out any unmanly fear of offending,
or servile desire to please for the sake
of interest !
Truth and simplicity of manners
are not only essential to happiness,
but, as objects of taste, truly beau-
tiful.
The pleasure of scraping his bass-
viol to Bach's, or to any body's fiddle,
was so essential to the celebrated
painter Gainsborough, that he would
at any time sacrifice to it a drawing
that could not be matched, or an op-
portunity of professional advantage
that could not be recovered.
EXCHANGING CARDS.
From Reynolds' " Life an
Mr. Richard Reynolds (the au-
thor's elder brother) was one day
preparing to go to a dinner-party in
Pail-Mall, when he received a letter
brought by a porter from an anony-
mous writer, informing him that a
Captain Smith had been called a
black-leg at the Bedford, by a person
who, the captain was informed, was
Mr. Richard Reynolds. By the ad-
vice of his father, however, Richard
did not notice this letter, but pro-
ceeded to join the party to which he
had been invited.
After dinner Mr. Reynolds, " hot
with the Tuscan grape and high in
blood," accompanied his host to his
box at the opera. For a short time
the dancing of Baccelli solely en-
gaged Richard's attention; but it was
suddenly withdrawn by something in
the adjoining box far more attrac-
tive. This something was an ex-
tremely handsome woman, the wife
of Sir Charles , a baronet of
fashion and fortune. At her Ri-
chard gazed and glanced and sighed
so deeply, that he rendered himself
ridiculously conspicuous, not only
to the object of his idolatry, but to
d Times" lately published.
her whole party, amongst whom was
rather a rare character at the opera —
a loving, jealous husband.
The ballet being concluded, the
lady and her friends left the box,
followed at a respectful distance by
the enamoured tipsy Richard. They
entered the hall, the carriage was
announced, and he was on the point
of losing his fair inamorata, when
the violent pressure of the crowd
momentarily separated her from her
party. Seizing the golden oppor-
tunity, Richard gallantly advanced,
and triumphantly handed her into her
carriage, when, forgetful of his usual
good taste and good manners, he
placed his foot on the step with the
intention of accompanying her.
At this unlucky moment " the
green - eyed monster," the furious
husband, darted forward and grasp-
ed his arm ; high words ensued,
and cards were exchanged, Richard
putting into his pocket that of
" Sir Charles , Lower Grosve-
nor-street," and the husband putting
into his pocket that of " Mr. Ri-
chard Reynolds, John-street, Adel-
phi." After this preamble to ano-
110
EXCHANGING CARDS.
ther exchange, I mean that of shots,
Sir Charles, instead of getting into the
carriage, proceeded towards White's
in a fit of spleen, leaving his wife to
return alone.
The disappointed Richard, in the
interim, also attempted to bend his
way homewards, but from the in-
creasing effects of the wine, he lost
all recollection. After wandering for
some time in St. James's-square, he
at length, completely confused and
exhausted, seated himself under a
portico, and instantly fell asleep. In
this condition a watchman discovered
him, and after several vain attempts
to awake him, committed him to the
guardianship of the chairmen of an
empty sedan that was passing at the
moment. In this, with some diffi-
culty, they had placed their torpid
load, and were preparing to depart,
when one of the chairmen cried to
the watchman, " Paddy, Paddy, who
is he? and where is the direction-
post?"
"True, Phelim!" added his bro-
ther in porterage; " at this rate we
may come out with him at the world's
end, and be no jot the richer or
wiser."
" Faith, he is no acquaintance of
mine, honeys!" replied the watch-
man; " but if on searching him I
find nothing of the jontleman about
him, by the powers I'll coolly house
him with the constable of the night!"
The search commenced — no let-
ter! no memorandum! poor Richard
was in dreadful peril, when a solitary
card was discovered, and, by the
light of his lantern, the watchman
read aloud, " Sir Charles ,
Lower Grosvenor-street." — This was
the passport, and away they trotted,
much gratified by so sufficient and
satisfactory a direction.
On arriving in the above-mention-
ed street at one o'clock in the morn-
ing with the supposed baronet, and
drawn blinds to prevent an exposure
of his humiliating situation, the chair-
men knocked, and a servant appear-
ed. On their inquiry whether that
were the house of Sir Charles ,
and receiving an answer in the affir-
mative, the chair was conveyed into
the hall. The Paddies explained to
the servant how and where they
found his master, and shewed his
card.
As this was an unusual occurrence,
the servant, alarmed, feared to dis-
turb the baronet till he had received
the instructions of her ladyship, who,
having awaited the return of her hus-
band a considerable time, had at
length retired to her room. The ser-
vant, therefore, sent one of her wo-
men to inform her of his master's
arrival; and then, with the assistance
of the chairmen, removed the chair
into the library, when they them-
selves were sent below to wait for
further orders.
The minor performers having left
the stage, the principal now re-
mained solus. My brother having
awaked, raised the lid of the chair,
and finding himself housed, at first
naturally thought some kind person
had conducted him home, but great
were both his surprise and alarm
when he discovered that he was in a
strange house.
Eager for explanation, he was pro-
ceeding to ring the bell, when he
heard a loud knocking at the street-
door, and, at the same instant, the
loved cause of his pursuit, the iden-
tical fair-one of the opera, rushed
into the room. Breathless with joy
and astonishment, he stood motion-
less, when the baronet's wife, de-
ANECDOTES, &C HISTORICAL, LITEUAKY, AND PERSONAL.
Ill
ceived by the imperfect light of a
single wax-taper, and half blinded
by her agitation, rushed into her sup-
posed husband's arms, who, " no-
thing loath," was about to return her
embrace, when, lo! the real husband
entered and stood aghast. Rage
deprived him of utterance; his wife,
confounded by the error, seized her
husband's hand, and wept in silent
entreaty; while Richard, completely
sobered, explained and apologized.
By degress the baronet yielded to
the naivete of my brother's account,
his own reflections, and the corrobo-
rating testimony of the chairmen,
when suddenly his passion again
broke forth, and he exclaimed, "This
is not the only provocation I have re-
ceived from you. Do you know a Cap-
tain Smith, sir?" — " I have heard," re-
plied my brother, "of such a man this
evening, for the " — " Hear me
then, sir," interrupted the impetuous
baronet. " Passing up St. James's-
street not half an hour ago, and as-
sisting in emancipating this Captain
Smith from a ring of pickpockets, he
would not leave me till he was inform-
ed where he was to call to return his
thanks. I gave him my own address
as I thought, but, unluckily, it proved
to be your card. He had no sooner
glanced his eye over it, than he cried,
' So, sir, I have found you at last;'
and was proceeding to use the most
intemperate language, when, fortu-
nately for both parties, a friend ex-
plained to him his error; otherwise,
sir, there I should have been as
much indebted to Mr. Richard Rey-
nolds for the loan of his name and
character, as I am here for the un-
expected pleasure of his company."
To conclude, it was at length
determined to postpone all further
discussion till the morrow; Richard
pledging his honour that the baronet
should then one way or another have
satisfaction. My brother kept his
word ; for, having gone to the Bed-
ford, and learned from Captain Smith
himself that another Mr. Richard
Reynolds had been his traducer, he
and the captain proceeded together
to Grosvenor-street, where, instead
of the anticipated exchange of shots,
they exchanged apologies, and there
the matter amicably terminated.
ANECDOTES, &c.
HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
INVENTION OF STEAM-NAVIGATION.
In a letter from a Spaniard, named
Navarete, to Baron von Zach, the
writer boldly asserts that the honour
of the invention of steam-boats be-
longs neither to England, France,
nor America, but to his own country.
In favour of this claim he adduces
the following facts : So far back as
the year 1543, Blasco de Loyola, a
Spaniard, made proposals to the Em-
peror Charles V. and his son Philip,
Vol. VIII. No. XLIV.
to build a vessel which should be im-
pelled by steam. The documents in
proof of this fact are still preserved
in the archives of Simaucas*. Blasco
de Loyola had enemies; the emperor
seems not to have been aware of the
importance of his invention, and it
* We suspect that there must be some
error in this name, which is so written in
the German publication from which the
article is translated. — Editor.
Q
112 ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, MTRIlAUY, AND PERSONAL.
was soon forgotten. The support
and diffusion of great inventions,
which form, as it were, steps in the
civilization of the human race, must
proceed from nations themselves. It is
not surprising that at a time when
Charles V. was extinguishing the last
spark of civil liberty in Spain, an in-
vention which can only be appre-
ciated by industrious, wealthy, and
free citizens, should sink into oblivion.
THE FASHIONABLE SALAD-MAKKU.
M. Brillat de Savarin, a French
writer recently deceased, has given,
in an admirable satire on Gastronomy,
which he lately published, a curious
story of a French emigrant who made
his fortune in London by his skiil in
cooking a salad. We give our read-
ers this story as we find it, without
vouching for the truth of the parti-
culars.
The name of the emigrant in ques-
tion is D'Albignac. Though the nar-
row state of his finances prevented
him from keeping a sumptuous table,
yet he was one day in one of the
most celebrated taverns in the Bri-
tish metropolis. He thought, like
many more, that a man may make
shift with a single dish, if it be but
excellent. While he was feasting
on a juicy slice of roast beef, five or
six young men were enjoying them-
selves at a table near him. One of
them rose and politely addressed him
in the following terms: " It is univer-
sally allowed, sir, that your nation
is unrivalled in making salad : will
you have the goodness to make one
for us?" D'Albignac hesitated a
moment, but at length acquiesced.
He called for whatever he thought
requisite to produce a master-piece,
took pains with the composition, and
succeeded. While thus engaged,
he frankly answered the questions
put to him respecting his situation.
He said that he was an emigrant, and.
acknowledged, not without a blush,
that he participated in the bounty of
the English government. One of the
young men now conceived that he
durst slip into his hand a bank-note
of five hundred pounds, which, after
civilly refusing, he at last accepted.
He had given his address, and he was
not therefore surprised when some
time afterwards he received a letter,
in which he was requested, in the most
polite terms, to goto one of the finest
houses in Grosvenor-square, to fur-
nish a specimen of his skill in salad-
making. D'Albignac had foresight
enough to perceive that something
beneficial might result from his com-
pliance; he made no ceremony there-
fore, and went punctually to the time,
provided with a few new ingredients
to give eclat to his work. He had.
thoroughly studied his business be-
forehand ; he had the good luck
again to please, and this time was
presented with a remuneration which,
a due regard for the future, would
not permit him to refuse. It may
easily be supposed that the party to
whom he had shewn the first civility
had praised him to the skies. The
second company extolled him still
more, so that D'Albignac's fame soon
spread far and wide. He acquired
the name of the Fashionable Salad-
maker, and in the land of novelties,
all who belonged to the fashionable
world of the capital of the three king-
doms were soon sighing for a salad
of the French gentleman's making.
D'Albignac profited like a prudent
man by this mania. He bought a gig,
that he "might go the more expedi-
tiously to the places to which he was
summoned, and a servant carried af-
ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL. 1 13
ter him a small mahogany chest, con-
taining all the ingredients with which
he had enriched his receipts, such as
vinegar of different exquisite scents,
oils with or without the taste of olives,
caviar, truffles,anchovies, gravies, and
even yolks of eggs. In the sequel, he
had similar chests made and furnished
with the requisite articles, and sold
hundreds of them. He returned to
Paris, but took no delight in parading
the part of that capital; on the con-
trary, with a laudable anxiety for the
future, he invested sixty thousand
francs in rentes, and purchased a
small estate in the Limousin, where,
as he understands the art of limiting
his wishes, he is probably still living
content and happy.
A tooth of Voltaire's — A piece of the
shirt stained with blood worn by
Napoleon at the time of his death;
a lock of his hair, and a leaf of the
weeping willow which overshadows
his grave at St. Helena.
DENON S CURIOSITIES.
Among other curiosities in the col-
lection of the celebratedDenon.which,
in consequence of his death, have just
been brought to the hammer at Paris,
were the following: Various instru-
ments which belonged to the tribunal
of the Inquisition at Valladolid — The
ring of John without Fear, Duke of
Burgundy, who was assassinated on
the bridge of Montereau, found in
his grave in 1792 — Plaster casts of
the heads of Cromwell, Charles XII.
and Robespierre — Fragments of
bones found in the burial-place of
the Cid and Ximena at Burgos —
Bones from the grave of Abelard and
Heloise, at Paraclete — Hair of Agnes
Sorel, who was buried at Loches, and
of Ines de Castro at Alkaboga — Part
of the mustaches of Henry IV. found
in excellent preservation when the
royal tombs at St. Denis were emp-
tied, in 1793 — A piece of Turenne's
shroud — Bones of Moliere and La-
fontaine — Hair of General Desaix —
THE MATRIMONIAL LOTTERY.
The most celebrated saints of Ar-
gathela, now called Argyleshire, were
St. Couslan and St. Cowin. Couslan
was remarkable for austerity ; Cowin,
with more success, inculcated purity
of morals, by exhibiting virtue in a
cheerful garb. Couslan punished
connubial dissension severely; Cowin
shewed his pastoral charge that a
licence for change would not pro-
mote their happiness. He proposed
that all who did not find themselves
satisfied with their wedded partner
should be indulged with an oppor-
tunity to make a second choice. For
this purpose he permitted all dis-
contented couples to assemble an-
nually at his church in the gloom of
midnight. Saint Cowin in person
attended to observe that each candi-
date for release was straitly blind-
folded. At his command they were to
set out full speed, and run round the
church; a ceremony which was styled
mixing lots in the urn. The mo-
ment the race was finished, St. Cowin
called aloud, " CabagT a Gaelic
phrase, signifying " Seize quickly ;"
and, on hearing it, each man laid
hold of a female. Whether old or
young, ugly or handsome, good or
bad, this new lot was unalterable;
and the parishioners of St. Cowin
came to understand, that it was much
better for them to adhere to their
first choice, than to take a blind bar-
gain.
Q
114
MUSICAL REVIEW.
A Grand Sonata for the Piano-forte
and Violoncello, composed, and
dedicated to her Imperial High-
ness Maria Paulowna Grand-
Duchess of Russia and Heredi-
tary Grand-Duchess of Saxe-
Weimar, by J. H. Hummel. Op.
104. Pr. 7s.— (Boosey and Co.)
Of works of so classic a stamp as
this, any critical analysis, however
minute, would convey but a meagre
and imperfect idea. To designate
its character and merits in general
terms is all that can be required of
us; the individual beauties and spe-
cial features must be left to the dis-
covery and the judgment of the per-
former. The sonata has three move-
ments— an allegro f A major, a ro-
manza £ C major, and a rondo £ A
minor. In these, but above all in
the allegro, the student will find a
display of contrapuntal workings of
the highest order, interwoven with
the finest specimens of melody, and
with modulations of the deepest and
boldest description. The latter are
rather frequent, and thus, perhaps,
interfere with the general keeping
and distinctness of plan in the piece;
a most essential requisite in compo-
sition, but which is often not suffi-
ciently attended to. In cappriccios
and fantasias, the composer is almost
at liberty to write down what is up-
permost, so that it is good in itself,
and bears some connection with his
subject and the general object in
view ; but in more regular writings,
and particularly in the sonata, al-
though we would not wish the com-
poser to write with an inch rule and
compasses, it is desirable that he
should revise his labour, with a view,
among others, of seeing what pro-
portion the component parts bear to
each other, whether there is sym-
metry and good keeping in their ag-
gregate. To exemplify to the eye
of the reader what is meant for the
ear, we will suppose that a composi-
tion in its skeleton reduced itself to a
diagram of somewhat the following
kind :
* * * *
*
* * *
* * *
* * *
&c.
Here would be evident want of sym-
metry ; the parts would not balance.
But a piece which admits of the fol-
lowing scheme would be free from
this objection :
* * » *
* * * *
******
* * * *
******
* * * *
Sec.
Not that the performer or auditor
positively proceeds to such an ad-
measurement, but his ear uncon-
sciously is affected by any rhythmic
unevenness. The ear measures as
much as the eye, although we may
not be equally aware of the process.
To return to our sonata, the se-
cond and slow movement, which Mr.
H. calls a romanza, and which par-
takes somewhat of a Scotch style, is
remarkable for the sweetness of its
melody, and the regularity observed
in its construction.
The rondo, with its highly origi-
nal beginning by the dominant se-
venth appertaining to the key, and
MUSICAL RKVIKW.
115
its very attractive motivo, quite a la
Russe, must be numbered among
Hummel's most happy and masterly
productions ; a quaint naivete and
freshness pervade the whole move-
ment, the interest is uninterruptedly
kept up by a succession of novel
and elegant ideas, and there is j
throughout such fulness of harmonic
support, spread and entwined with
such consummate art, that not one
of the ten fingers (thumbs included,
on the best authority,) will have to
complain of want of employment.
" Le Pas tic Pologne," Introduction
and Polacca for the Piano-forte,
composed by J. F. Burrowes. Pr.
3s.— (Chappell, New Bond-street.)
Original ideas in polaccas have
long been a desideratum ; the very
peculiarity of their established rhyth-
mic form throws difficulties into the
way of the composer. Hence, no
doubt, Mr. B.'s " Pas de Pologne"
is less remarkable for absolute no-
velty, than for the good tact, culti-
vated taste, and regularity of plan,
which prevail throughout. It is a
pretty piece, susceptible of much ex-
pression by proper accentuation, and
well deserving the notice of the stu-
dent, who will not be harassed by
any executive intricacies whatever.
A short and familiar Voluntary for
the Organ, composed by S. Wes-
ley. Pr. Is. 6d.— (Hodsoll, High-
Holborn.)
In this voluntary the author has
blended, with his usual contrapuntal
colourings, a greater degree of at-
tractive melody than what we have
met with in some pieces of this de-
scription from his able pen. At the
head of the fourth page, the word
" minore" has puzzled us; for al-
though the melody, in its further pro-
gress and conclusion, certainly ar-
rives at A minor, it is obvious that
where the above term is placed, and
for a good while after, the prevailing
tonic is C major.
ARRANGEMENTS, VARIATION'S, &C.
1. " Una voce j)oco fa," and " Ecco ridente il
cielo," from Rossini's Opera " II Barbiere
di Siviglia," arranged for the Piano-forte
by Camille Pleyel. Pr. 3s.— (Cocks and
Co. Prince's-street.)
2. " Alelillo," the much-admired Spanish Air,
arranged as a Rondo, with an Introduction
for the Piano-forte, by Sixto Perez. Pr.4s.
— (S. Chappell.)
3. Select Airs from Henry R. Bishop's Ro-
mantic Opera of " Aladdin, or the Wonder-
ful Lamp," arranged for the Piano-forte,
with an Accompaniment for the Flute, ad.
lib. by J. F. Burrowes. Pr.4s. — (Goulding
and Co.)
4. " Are you angry, mother ?" Air sung in
" Aladdin," arranged, with Variations for
the Piano-forte, by Edward Knight. Pr.
2s. 6d.—(Goulding and Co.)
5. Three Fantasias for the Piano-forte and
Violoncello, composed by Thomas Powell.
Nos. 1. 2. and 3. Pr. 3s.6d. each — (Dover
and Henderson, Chancery-lane.)
6. Airs arranged as Rondos for the Piano-
forte, by L. Sacchini. Nos. 1. 2. 3. 4. 7. 8.
Pr. Is. each.— (Cocks and Co.)
7. The Emperor of Russia's favourite Parade
March, composed by Dr. William Carnaby.
Pr. ls.fid.— (S. Chappell.)
8. The favourite Seville Waltz, with Varia-
tions and Introduction for the Piano-forte,
composedby Samuel Poole. Pr. 2s. — (Hod-
soll.)
9. " New-Year' s-Day," a familiar Rondo for
the Piano-forte, composed by Samuel Poole.
Pr. Is.— (Hodsoll.)
10. Hodsoll' s Collection of Popular Dances
for the Piano-forte, Harp, or Violin. Pr.ls.
—(Hodsoll.)
1. Mr. C. Pleyel's adaptation of
" Una voce poco fa," and " Ecco ri-
dente il cielo," is well calculated to
convey an adequate idea of those airs
to such players as are debarred from
enjoying them vocally. Both pieces
are arranged in a very effective man-
ner, so as to present the whole of the
two airs in full,with all their numerous
ornamentals, and with scarcely any
adventitious matter, except that the
16
MUSICAL REVIEW.
end of " Una voce" has a digression
to the key of C to connect it with
" Ecco ridente ;" and in the latter,
some passages from the first duet in
the opera are appropriately brought
into play towards the conclusion.
2. Senor Perez has almost made
too much of an excellent thing, by
allowing his composition to extend to
fifteen pages. But this objection
aside — and with many probably the
objection will not be concurred in—
his labour is such as to prompt us to
request our readers' special attention
to it. The Spanish air which forms
the ground-work is beautiful, and in
the treatment Senor P. has frequent-
ly and most successfully deviated
from the ordinary routine forms ac-
cording to which arrangements are
generally manufactured. The music
even looks differently from what we
are accustomed to (it often bears a
guitar aspect), and this difference to
the eye is advantageously acknow-
ledged by the ear. We hope there
is no bull in this ! The whole bears
a vocal air, and the melodious diction
is enhanced by a system of forcible
and occasionally novel accompani-
ment. In the course of the piece,
as well as in the introductory adagio
— in the latter especially — the author
shews himself to be possessed of a
high degree of chaste musical feel-
ing. The winding-up is perhaps the
least effective portion, and it is al-
most a pity the author did not enter
upon a " commencement de la fin"
at p. 9, which was well calculated for
the purpose.
3. 4. Although the critics have
complained of want of originality in
Mr. Bishop's opera of Aladdin, we
must confess the music appears to us
very pleasing, and well written, and
certainly not inferior to his late pro-
ductions. This opinion, we pre-
sume, will in some degree be corro-
borated by the two publications be-
fore us. Mr. Burrowes' book con-
tains five or six pieces of the opera,
among others, the favourite " Are
you angry, mother?" and although
there certainly occur a number of
ideas which are far from defying a
good memory, we are free to say,
that a greater quantum of good me-
lody, and of generally pleasing ideas,
has seldom been concentrated in a
space so limited as that of Mr. Bur-
rowes' book before us.
As to Mr. Knight's labour, it is
confined to six variations on the air
above-mentioned, which evince good
musical knowledge and considerable
taste. As a remarkable, and onee in
a way not objectionable feature, we
may observe that the variations are
all in different keys.
5. Mr. Powell's three fantasias are
founded on the following operatic
airs : No. 1. " Su l'aria," and No. 3.
" Voi che sapete," both from Mo-
zart's Figaro; and No. 2. " Regna
il terror," from Rossini's Tancredi.
The violoncello is not only obligato,
but frequently charged with solos,
either belonging to the airs, or con-
sisting of active passages of digres-
sion or amplification. The effect of
such instrumental aid, when devised
by a professor of Mr. Powell's skill
on the violoncello, may almost be an-
ticipated; and although we ourselves
are only able to judge from a viva
voce execution of the violoncello
parts, we can fully appreciate the
effect of a more legitimate perform-
ance. As to the piano-forte part, it
is written in an easy and agreeable
style; the digressions, numerous as
they are, will be found to be in good
keeping, and in proper analogy with
MUSICAL 1SEVIEW.
117
the subjects. We are glad to per-
ceive that these pieces have also
been published For the piano-forte
with the accompaniment of a flute, by
which means a much more extend-
ed circulation will be given to them.
6. The six little rondos bearing
the name of L. Sacchini, are found-
ed on the following subjects : No.
1. " Planxty Kelly ;" No. 2. " Zitti,
zitti" (Rossini) ; No. 3. " Le petit Tam-
bour;" No. 4. "March of the Chris-
tians" (Rossini's Mose in Egitto);
No. 7. " Sul Margine d'un Rio ;"
No. 8. " O dolce concento " (Mo-
zart). Nos. 5. and G. we have not
eeen. Whether Mr. Sacchini is a
descendant of the great composer
bearing the same name, we are una-
ble to say. The little fugitive pieces
before us are of too humble a na-
ture to admit of an opinion as to the
rank of the author in the profession ;
they are short easy trifles, intended
for juvenile performers, and as such
may fairly claim admission in the
way of early lessons, more particu-
larly as their subjects possess the
advantage of melodic attraction.
7. The beginning of Dr. Carna-
by's march reminds us of a march in
one of Rossini's operas {La Donna
del Lago, if we are not mistaken).
Whether the composition has had
the distinction of being performed
at the Grand Parade at St. Peters-
burg, we have not the means of
knowing positively, but from the title
we are justified in presuming this to
have been the case. The march is
respectable, and, with the full force
of a military band, likely to be very
effective.
8. 9. Mr. Poole's "Seville Waltz"
is a waltz theme, with seven varia-
tions, written in an easy and satisfac-
tory manner. They are all more or
less attractive, and two or three have
really a brilliant effect. Of this gen-
tleman's " New-Year's-day rondo"
(9.) we can only say that it is evi-
dently meant for absolute beginners,
that it is perfectly proper for their
practice, and likely to win their fa-
vour.
10. Mr. Hodsoll's collection of
dances has been noticed in various of
our monthly reviews: its price is rea-
sonable, and it contains many of the
most favourite and really select dance
tunes that have been current for a
series of years. In the present sheet,
No. 35. the choice is good. There
are five country dances and one
waltz, chiefly of foreign origin, sup-
ported by an easy but sufficiently
effective accompaniment.
VOCAL MUSIC.
1 . A Selection of Popular National Airs, with
Symphonies and Accompaniments, by Henry
R. Bishop ; the Words by Thomas Moore,
Esq. No. 5. Pr. 12s. — (Tower, Strand.)
2. A Selection of French Melodies, with Sym-
phonies and Accompaniments, by W. Eave-
start'; the Words by W. H. Bellamy, Esq.
No 6. Pr. 3s — (Eavestaff, Great Russel-
street.)
3. '« Say what can hapless woman do," a Bal-
lad ; the Word* by Mrs. Catherine Ward;
the Music composed by E. Solis. Pr. ls.Gd.
— (Clementi and Co. Cheapside.)
4 " The Tear,'" a Ballad; the Music com-
posed by F. J. Klose. Pr. 2s.— (Chappell,
New Bond-street.)
5. " Cupid's Visit," a Ballad; written by Da-
niel Weir, Esq.; the Music composed by F. W.
Crouch. Pr. 2s.— (Chappell, New Bond-
street.)
1. The fifth number of Mr. Pow-
er's Collection of National Popular
Airs presents us with a very pre-
ponderating proportion of excellence,
to which our scanty limits compel us
to advert with the utmost brevity.
No. 1. a Danish air, is conspicu-
ous for the attractive simplicity of
its melody. The semiquaver ac-
companiments, especially i\ hen dwel-
118
MUSICAL REVIEW.
ling among the higher notes, are not
quite suitable to the tenderness of
the melody and text, though, with-
out reference to the latter, the sys-
tem of accompaniment is neatly and
cleverly devised.
No. 2. is inscribed "Hindoo Air,"
and, we make no doubt, has been re-
ceived as such by the arranger. But
we have seen such a variety of dubi-
ous Hindostanee tunes, that we look
upon music from that quarter with a
certain degree of incredulity. With
regard to the present case, we doubt
whether the Hindoos possess any
melodies so decidedly founded on
the harmonic system of Europe as
the one before us. Be this as it
may, the air is formed into a very
pleasing duet, exempt from the
slightest vocal difficulty.
No. 3. " Spanish ;" unquestiona-
bly authentic ; a very original plain-
tive air in G minor, requiring special
care as to accents and expression.
No. 4. " unknown," has various-
ly appeared in print before as a
Spanish melody. No doubt of a
national character, and highly inter-
esting.
No. 5. A very excellent German
hunting song, full of true originality.
No. 6. " Scotch ;" a charming,
simple little duet.
No. 7. " Unknown ;" the sym-
phony tolerable, but the air itself,
and its treatment, beautiful. Quite
German, and much in Beethoven's
manner, who, if he be the author,
need not be ashamed of it.
No. 8. " Russian ;" may be so ;
its minor melody is of a wildish com-
plexion, and good. The change of
time from f to f has a happy effect.
No. 9. A beautiful Spanish air,
strikingly original, and requiring ori-
ginality and a peculiar feeling in its
vocal execution.
No. 10. A well-known, but very
pleasing and regular French air.
No. 11. " Italian;" a lovely com-
position ; fresh, of elegant musical
diction, and replete with feeling.
No. 12. " German ;" also excel-
lent. There is a graceful freedom
and freshness in the melody, and
much originality in the cadences.
The above concise sketch may
serve to convey to the minds of our
readers some idea of the nature of
the collection, and of its intrinsic me-
rit. We look upon it as a valuable
acquisition to the vocal amateur ; he
will not often meet with an equal
quantum of excellence in a selec-
tion of this description and extent.
Mr. Bishop's part of the undertak-
ing has been performed with his
usual ability, and with much taste.
The typographical execution is in
the first style of elegance ; but the
musical type is on somewhat too re-
duced a scale, a circumstance likely
to be felt in those airs where more
than one voice have to read out of
the book, which is the case with
seven of the twelve pieces.
2. The sixth number of Mr. Eave-
stafF's collection of French melodies,
we believe, terminates the work.
We have, at proper opportunities,
noticed the previous portions, and
on every occasion felt called upon to
express our approbation. This is
also the case with the present book,
which includes four airs, " Portrait
charmant," among the rest. The
whole work just fills one hundred
pages, and contains about twenty
songs. The price of it, therefore,
considering the value of the contents,
and the uniform typographical ele-
MUSICAL 11KY1KW.
119
gance of the whole, is extremely
moderate.
3. The text of Mr. SohYs ballad
b not new to us ; the melody is one
of impressive simplicity and chaste
feeling. In the second period (p. 2,
1. 3,) we are reminded of a parallel
idea in "Nel cuor piu non mi sento."
The cadence in the symphony upon
C minor (p. 1, 1.2,) is somewhat hard;
indeed it presents consecutive fifths
in the extreme parts.
4. " The Tear," by Mr. Klose,
has some ideas which are more or
less familiar, and, towards the end,
treads closely on a well-known French
melody ; but the song is tasteful as
a whole, regular, correct, and alto-
gether well set.
5. "Cupid's Visit," by Mr. Crouch,
admits nearly of the same observa-
tions as the preceding. There is
nothing very new in the several ideas ;
but the melody is in proper style,
well put together, and sufficiently at-
tractive to impart additional interest
to the text.
JIAUP AND FLUTE.
1. Three National Polonaises, arranged for
the Harp and Piano-forte by N.C. Bochsa.
Pr. 4s.— (Cocks and Co.)
2. Qamille PleyeVs Introduction and Rondo
on " Vienifra queste Braccia," from " La
Gazza Ladra," arranged for the Harp by
N. C. Bochsa. Pr. 2s. 6d.— (Cocks and Co. )
3. Second Set of Bagatelles for the Harp,
composedby N. C. Bochsa. Pr.7s. — (Chap-
pell, New Bond-street.)
4. The admired Air, u Are you angry, mo-
ther?" with a spirited Introduction and
Coda, composed by N. C. Bochsa. Pr. 2s. 6d.
— (Goulding and Co.)
5. " Petite Pastorale" for the Harp, introduc-
ing two Airs from Henry R. Bishop's Opera
of Aladdin, composedby N. C. Bochsa. Pr.
2s. 6d.— (Goulding and Co.)
6. Selection of favourite Melodies for the Flute
and Piano-forte, arranged, with appropriate
Embellishments, by Raphael Dressier. Nos.
I. to XII. Pr. 2s. each — (Cocks and Co.)
7. Sacred Melodies set for the Flute by Chas.
Saust. Pr. 3s. 6d.— (Cocks and Co )
Vol. VIII. No. XLIV.
1 . The three Polonaises arranged
for the harp by Mr. Bochsa consist
of two excellent Polonaises by Hum-
nel, and the celebrated Polonaise by
Oginsky, of which latter our Miscel-
lany gave probably the earliest copy
in this country. The adaptation is
good, and as free from difficulties as
from adventitious matter.
2. What Mr. C. Pleyel had ar-
ranged for the piano-forte from Ros-
sini, that Mr. B. has arranged for
the harp from Mr. C. Pleyel's copy;
and a fourth party, perhaps, may
think it worth while to re-arrange
Mr. B.'s re-arrangement, for the gui-
tar, in this age of arrangements. As
our feeble hands cannot stem the
tide, we have only to add, that Mr.
B.'s publication is very satisfactory
as far as it goes, and by no means
intricate.
3. The first number of Mr. Boch-
sa's " Bagatelles" for the harp has
been noticed some time ago with
commendation, and the same favour
is due to its successor. The pieces
are of a very select conception, and
as interesting and pleasing as they
are clever in point of treatment; but
they require a greater degree of pro-
ficiency than what the title wouid
lead one to expect.
4. 5. Mr. Bochsa's " Are you an-
gry, mother?" has a neat introduc-
tion, and is arranged with much taste.
Among the digressive matter, other
passages from the opera of Aladdin
have been opportunely brought into
play. The " Petite Pastorale" (5.),
founded on the same opera, deserves
equally the attention of harp-ama-
teurs, as affording a very pretty les-
son, without requiring superior exe-
cutive perfection.
6. Mr. Dressler's collection of me-
lodies contains the following airs:
R
1:20
LONDON FASHIONS.
1. " Cease your funning." — 2. " Le
petit tambour." — 3. " Fra tante an-
goscie." — 4. " Rousseau's Dream." —
5. " Portrait charmant." — G. " Car-
naval de Venise." — 7. " Oh! Nan-
ny."—8. " Zitti, zitti."— 9. « Gio-
vinettechefate." — 10. "March, Mose
in Egitto."— 1 1. " Planxty Kelly."—
12. " God save the King."
In these the flute acts generally
as principal, and the piano-forte is
chiefly matter of accompaniment, yet
of a very select and effective descrip-
tion. Although the flute part is ob-
viously not intended for tyros on the
instrument, a moderate stage of ad-
vancement will be found to suffice
for its satisfactory performance, all
abstrusities and eccentricities being
excluded; and yet a considerable
proportion of tasteful embellishment
introduced, wherever the melody pre-
sented a fit and available opportunity
for ornament or amplification.
7. Mr. Saust's little volume of Sa-
cred Melodies contains about thirty
tunes of good selection, including
several German hymns. The music
being, as it should be, quite simple,
a beginner may master the whole,
and edify as well as improve himself,
even on Sundays.
FASHIONS.
LONDON
PROMENADE DRESS.
Dress of azure gros de Naples;
the corsage regularly full in back
and front, rather high and confined
by a band of the same material round
the top ; the sleeve full and large to
the elbow; it then fits the arm to the
wrist, where it is terminated in a neat
full cuff set in a band. The skirt
has three flounces, tastefully arranged
in divisions of three flutings, then
plain, then the flutings alternately;
beneath is a wadded hem. Em-
broidered lace pelerine outside the
dres's, which reaches to the waist be-
hind; the ends in front are much
longer, and pointed and confined by
the ceinture: it has a falling collar,
fastened in front by a cameo brooch.
White gros de Naples hat, large and
open ; the crown rather low, with bows
of white satin ribbon on each side,
and a piece placed obliquely across
the front; white satin bows inside
at the commencement of the strings,
which hang loose to the ceinture,
FASHIONS.
where they meet in a bow, and are
fastened in front: a deep blond cur-
tain veil is attached to the edge of
the brim. The hair is parted and
in large curls; blond cap, the border
very full. Gold bracelets and ear-
rings; yellow gloves; morocco shoes;
rose-colour parasol, with a carved
ivory stick ornamented with brass.
EVENING DItESS.
White crepe lisse worn over a
white satin slip; the corsage full,
and ornamented with a rose-colour
satin cape, corded at the edge, very
narrow at its conjunction in front,
and extending like a zephyr's wing
as it reaches the shoulder, where
two ornamented scollops unite it with
a similar wing or cape behind : the
under-sleeve is short and full, and
the long full sleeve over it is termi-
nated at the wrist with a white satin
Vandyke cuff, and fastened by a broad
gold bracelet with a medallion clasp.
The skirt has a deep border of rose-
x>i.m
INTErjJGENCE, L1TEUAIIY, SCIENTIFIC, &C.
121
colour satin arranged i.n two rows;
the upper ornament is salver-shaped,
supporting an oval composed of flat
bands, which cross in the centre, like
trellis-work; these ovals are united
by bands forming an arch, two ex-
tending from the top of one oval to
the bottom of the next, and from the
other side one band passes behind,
reaching from the salver-shaped or-
nament on the upper row to that on
the lower: beneath are two broad
rose-colour satin rouleaux. The head-
dress is a kind of turban, formed of
rose-colour bands, interwoven like
trellis-work ; the crown is long and
rather small towards the top, very
similar in shape to the Likanian
cap. A white crepe Usse rouleau, in
bouffants entwined by rose-colour
bands, reaches round it, lessening as
it approaches the right side, where
an ornament in rose-colour satin,
doubled and in large plaits, extends
over the ear. The hair in large curls
on the left side, and a la Madonna
on the right ; necklace of medallions
united by rows of gold beads ; ear-
rings a la Flamande; shaded gauze
scarf, fringed ; white kid gloves ;
white satin shoes.
FASHIONABLE FURNITURE.
FLOWER
Among the various decorations of
modern apartments we can reckon
none, perhaps, more pleasing than a
flower-stand : it diversifies and en-
livens the appearance of almost any
room; and the odoriferous perfume
proceeding from the flowers, and the
beautiful appearance of their va-
riegated hues, tend at once to de-
light and charm the senses. There
is no style more appropriate for this
sort of decoration than the Gothic :
its crockets, finials, foliage, pendants,
&c. all flowing and pliable, seem to
be a continuation of nature ; while
its open and fanciful traceries con-
tribute to the lightness of its effect.
Whether the flower-stand is of
any great antiquity or not, we can-
STANDS.
not pretend to determine ; but of this
we are certain, that if of modern in-
troduction, it is one of the greatest
improvements in the decorative style,
and is now almost universally adopt-
ed. But different situations have been
assigned to flower-stands in apart-
ments ; some place them in the win-
dows, others in niches or recesses ;
and, indeed, their position is regu-
lated entirely by taste.
It is hoped that the designs in the
annexed plate will, in some sort, ex-
emplify our observation, that Gothic
is the most appropriate style for this
sort of decoration. Two different
designs are given; they are both
square in their plan, and may be ex-
ecuted either in fancy wood or metal.
INTELLIGENCE, LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, &c.
Illustrations of die Passes of the Alps
by which Italy communicates with France,
Switzerland, and Germany, from draw-
ings by W. Brockedon, Esq. are in a
forward state of preparation.
Mr. Nicolas has in the press a History
of the Battle of A gin court, from contem-
porary authorities, the greater part of
which have been hitherto inedited ; to-
gether with a copy of the Roll returned
R 2
122
INTI-LLIGJiNCi;, UTI-UAKY, SCIENTIFIC, &<J.
into the Exchequer, by command of
Henry V. of the names of the nobility,
knights, esquires, and others who were
present on that occasion, and biographi-
cal notices of the principal commanders.
Memoirs of the Life of M. G. Lexvis,
author of the romance of " The Monk,"
are preparing for publication.
A translation of Tieck's novel, entitled
Sternbald, or the Travelling Painter, is
in the press.
Shortly will be published, The History
of Armenia, by Father Michael Chamich,
translated from the original Armenian
by Johannes Avdall.
Mr. Richard Dagley, author of " Se-
lect Gems from the Antique," has an-
nounced Death's Doings, consisting of
humorous - pathetic designs, from the
pencil of this ingenious artist, in which
Death is acting various parts ; and each
design is illustrated with serious or so-
lemn stories, in prose and verse — a pic-
nic contribution by a score of popular
authors.
Mr. Percival, whose " History of Ita-
ly" is before the public, has been for
some time engaged on a History of
France, which is designed to extend from
the foundation of the monarchy to the se-
cond restoration of the Bourbon dynasty.
Messrs. Carvill, of New-York, have
issued a prospectus of an American An-
nual Register, to be published every Au-
gust, in an 8vo. volume of about 800
pages.
Mr. George Samouelle, author of the
" Entomologist's Useful Compendium,"
has nearly ready for publication, General
Directions for Collecting and Preserving
Exotic Insects and Crustacea, with illus-
trative plates.
don University, originally suggested and
developed by Mr. Thomas Campbell, the
poet, has been so far matured, that a piece
of freehold ground, at the end of Gower-
street, has been purchased for the erec-
tion of the proposed building, for which
the council have adopted a design by Mr.
Wilkins. The estimate for completing
the whole edifice, faced in stone, is
c£87,000 ; but the council hope to be
able to finish so much as will suffice for
the first objects of the Institution for
ofSO.OOO ; and if the first stone be laid
during the present summer it is expected
that the classes may be opened by the
end of next year.
LONDON UNIVERSITY.
The plan for the foundation of a Lon-
NOKTHERN INSTITUTION OF SCIENCE AND
LITERATURE.
An institution with this title, founded
in the course of last year at Inverness,
was originally planned and effectively
supported by Mr. G. Anderson, a young
gentleman born and educated in that
town. The luminous and cultivated in-
tellect which formed a scheme of such
magnitude, can have no higher eulogy
than the simple statement of the success-
ful attempt ; and no applause can exceed
the merit of those noblemen and gentle-
men, whose liberality bestow the aid of
maturer talent, wealth, and influence, to
complete the views of a youthful pro-
jector. The institution is flourishing ;
the zeal of the founders, and members
subsequently added, continues unabated ;
and their country has full reliance on
the sons of the mountains, wherever dis-
persed, that they will make all possible
exertions to furnish the museum with
rare specimens of nature and art, to pro-
cure antiquities and scientific and lite-
rary intelligence, and to ensure for them-
selves a grateful name from generations
unborn,
I
e
£
--v.
I.M
123
$oetrp.
MAIDS AND MEN.
(Extracted from Field- Flowers. By He sky
Brandreth, jun. Esq. Author of " -OtZes,"
" Portland Isle," %c.)
LINES FOUND ON THE SEASHORE AT
RAMSGATE.
" Maids are May while they are maids, but
the sky changes when they are wives." —
As You Like It. Ros. Act iv. Scene 3.
Why rail, fair maids, at man, why call him
fickle, false, and vain,
Because, a slave, he bursts the bonds of wo-
man's iron chain ?
Remember 'tis for freedom, aye for freedom
that he strives :
Oh ! " Maids are May while they are maids,"
—how changed the sky when wives !
Bright shone the moon, the youngMay-moon,
when peerless as to charms
Of form and face, my Sylvia first repos'd
within my arms ;
That young moon waned, and love became
like the bee's summer hives;
For " Maids are May while they are maids,"
— how changed the sky when wives !
Yet still I loved, for I had heard that time
would bring a change,
That, as we once the fields had ranged, we
yet again might range;
False Hope had painted Hymen's hours the
sunniest of our lives ;
For " Maids are May while they are maids,"
—how changed the sky when wives !
There is a joy — would it were mine ! — a joy
that few may tell,
It is when Love and Beauty wed to mutual
Friendship dwell:
Yet oft o'er Hymen's blue serene Distrust's
dark tempest drives —
Yes, " Maids are May while they are maids,"
— how changed the sky when wives !
There is a grief— be it not thine!— a grief how
many feel,
'Tis where Ingratitude hath set his ever-bane-
ful seal;
'Tis where the friend's confiding heart Seduc-
tion's arrow rives —
Yes, " Maids are May while they are maids,"
— how changedthe scene whenwives!
Then rail not, fair ones, thus, nor say man's
fickle, false, and vain,
Because, a slave, he bursts the bonds of wo-
man's iron chain;
Remember 'tis for freedom, aye for freedom
that he strives —
For " Maids are May while they are maids,"
— how changed the sky when wives I
ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING.
" Men are April when they woo, December
when they wed."— As You Like It. Ros.
Act iv. Scene 3.
O tell me not that men are true, nor blame
that woman's grief,
Who, slighted by the man she loves, still seeks
in tears relief !
I've listened to the Gipsy's tale, and justly
it is said,
That "Men are April when they woo, Decem-
ber when they wed."
It was a lovely day indeed, when o'er my
Strephon's brow
There came a smile — a sunny smile — like
April's beauteous bow ;
But soon the distant clouds approached— that
sunny smile was fled —
For " Men are April when they woo, Decem-
ber when they wed."
And I did trust that sunny smile, for little
then I knew
How frail, tho' fair, Love's Paphian flower,
how transient was its hue ;
It blossom'd in the morning-beam, at e'en-
tide it was dead —
For" Men are April when they woo, Decem-
ber when they wed."
He said he loved me — I believed— but luck-
less was the day
When first I saw life's vernal stream thus glid-
ing fast away;
For soon that vernal stream became a wintry
torrent dread-
Yes, " Men are April when they woo, Decern*
ber wheu they wed."
Yet still he said he loved, and I still hoped
he spoke the truth ;
For dark must be those clouds indeed that
shroud the hopes of youth :
Yet fainter grew those hopes as those dark
clouds still darker spread —
Yes, "Men are April when they woo, Decem-
ber when they wed."
Then tell me not that men are true, nor
blame that woman's grief,
Who, slighted by the man she loves, still seeks
in tears relief ;
124
POETRY.
But bid her heed the Gipsy's laic, for justly
it is said,
That " Men are April when they woo, Decem-
ber when they wed."
GLENALLEN: A Ballad.
There's sounds of mirth in Norvan's hall,
Where hearts are light and free ;
The festive board, the merry ball,
The voice of revelry.
They hail the marriage of the heir,
Glenallen's noble lord,
With Lady Imogivie the fair,
The daughter of De Ford.
Oh! far and wide the lamps shone bright
The village paths along;
The radiant glow adorned the night,
Which bore the tide of song.
A palmer from the Holy Land
Came in his pilgrim's dress,
And of the porter did demand
What meant those sounds of bliss.
44 It is," the wondering Edgar cried,
" Our young lord's bridal-day ;
And Lady Imogine's the bride,
As rich as fair they say.''
" The Lady Tmogine !" he said,
" Then she's as false as fair ;
Could she the Lord Glenalleti wed,
Her cousin's wealthy heir?"
Said Edgar, " Young Lord Harold died
In a far distant land ;
She's now Lord Alfred's beauteous bride,
Who's come to claim her hand."
In proud Glenallen's lofty dome
The palmer stood conceal'd,
An outcast in his native home—
A stranger unreveal'd.
He saw the hand of her he lov'd
To Alfred's bosom prest ;
And, oh ! too well her glances proved,
She thought that she was blest-
He threw aside his pilgrim's dress,
Rais'd high his trembling hands,
u Behold !" he cried, " false maid, confess
That here Glenallen stands!"
The lyres were hush'd, the merry dance
Was stopp'd in wild dismay ;
But, oh ! the bride's astonish'd glance,
" I joy not," seemed to say.
'• To arms! to arms!" the bridesmen cried ;
" To arms !" the vassals join ;
" Glenallen is our boast and pride,
The chieftain we will own."
" Forbear ! forbear ! upon your life
Forbear!" he answer'd. " Now,
I'll rob not .Alfred of his wife —
I must to Fortune bow."
He turn'd him proudly from his home,
And sought a holy shrine :
"Would," he exclaimed, "ere this had come,
I'd died in Palestine !
" She bade me win a glorious name —
I have, but 'tis in vain ;
My sweet reward I must not claim,
Nor wield the sword again,
" I'll leave my fair inheritance,
Which once an Eden proved" —
For, oh ! his Imogine's fond glance
Shew'd she Lord Alfred loved.
THE POET'S WREATH.
I sought the garden's gayest bow'r,
To form a wreath for her I love,
Where ev'ry sweet and smiling flow'r
An emblem of the maid might prove.
The rose first claim'd a brilliant place,
Nature's most fair and fragrant gem;
Its beauties emblem Ellen's face,
Her tear— a dew-drop on its stem.
But the bright semblance to complete,
The lily with the rose I twin'd,
And found the union much more sweet,
The blended colours more relin'd.
But, ah ! forgotten until now,
The humble violet claim'd my care;
Soft as my Ellen's frownless brow,
Fragrant it bloom'd as sweet as fair.
With cautious speed I pluck'd the flow'r,
And in the wreath my hand had wove,
I plac'd it, brightest of the bow'r,
And fittest for the breast of love.
The wreath was simple, but 'twas sweet;
No flow'r was there with gaudy hue,
Of painted pride an emblem meet,
As flaunting and as useless too.
All were as mild as was the maid,
Whose breast to deck was their proud
doom ;
The flow'rets' beauty soon will fade —
Oh ! long may Ellen's brightly bloom !
J. M. Lacey.
Printed by L, Harrison, 07:5, Strand.
THE
&epo0ttorp
OF
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures , §c,
THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII.
September 1, 182(3.
N° XLV.
EMBELLISHMENTS. pagk
1. View of Pentilly-Castle, Cornwall, the Seat of John Tilly
Coryton, Esq. .125
2. Mitcham-Grove, Surrey, the Seat of Henry Hoare, Esq. 126
3. Ladies' Carriage Costume . . . . . . . .183
4. Evening Dress ......... ib.
5. Candelabra . . . . . . . . . . .184
6. Muslin Pattern.
CONTENTS.
MISCELLANIES. page
Views of Country Seats. — Pentilly-Cas-
tle, Cornwall, the Seat of John Tilly
Coryton, Esq 125
Mitcham-Grove, Surrey, the Seat of
Henry Hoare, Esq 126
The Outlaw 127
Popular Superstitions of the French
Provinces.— No. III. —The Devil's
Riddle 130
The Summer Excursion 133
The Cagot of the Pyrenees 136
The Friendship of Ancient Chivalry.
(Concluded) 138
The Illustrious Prisoner: ATale of Olden
Time 148
Illustrations of Popular German Super-
stitions 152
The Modern Cassandra 158
The Literary Coterie. — No. XIX. —
James's Naval History — Memoirs of a
French Serjeant — Roc e its' Poems —
Miss Hatfield's Wanderer of Scandi-
nuvia — Mills' Sibyl's Leaves — The
Crazed Maid of Venice — Hai.liday's
Annuls of the House of Hanover . .
Anecdotes, Historical, Literary, and
Personal. — Count Schaumburg-Lippe,
better known as Count Biickeburg —
George II. and the Pretender — Paul
and Virginia — Frederick the Great .
MUSICAL REVIEW.
Pixis' " Les Charities de Vienne" . . .
Turvey's Practice of the Scales .
Macdonald's Notation of Music Simpli-
fied
Arrangements, Variations, &c.
Burrowes' Airs of Meyer's Medea —
Crouch's Select Italian Airs — Calkin's
164
174
176
ib.
177
V Effort sans Effort — RAwtiNcs'Diver-
tisement — Mii.es's Introduction and
March from Rossini's Ricciardo e Zo~
raide — Rimbault's Grand Jubilee
Overture by Weber — Holst's Rode's
Air — Musard's Forty-second Set of
Quadrilles 178
Vocal.
Barnett's u The home of my fathers "
— M'Murdie's " In yonder grave a
Druid lies" — Ball's The Light Qua-
drille— Sola's Six Spanish Airs . . 180
Harp Music.
Meyer's Sixth Divertimento — Bochsa's
admired Overture to Boildieu's "La
Dame Blanche" — Bochsa's favourite
Airs in Rossini's Otello — Bochsa's two
favourite Airs from Spohr's Faustus 181
Flute Music.
Arthur's Modern Art of Flute-Playing —
Dressler's Arrangement of Mayse-
der's " La Sentinelle" — Saust's fa-
vourite Airs from Winter's " Le Sacri-
fice interrotttjm" J 82
FASHIONS.
London Fashions. — Ladies' Carriage
Costume 183
Ladies' Evening Dress ib.
Fashionable Furniture. — Candelabra . 184
INTELLIGENCE,
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC . ib.
POETRY.
Lines to Miss F* ** * r, with a Copy
of the " Forget-Me-Not" . . . . 185
The Remonstrance of Age to Beauty. By
J. M. Lacey 186
Translations from Herder's Fragments of
the Greeh Anthology ib.
LONDON :
PRINTED FOR, AND PUBLISHED BY, R. ACKERMANN, 101, STRAND;
To whom Communications (jiost-paid) are requested to be addressed.
Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand.
TO READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.
Publishers, Authors, Artists, and Musical Composers, are requested to transmit,
on or before the 20th of the month, Announcements of Works which they may have on
hand, and we shall cheerfully insert them, as we have hitherto done, free of expense.
New Musical Publications also, if a copy be addressed to the Publisher, shall be duly
noticed in our Review ; and Extracts from new Books, of a moderate length and of an
interesting nature, suitable for our Selections, will be acceptable.
Persons who reside abroad, and who wish to be supplied with this Work every Month as
published, may have it sent to them, free of Postage, to New- York, Halifax, Quebec, and
to any part of the West Iudies, at £4 12s. per Annum, by Mr. Thornhill, of the General
Post-Office, at No. 21, Sherborne-lane; to Hamburgh, Lisbon, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malta, or
any Part of the Mediterranean, at £4 12s. per Annum, by Mr. Serjeant, of the General
Post-Office, at No. 22, Sherborne-lane ; and to the Cape of Good Hope, or any part of the
East Indies, by Mr. Guy, at the East-India House. The money to be paid at the time of
subscribing, for either 3, 6,9, or 12 months.
This Work may also be had of 3Iessrs. Akijon and Kkat, Rotterdam.
THE
&epogttorp
OP
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, 8$c.
THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII. September 1, 1826.
N°- XLV.
VIEWS OF COUNTRY SEATS.
PENTILLY-CASTLE, CORNWALL, THE
This beautiful castle is situated on
the banks of the Tamar, in a most
romantic spot, from the varied sur-
face of the ground. It is a modern
building, from designs by Wilkinson,
and admirably adapted to its com-
manding situation, being built on the
brow of a bold hill which swells up
from the river, and is surrounded
with fine woods. The castle is of
the enriched Gothic, surmounted
with pinnacles, its form that of a re-
ligious structure. The entrance, or
portico, on the south side, is very
line. The interior of this pile cor-
responds in every respect with its
outward promise, the number of
apartments it contains being all of
fine proportions, and finished in a
costly style.
Several picturesque buildings de-
corate the grounds ; the Gothic
Vol VIII. No, XLV.
SEAT OF JOHN TILLY CORYTON, ESQ.
lodge on the Saltash road is very
pretty ; but that which deserves par-
ticular attention is the tower, or
sepulchral building. It was erect-
ed purposely for Sir James Tilly,
and his interment in it gave rise
to many a curious tale, credited
even now, and the following among
the rest : That being of atheistical
principles, he directed that after his
death his body should be placed iri
this building, sitting in a chair, with
a table before him, provided with
bottles, glasses, &c. to perpetuate
his derision of a future existence. It
is but just to state, that a few years
since it was fully proved that his
body lay decently interred in a coffin.
It appears that the ancient and
highly respectable family of Coryton
was seated at Coryton, in the parish
of Lifton, in the county of Devon
S
126
MITCH AM-GR0VK, SURREY.
in the reign of Henry III. The
heir of this house having, in the four-
teenth century, married the heiress
of Ferrers, of Newton-Ferrers,
in this county, and settled at that
place, it continued the principal re-
sidence of the family for four centu-
ries. John Coryton, Esq. suffered
considerably from his adherence to
the royal cause during the rebellion
in the seventeenth century; but in
1G61, soon after the restoration, he
was created a baronet by Charles II.
His eldest son succeeded to the title,
and married the daughter of Sir Ri-
chard Chiverton, Lord Mayor of
London, but died without issue.
William Coryton, his only brother,
succeeded to the title and estates.
His son, Sir John, dying without
issue in 1739, the title became ex-
tinct. A portion of the property de-
volved on Peter Goodall, Esq. on
behalf of his lady, a daughter of Sir
John Coryton, the first baronet. John
Goodall, a descendant, in 1756 as-
sumed the name and arms of Cory-
ton. John, his heir, married Mary
Jemima, only daughter and sole heir-
ess of James Tilly, Esq. of Pentilly-
Castle. To his heir, who married
one of the daughters of the Hon.
John Leveson Gower, Pentilly is in-
debted for its present magnificence.
MITCHAM-GROVE, SURREY,
THE SEAT OF HENRY IIOAUE, ICSQ.
This delightful mansion is situated
nearly nine miles from the metropo-
lis, in one of the most fertile parts of
the county ; and having extensive
plantations, with a fine river mean-
dering through the grounds, forms a
very pleasing subject for our Repo-
sitory. This estate belonged to
Lord dive, by whom it was presented
to Lord Loughborough (when Coun-
sellor Wedderburne), as a token of
gratitude for defending his lordship's
character before the House of Com-
mons ; and was afterward* sold by
Lord Loughborough to the present
worthy proprietor, Henry Hoare,
Esq. an eminent London banker.
The house is a very elegant mo-
dern structure, having three fronts,
two of which are exhibited in the
accompanying engraving. The prin-
cipal front faces the road leading from
Mitcham to Sutton, having before it a
beautiful stream from the river Wan-
die, and some majestic trees, which,
in a great measure, screen the build-
ing from public observation.
The interior of the mansion con-
tains many spacious apartments, and
every convenience requisite for a gen-
tleman's residence, a valuable libra-
ry, and a iexv family portraits in the
dining-parlour. The hot-houses and
green-houses are very spacious, as
also the pleasure-gardens ; they are
situated on the eastern side of the
house, and are plentifully supplied
with water from the river. The ar-
rangements of the plantations and
promenades have been mostly com-
pleted under the direction of the
present proprietor, and at a very
great expense. The prospects from
the western part of the building are
very extensive, and are considerably
enlivened by the fine river, which
abounds with fish.
127
THE OUTLAW.
" The rage of a moment made me
an outlaw; but, by the help of God, I
will never make myself a villain. The
deer of the forest, once scared by the
hunter, snuffs the air to trace the
steps of man; but he has many of
his own kind to watch with him. I
wander alone. I must shun the bles-
sed light of day ; and by night, when
I venture to change my hiding-place,
when I lie down in some wild cave
of the rock, or under the deep shel-
ter of woods I try to sleep, my ear
catches every sound, and I start up
in terrors. I fear not to die, as my
fathers died, in battle, or on the bed
of peace surrounded by my friends —
but to be made a gazing stock on
the gallows-tree ! O that I had ne-
ver been born !" The speaker paus-
ed, and stood a few moments with
his head bent, and his hands clasped
in bitter emotion; then drawing him-
self up to his full height, he subjoin-
ed, M But, though pierced and torn
with cares, my spirit is not broken;
for I can still say to myself, I am
an honest man, who never designed
harm to any one. Often has this
thought served to quell my hunger
and slake my thirst, when day after
day my pursuers were so near, that
I was obliged to keep close to save
myself from them. Judge, then, if I
am fit for the enterprises you pro-
pose. I will not betray your em-
ployer in the matter you have told
to me, but I shall have no concern in
it."
These, or words to the same im-
port, and far more energetic in the
Gaelic language, were spoken by
Grant, who, in a sudden impulse of
clannish pride, aimed, his dirk at a
gentleman, because he spoke jeer-
ingly of his chief and clan. Mnn-
ro of Calcaina, a captain in the
Black Watch, in wlvich Grant, with
many younger sons of respectable fa-
milies, was a soldier, endeavour-
ing to ward off the stroke, sprung
before Mr. Russell, and was thurst
through the body. This unfortu-
nate affair happened at Cullodcn,
the Highland residence of President
Forbes. Instantly after inflicting the
wound, Grant burst from the hold
of several gentlemen, but a cry of
" Murder!" brought the servants;
the fugitive met them in a narrow
passage. He had almost cleared his
way, when, at the outer door, a wo-
man entangled his legs with a blan-
ket; he was taken, and committed
to the gaol of Inverness.
He had been some time a prisoner
before the gaoler remitted his vigi-
lance over a man whose great mus-
cular powers had been celebrated
since he and Shaw, another native of
Strathspey, overcame a posse of the
Earl of Moray's people, assembled
to maintain the debateable land at
Dava. However, one Sunday, when
all were gone to church in the north-
ern capital, the gaoler took Grant
to a more airy room, and sat down
to ask him about the exploit he per-
formed against Lord Moray's factor
and his myrmidons. " I am a poor
talker if I have not a drop of whisky
before me," said Grant. Tire gaoler
soon produced a pint-stoup fdled
with the inspiring potation. Grant
paid for it at the highest prison-price,
and the gaoler willingly tasted if it
was good; so good did it prove, that
bumper followed bumper, and laid
him under the table. Grant took
the keys from his person, and once
S 2
128
THE OUTLAW.
more breathed the atmosphere of
Craig Phadrie, where he concealed
himself till night.
He was now hunted down by the
magistracy of Inverness and by the
public prosecutor. His escapes were
on many occasions marvellous; but
he was no boaster, and his veracity
was unquestionable. At one time
he lay concealed under a heap of
brushwood at an old woman's door;
a party of soldiers tossed it with
their bayonets, and pierced his plaid
through the sheep-skins which the
compassionate female spread under
and over him, as the weather was
very cold. She had bought the skins
for the sake of the wool only that
day. They prevented the soldiers
from discovering Grant.
However, he did not think him-
self safe, and bent his steps to the
east for Strathspey. Near the river
of Inverness he was so beset by
soldiery that he plunged into the
stream, employing the ruse which
the Great Unknown, now known, as-
cribes to Rob Roy. He threw his
plaid and surcoat before him, and
heard many shots directed against
these vestments. Swimming, and div-
ine- when the balls whizzed over
him, he crossed the river, and through
many perils got to Strathspey. The
Laird of Grant heard he had been
seen at a shealing, and sent for a sa-
gacious farmer of the name of dim-
ming, whose cattle were at the glen
where the outlaw was reported to
receive supplies of food. The farm-
er went to Castle Grant, resolved to
tell nothing, because his daughter
swore him to secrecy before she re-
vealed to him that Grant was in the
country.
The Laird of Grant did not send
for Gumming to extort information.
He at once said, he desired only,
that if at any time Gumming fell in
with the unfortunate man, he would
learn from him what provocation im-
pelled him to draw his dirk. It could
be no light cause, since Grant, the
handsomest, stoutest, and strongest
fellow of his company, was remarka-
ble for good temper and forbearance,
dimming said he would gladly spend
many days in search of Grant to
give satisfaction to the laird, and
returned home to meet him the same
night. However, he delayed going
again to Castle Grant, that it might
be supposed the outlaw was far dis-
tant. He gave the following detail
from the lips of the fugitive :
" I had been dancing at the mar-
riage of Serjeant Gregor Shaw two
days and nights, and was very near
giving up with fatigue, when Colonel
Grant of Ballindalloch sent for me,
to take letters for the president with
all speed to Culloden. I was not
very fit for a hurried journey; but
as the colonel always trusted me
with papers of consequence, I re-
solved to do or die. I set off, after
pouring a glass of strong whisky into
my shoes, and never bent my sinews
to rest till I entered the room where
President Forbes sat with several
gentlemen after dinner, with bottles
and glasses before them ; and I saw
at one glance that the wine had been
more than a match for most of them.
The president rose to a window to
read his letters, and the gentlemen
diverted themselves by jeering at the
bare-legged messenger. One asked
if I had a mountain-pony to carry
me so fast from Ballindalloch; ano-
ther desired to know what short cut
I had contrived for myself; and ano-
ther insisted it was impossible such
a way could have been travelled
THE OUTLAW.
129
since morning. I answered that the
date of the letters I brought would
tell if I spoke truth. They asked
my name, and when told, a Low-coun-
try tongue inquired if I was the
Laird of Grant's champion. I re-
plied that every man of my name
would he proud to serve their chief.
' It is well for chiefs that have others
to fight for them; though they are
cowards, they may speak as big as
the Laird of Grant himself, with his
half-naked savages about him, lick-
ing the dust at his pleasure.' I was
hungry, and wearied, and burning
with thirst," continued Grant, " and
felt it hard to stand as a mark for
the mockery of these idle gentlemen ;
but when the Lowlander spoke so
shamefully of my chief and of the
clan, I lost all command of myself —
drew my dirk — Captain Munro threw
himself before the dastard, and, to
my sorrow, I shed his blood, though
at any time since I have been under
his command I would have risked
my life to preserve him from such
an outrage. I am thankful to Pro-
vidence that he has recovered — but
how many deaths have I suffered in
flying from the gallows ! for it is not
death I am anxious to avoid. In
Knoidart I was asked to join a band
of freebooters; but I told the man em-
ployed to engage me, that though
the rage of a moment made me an
outlaw, I would never make myself
a villain." Grant repeated the me-
morable sentiments with which his
story has been introduced, and he
never deviated from the rectitude
they distinctly imply. The clan Mun-
ro joined the public prosecutor and
the magistracy of Inverness in pur-
suing him during many years. He
was hunted from place to place north
and south, yet always eluded the
snares laid for him. In advanced
age he settled quietly, and died in
Strathspey. He was married, and
his descendants maintained the he-
reditary character.
The strife concerning an insulated
piece of ground, which a rivulet, in
its impetuous course, had separated
from Dava, is worthy of record; not
only on account of the participation
of our hero, the outlaw, but as a pic-
ture of lawless times. This debatea-
ble land is situated in the eastern
extremity of the parish of Cromdale;
but was cut off, as already mention-
ed, by a sweeping inundation, and
approximated equally the estates of
the Laird of Grant and the Earl of
Moray. Our hero, though a very
young lad, proposed to his relations,
a family of the name of Shaw, to join
him in taking possession and keep-
ing the debateable land. Shaw, with
his wife, two daughters, and four
sons, set out to occupy the ground,
with the stripling Grant as their
pioneer. A heavy mist clouded the
May-morning; but just as they came
in sight of their destined abode, the
" orient sun" came forth resplendent
in beauty, and the thick vapours dis-
appeared. The sudden brightness
was hailed as a good omen: yet they
had just succeeded in kindling a fire
with brushwood gathered on the pre-
mises, when they accidentally learn-
ed that Mr. Russell, the Earl of
Moray's factor, or chamberlain, was
approaching with a numerous band
to expel the Laird of Grant's tenant,
and to invest a tacksman appointed
by Lord Moray. Grant said they
must, at all hazards, prevent this le-
gal point of right, and he would take
the brunt of resistance. There was
little time for deliberation. They
concealed themselves among under-
1.30
THE DKVILS RIDDLE.
wood close to the road where the
assailants had to pass, and darted
upon them, shouting to fictitious com-
rades, as if they were only the van
of an ambuscade. Many of the
chamberlain's people, seized with a
panic, fled, and did not return to the
charge; but a great superiority of
numbers remained with him, and he
stood his ground valiantly. Grant
fought his way to the chamberlain,
grappled with him, and dragged him
along, again % calling aloud to the
strength of the Grants to hasten to
the spot. They were far distant:
but the chamberlain's attendants, be-
lieving they must be overpowered,
took refuge in flight. Grant still
held his captive fast ; he suffered no
personal injury nor loss, except his
wig, which old Shaw said must go
as a trophy to Castle Grant; but if
ever Mr. Russell attempted for the
future to molest the possessors of
the debateable land, not only the
wig, but the head it covered, should
be laid at the feet of the Laird of
Grant. B. G.
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS of the FRENCH PROVINCES.
No. III.
the devil's riddle.
The riddle which forms the sub-
ject of this paper lias been current
ever since the beginning of the fif-
teenth century in one of the towns
of Poitiers, where it is said to have
been first broached by the Devil on
the following occasion :
The inhabitants of this little town
enjoyed the reputation of being, with
a single exception, the best and most
honest people in the province. That
exception was an old man, named
Jacques Chaudron, who had lived by
himself for a number of years, and
never was known to do an act of
friendship or kindness to any human
being.
Jacques had in hi* youth been a
great libertine; he had several na-
tural children, but never would pro-
vide for any of them, though he had
the means of doing it without hurt-
ing himself. The cure frequently
remonstrated with him on his con-
duct, but to no purpose. He had long
left off coming to church, and peo-
ple, who passed his house after dark,
began to tell strange stories of lights
and noises which they saw in it. These
reports began to spread ; but the good
pastor, who thought charity the first
of christian virtues, did all in his
power to discountenance them; for
he could not persuade himself that
his reprobate parishioner would ab-
solutely go the dreadful length of
allying himself with the fiend.
Circumstances, however, soon
aroge which raised doubts and sus-
picions in his mind. One night out
of every nine the parishioners were
tormented in various ways, some by
strange noises, others by frightful
apparitions. In one house, just as
the family were about to sit down to
supper, they saw it snatched from the
table bv winged monsters. In ano-
ther, a serpent issued from the nup-
tial bed just as a new-married couple
were getting into it. Nobody dared
to set foot out of doors, from the
dreadful noises and howlings which
were heard in every street: in short,
the nuisance became so great, that
it was necessary to devise some re-
medy, and the inhabitants presented
TIJK DliVILS KIDDLE.
131
to the judges of the province a forma]
statement of their grievances.
Had they followed their own in-
clinations, they would have plainly
and roundly charged Jacques Chau-
dron with sorcery, but this the cure
would not permit. " Your suspi-
cions," said he, " cannot authorize
you to charge a man with a dreadful
crime of which you have no proofs;
relate your sufferings, and leave it to
the wisdom of the judges to provide
a remedy for them." This was done
accordingly ; and the judges, finding
no specific charge made against any
individual, sent a clergyman, who
passed for the ablest exorcist in the
province, to sift the matter to the
bottom.
This gentleman presented himself
without delay at the house of the
cure, who confirmed the depositions
of his parishioners, but without in-
dicating the person whom he sus-
pected as the cause of their griev-
ances. The exorcist then proceeded
without delay to his business ; he
forced the fiend to appear, and so-
lemnly conjured him to name the
miscreant who tormented every ninth
night the inhabitants of the parish.
Every body knows that Old Nick
is a famous equivocator; and on this
occasion he gave a notable proof of
his skill in that art. " I have not,"
said he, " the power to tell you di-
rectly who the sorcerer is, but I may
indicate to you the means of discover-
ing him. He is a man of ten pis-
toles ; he is married and is not ; he
has children and has not; he is sixty
years old and only thirty. Such is
the man who torments the parish,
and on Friday next he will run the
streets again." As the fiend con-
cluded these words, he vanished.
All who were present at the ex-
orcism were lost in wonder at this
enigma. " I am sure I sha'nt go
out on Friday," said the sacristan. —
" They may ring the angelus that
will, for I won't," cried the school-
master.— " Monsieur le Cure, you will
please to keep the church-doors
shut," added the beadle.—" No such
thing !" cried the pastor : " we shall
do our duty, gentlemen ; I say we,
for I shall be at your side. But, my
good sir," continued he, addressing
the exorcist, " I do not find that our
business is a bit more advanced."
" Indeed it is though," replied the
other briskly : " the fiend has done
his part in pointing out our man, it
is for us to discover him. Have you
not in the parish a bachelor of sixty V
" Yes, we have one, and it is the
one too that we suspect; but how
are we to understand the words, ' He
is sixty years old and only thirty V "
" We may solve that by supposing
that the fiend dates the life of thirty
years from the time he entered his
service."
" But that is only a part of the
enigma."
" True, but it is the most difficult
part. Was this man ever known to
have any illegitimate children ?"
" Oh, yes, several; and that to be
sure would clear another point : but
then how do you understand the
words, ' He is married and he is not?"'
" He may have contracted mar-
riage with one of the worshippers of
his infernal master, which neither
human nor divine laws would sanc-
tion. But come, let us go to this
man ; I have strong suspicions that
we shall find in him the very person
we want."
At these words all present, except
the exorcist himself and the cure,
took to their heels ; for they were so
132
THE DKVILS KIDDLE
terrified at what they had heard, that
none of them would venture near
the house of Jacques. The pastor
conducted the exorcist to the door,
and then went away, justly thinking
that his presence might raise suspi-
cions in the mind of the wizard, who
came to open the door with a very
sullen countenance. " I am come,"
said the exorcist, " to offer you a
bargain."
" More likely," cried the wizard,
" to take me in."
"Not so: I find that you often
buy horses, here is one that I want
to part with, and if it suits you to
buy it, you shall have it cheap."
The avaricious Jacques fell into
the trap ; he examined the beast,
found it a good one, and after saying
every thing he could to depreciate
its value, concluded by the offer
which the exorcist expected, and
eagerly grasped at, of ten pistoles.
No sooner was the abbe outside
the door, than he put his hand in his
pocket to examine the money he had
just received ; but this infernal coin
had already returned to the pocket
of Jacques. " Aha !" cried the ex-
orcist, " I have you then safe, my
man of ten pistoles : this is the de-
vil's work, sure enough ! 'tis thus he
enriches his servants. I shall know
more ere long."
On the Friday following he sta-
tioned himself near the house of the
wizard, whom he soon saw issue from
it, but in a state which sufficiently
proved him to be a professor of the
black art ; for he was decorated with
horns and an immensely long tail,
which he lashed around him in all
directions, and each movement pro-
duced some terrific sight or sound.
He stopped at the doors of different
houses, muttering conjurations. The
exorcist kept close to him, resolved
to see how he would conclude his
abominable rites. No sooner had
the clock struck the hour of mid-
night than he ran out of the town at
full speed ; the abbe kept up to him
with difficulty till he arrived at a
blasted oak, where he was instantly
joined by a troop of monsters of both
sexes, with the same frightful appen-
dages to their figure. They were
the witches and wizards of the neigh-
bourhood, who came to that spot to
pay their adoration to Satan. They
formed a circle round the oak, in the
midst of which the fiend instantly
shewed himself under the form of a
cat with three heads, and the witches
immediately fell prostrate before him.
At this sight the good abbe was un-
able to restrain himself longer ; he
uttered a cry of horror, at hearing
which the whole monstrous assembly
disappeared, except Jacques, whom
the exorcist took care to seize by the
ear. Finding himself held, he strug-
gled so violently that he disengaged
himself, leaving his right ear in the
grasp of the abbe.
That good man having now no
longer any doubt of his guilt, pro-
ceeded the next morning, with a party
of officers of justice, to his house :
they found him in his bed, and de-
prived of his right ear. No other
proofs were wanting ; he was tried
and sentenced to be burnt alive.
Every body wondered at the calm-
ness with which he bore his sentence,
and many were of opinion that he
would at last find the means of escape.
As they were conducting him to the
pile, they observed that, for the first
time, his courage and calmness ap-
peared to forsake him; he kept look-
ing round him with mingled anxiety
and terror, and muttering to himself.
TIIK SUMMER EXCURSION.
13,1
At the moment that he readied the
fatal spot, and just before he was
fastened to the pile, his good cure
determined to make a last effort to
save the miserable wretch from the
horrors of his eternal doom: he ap-
proached him, therefore, with a so-
lemn exhortation to confess his crimes
and to implore mercy.
At that moment a raven perched
upon the wizard's shoulder. A dia-
bolical joy gleamed in the wretch's
countenance ; he repulsed the cross
that was offered to him, and address-
ing the raven, " Thou art come then
at last," cried he ; " perform thy pro-
mise, and deliver me from their
hands."
" I am ready to do it," cried the
raven, " but upon condition that you
renew your allegiance to me."
The wretch, at that instant, made
a sign of adoration, and instantly as-
cended into the air, accompanied by
the raven. The horror-struck spec-
tators followed them with their eyes.
Suddenly a voice like thunder was
heard to pronounce these words: " I
promised to preserve thee from the
stake, and I have kept my word ; but
thou belongest of right to me, and
thus I seize my own."
As the words were uttered the
fiend was distinctly seen to assume
his real form, and striking his talons to
the heart of the wizard, he disap-
peared with him in the midst of the
most frightful tempest that the inha-
bitants of Poitiers had ever witnessed.
From that time, we are assured,
that witches and wizards have been
unknown in that town, where ahorror
of the black art has been transmitted
from father to son, by a recital of
the terrible history connected with
the Devil's Riddle.
THE SUMMER EXCURSION.
Now the season is commencing
when the disciples of Esculapius re-
commend their patients to leave their
homes, and take a trip to the sea-
side, where the Goddess of Health
loves to dwell ; when the gay vota-
ries of Fashion quit the crowded
streets of London, and hurry to the
watering-places, to enjoy the luxury
of bathing, and to sip the mineral
waters. To which of these shall I
bend my steps ? There is the coast
of Kent, where Margate, Ramsgate,
Deal, and Sandwich invite me to
view their beauties ; and it is a plea-
sure to wander on that delightful
coast ; to see the gay, thronged gar-
dens ; to walk on the pier, and be-
hold the crowded passengers land
from the steam-packets. During the
Vol VIII. No.XLV.
height of the season, the packets
land about eight hundred persons
.daily. There we see the London
Guinea-pig, who has quitted some
garret, where he lived penuriously
and hoarded up his guinea, that he
might indulge himself with a trip to
Margate. How gay he looks, dressed
in his Sunday clothes ! how pleasure
glistens in his eyes to behold the
brilliant scene ! But soon must he
quit it ; for his guinea will support
him only one day, and he must re-
turn on the Monday morning to re-
sume his labours, and by diligence
to make up for the time he has lost
and the money he has squandered.
My heart aches to see the man who
has, by the sweat of his brow, earned
a few shillings, thus wasting them.
T
134
THE SUMM1 R EXCURSION*
No, I will not go to the coast of
Kent, where I might again view, at
Dover, the cliff which Shakspeare
has immortalized, anil heholtl once
more those scenes which were visited
by the Romans who invaded Eng-
land, and generally landed on the
coast of Kent.
Shall I bend my steps to the Isle of
Wight, which is emphatically called
the garden of England, and which an
avaricious man might wish for as a
flower-garden, although he possess-
ed the whole land of Britain as a farm?
On the coast of Kent, it is a beauty
made by the hand of man ; at the
Isle of Wight, it is the rugged and
sublime hand of Nature that has
formed the many grand views.
Amongst others, there is Shanklin
Chine, situated at the back of the
island, which, for grandeur of sce-
nery and awful precipices, surpasses
all other parts of England. There
is Carisbrook Castle, famed for King
Charles's confinement there by his
rebellious subjects ; there is still re-
maining the window out of which the
unfortunate monarch attempted to
escape. In the castle is a very deep
well, the water of which is famous
all over the island ; and it is the
pleasantest water I have ever drunk :
it is drawn up by means of a donkey,
who is so tame that he follows the
visitors for biscuits, fruit, or any
other eatables they have to give him.
In the room where the well is situ-
ated, you may observe the wall writ-
ten over with names ; so much so,
that every one who visits it will find
some name inscribed on it that he is
acquainted with. That elegant writer
Mrs. Opie has rendered Carisbrook
Castle almost classic ground, by hav-
ing made it the home of one of her
heroines ; but she forgot that it was
situated at a distance from the sea,
when she represents the heroine of
her tale, in a fit of despair, rushing
from tlie castle, and throwing her-
self into the sea.
At Carisbrook Castle we see with
what amazing strength our fore-
fathers built : the present race of
builders are determined that their
children shall be well employed in
propping up the houses they erect ;
for these will not surely last above
one generation. About two miles
from Carisbrook Castle is the gay
and lively borough-town of Newport,
which is generally thronged with of-
ficers, who are the life and ornament
of the place. About two miles from
Newport are the barracks, which are
worth seeing. At a short distance
from them is the workhouse, in which
are the poor of the whole island.
Here the philanthropist may behold,
a sight which will make his heart
glad. There are upwards of eight
hundred poor in the house, who are
all neatly clothed and well fed : the
rules and regulations are shewn by
the matron to any visitor, who is at
liberty to make remarks in writing in
the book of rules and regulations.
When Mr. Owen of Lanark visited
the poor-house, he remarked that
the management of the poor in the
Isle of Wight came nearest to his
plans of any he had seen. It is a
pleasant sight to see upwards of
eight hundred poor sit down to a
good meal. There are about five
hundred children among them, whose
smiling countenances and happy
looks afford gratification to the be-
nevolent mind. I had determined on
visiting these happy scenes, but taking
up a newspaper, I read of the ex-
treme misery that existed in the large
manufacturing towns. I ordered my
THE SUMMEH EXCURSION.
13.5
horses to the door, and hurried, in
preference, to the scenes of misery,
in hopes of contributing by my fee-
ble efforts to their alleviation.
Those who live in affluence have
little idea of the great misery and
wretchedness that many of their fel-
low-creatures endure. They now and
then behold the cottages of their
tenants; and there is in many of them
every comfort and necessary of life:
they have a garden, to raise their
own vegetables ; a pig to fatten and
kill, which enables them to pay their
rent ; poultry and eggs to carry to
market and sell, so that they may
bring back food and clothing ; and,
in many counties, you see the rack
of bacon, which is supplied with a
well-cured flitch, that they enjoy in
the summer season with their own
green peas and beans. But the ma-
nufacturing poor, who are crowded
in large towns, enjoy none of these
comforts. You may behold a large
house, which perhaps was formerly
the residence of some nobleman, but
now its glory is gone ; it is inhabited
by the children of misery. When
you enter the lofty rooms, which for-
merly resounded with the song of
mirth, the hum of the weaver's shut-
tle strikes on the ear. There are
around you a sickly wife, clothed in
rags, with an infant at her breast,
and several other children, who were
born in misery and baptized in tears,
and whose looks bespeak the want
of that food they in vain expect from
their parents. Too often, now, you
see the father, unable to obtain em-
ployment, seated in an old arm-
chair, looking on his famishing family
with anguish, and incapable of af-
fording relief. This picture is not
too highly coloured ; for too ma-
ny instances have lately occurred
which prove that the scenes of mi-
sery are more distressing than lan-
guage can express. At Coventry, a
poor emaciated woman, who went in-
to a baker's shop to purchase a loaf,
secreted another about her person ;
the baker missed it and procured a
constable, with whom he went to the
woman's house, where he discovered
a scene of wretchedness that makes
the heart bleed. There was a large
family of children, belonging to a
sick ribbon-weaver without employ-
ment. On the fire was a pot, with
something boiling in it for their din-
ner : he inquired what was in the
pot. The woman, overcome with
shame and confusion, did not an-
swer : the constable removed the lid
from the pot. Reader ! what do
you think it contained ? Three small
puppies which had been drowned !
The baker gave her the bread, with
some money, and requested her, if
in distress, not to steal, but to come
to him, and he would give her bread.
Is it not better to visit such scenes
of misery, and pour solace and re-
lief on the distressed objects, than
to squander money away at water-
ing-places ? Go and do thou like-
wise ! for the poor should be com-
forted :
" Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their humble joys, and destiny obscure ;
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor."
GuLIiiLMUS.
T 2
136
THE CAGOT OF THE PYRENEES*.
A siiKPiinun-BOY, as he led his
flock to browse upon the mountains
of the Pyrenees, encountered a Cagot,
who was exploring their rocky sum-
mits in search of the wild fruits which
formed the chief part of his miser-
able fare. The boy drew back with
that instinctive abhorrence which the
inhabitants feel for those unfortunate
creatures. The leper at first seemed
inclined to approach him, but as he
marked the glance of mingled ap-
prehension and disdain with which
the boy eyed him, he sullenly drew
back, and the young shepherd pur-
sued his way.
Not long afterwards one of those
frightful storms, which so often de-
vastate the Pyrenees, arose; the wind
roared with tremendous fury, tear-
ing up the trees in its passage, and
the rain fell in torrents. Leaning
against a huge mass of rock, while
his dog, his only friend, his sole com-
panion, crouched at his feet, Law-
rens appeared insensible to the storm.
What, indeed, had he to dread from
it ? The loss of a life embittered by
those severe sufferings to which ha-
tred and prejudice have subjected
his wretched race, would not have
appeared a misfortune. As he stood
the sport of relentless elements, he
saw the shepherd-boy, who had pass-
ed him some time before, endeavour-
ing to collect his flock. The terrified
sheep had fled in all directions ; in
vain did the poor fellow strive to col-
lect the stragglers; heedless of his
voice, they continued to run forward;
some had already precipitated them-
selves down the abysses so frequent
among these stupendous mountains,
and the others were hurrying towards
the same fate. " Help, Lawrens !"
cried the boy; and Lawrens rushed
forward. " Help, Cagot !" exclaim-
ed he a second time, and at these
words the unfortunate leper stopped
as if spell-bound; that name with
which hatred and contempt have
branded his unhappy race stifled
the new-born sentiment of pity just
rising in his heart. His dog looked
wistfully in his face, and then sprang
forward to aid the boy ; but the ef-
forts of the generous animal were
unavailing, the frightened sheep
could not be prevented from throw-
ing themselves, one after another,
over the rocks. Vainly did the dar-
ing boy expose his life to save theirs ;
he was preserved as if by a miracle,
but all the sheep perished.
As he saw the last fall into the
abyss, he rushed towards Lawrens.
" Are you now satisfied ?" cried he
in a tone of indignation mingled with
despair.
" Satisfied !"
" Yes, we have lost all ; you look-
ed on, you could have saved them,
you would not. Monster ! you have
no pity."
* And why should I ? Which of
you has pity upon me ? Even in im-
ploring my aid, did you not express
your hatred and disdain ?"
" Ah, you have too richly deserv-
ed it ! Yes, we have a right to say
that you are worse than brutes, for
even a brute has offered that help
which you refused."
At that moment a traveller, whom
a taste for Nature had led to explore
her in these her wildest recesses, ap-
* For an account of these unfortunates see the " Literary Coterie," in the Repo*
sitoryfor December 1825.
THLC CAGOT OF THIS PYRENEES.
m
proached, and heard the last words
of the boy. Struck with his grief
and the energy of his tone, he turn-
ed to Lawrens, " What!" cried he,
" can you have merited this accusa-
tion ? Can you have refused assist-
ance to a helpless fellow-creature ?"
" Fellow- creature !" exclaimed the
miserable being in a tone of bitter
mockery. " Which of you will ac-
knowledge me for one ?" and he flung
back the tattered covering which,
thrown round his head, partially
shaded both his face and bust. The
stranger shuddered as he looked on
that face and form, which a cruel he-
reditary disease had almost robbed
of the claim to be called human.
" Poor unfortunate," cried he, " how
I pity you !"
" Pity ! you pity me !"
"Ah, God knows I do!"
" What, and you do not look at
me with horror ? You do not think
me a monster whom every body ought
to shun and detest ?"
" If I were capable of such cruelty,
I should myself be a monster."
" Well then," cried Lawrens ve-
hemently, and pointing at the child,
" he is one ! He, his parents, all
whom I approach, hate and perse-
cute me. If I come near them, they
fly me. If hunger compels me to
beg, they refuse me even their offals.
This very morning 1 drew near the
hunters as they sat at breakfast on
the banks of the stream ; I durst not
ask their charity, but they knew my
distress ; they saw I was waiting for
the fragments of their meal, and
they threw them to the fishes. And
it is of me that men would expect,
would ask a service !"
"If they did, and you refused them,
you would be sorry for it."
" Never ! never ! I hate them too
much."
" You deceive yourself, we cannot
hate our fellow-creatures. God has
not permitted that such a frightful
sentiment should have place in the
human heart. We may be angry
with them; we may be unjust towards
them; but to hate them is impossible.
I must leave you now : meet me here
to-morrow morning; I want to see
you again." Then asking the boy
if he was going towards the valley,
the stranger walked away with him.
The young shepherd heard nothing
of what had passed. His thoughts
were in his paternal cottage, with the
parents already suffering under sick-
ness and poverty, to whom he had
the sad task of announcing the loss
of that flock which constituted their
sole support. The stranger questioned
him about his loss. He quitted him
at the entrance of the valley, and the
boy reached his home just as his mo-
ther, alarmed at his unusual absence,
was going to seek him. " Heaven
be praised," cried she in a joyful
tone, as she saw him approach, " he
is come back safe !"
" But we have lost our flock ! all,
all have perished ! I could not save
even one of them !"
The poor woman burst into tears;
her husband affectionately reproved
her. " Why should you despair?"
cried he : " since I have been better
during these two days, doubt not that
God will give me strength to work,
and our field will keep us from starv-
ing."
Next morning, in spite of the en-
treaties and tears of his wife and
children, the sick man quitted his bed,
and prepared, feeble as he was, to try
to guide the plough. For a moment
his failing strength seemed to return,
as he inhaled once more the fresh and
sweet air of the mountains, which
severe illness had long prevented him
\3i]
THE nilENDSIIir Of ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
from visiting. He walked forward
with a more steady step, followed by
the stranger and the Cagot, who had
been during some time observing
him. He soon arrived at his field,
but at the moment when he was about
to begin his work, the leper sprang
forward. The peasant looked at
him with indignation. " Inhuman
as you are," cried he, " do you come
to see me faint under the labour to
which the loss of my flock has ex-
posed me ?"
" No, I come to save you from it."
" What, you! you who stood by
and saw my sheep perish, though
you could have saved them ! you
who refused that help which even
your very dog afforded."
" Yes, I refused ; but I have re-
pented it. He," pointing to the stran-
ger, " he does not disdain me. He
calls me his fellow- creature. He
tells me that God commands me to
love and to serve those who persecute
me. Ah! he must be right, for I
feel that my heart was not made for
hatred. Let me then cultivate your
field till you are able to do it your-
self; I ask nothing in return, but a
crust of dry bread and a truss of
straw. When you no longer want
me, I will leave you to see you no
more."
Tears stood in the eyes of the pea-
sant. " I have not deserved this of
you, Lawrens," cried he ; " I repuls-
ed you in your necessities, and you
come to assist me in mine. Yes, you
shall till the field, and whether God
spares me to see its produce or not,
you shall share it with my wife and
children."
Ah ! how delicious was the sen-
timent which at that moment filled
the hearts of the peasant and Law-
rens! Could there be a purer, a
sweeter pleasure? Yes, the bene-
volent traveller who had thus recall-
ed two human creatures to the true
purposes of their existence, enjoyed
a happiness still more transcendent.
He finished the good work he had
begun : thanks to his bounty, the pea-
sant saw himself master of another
flock, and Lawrens received a sum
sufficient to provide for his simple
wants, if necessity should induce him
to make use of it ; but that will not be
the case while the worthy peasant
and his family live to love, protect,
and cherish the poor leper.
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
(Continued
The Lord de Brechin was so uni-
versally beloved, that the faction by
whom he was betrayed dared not
bring him to capital punishment
without the walls of Edinburgh Cas-
tle. To give a colour of justice to
their act, as a public example, the
gates of the fortress were thrown
open to admit the people, where
David de Brechin, on a scaffold,
prayed earnestly, and received ex-
treme unction from the father con-
frotn p. 78.)
fessor ; Sir Ingram de Umfraville
also kneeling beside his friend. The
offices of religion being performed,
Lord de Brechin stood up with calm
dignity, looked around upon the po-
pulace, and bowed on all sides. A
profound silence ensued. He then
said, " My countrymen, I have but
a few words to speak : I forgive my
judges, if they have been preju-
diced, and I admit that appearances
are against me ; but, as a dying man.
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
139
I aver that I never harboured a dis-
loyal thought. My love for Scotland
would not allow me to join in any
conspiracy against her king and able
defender, Robert the First, the bro-
ther of my own mother. May God
bless and prosper King Robert and
my dear country ! May the blessing
of God and the saints be with you
all!"
David de Brechin again bowed to
the wide circle, and resigned himself
to the block. Many of the specta-
tors could hardly believe their own
eyes, that the criminal was Lord de
Brechin. They pressed near, and
many climbed up to the platform,
and close to the headsman. Sir In-
gram de Umfraville, imputing this
encroachment to curiosity, indignant-
ly rebuked them : " Why press ye
so rudely to behold the lamentable
exit of the best knight that ever ex-
posed his life for the safety and ho-
nour of Scotland ? I have seen you
jostling each other to snatch the do-
natives dropping from his liberal
hand ; and are your hearts of stone,
that ye incommode him on this stage
of blood ?"
Lord de Brechin was undressing
himself, and calmly preparing him-
self for the block ; he made a few
steps forward to Sir Ingram, and
laying his hand on the shoulder of
the reprover, said with a smile, " My
noble friend ! let these poor people
take the last indulgence they can
receive from David de Brechin."
Sir Ingram wrung his hands in
the agony of sorrow ; his friend
gave him a last embrace, and kneel-
ing, with an intrepid air resigned
himself to the sentence of the law.
Sir Ingram saw his mutilated corpse
delivered to a choir of the priest-
hood, and in a transport of grief
applied to the king for leave to sell
the estates which the royal bounty
had given him in Scotland ; since
he could not endure to breathe the
air of a land where the noblest blood,
unstained by crime, had been shed
through the artifices of traitors.
The king felt that De Umfraville
spoke truth ; and a tribute to the
worth of his beloved nephew was
soothing to his private feelings,
though, he could not in prudence
avow them. He granted the request
of Sir Ingram, who, with Launce-
lot Gam, withdrew from the busy
world to the Isle of Cadsand, off
Sluys.
Sir Ingram chose that residence
because he had heard Lord de Bre-
chin declare, that if ever he became
a recluse he would purchase ground
for a hermitage and garden at Cad-
sand. He thought he had well be-
stowed the very high price demand-
ed for the spot indicated by his de-
parted friend ; but his enjoyments
were buried with David de Brechin :
nor could he have at all sustained
the bereavement, if the attaching
qualities and the gradual decline of
Launcelot Gam had not afforded to
his warm heart an amiable object of
solicitude, exertion, and generous ex-
penditure. The minstrel, placid in
his melancholy, became now cheer-
ful in proportion to the evident de-
cay of his corporeal powers ; and
Sir Ingram justly attributed this in-
crease of happiness to the near pro-
spect of a reunion with his honoured
lord : but though the invalid spoke
of his own demise to the aged monks
who visited the hermitage, he never
in the presence of the knight made
any allusion to a subject which he
knew must give him pain.
The early months of spring pro-
140
THE FIUUNDSHIP OT ANOIINT CHIVALJlV.
duced many warnings that his re-
moval was drawing very near. The
vivacious lustre of his eyes changed
to a dim, glazy, inert vacancy of ex-
pression ; his voice became hollow ;
and while at morning prayers with
Sir Ingram in their small oratory,
the invalid was seized with a paraly-
sis of the limbs. Sir Ingram carried
him to the fire in the refectory, and
gave him a restorative medicine.
After some time he recovered his
speech, and begged to be left upon
the mat, where he lay along the floor
of the refectory. " I have another re-
quest to make, Sir Ingram," he con-
tinued, " and a disclosure, which is
due to your goodness and to my own
character. I entreat you will send
for two of the Sisters of Charity
from Sluys. One of the monks of
our neighbouring convent would
bring them to wait upon a female —
unhappy — but never guilty. Yes,
Sir Ingram, I must now claim your
indulgence for Eleanor de Mowbray.
I cannot at present say more. May
it please God to spare me to relate
my unfortunate story ! If I expire
before my narrative pleads for me,
I know your candour will not judge
severely."
Sir Ingram replied, " I beseech
you, Lady Eleanor, to calm this emo-
tion. At my last interview with the
Lord de Brechin, he asserted the
honour and virtue of Lady Eleanor
de Mowbray. He was of strict ve-
racity in his gayest moments, and
would not aver a falsehood on the
brink of eternity."
The Sisters of Charity soon ar-
rived. Their patient was laid on her
own couch. She lived six weeks, and
in that space was able, at intervals,
to give a recital which we have col-
lected into one narration. Sir In-
gram de Umfraville and the Sisters
of Charity were the auditors, while
Lady Eleanor, often interrupted by
difficult respiration, and by the ex-
haustion of her strength, communi-
cated her adventures to the follow-
ing effect :
" My mother, a noble De Burgh,
from my infancy wished me to form
an alliance with the son of Sir Ad-
helm de Burgh, her cousin, whose
property joined the estates of my fa-
ther, the Lord de Mowbray. My
mother did not live to see young
Arthur notoriously profligate, the
imitator and parasite of Mortimer,
and a rebel to his king, who had
loaded him with favours. The good
Sir Adhelm died before my mother.
My father and brothers were among
the few noblemen who continued
faithful to their sovereign, and they
sealed their loyalty with their blood.
Sir Arthur de Burgh sided with the
barons. He asked a gift of my fa-
ther's estate, and obtained it; for his
valour and conduct were distinguish-
ed. I was then not sixteen years
old; but troublous times mature
the understanding and stimulate the
energies of well principled youth.
Sir Arthur had always professed him-
self my admirer. 1 never liked him,
though he was certainly handsome
and insinuating. My father warned
me of his vicious and brutal charac-
ter; and I repeatedly declined his
passionate addresses. However, he
supposed that, friendless and portion-
less, I would not reject his proposal
of marriage ; but I firmly, though
civilly, told him I was resolved upon
taking the veil. He affected to ap-
plaud my piety, though it crossed
his dearest hopes ; and added, there
was fortunately in the nearest har-
bour a vessel bound for Marseilles,
THE FRIENDSHIP 01'' ANGI&NT CHIVALRY.
141
and he would recommend me to the
abbess of a Carmelite nunnery, who
had been in youth the intimate friend
of his mother. I was so impatient
to leave a house which now belong-
ed to Sir Arthur, that I readily
agreed to take a passage for France
the same evening. Two respectable-
looking females were procured to
wait upon me. Sir Arthur said they
were selected because they knew a
little of the French language ; and,
with a heart torn by many painful
recollections, I bade farewell to my
native place, and went on board of
the foreign ship.
" It was almost dark; I was half
blinded by weeping: yet, by the light
of the torch which was carried be-
fore me to the cabin, I observed that
the sailors were of a complexion too
fair to be Southerns. This discovery
taught me to conceal that I under-
stood a little of the French and Ger-
man languages. The skipper be-
haved respectfully, but would not
allow me to go on deck, as the wea-
ther was rough, and I might take cold.
In a few days, while I seemed to sleep,
my attendants, whispering in bad
French, talked of meeting Sir Ar-
thur de Burgh in Denmark, where I
should be glad to marry him ; and
he would not have taken so much
trouble to humble my pride but that
his whimsical old grand-uncle, who
was my mother's uncle, would not
leave him a copper to bless himself
with, if he dishonoured his own blood
by treating me as I deserved. The old
gentleman had been estranged from
me by my father and brothers taking
part with the ill-fated King Edward :
yet it was some consolation that he
bad not quite for&aken me. I deter-
mined to apply to the public autho-
rs. FIJI. No.XLV.
rities in whatever port I might be
landed, and to appeal to my giwnd-
uncle, Lord de Burgh, for the truth
of my representations ; claiming pro-
tection until my story should be in-
vestigated. This resource supported
my spirits : yet the uproar of intox-
ication often filled me with horror
and alarm. The carelessness which
accompanies dissolute habits was, no
doubt, the cause of our ship taking
fire about a week after my embarka-
tion, and the seamen being madden-
ed with liquor I believe to have oc-
casioned the boats running foul, after
the greatest part of the crew escaped
from the flames. Lord de Brechin
saved me from perishing, and be-
haved to me with the delicacy and
high-minded generosity which shone
in all his actions.
" I need not remind Sir Ingram de
Umfraville how eminently his friend
was gifted with all that could inspire
esteem and admiration ; and, in all
the world, I had no friend except him
alone. Before I was able to hold
any conversation with him, I over-
heard Mother Hillella and her daugh-
ters lamenting the decease of the
good Lord de Burgh. They little
imagined how I was interested in the
event. Lord de Burgh, when wound-
ed at Bannockburn, was Hillella's
lodger and patient in the caves of
Roslin. The intelligence that my
grand-uncle was no more retarded
my convalescence. I did recover
indeed, and my physician and be-
nefactor was soon after called away.
Hillella saw our mutual infatuation;
and, to avert the dreaded conse-
quences, made known to me that Lord
de Brechin was the betrothed of La-
dy Margaret Douglas; and to excite
me to the sacrifice I owed to him and
U
142
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
myself, she related her own success-
ful ei&rts to overcome a misplaced
passion. I will not break the con-
nection of my own tale with an epi-
sode, which, if I am able, and you
desire it, Sir Ingrain, I shall here-
after recite.
" I have mentioned being informed
by Hillella of Lord de Brechin's en-
gagements, as soon as she had fi-
nished her Qwn narrative. I did
not hesitate to determine upon the
part which honour and virtue de-
manded. I concealed myself in a
recess of Hillella's cave. I was aware
that I must speedily devise some
means to earn a livelihood, and all
my soul revolted against the thought
of continuing with a family of va-
grants. I had no acquirement but
music that could recommend me as
a domestic. If I took refuge in a
convent, I must disclose my real
name to the abbess and father con-
fessor; and I had heard such fright-
ful stories of the wickedness and
perfidy of monks, that I feared they
might be tempted to apprise Sir
Arthur de Burgh where he might
find me; or if he traced me thither
by his own indefatigable inquiries,
he would force me away. England
and Scotland were then in such a
state of anarchy, that many religious
houses were violated. Hillella ad-
vised me, at least for a time, to take
male attire; and my skill in playing
the lute and harp fitted me to
give satisfaction as a minstrel. I
agreed. Hillella gave my skin the
olive tinge, which, by daily use of
the herbs she shewed me, I have
never failed to preserve. She pro-
cured for me the garb of a minstrel,
and instruments of the finest tone.
A part of the jewels which belonged
to my parents, and which I concealed
about my person when I left Mow-
bray castle, paid Hillella amply for
her services. I believe she was ever
true to me, keeping my sad secret
to the last. She presented me to
her family as a minstrel -boy from
England, whose lady had been pil-
laged in the civil wars, and who
broke her heart for the desolation
of her house. This account she per-
haps took from the case of our neigh-
bour, Lady Brilwyck, which I had
told her. She sent trusty messen-
gers to different quarters, inquiring
for a place where I could be con-
stantly employed as a minstrel. Be-
fore they returned, I was, I may say
involuntarily, fixed in the household
of Lord de Brechin.
" I had been about a fortnight prac-
tising the music and demeanour of
my assumed profession, and had gone
to bed, that I might not be in the
way of the very large circle formed
by Hillella, her spouse, and their
offspring. Sleep had long been a
stranger to my eyelids. I slumber-
ed, but troubled dreams often broke
my repose. The night was almost
past, and I lay awake, the prey of
anxious thought, when Hillella came
to my lowly bed, with one of her
grand -daughters carrying a lamp,
which she hastily set down, while
the mother desired me to rise as
quickly as possible, and take my
harp, and charm to rest the dying
Lord de Brechin. They were to
go to him, and I should follow, guid-
ed by a light which they would leave
in the passage between their cave
and that where the chief had been
stretched four days, without food or
sleep. My heart palpitated as if I
was expiring. To reflect was im-
possible : a very few minutes brought
me, where, on the couch he had him-
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
m
self given up for my accommodation,
I beheld the Lord de Brechin, pale,
emaciated, and seemingly insensible.
Hillella asked me to play an air,
which my deliverer often sung for
my amusement when I began to re-
cover from the fracture his skill and
tenderness had cured. He taught
me the air and the words, and since
I procured a harp, I played it spon-
taneously whenever I took the in-
strument.
" ' Doth she I must endeavour to
forget on earth welcome me to the
regions of peaceful oblivion?' said
Lord de Brechin, raising himself on
his elbow. " I must see the musi-
cian.'
" Hillella held the lamp to shew my
face; Lord de Brechin looked earn-
estly, and threw himself back, mani-
festly disappointed, saying, ' A little
wandering minstrel, and not the ob-
ject of my fond expectation. But,
poor lad ! you are not to blame. Come
nearer; my eyes are dim; I must
have more light to see distinctly.'
Hillella desired her grand-daughter
to take another lamp from the pas-
sage. I trembled for the close in-
spection of my features, but dared
not disobey. Lord de Brechin ex-
claimed, ' Like her, though dark —
though dark, like her. The resem-
blance is prepossessing — I wish I
could see that face clearly; but to
me all things are encompassed with
a haze.'
•" Because you have fasted so very
long, my dear lord,' said Hillella.
1 Come, boy, offer this spoonful to
the chief that never mortified a strang-
er. Lord de Brechin will not refuse
the first boon you ask of him.'
" I could not speak to ask accept-
ance for the food, but I held it to
his lips, and it was accepted. I pre-
sented another; the invalid took it,
but said I must not tease him fur-
ther. He wished to sleep, and would
be glad that I continued to play un-
til he slept and awoke. I touched
the strings incessantly, and became
more composed, before Lord de Bre-
chin, after the lapse of some hours,
said, • Boy, your melody is worth
all the leechcraft in Scotland. You
must not leave me; you shall be my
page and minstrel, with wages for
each office. What is your name?'
" I was quite unprepared for that
question; but with unfailing presence
of mind, Hillella answered :
"'The boy is a hapless foundling,
and does not even know how he got
the name of Launcelot Gam. Don't
be ashamed of a blameless misfor-
tune, my boy! It was no fault of
thine that thy only friend, the Lady
Brilwyck, broke her heart for the
calamities of the civil wars in Eng-
land. We have had experience of
such evils in Scotland. Lady Bril-
wyck took thee, and instructed thee,
when a poor wandering little child.
Perhaps it was thy loss that her
kindness was so motherly.'
" ' Mine shall be fatherly,' said
Lord de Brechin. ' Boy, wilt thou
serve a knight that has never frown-
ed upon a follower?'
" Before I could respond, Hillella
said, ' Lord de Brechin, that youth
is no fit domestic for a warlike knight.
His constitution and his habits dis-
qualify him from mixing with a me-
nial train. His mind is pious, lofty,
and devoted to self-controul. The
Lady Brilwyck accustomed him to
a quiet anti-room by day and a bolt-
ed chamber by night. He cannot
watch on the open hill or in the dale
through hours of darkness, nor spread
his master's bed of heath, nor with
U 2
144
THE FRIENDSHIP OV ANCIKNT CHIVALRY.
the first smile of morn attend hawk
and hound; but he can read and
write, and weave scarf and sword-
belt for a warrior: besides, he can
draw from the lute and harp sounds
that might break the worst spells of
necromancy. The Lady Brilwyck
asked no more than he could do
without injury to his weakly consti-
tution. He must now buffet the
hardships of a friendless state: but
weep not, poor unblameable wander-
er! the God that gave thee a being
so helpless, and a conscience so ten-
der, will care for thee.'
"Hillella knew the avenues to Lord
de Brechin's compassionate heart;
and her harangue had full effect.
While she spoke, I debated with my-
self, whether I ought to accept Lord
de Brechin's offer of a permanent
abode. Perhaps my heart, rather
than my understanding, convinced
me that the humane, honourable,
unsuspicious Lord de Brechin would
shield me from many of the suffer-
ings incidept to my peculiar situation.
When Hillella was silent, Lord de
Brechin said again, ' Launcelot, why
dost thou not tell me if thou wilt be
my page and minstrel? All the con-
sideration for thy weakly frame and
delicate mind, whiclj made thee hap-
py with the Lady Brilwyck, thou
shalt find with the Lord de Brechin,
and more. God and the saints have
sent thee to me as a healing angel:
and by their holy names I swear to
be unto thee as a father, a brother,
and a friend.'
"I dreaded familiar kindness even
mor6 than austerity, and I saw that
in this crisis of my fate I was called
upon to erect an impassable barrier
between my own infirmity and the
endearing frankness of my master.
Thus, jn spite of my struggles to
appear manly and steeled against my
fate, I shed bitter tears.'
" ' Launcelot,' said Hillella, 'make
up your mind, and wipe your eyes,
and thankfully close with the knight's
gracious offers.'
" ' Let him take time,' said the
Lord de Brechin. ' I wish to gain
his affections, and to make him a
willing follower.'
" • My gracious lord,' I at length
uttered, ' I have no fears but that I
shall be a useless member of your
household, or that I may presume
on your goodness ; but against that
fault I have taken the strongest pre-
caution. Yes, I have bound my
soul, not only to strict fidelity, but
also to the most duteous reverence.
My vows of temperance and seclu-
sion have been heretofore registered
in heaven, long ere I came into your
august presence this night ; and my
apparent absence of mind since you
vouchsafed to propose for me admis-
sion to your household, was occa-
sioned by an act of solemn devotion.
I have called upon God and the Holy
Virgin, and all the saints, to Avitness
my vow of distant respect and un-
swerving humility in all my attend-
ance upon the Lord de Brechin;
and may all the powers divine chas-
tise my perjury, if I transgress those
boundaries that ought to separate a
noble lord from the meanest of his
servants !'
" ' Rash have been thy words, ro-
mantic boy!' answered Lord de Bre-
chin ; ' but never shall I tempt thee
to incur the penalties of thy tremen-
dous imprecations. I swear not, for
the word of De Brechin is equiva-
lent to an oath ; and by that sacred
word, I promise thee a quiet anti-
room and a bolted chamber, with
all the comfort thou canst manufac-
THli FRIENDSHIP OF ANCIF.NT CHIVALRY.
145
ture for thyself in the free disposal
of time, except some hours to dis-
course sweet melody or merry strains
for thy master and his guests.'
" ' Alas ! my lord,' I said, ' my
vows extend to the avoidance of all
convivial assemblages.'
" ' By my word and honour, thou
shalt be at liberty to withdraw at thy
own pleasure,' answered Lord de
Brechin.
" ' Our gracious lord is inclined
for vest,' interposed Hillella : ' he
hath condescended much to thee,
and now be satisfied and grateful.'
" 'Grateful I ever shall be,' I said,
1 and I have not been so satisfied
since I lost my best friend.'
" ' Go to bed, my boy,' said Lord
de Brechin : ' I robbed thee of thy
natural rest.'
" ' I cannot sleep, my lord,' I re-
plied, ' and with your gracious per-
mission, I shall take the harp.'
" • I shall then sleep sweetly,' said
De Brechin.
" I continued several hours in this
duty: yet, though Hillella's grand-
daughter, who sat with me, turned
the hour-glass many times, my spirit
and my fingers were unwearied.
" Lord de Brechin regained health,
and volunteered against the enemies
of King Edward ; and 1 entered my
own country as a stranger. I found
there no friend, and I obtained con-
firmation of Hillella's notice that my
grand-uncle, Lord de Burgh, was
no more. My friend the armour-
er employed his best capacity in
equipping me for the wars. I cared
so little for life, that danger and
hardship were encountered without
repugnance, and habit made them
easy, I had yet a stronger motive
for enterprise — the desire never to
separate from his side who was ever
foremost in meeting the shock of
battle : yet I received no wound
which my own acquaintance with
leechcraft might not suffice to bal-
sam. It was my prayer to be killed
outright, or not to be under the ne-
cessity of seeking advice for my
wounds ; and my prayer found ac-
ceptance with the saints. I accom-
panied my lord in several campaigns
against the Moors in Iberia, and
against the Tartars and Russians,
who often made, terrible incursions
on Sweden in the north, and upon
the Greek empire of the south-east.
It was in the south-east that my lord
believed I had been the feeble instru-
ment of prolonging his valuable life.
Father in heaven, forgive my rebel-
lious spirit, that has almost murmured
because he had not died by the steel
of an honourable foe ! But it is my
consolation, that though Lord de
Brechin died the death of a traitor,
he was untainted by treason."
This period of her narration over-
powered the feelings of Lady Elea-
nor. For several days Sir Ingram and
the Sisters of Charity expected the
termination of her sufferings. How-
ever, she revived, and said she hoped
yet to leave some record of the me-
ritorious Hillella. Her story was
short, and marked with the charac-
teristics of a strong and upright mind.
" The famous red-cross knight,
Belhaven, was her father ; her mother,
a Moorish princess, who, in Spain,
rescued him from death, and adhered
to him while he lived. Belhaven
had taken charge of the son of a
French knight, who was killed by
his side, and in dying recommended
the child to his Scottish friend. His
mother was a Moor ; she had died a
short time before his father was slain
in the service of the Greek empire
146
THE FRIENDSHIP Off ANCIENT CHIVALRY.
against the Turks. Atbarha, Hillel-
la's mother, was with Belhaven near
Constantinople. She willingly adopt-
ed the child of the French knight.
Hillella was some years younger, and
they were brought up together.
Their affection was so much like the
attachment of brother and sister, that
the daughter of Belhaven never
would have thought of him as a hus-
band, unless in obedience to her pa-
rents, and to avoid a more hideous
connection — a dishonourable entan-
glement. The next heir of Belhaven
was a young man of the most capti-
vating figure. Hillella was a dark
beauty, and her vivacity and accom-
plishments were the theme of many
a poet. The young heir employed
all his art to fascinate and ensnare
her while almost a child ; but the
vigilance of a tender mother detect-
ed his insidious blandishments. Bel-
haven was a very old man. The
warrior had sunk to infantine weak-
ness of mind and body. The mother
saw no safety for her poor girl but in
marriage with her adopted brother,
Clovis, who passionately loved her.
' My child,' she said, ' I see you have
more value for Matthew Belhaven
than he deserves. You are solicitous
for his happiness : he designs your
ruin and disgrace. I followed your
father, 'tis true; but I was bred where
woman is an ignorant slave; and,
trust me, that though the knight of
Belhaven was one of the best of men,
I have, since I came to Scotland, in
comparing myself with honoured law-
ful spouses, bitterly, though in secret,
bemoaned my own shame. Clovis
has been taught the trade of an ar-
mourer, a jeweller, and goldsmith.
He will earn for you an honest live-
lihood; and I foresee, that whoever
of us survives your father, must earn
their own bread.' Hillella had givers
her heart to Matthew Belhaven; but
when convinced he was leading her
to infamy, she acquiesced in her mo-
ther's sentiments. She confessed all
her infatuation to Clovis; and he pro-
tested that her ingenuous self-accu-
sation made her a thousand times
dearer. Belhaven consented to their
marriage, and made them welcome
to his house ; indeed he could not
part with his beloved daughter. Ava-
rice is the vice of age. Belhaven
would not give away money in his
lifetime; but he assured Atbarha
he should secure her and Hillella
independence when he was gone. He
made a provision for them; but Mat-
thew Belhaven scoffed at the claims of
vagabond Moors ; and so many heirs
were encumbered by similar connec-
tions, that they all combined to with-
hold their demands, however submis-
sively set forth, and the unsettled go-
vernment of Scotland afforded no
redress. From the castle of Bel-
haven Atbarha, Hillella, and Clovis
were expelled. They took up their
quarters sometimes in the caves of
Roslin, Hawthorndean, or Culzean,
as the armourer found work at his
trade, or Hillella got employment
with needle-work, or embroidery in
the Moorish taste, in which she ex-
celled. The cruel injustice of Mat-
thew Belhaven shewed her how much
cause she had to value Clovis, and to
be thankful for the obedience she
had yielded to her mother. She and
her husband taught their respective
trades to their daughters and sons ;
and, above all, they inculcated ho-
nesty, industry, and every moral vir-
tue. Their religion was a strange
mixture of the Christian faith and
Mahomedan superstition ; but their
integrity and fidelity gave them a
THE FRIENDSHIP OF ANCILNT CHIVALRY.
147
confessed superiority over all other
Moorish tribes descended from the
heroes of Palestine, Spain, and the
Eastern empire.*"
Lady Eleanor expired in a calm
sleep. Sir Ingram de Umfraville
paid every respect to her obsequies ;
and masses for her soul were said,
not only at Cadsand, but in all the
churches, monasteries, and nunneries
at Sluys. A friendless lay-brother of
a Carthusian convent was invited to
reside with Sir Ingram. The heavy
pressure of age became each day more
apparent; but the fire of a warrior
recalled the vigour of former years,
when the lay-brother brought from
Sluys a report that Sir James Dou-
glas, with a train of Scottish worthies,
had arrived in that city on their way
to the Holy Land, with the heart of
Robert the Bruce. Clad in warlike
garb and accoutrements, Sir Ingram
passed over to Sluys. The fate of
Lord de Brechin threw some con-
straint over his first interview with
Sir James Douglas, though he was
in France when his kinsman joined
Soulis to ensnare the nephew of King
Robert. Sir James Douglas frankly
expressed his sorrow for the concern
of his clan in depriving Scotland of
one of her most valuable defenders;
and Sir Ingram easily satisfied him,
that the meeting with Lady Eleanor
de Mowbray was at first accidental,
and always innocent : Lady Eleanor
had sacrificed to honour and virtue
her dearest wishes. Sir James ac-
knowledged that in every particular
Lady Eleanor eclipsed his sister.
Margaret Douglas beguiled the heart
of a stripling ; Lady Eleanor won
the esteem and devoted love of his
* The most respectable tinkers of*
♦Scotland are said to be their descendants.
maturer years. Margaret wedded
a French youth a few weeks after the
execution of Lord de Brechin; La-
dy Eleanor died in grief for his un-
timely and tragical end ! King Ro-
bert never ceased to bewail his ne-
phew, though, for political reasons,
he gave Soulis a free pardon. He
and his confidential associate sud-
denly disappeared as soon as the mi-
litary surrounded the house at Tor-
wood. Their ready evasion was
imputed to necromantic deception ;
but the hunting-lodge was razed to
the ground, and the discovery of a
subterraneous outlet explained how
they had provided against a sur-
prisal. Soulis reached England,
where he insinuated himself into fa-
vour with Mortimer; and, as the
the price of his pardon, betrayed a
design for invading Scotland. Soulis
returned ; he was execrated for his
perfidy to De Brechin, and his op-
pression to his vassals provoked them
to rise in a body. They dragged him
to the nine-stane rig, between his
own castle and Hawick, where they
literally boiled him to death, believ-
ing that only by such means a necro-
mancer could be destroyed.
Sir Ingram de Umfraville spent a
day of happiness with his Scottish
friends, and next morning was the
first equipped for proceeding to the
Holy Land. In their pilgrimage,
they learned that the Saracens were
gaining advantages in Spain ; and
thinking it their duty to aid the
Christians against infidels, they turn-
ed their arms against a mighty host.
The knight of Roslin being made
captive, Douglas resolved to rescue
hiin or to perish. He threw the
casket with the heart of King Ro-
bert among the foe, apostrophising
it in chivalric terms : " Heart of De
148
THE ILLUSTRIOUS PIlISOXRR.
Bruce ! onward, as thou wert wont,
to victory ! Douglas will follow thee,
or die !" Sir Ingram de Umfraville
fought close to Sir James Douglas ;
the little phalanx of Scottish warri-
ors bravely supported them, and
were overcome only in death. They
so long resisted a far superior force,
that it became a saying in Spain,
that to kill one Scotsman, ten men of
other nations must die.
The personal endearments, the
heroism, the popularity, and the sad
catastrophe of David de Brechin,
and the generous friendship of Sir
Ingram de Umfraville, are historical
facts, which, with circumstances pre-
served by tradition, have furnished
the materials of our story. The in-
cidents are within the range of pro-
bability, and many parallels have ap-
peared in the romance of real life,
where the sword was resorted to as
umpire in political contentions. May
such scenes never return to Great
Britain ! The name of Gam is not
unknown in history : in less than a
century later than the events we have
commemorated, Henry V. of Eng-
land sent an officer called David
Gam to reconnoitre the French be-
fore the battle of Agincourt. He
made this valorous and prophetic re-
port: " There are plenty to kill,
plenty to make prisoners, and plenty
to run away." David Gam was a
Welshman ; he was killed fighting
bravely at Agincourt.
B. G.
THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRISONER
A TALK OF OLDEN TIME.
" Here, boy, bring me the lamp-
black and the verdigris, with the oil-
smalt, and see that you make clean
your grinding-stone and muller; and
try, my gentle page, the courtesy of
old Cornelius, the warder, for some
crumbs of manchet to cleanse the
paper which I drew on last eve.
Haste, then, my little page, and let
us begin work ; Dan Phcebus will
have performed half his round ere
we get to business. Truly, this sad
durance maketh me duller than a
jibbed ass : the little birds, indeed, |
invite me abroad with the strains of
liberty. Would I were even with
the apprentices of Finsbury ! I would
fly my goose-feather with the best of;
them, and compromise my high de- j
scent for a month's freedom. But, j
alas ! I must not forth : so mock me
not, ye gentle birds !"
The speaker, a young man of in- 1
teresting and elegant figure, ascend-
ed a barred oriel window, through
which the sun gleamed but a pale
ray, and passing his hand across his
eyes, he sighed heavily. He then
sat down before a drawing which he
had just commenced, and which,
though it did not promise to equal a
picture painted by Andrea Orgagna,
who delineated the Last Judgment,
and placed in the infernal regions all
those who had offended him, " so
like the real persons as to cause de-
light in the beholders," yet did the
tablets of this youth shew pictures
delightful and profitable to behold.
The misfortunes of young Court-
ney originated solely from his illus-
trious descent : his father was Hen-
ry, tenth Earl of Devonshire of his
family, whose mother was the Prin-
cess Catherine, daughter of King
Edward the Fourth. He had been
THE ILtUSTRIOUS PRISONER.
14Q
one of the ephemeral favourites of
Henry VIII. by whom he was ad-
vanced to the title of Marquis of
Exeter ; after which he caused him,
before a very long time had elapsed,
to be accused of high treason, in
having corresponded with Cardinal
Pole ; and being at length convicted
without proof, a not uncommon case
in those days, he was finally be-
headed.
The mother of Courtney, it is true,
saved her life ; but her only son, of
whom we are now speaking, and
who was born about the year 1526,
was, immediately after the death of
his father, he being then only twelve
years old, committed to the Tower.
So frightful a fate, visited on so
young a child, would bring a modern
mother to the grave. It is to be
hoped, in pity to their feelings, that
the sensibilities of parents at that
period were less acute than in these
days. The continued prayers and
supplications of young Courtney
served not to avert his cruel destiny,
and even the accession of the amia-
ble boy, Edward VI. brought him no
relief; he was excepted in the gene-
neral pardon, and doomed to bear
a further imprisonment. Probably
some fiend in power stood between
him and mercy ; or Edward, who
was known frequently to shed tears
and to beg for the lives of those
whose death-warrants he was obliged
to sign, would not have forgotten a
prisoner so interesting from his mis-
fortunes. Every day, however, ap-
peared more irksome to him than
the last ; and he rose ever and anon
from his seat, in despair that any
amusement could chase heaviness
from his bosom. He listened, as he
paced his room, to the frequent rat-
tling of chains which held the draw-
To/. VIII. No. XL V.
bridge, or to the distant murmurings
of the warder, who in these times,
with the headsman, had ample occu-
pation, from the constant arrival of
victims and their departure for exe-
cution.
" The Earl of Courtney," says
Fuller, " was of a most lovely as-
pect, of beautiful body, sweet na-
ture, and royal descent; his eyes
were of the colour of sparkling ha-
zel, his nose Roman, and his beard
of a light brown, as was his hair, the
latter of which curled over a high
and majestic forehead. He was po-
lite, studious, and learned, an accu-
rate master of the languages, skilled
in mathematics, painting, and music.
He wore a doublet of murrey-coloured
cloth, with points of blue ribbons ;
his sleeves were of white satin, mock-
ed with cinnabar."
His page had returned with the
materials of his master's art; but when
they arrived, no use was made of
them ; and they were sent for rather
from the affectation of doing some-
thing, than the reality. He, however,
commenced one of his diurnal tasks,
which, with imperfect tools, he had
nearly accomplished ; namely, cutting
a device, including a wounded hart,
with his initials, in the nearly un-
yielding wall ; and added another
memorandum of the many miserable
wretches who had chronicled their
sorrows in this apartment, now used
as the breakfast- room of the officers
on guard.
There are times when, from some
fancied cause or other, we imagine that
an alteration seems about to take place
in our situation. Thus, at the moment
at which our story opens, a certain
feeling of hope, for which Courtney
could not account, seemed to haunt
him. He had heard, indeed, from
X
150
THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRISONER.
his faithful friend Cleber — whose
" Relation of the Proclamation of the
Ladie Elizabeth Quene, and her
beloved Bedfellow Lorde Edward
Courtneye Kynge," is now in the
British Museum— that Mary had as-
cended the throne, and it was natu-
ral to argue something from this
change. The difference in her reli-
gious opinions from those of Court-
ney afforded, it is true, little hope
from this political change ; but youth
is sanguine, and the pulse of the
prisoner beat stronger than usual.
There was more than ordinary bus-
tle in the corridors leading to his
apartment, and presently, after a flou-
rish of rebecks, his door opened,
and a crowd entered, at the head of
which was a female whom, from the
respect paid to her, he presumed to
be the queen. Her figure was dimi-
nutive, her complexion bore a me-
lancholy hue, her eyes were dark,
but neither softened by feminine
mildness nor by cheerfulness ; for her
countenance, even then, began to ex-
press that which sorrow and care
had wrought within ; besides this,
her health was indifferent. She was
richly dressed in a surcoat of orange-
coloured tissue, with a mantle of the
same furred with ermine ; her hair,
parted on the forehead, hung down
in tresses, and seemed evidently so
disposed as to give a juvenile appear-
ance, which, however, in Courtney's
eyes appeared a complete failure.
Her cap, or chappine, was of the
shape of that of Anne Boleyn, whose
portrait by his late friend Hans Hol-
bein Courtney had so often admired.
Her kirtle was of crimson velvet,
and from her bosom gleamed a thou-
sand rays, emitted by jewels and
brooches arranged in various forms.
But when Mary offered Courtney
her hand to kiss, when she exclaimed
on helping him to rise, that " now
he should be her prisoner !" — when,
overcome with gratitude on hearing
her proclaim his liberty, he strained
her fingers to his lips with a warmth
not unpleasing to the generally re-
pulsive queen, she would fain have
fancied that a more tender feeling
than gratitude instigated this move-
ment. She had little cause, however,
to flatter herself on this head ; and
though he heard her restore to him
his lost title of Earl of Devonshire,
but not that of Exeter, as has been
falsely related, his gratitude rose not
higher than a profound obeisance ;
and when he petitioned Mary for
leave to travel, she advised him the
rather to marry, assuring him that no
lady in the land, how high soever her
station, would refuse him for a hus-
band ; and urging him to make his
choice where he pleased, pointed
out to him, as plainly as might con-
sist with the modesty of a maiden
and the majesty of a queen, that she
was far from indifferent to his inter-
ests. But Courtney had seen Eliza-
beth, her sister, whose superiority
was obvious.
During his presence at court, Mary
found that she had little to hope in
a return of her passion ; and at
length Courtney being implicated by
report in the rising of Sir Thomas
Wyatt, he was once more — probably
rather in revenge for his insensibility
as a lover, than his disloyalty as a
subject — committed to the Tower.
And what renders this conjecture
the more probable is, that the Prin-
cess Elizabeth shared the same fate,
under the strictest orders that they
should not see each other. Fuller,
Till! ILLUSTRIOUS PRISONER.
151
indeed, says, that on Mary's offering
him her hand, " the young earl,
■whether because that his long dur-
ance had some influence on his brain,
or that naturally his face was better
than his head, or out of some private
phancie and affection to the Lady
Elizabeth, or out of loyal bashful-
ness, hot presuming to climb higher,
but expecting to be called up, is said
to have requested the queen for leave
to marry her sister — unhappy that
his choice either went so high or no
higher. For who could have spoken
worse treason against Mary (though
not against the queen), than to pre-
fer her sister before her? And the
innocent lady did afterwards dearly
pay for this earl's indiscretion. The
Lady Elizabeth was at first closely
kept, and narrowly sifted all her sis-
ter's reign ; and in the Tower, Sir
Henry Bedingfield, her keeper, using
more severity towards her than his
place required, yea more than a good
man should or a wise man would have
done,no doubt the least tripping of her
foot would have cost her the losing
of her head." He placed a hundred
guards clothed in blue to watch his
prisoner ; even a little boy of four
years old, who had been accustomed
every day to bring her flowers, was
severely threatened if he came any
more. She was, indeed, indulged
with walking in the queen's garden,
but all the shutters were at that time
ordered to be closed. In spite of
the strictness of this charge, Court-
ney frequently indulged his sight
with a view of his beloved mistress,
and, touched with witnessing youth
and misfortune similar to his own, he
found her image indelibly fixed in
his breast.
Between the sisters there was no
comparison: Elizabeth, at this time
half Catholic, half Protestant, was
as lively and vivacious in spirits as
her sister was formal and unprepos-
sessing. The Tower was now little
of a prison to Courtney; he could
climb the bay window and behold,
unseen to the stern Bedingfield, the
lovely Elizabeth playing with her
maidens in the "boure" below. She
was at this period tall, of hair and
complexion fair, well-favoured, high-
nosed, and of a playful deportment.
His only misery was the cruel delay
of the turret-clock in striking the
hour when his misti'ess was wont to
walk abroad, when he could behold
the young and amiable Elizabeth —
not the queen of Essex and of Lei-
cester, or the rival of the beautiful
Mary Stuart, for as yet no baleful
passion had contracted her better
feeling — and when she would cast up
her eyes to the place of his confine-
ment, it seemed like the sun bursting
from a winter cloud ; but when he
saw her depart, when the whitest
hand would wave a salute to the
cruel bars above, they seemed to
close him for ever in the tomb. Yet,
when he saw her not, frequently was
he regaled with her voice accompa-
nying herself on the virginals, when
she breathed notes of hope and li-
berty which were wafted to his apart-
ments; and as she walked the bat-
tlement, the token which she had
given him, an embroidered sleeve,
which he wore in his cap, she would
behold him press to his lips, and
without imagining that their desti-
nies might be as wide as their per-
sons from each other, they indulged,
in hopes never to be realized, but
which were to them too delicious to
be rejected. Tired of painting, he
X 2
lo2
ILLUSTRATIONS OF POPULAR GLRMAN SUPERSTITIONS.
would take up his lute, and, in an-
swer to a lay of Elizabeth's, chant
the following:
TO THE TOET'S HARTE MOCHE BEAT-
ING FOR ITS MISTRESS.
Awaie! awaie! thou sillie harte,
Nor longer here abyde;
Quikly for peas thou should'st depart,
And quitte thy master's syde.
Thou arte to cumbrys for thy cage,
Sitch bonds for thee to smal;
Ah! could'stthou spend thyself in rage,
Or cease to beat at al !
Go, sillie harte, to Geraldyne,
Go tell her you would straye;
Or in her veins thy red blood join,
In streams to flow ther waye !
Awaie! awaie! thou sillie harte,
To heavy for 013^ paice;
Goe fetch of Geraldyne a parte,
Or else thy pantings cease!
These delusions of his prison-house
were at length, however, to be end-
ed by the liberation of Elizabeth,
who was removed to Woodstock;
and Courtney was left for a time
alone to lament the waywardness of
his fate. From the Tower he was
removed to Fotheringhay castle; but
soon after the arrival of Philip of
Spain in this country to wed Mary,
whom Courtney had rejected, he re-
covered once more his liberty. Fear-
ing, however, that another storm
might either crush him, or perhaps
her whom he seemed to love more
than himself, and as a means of di-
verting his chagrin, he now obtained,
what was most agreeable even to
Mary, leave to travel.
Whether his unfortunate destiny
wrought upon a constitutional me-
lancholy fostered by continual impri-
sonment, or whether the anger of a
woman scorned followed him into re-
tirement, is uncertain, but within a
few weeks after his arrival in Italy,
he was seized with a distemper which
carried him off in a few days, not
without a tolerably well-founded sus-
picion of poison, and he was buried
in the church of St. Antony at Padua.
Thus died Edward Courtney, Earl
of Devonshire, a man who might, per-
haps, have materially altered the des-
tiny of this country, and saved it from
the deserved obloquy of a bloody per-
secutor. Had he favoured the suit
of Mary, he might have tempered
with mercy a sanguinary disposition
irritated by disappointment. Had
he become the husband of Elizabeth,
we then mightindeed have only heard
of the accomplishments of good
Queen Bess, and history would pro-
bably not have had to record the im-
prudences of an Essex, the crimes of
a Leicester, the tortuous plans of a
Burleigh, and the cupidity of a Da-
vison.
ILLUSTRATIONS of POPULAR GERMAN SUPERSTITIONS.
From the First Number of Dcr Eremit in Deutschland — " The Hermit in Ger-
many" (a ney? periodical work), lately published.
Never does the clock strike more
mysteriously and more awfully than
about Christmas, an extraordinary
season, when man seems to be given
up into the power of invisible spirits,
and when the twelve nights, as they
are called, that is, the last twelve in
the year, brood over mysteries of
horror. In these nights, according
to the vulgar notion, the God of
christians hath permitted evil demons
to visit the earth and to tempt man-
kind ; Death rises from the tombs to
keep horrid holiday, and to mark out
new victims whom he means to fetch
in the ensuing year. Questions are
ILLUSTRATIONS OF POPULAR GKRMAK SUPERSTITIONS.
m
propounded to Fate, and the language
chosen for the purpose is the symbo-
lical, if, however, I may so term that
of which facts are the signs — super-
stition, no doubt, but a superstition
not less interesting than mischievous.
I knew a family which, on the eve of
St. Sylvester, jocosely formed a cir-
cle round the faint lamp, to see which
of its members would want the head
in the shadow thrown by the light;
because it is said that a person in this
predicament will not live to see the
end of they ear. Unluckily a young
female was so placed in regard to the
light that the shadow represented
only a headless trunk. From that
time she became melancholy, began
to be ailing, and in the first six
months of the new year the worm of
superstition had consumed her vitals
— a proof to the family that the ora-
cle had not lied.
I often stroll by myself at this sea-
son through by-streets, and approach
the windows of humble dwellings to
observe the follies of their inmates.
— What is going forward here? —
They have seated themselves about
a table, and round the edge of a
wooden platter have raised by thim-
blefuls as many little heaps of salt
as there are members in the family.
But see there ! one of these pyra-
mids falls down, and the child whom
it represents is sure to die soon. —
Hark ! what a hissing at that stove !
What may this mean? They are
pouring melted lead through a key,
which has been in the family for se-
veral generations, into cold water, and
the figure assumed by the metal will
acquaint the inquirer with his future
fortune. Yonder the curious dam-
sel steals out at the back-door into
the garden, squats down in the snow
under the hedge, and listens what
wind will waft the first sound to her;
for she has learned that she shall then
know from what quarter the man who
is to be her husband shall come.
How unhappy she is if the sound
does not proceed from that side to
which her heart attracts her! Others
make a point of looking out into the
street as the clock strikes six, under
the idea that the first man who passes
will be intimately connected with their
future fate ; and there have been in-
stances of undertakers' men beino-
seen returning from some neighbour-
ing church-yard, to the sudden ex-
tinction of life through horror and
fright. — Who walks so late on an
unbeaten track around the church ?
Superstition. They go thrice round
the venerable edifice, and if no light
appears at the windows, they will not
die in the course of the ensuing year.
An old man once related to me that
on such an occasion the angel of
death appeared to his daughter, a
girl of fifteen ; she had paid the aw-
ful visit about midnight without his
consent, and all at once the whole
window was in a blaze, and the most
extraordinary figures were dancing
about her. The fact was, that the
sexton had gone earlier than usual
to make preparations for matins,
which are frequently held in the
churches in the first hours of morn-
ing in the Christmas holidays. His
lantern had illuminated the windows
of painted glass, and thus given the
poor girl a terrific omen, which had
cost her her life. What a contra-
dictory season! — so pregnant with
mirth in the daytime and with hor-
ror at night ! Morning proclaims to
christians eternal salvation, and even-
ing environs them with a thousand
terrors, which reason has not been
abic to exterminate.
1/34 ILLUSTRATIONS OF POPULAR GERMAN SUPERSTITIONS.
It is not my intention to enter into
any historico-psychological investiga-
tion, and to trace this superstition into
the darkness of antiquity, in which
history itself can find no path ; but
I have often turned over ponderous,
half-decayed folios in quest of in-
formation concerning an imaginary
being of a peculiar nature known
by the appellation of Frau Holle,
or Holde. Seated by the glimmer
of a pine -splinter, which supplies
the place of a lamp, the mother tells
her children stories of this mysteri-
ous dame, who sits in the cross-roads,
brandishing her axe, and calling to
young children to lay their heads on
the block, that she may chop them
off — or, riding through the air in a
car constructed of human bones, she
stabs every one she meets who does
not obey her commands. And how
are you to protect yourself from this
sanguinary spirit of the holy nights?
Make a thick porridge, stir it round
thrice, cross yourself nine times, lift
a spoonful of the porridge to your
lips, and Frau Holle will not have
power to torment you.
In the summer of the year 1814
I made an excursion alone through
a tract of country which is rarely
visited by travellers. One evening
my curiosity drove me out of the
dull smoky room at the inn of a
village, the name of which I have
forgotten, to the church-yard, where,
among many other monumental me-
morials, a plain white sand-stone par-
ticularly caught my eye. Upon it
were rudely engraven, by an un-
practised hand, four poetical lines to
this effect:
" Rest in peace ! our Master
trampled under foot the demons of
earth. What love here caused thee
to forget, shall not be charged to thy
account hereafter."
An inscription beneath stated that
this stone covered the remains of a
girl of eighteen.
There was an air of mystery in
this epitaph which piqued my curio-
sity in an extraordinary degree ; I
forgot the church-yard and its gray
memorials of the dead, and hastened
back to the living, to make inquiry
concerning the stone in question. The
answer I received was not calculated
to clear up the matter; and I, there-
fore, resolved to call at the school-
master's and solicit information. From
him I obtained the following particu-
lars :
Catherine, known in the neigh-
bourhood by the appellation of Dumb
Kitty, had one evening during the
Christmas holidays shut herself up
in her solitary chamber, to confide to
the night those secrets which she
was obliged to keep to herself in the
day. A hopeless grief had banished
every joy from her heart; she had
loved, and she still loved, but insu-
perable impediments prevented the
fulfilment of her wishes. The force
of her sentiments locked up within
her bosom seemed to overpower her
body, and her health declined under
the internal commotion. It is said,
that refinement of manners augments
the passions. This is not true : it
accelerates the development of the
appetites. Catherine was a child of
Nature, and all the means which cul-
tivation posiesses to bring the heart
under the dominion of the head were
lost upon, or rather, had never ex-
isted for her. She had descended
from her cold chamber, and was en-
gaged in preparing at the hearth the
magic porridge against the assaults
ILLUSTRATIONS Or POPULAH GERMAN SUPERSTITIONS.
1.55
of the evil spirit, when she heard a
gentle tap at the door and some un-
intelligible words pronounced. Her
father had long retired to rest ; she
was alone and began to tremble. A
second tap followed, and she distin-
guished the name of " Kitty!" It
was repeated a third time, and she
conceived that in the voice she re-
cognised one which she had often
heard with delight, and to the call of
which she had often opened the door.
" What, Augustus ! is it you? What
do you want so late with my father ?
He is abed, you must come again
to-morrow." These were not ques-
tions of surprise or curiosity, but of
terror. Her limbs were scarcely able
to support her. It was the same man
whom she sought in her dreams — he
without whom life was not worth
wishing for — he from whom she had
been parted for years, and who now
knocked in the guise of a lover.
" It is to you, Catherine, that I
want to speak. Will you let me in?"
" Ask your wife whether I may,"
replied she.
" My wife is gone to visit her fa-
ther, and will not be back these two
days."
" And would you wrong by incon-
stancy the absent mother of your
children? Go home, Augustus; Ca-
therine would not deceive any heart
in the world."
" Before the watchman cries twelve
I shall be gone again, and not a crea-
ture need know a syllable about the
matter."
" If not a creature knew it, God
would know it : how should I look
to-morrow on approaching his altar?"
" You would forget what you had
done."
" Go home, I say, Augustus ; Ca-
therine will not open the door to you."
" Not even if he comes as a lover?"
" With a wife on his arm ! You
are making game of me."
" No, Catherine : my wife is dead ;
she expired to-day as the sun sank
behind the pine-wood."
" And you honour her memory by
an act which your are obliged to con-
ceal from the light."
" No, no ; I only wanted to try
your heart."
" Come then in the daytime, and
when you have, as it becomes you,
worn mourning for a year, then, per-
haps, Catherine may open the door
to you."
No solicitations, however impas-
sioned, could shake the resolution of
her virtue; she stood at the little
window, and saw the man of her
heart go away through the snow.
Catherine cowered over the scanty
fire on the hearth to cook the pro-
tecting porridge, and wept; the
wooden spoon sunk from her hand,
and her eye was vacantly fixed on
the crackling flame. She listened,
but nothing stirred, except the wind
which roared at the chimney-top ;
she ran to the window, and looked
abroad to see whether the beloved
object might not have returned; not
a living thing was visible, and nought
but a young fir-tree on the snow-clad
green waved its solitary branches.
Her tears began to flow faster and
faster; her heart ached, and her
weary head leaned upon her hand :
hour passed after hour, and the por-
ridge was forgotten. A heedless
movement of her trembling hand
had spilled the water in the fire-
place, so that it ran down at her feet,
and besides this there was not a drop
in the wretched hovel. She drew
back the bolt of the house-door, and
strove to scrape the snow together
15G
ILLUSTRATIONS OF POPULAR GERMAN SUPERSTITIONS.
with her hand, intending to thaw it
over the fire; but it covered the earth
too scantily, and was evaporated as
fast as it melted by the warmth of the
pot. The well was too far distant,
and the fear of unearthly spirits
chained her to the fire-place. Inex-
pressible horror seized her soul and
thrilled her frame. Fatigued by the
multiplicity of images which passed
before her mind's eye, her limbs re-
fused obedience to her will, and the
almighty power of sleep threw her
upon a settle. Why, alas! are dreams
not more soothing to the unfortunate
than realities ? Why are they too
destined to torture in slumber, from
which the languishing wretch hopes
to derive refreshment ?
A monster, of a species such as
the earth never produced, came in
through the closed door, " grinned
horribly a ghastly smile," and took its
place on a red-hot stone by the chim-
ney-corner opposite to the trembling
Catherine. She strove to cry out ;
but the air seemed to be condensed
into a thick mass by the effluvia of
the unbidden guest, so that she could
not herself hear the sounds which
issued from her lips. She called
upon her mother, and the face of
the strange monster was screwed
up into a look of affectod kindness,
and a hoarse voice asked, " What
wouldst thou have, daughter?" An
invisible power held her fast on the
tottering settle, which seemed by an
unaccountable supernatural influence
to combine into one substance with
her body ; her legs were twisted to-
gether like the roots of a tree, and
served for natural supports to her
lap, which became petrified into a
seat; her breast furnished a commo-
dious back; while her arms descend-
ed in a curve from the upper part of
the body, and the hands, like claws
wrought by an able artist, rested on
the hips. Catherine had nothing of
humanity left but the soul, which
was racked by horrors unfelt before.
Such is the state of a person whose
body is stiffened to a corse, while the
spirit still continues active, and by
whose side preparations are making
for his interment : not a nerve has
the power to give a sign to the sor-
rowing friends, and the living is de-
posited among the dead. " You have
made it quite convenient for me, my
dear Kate," said the old hideous hag,
seating herself in her lap ; " 'tis as
though I were in my own arm-chair.
Stir the fire, I am cold." Not a
spark glimmered on the hearth ; the
figure blew among the ashes, till a
black dust rose with an infernal
stench and filled, the room like a
cloud.
" I am hungry, Kate ; don't let
the porridge get cold," said she with
a cutting sneer, and looking with a
horrid laugh into the empty pot.
" Do you hear, Kate? I am hungry !"
With this terrific intimation, which
Catherine could not obey, the hag
fixed herself more firmly in the lap
of the helpless girl, and grappled
her like a tiger-cat. Her pulses pro-
pelled the blood with feverish force
through her petrified body, and big
drops of cold perspiration covered
her brow. She attempted to open
her pallid lips to implore mercy, but
not a muscle, not a nerve, moved in
obedience to her will. The cocks
began to crow — the hour of midnight
was past.
When the phantom heard the
tones of the animals, and received
no answer from Catherine, she sud-
denly changed her ileshless face into
another, resembling an owl's: from
ILLUSTRATIONS OP POPULAR GERMAN SUPERSTITIONS.
157
the red eyes issued flashes of fire,
and she grinned like a howling hyae-
na. Her hands seemed to be trans-
formed into dog's paws, and her hair
into snakes, which breathed out pes-
tilential exhalations as they licked
the poor girl's face. A shriek of
horror escaped her, but it was chang-
ed in the thick atmosphere to a
scornful laugh, which was re-echoed
by the walls. " Get up, daughter !"
cried the phantom : " we must go
farther to-day; you shall be my
guest." With these words the hag
caught her in her arms, and carried
her like a corpse out of doors, where
they were met by a keen morning
breeze. A chariot constructed of
human bones stood ready at the door
to receive them, and away they went,
as if drawn by invisible spirits, out
of the village, just as the watchman
was proclaiming the first hour of
morning. " 'Tis well we have set
out," said the hag ; " a few minutes
later and we should have been left
lying in the church-yard."
The chariot flew like an arrow
through the air past the trees pow-
dered by frost, and pursued its course
through hedges and fences, over hill
and dale, and by church-yards and
places of execution. From the rocks
resounded shouts as of people for as-
sistance, and from the woods shrieks
of distress and cries of infants. The
stars dropped from the firmament,
and the moon crept into the murky
clouds which heavily rested on the
tops of the mountains; the earth
shook under the chariot, which did
not touch it, and a vehement wind
began to blow awav the snow before
them, as if to clear a passage. Amid
these horrors the curtain of night
was rent, and lightnings flashed
Vol. VIII. No. XLV.
through the recesses of the forests
which lay behind them. They were
upon a vast unknown heath, over
which Heaven had spread a white
sheet as men do over the dead. " We
are at our journey's end," muttered
the hag ; " there where the roads
meet is my abode, which you must
enter." It was the site of a field of
battle.
" Aha !" cried the phantom, tap-
ping thrice with the handle of a
knife on the spot where the roads
met, " aha! open!" A hollow sound
rose from the clefts in the earth ; the
ground shook and opened. The
dead issued from their graves, and
ghastly corses stalked across the
plain towards the hag's cauldron.
Headless trunks, without arms or
legs, moved across the heath, and
ranged themselves in a circle round
the demon, who ordered a feast to
be prepared. Catherine quivered
at her feet, as though in the convul-
sions of death, and stedfastly fixed
her eyes on the old woman, who whet-
ted the knife on a skull while she thus
spake : " On account of an unhal-
lowed passion, thou hast forgotten
me, and hast suffered me to sit hun-
gry by thy hearth : thou must pay
me what thou owest." She raised
the agonized girl, laid her across one
arm, and slowly thrust the knife into
her heart, whence ebbed the tide of
life. Eagerly pressing her cold
skinny lips to the wound, she drank
large draughts of the warm current.
Catherine sank like a paschal lamb
slaughtered at the altar of the Lord,
and profound silence pervaded the
assembly of the dead.
The reader knows that this was
but a dream. Catherine was found
at dawn of day extended near the
Y
158
the modern cassandra.
hearth, where not a spark yet glim-
mered. Her father, an old man, who
was wont to support himself on her
shoulders, shook her apparently life-
less body, and called back her spirit
from the empire of dreams into life.
Her dim eye opened, and she heaved
a deep sigh. Not a word of hope
and joy escaped her lips ; no sooner
had she related to her weeping pa-
rent what had befallen her, than
she begged that a clergyman might
be sent for, to administer to her the
sacrament. With her dying breath
she protested that her adventure was
not a dream, but that an infernal spi-
rit had sucked her heart's blood.
On examining her corpse, there were
found below the breast livid marks,
evidently caused by the convulsive
pressure of her own fingers. The
minister, as I was told, caused the
stone which I have described to be
placed as a warning over her grave.
THE MODERN
One fine day in autumn I was
taking the diversion of shooting in
the environs of Versailles. It was
not unusual for me on such occasions
to abandon myself to its pleasures
without reflection and reserve: hence
it happened that on this particular
day, after pursuing my sport for
many hours, I found myself in a part
of the country to which I was an
utter strange*. Little as I should have
cared for this circumstance at any
other time, yet at a moment when I
was hungry, thirsty, and fatigued, it
was by no means matter of indiffer-
ence to me. 1 now perceived too
that the sky was quite overcast, and
a heavy rain, which appeared likely
to last long, presently began to fall.
I sought shelter under the thick
branches of a spreading tree'; but,
convinced that it could not long pro-
tect me, I ascended the nearest emi-
nence, to try to discover some other
asylum in the vicinity. I was in the
middle of a range of woody hills, the
hollows of which, overgrown with
timber, presented the appearance of
a complete but not unpleasant wil-
derness. On ascending a little high-
er, I perceived, deeply embosomed
between two swelling hills, a narrow
CASSANDRA.
valley, where glistened a small lake,
the banks of which were covered
with wood. The spot appeared to
me peculiarly attractive, and no soon-
er did I discern a small column of
smoke rising from among the trees,
than I resolved to direct my steps
towards it, in hopes of finding a
cottage or woodman's hut, though,
with the exception of the smoke, I
could discover no traces of either. I
was obliged to make my way thither
through thick bushes, the ground
being at the same time soft and slip-
pery with the rain, before I could
turn the lake, beyond the last and
thickest shades of which the dwell-
ing I sought — if any such there
were — must lie. The barking of a
dog at a moderate distance, which
was answered by mine, confirmed my
conjecture; I pushed on vigorously
through the bushes, and soon reach-
ed the spot.
On a small level green, encompass-
ed with thick wood, appeared a cot-
tage, large enough to lodge and shel-
ter from the inclemency of the wea-
ther a contented pair, who have no
further need of the world, such as
Philemon and Baucis. A small gar-
den, gained with labour from the sto-
THE MODEH.N CASSANDRA.
159
ny soil, seemed, in fact, calculated
for the support of such a couple only.
I had scarcely time for these obser-
vations before the cottage-door open-
ed, and a man came forth. His sil-
very hair and the stoop in his shoul-
ders, though, in other respects, he
looked hale and hearty, realized in a
striking maimer my conception of
Philemon. He seemed to look round
with some surprise, perhaps to as-
certain the cause of the barking of
his dog, which furiously sprang to
and fro at the length of his chain.
I hastily went up to him, and apo-
logized for having broken in upon
his solitude, at the same time solicit-
ing permission to rest myself a little
in the cottage, till I should be suffi-
ciently recruited to pursue my way.
I remarked that the stranger started
at my approach, and still more at
the tone of my voice. He held his
hand above his eyes, perhaps for
the purpose of assisting his sight,
and with a slight obeisance, yet turn-
ing his face a little aside, he said,
" Come in!" Struck by the manner
of the stranger, which seemed by no
means to denote an ordinary rustic, I
followed him into the cottage. It was a
small mean-looking room, the furni-
ture of which as strongly attested the
poverty of the inmates as their love of
order. A female sat at a window
engaged in needle-work. The man
went up and spoke to her in a low
tone, while I availed myself of the
opportunity to look at her more mi-
nutely. She seemed to be of middle
age, and her whole air, like that of
the man, indicated a superior polish
to that of common rustics. She was
dressed entirely in black, almost in
the style of a nun, and her complex-
ion was rather dark, as if tanned' by
the sun: but her delicate features
and her large black eyes had a no-
ble and somewhat melancholy ex-
pression. She now rose, and as she
passed me with a polite salutation,
I had occasion to admire the dignity
and elegant symmetry of her figure.
The man had meanwhile stepped to
the window to observe the weather.
His behaviour denoted a certain un-
easiness and embarrassment. To
put an end to this, I once more be-
gan to apologize for my intrusion,
and to express my sorrow that my
presence had probably interrupted
some occupation in which he might
be engaged. He replied in a few
words, the turn and accent of which
betrayed the gentleman. The voice
sounded quite familiar to me; so too
were the features, on which I sted-
fastly fixed my eye as I approach-
ed nearer. Recollections long dor-
mant awoke within me. " Hea-
vens!" I exclaimed, " can it be? If
I am not mistaken, it is Baron Ho-
guet, that " — " Indeed you are
not mistaken," was the reply, accom-
panied with a melancholy smile : " I
am that very person, whom inexo-
rable fate has driven out of the lap
of abundance and splendour into this
seclusion! And it is gratifying to me
to know, that in the youngest of
my friends the remembrance of me
has survived that transient pleasure
which my wealth formerly afforded
to those who visited at my house."
The recollection of those days was
actually revived in me with such
force, that I gazed with pn found
and unrepressed emotion on the man
whom I had known in the height of
prosperity, whose hair was now whit-
ened and his form bowed by the
hand of time and so total a change
of fortune. " But how is it possible?"
I again exclaimed: " I believed you
Y 2
UiO
Tilk MODIlKN CASSANDRA.
to be dead." — " As all the world [
does," he rejoined sharply, " and as
I desire that it should do. I am dead
for the world, and desire to remain J
so ; and my only wish that I might [
be permitted to meet once more one I
of the few who were formerly dear
to my heart, is now fulfilled — thanks
be to chance, or rather to Providence,
which has led you hither! Let us
have some supper, my dear Manon,
the best that our frugal kitchen will
afford," said he, turning to the fe-
male, who had come back; " and the
last bottle of wine which I have saved
from better times may serve this
evening to celebrate a feast of me-
mory with our worthy guest."
Manon again retired. I looked
after her with a smile, observing,
" You have submitted I see, though
somewhat late, to the bonds of Hy-
men, and thereby furnished the best
refutation of your former maxims."
The baron had never before been
married, and his aversion to matri-
mony had frequently given occasion
to jokes between us; but he replied
very gravely, " You are mistaken !
Manon is not my wife, though she
deserves to be the wife of the best
man in France. It was the sponta-
neous impulse of her own heart that
induced her to sweeten my solitude
by her society, and to share a lot,
which, as you see, has no sort of
pleasures or temptations to offer.
But more of this by and by. You
now need rest above all things. Step
into my bed-room, and take a short
nap? while Manon gets supper ready
for us." With these words he open-
ed a door, which led into a very small
apartment, where he left me and
withdrew.
I found myself alone, but the sur-
prise of so unexpected a meeting
chased away all fatigue, and I had
complied with the baron's sugges-
tion rather from politeness than ne-
cessity. When left to myself, I be-
gan to examine the objects about me,
and to investigate the causes which
could have thrown the baron into
such a situation. All that I saw
served to encourage these reflections.
An old bedstead reminded me by
the traces of its once rich gilding of
the furniture of a splendid apart-
ment to which it formerly belonged;
and the worn-out binding of a few
books placed on a shelf fastened
against the wall, of the baron's noble
library, which had in other days af-
forded me such exquisite delight.
I took down some of the books; they
were chiefly poetical works, not only
French, but also English and Italian.
I had often had the same volumes
in my hands, and often entertained
the enlightened company which fre-
quented the baron's house by reci-
tations from them. At that time,
it might be eighteen or twenty years
ago, Baron Hoguet, alike distinguish-
ed for extraordinary wealth, refined
taste, and high intellectual attain-
ments, kept one of the most brilliant
houses in Paris; and among the fa-
shionable circles of that luxurious
capital, there was none where it was
possible to enjoy a richer treat than
at his table or in his salon. The
gourmand and the philosopher, the
bel-esprit and the statesman, were
alike fascinated; and all agreed that
our host would have passed for a
man of eminent talents and an excel-
lent companion, even without the
recommendation of a fortune of twen-
ty millions of francs.
To foreigners the baron's house
was particularly interesting, and it
was rendered interesting by them ;
Till-: MODERN CASSANDRA.
1(51
for whilst they here found all the
wit and beauty of Paris, they im-
parted themselves a peculiar charm
by the character of foreign manners
and polish. Thus scarcely any stran-
ger of eminence, whether statesman,
scholar, or artist, visited Paris with-
out soliciting and obtaining admis-
sion to Baron Hoguet's parties : nay,
many there found the means of lay-
ing the foundation of that fortune in
quest of which they had come to the
capital ; for the baron's extensive ac-
quaintance, and his connections with
the most distinguished persons of the
court, afforded him frequent occasion
to open the way for rising talents of
every kind ; and the generosity and
benevolence of his disposition caused
him to take delight in the exercise
of this sort of patronage. To him
I was myself indebted for my pro-
sperity in life. I had come as a
stranger to Paris, where a lucky ac-
cident procured me the acquaintance
of the baron. It was not long be-
fore I gained his particular esteem,
and besides the innumerable plea-
sures which thence resulted, it served
to open me a way to connections, by
the aid of which I obtained, without
much trouble, such an appointment
as satisfied my utmost ambition.
If the society of the baron and
his general acquaintance were highly
agreeable, still more so was the cir-
cle of the select friends whom he in-
vited to his country-seat at Chatillon,
near Meudon. His magnificent man-
sion there was like a fairy-palace,
and all that art, taste, and wealth
can accomplish, was put in requisi-
tion to embellish an abode already
charming by nature. Here the ba-
ron entertained his most intimate
friends, and such foreigners to whom
he was attached by some particular
interest. Here were to be seen tra-
vellers who had mingled with the il-
lustrious of every country, and dis-
tinguished statesmen, in familiar in-
tercourse with artists and poets, and
all contributing, from the stores of
experience and observation, or the
inspirations of genius, to the gene-
ral amusement. Females, possessing
beauty, grace, and wit, heightened
the charm of this society; and though
it was love alone that introduced
them into it, still no person of ordi-
nary stamp could obtain admission
there. The baron was himself living
at that time on an intimate footing
with a dancer of exquisite beauty,
and her enchanting talent frequently
served to heighten our enjoyment of
these social parties. For several years
I participated their manifold plea-
sures; but official duties tben obliged
me to leave Paris. I passed many
years in distant provinces, and after-
wards abroad. When, after this
long absence, I returned to the capi-
tal of France, I found that many
changes had taken place : the friends
of those days were dispersed far and
wide ; many were dead, and among
the latter was Baron Hoguet. I
heard with sorrow that his cir-
cumstances had gradually declined.
Trusting to fortune, which had pre-
viously smiled on him without inter-
mission, he had entered into exten-
sive speculations, which had failed.
Large sums which he had advanced
to the government were not repaid ;
several commercial houses in which
the greatest part of his fortune was
invested had become bankrupt ;
and to complete his misfortunes, a
destructive fire had consumed his
most important papers and books of
accounts, so that any arrangement
of* his very complicated affairs was
K)i
THE MODERN CASSANDRA.
rendered impracticable. It was no
wonder that such repeated strokes
of adversity should shake the philo-
sophy of a man who had hitherto
been nursed in the lap of prosperity.
Broken down with grief, he had
been seen for some time living in a
state which, compared with his for-
mer circumstances, might be termed
needy. He had then quitted Paris,
to retire, as he said, with the wreck
of his property into the country,
whence the tidings of his death soon
reached the few who yet inquired
after him ; and as he left no near
relatives, the good baron, together
with the claims which his heirs would
have been authorized to make, was
soon forgotten amid the constant
succession of scenes and actors in
the capital.
All these recollections, as they
crowded upon my mind, fully occu-
pied me, and excited a strong desire
to know the motive which could
have induced him to circulate the
report of his death. I could scarce-
ly await the moment that was to sa-
tisfy my curiosity on this point.
The baron at length entered.
" Our little repast," said he, "is wait-
ing for us, and I long to recal once
more, in your company, the days
that are past." I followed him into
the sitting-room. A small table was
laid for two persons, and on it were
placed some very simple dishes and
fruit ; a bottle of generous Burgun-
dy stood on each side. The fine
quality of the table-cloth and the
old-fashioned porcelain reminded me
of the baron's former style of living.
" My good Manon," said he, smiling,
and pointing to the bottles, " had in
reserve for me a bottle more than I
knew of: I am heartily glad of it ;
for much as I have forgotten of for-
mer habits, I am still particularly
fond of taking a glass while talking
with a friend ; and such a visitor as
you is not likely to be seen here in a
hurry." — " But," said I, pointing to
the two covers, " where is your
friend ? will she not sup with us ?"
"Manon never takes supper," here-
plied : " she h.as retired, that she
might not be an impediment to our
conversation, which could not in her
presence touch so freely upon my
past vicissitudes as I see your curio-
sity would wish — at least not with-
out giving pain to Manon."
We sat down : the baron acted
the part of host in the fascinating
manner peculiar to himself, gaily ad-
verting to the little he now possessed
to enable him to perform that office.
After the conversation had turned
for some time on subjects relating to
my own situation, " You know too
well," he at length began, returning
to himself, " the way in which I was
living when you left Paris, for me to
have occasion to assure you that I was
then extremely well oft*. In fact, if
wealth, a cultivated mind, and a con-
science unwrung by bad actions, are
capable of affording happiness, I can
say that I enjoyed it. Nor was that
friendship which is best calculated
to cheer the life of a person of ma-
ture years wanting, and I may assert
that the attachment of many excel-
lent men contributed to embellish
mine. Soon after your departure
from Paris, I became acquainted with
a Swedish count, whom a fondness
for travelling, or rather a secret di-
plomatic mission, had brought to our
court. He was a man of the most
distinguished qualities, and his socie-
ty the most interesting I ever knew.
I had occasion to render him some
services, which were not quite unim-
THE MODERN CASSANDRA.
163
portant to the object of his mission,
and on which his kindness for me
caused him to set a higher value than
they perhaps deserved. This united
us still more closely, and we were
soon so intimate, that I felt that I had
not enjoyed the happiness of friend-
ship, in its fullest extent, before I
knew the count. He confided to me
the most important secrets. Most
accomplished in every respect, and
prosecuting with ardent zeal the in-
terests of his court, his penetration
discovered in the proceedings of
other nations all that tended to pro-
mote or obstruct it; and, assuming the
utmost indifference, he played with
perfect dignity the subtlest game of
the finished diplomatist. My even-
ing parties could not but conduce to
his objects ; but in our select circles
the count appeared only as a man,
and that in a not less interestino
point of view. They were, as he
often assured me, his only and most
delightful recreation, when, throwing
off for a short time the heavy bur-
den of important state affairs, he al-
lowed full scope to the sweet emo-
tions of unlimited confidence, friend-
ship, and even love ; and gave him-
self up to them, that he might return
with renewed zeal to his duties to an
adored sovereign. The count fre-
quently accompanied me to my coun-
try-seat at Chatillon. You recollect
the delightful days which we spent
there, and will easily believe that the
presence of such a man as the count
could only tend to enhance their
pleasures. But as our friendship
became more intimate, we learned to
dispense with almost all other society
at our rural abode ; our circle be-
came more and more contracted, and
at length comprehended, besides
ourselves, only a few very intimate
friends of tried reciprocal attach-
ment.
" The count was at that time
connected with a female of whom he
was dotingly fond. He had met with
her during a tour in the Pyrenees ;
she derived her origin from the
Basques, and nature had liberally
combined in her all the charms of
person, mental powers and capacity,
which are possessed in such a high
degree by that tribe of mountaineers.
Manon's affection for the count knew
no bounds. This it was that in-
duced her to quit her native land,
and to accompany the object of her
love to so strange a world as Paris
must necessarily have been to her;
and it was interesting to observe how
the understanding of the lovely child
of Nature developed itself under the
tuition of her adored protector ; how
rapidly she acquired knowledge and
talents, without which it would have
been impossible to please a man so
highly polished for any length of
time ; while her mind, nevertheless,
retained its originality, which was of
an extraordinary kind, and displayed
great profundity of imagination and
a certain elegiac tone.
" The count's mistress frequent-
ly accompanied him in his visits to
Chatillon ; but at such times we
durst not have much company, be-
cause, to use his own words, the
strange creature could not accustom
herself to large parties, and was shy
to strangers, among whom she was
mostly silent and reserved. So much
the more amiable did Manon appear
in our little circle, when, in compli-
ance with the count's request, she
sometimes performed the national
dance of the Basques, in which she
displayed inexpressible grace ; or
when she drew tears from our eyes
164
TIITl LITERARY COTERVtl.
by singing one of her little romantic
songs to the harp, which instrument
the count had, according to her wish,
caused her to be taught to play ; for
never did I hear a more enchanting
voice, and you will readily believe
that I had abundant opportunities
for appreciating vocal excellence."
( To be concluded hi our next.)
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
No. XIX.
Present, Dr. Piumkose, Captain Piumrose, Basil Fikedkake, Mr. Apathy, Counsellor
Eitiierside, and Reginald Hii.debrand.
Our meeting this month was not
graced by the presence of any of the
ladies, who, under the protection of
Mr. Mathews and Mr. Montague,
were enjoying the pure sea breezes
of Scarborough — that fashionable
place of resort, to which the young
and the gay flock to find amusement,
and the invalid to seek health. When
I entered the " place of rendezvous,"
I found the gentlemen, whose names
stand at the commencement of my
article, all looking very solemn and
very dull; they appeared sensibly to
feel the absence of that part of the
creation, without whose presence
" The world is sad — the garden is a wild ;"
and were each, though they all (ex-
cept Basil Fiiedrake) seemed to be
occupied with books, rather chewing
the cud of their own reflections, than
" devouring, with eager eye," the
contents of the open pages before
them. After rallying them on their
" woe-begone" appearance, I had
the- curiosity to inspect the literary
stores which they had collected to
form the groundwork of our even-
ing's conversazione. The vicar was
perusing the Rev. Charles Swan's
Journal of a Voyage up the Medi-
terranean. Captain Primrose had a
huge pile before him, which I found
to consist of the second edition of
James's Naval History, and the
Memoirs of a French Serjeant. Mr.
Apathy, whose head kept time to the
air of " We're a' noddin," held a
neat- looking volume in his hand,
which I found to be Poems, Miscel-
laneous and Sacred, by H. Rogers;
and Counsellor Eitherside was busily
occupied with Annals of the House
of Hanover, by Dr. Halliday. I laid
on the table two volumes, containing
a poetical tale, intitled The Wan-
derer of Scandinavia, by Sibella
Elizabeth Hatfield; and taking my
accustomed seat, asked Captain Fire-
drake why he alone was unoccupied,
when his companions seemed to be
so busily employed.
Basil Firedrake. Oh, I have been
poring over James's History till I am
tired ; I have handed the volumes to
Horace. Just before you came in we
were busily engaged in discussing a
melancholy subject — the death of
Nelson — a subject which, such is
the uncertainty that attends all his-
toric records, seems to be involved
in doubt and obscurity, though we
had thought all the details were per-
fectly known.
Reginald. In what respect ?
Basil Firedrake. WThy, in all re-
spects— as to the manner of his
death, and as to the individual who
inflicted the fatal wound. At least so
Mr. James and Horace say, though my
opinion is not changed at all about it.
Reginald. Come, Horace, let us
know the new lights which have been
thrown upon this subject.
tltTL L1TF.1JAUY C0TCK1E.
165
Horace. It has been generally re-
ported and believed, on the autho-
rity, as I always understood, of eye-
witnesses, that his lordship was, on
the 21st of October, arrayed in all
those orders which had been con-
ferred upon him as the reward of his
gallantry ; that he was shot by a man
from themizen-top of the French ves-
sel (Le Redoubtable), who was al-
most immediately after killed by a
seaman of the Victory ; and it is cer-
tain, that a man who claimed to have
avenged in this manner the death of
his brave commander, was living not
long since (and indeed may be alive
now), in the neighbourhood of Lon-
don, in the enjoyment of a pension.
Mr. James, however, intimates that
his lordship was not decorated in
this manner ; and says,
Admitting also (which is very doubt-
ful), that the French seaman, or marine,
whose shot had proved so fatal, had se-
lected for his object, as the British com-
mander-in-chief, the best dressed man
of the two, he would most probably have
fixed upon Captain Hardy ; or indeed,
such, in spite of Doctor Beatty's print,
was Lord Nelson's habitual carelessness,
upon any one of the Victory's lieute-
nants that might have been walking by
the side of him.
Basil Firedrake. What proof does
Mr. James adduce of the truth of
these assertions? The statements
already published rest on the autho-
rity o officers of the Victory, who
could not be mistaken.
Horace. In some things it would
appear they were. This book (lay-
ing his hand on a volume before him)
has just made its appearance, from
the shop of Mr. Colburn ; it is en-
titled Memoirs of a French Serjeant.
The author served on board Le Re-
Voi, viii. No. xr.v.
doubtable at the battle of Trafalgar :
he says,
On the poop of the English vessel was
an officer covered with orders, and with
only one arm. From what I heard of
Nelson, I had no doubt that it was he.
He was surrounded by several officers,
to whom he seemed to be giving orders.
Thus far he contradicts Mr. James,
and supports the previously published
account. But then, in contradiction
to the statement that deliberate aim
was taken at the conspicuous figure
of Nelson, and that the soldier who
wounded him was afterwards shot,
he says (after having stated that all
the men in the top were killed or
wounded but himself),
As I had received no orders to go
down, and found myself forgotten in the
tops, I thought it my duty to fire on the
poop of the English vessel, which I saw
quite exposed, and close to me. I could
even have taken aim at the men I saw,
but I fired at hazard amongst the groups
I saw of sailors and officers. All at
once I saw great confusion on board the
Victory ; the men crowded round the offi-
cer whom I had taken for Nelson. He
had just fallen, and was taken below, co-
vered with a cloak. The agitation shew-
ed at this moment left me no doubt that
I had judged rightly, and that it really
was the English admiral. An instant
afterwards the Victory ceased from fir-
ing ; the deck was abandoned by all
i those who occupied it ; and I presumed
i that the consternation produced by the
| admiral's fall was the cause of this sud-
! den change.
The admiral had indeed fallen; and,
after the Redoubtable struck, the
author and Admiral Villeneuve were
conveyed, with others, on board the
Victory, and then brought to Eng-
land.
Z
166
THE LITIKAltY C0TEU1K.
Counsellor Either side. Who was,
or is, this French serjeant?
Horace. Nay, that we have no
means of knowing, except from the
account winch he gives of himself.
It appears he was born at Sixfour,
near Toulon, in 1785. He was bal-
loted for a conscript at the age of
twenty, and sent on board Admiral
Villeneuve's ship, in which, as al-
ready stated, he was present at the
battle of Trafalgar. He was ap-
pointed secretary to Villeneuve after
the action, and returned with him to
France ; and he gives the following
account of the death of that officer,
who, it has always been supposed,
fell a victim to the vengeance of Buo-
naparte. Shortly after Villeneuve's
arrival in England, he was liberated
on his parole, and proceeded into
Devonshire, where Robert Guille-
lnard (for that is the name of the
serjeant) accompanied him. On the
exchange of the admiral, they went
to France, and arrived at Rennes
three days after their landing, put-
ting up at the Hotel du Bresil. The
same afternoon four individuals ar-
rived, who did not appear to be
Frenchmen, one of whom asked G uil-
lemard a number of questions. In
the evening this person brought ano-
ther (apparently a Frenchman), who
repeated the same questions in a more
commanding tone. They were Ulti-
mately joined by the other three;
the five then left the hotel together,
returned in about an hour after, went
up to their room, had long confer-
ences, and finally separated.
As the admiral was to rise at day-
break, he went to bed at ten o'clock.
Prieur slept at the post-house where the
carriage was, and he was to come for us in
the morning, so as to prevent delay. I
assisted the admiral in undressing-; he re-
tained me a few minutes, and finally dis-
missed me, by telling me to keep a light
in my room, to draw the door on me
only, and call him in the morning, as soon
as Prieur came. I retired to a cham-
ber in the story above, where I was lodg-
ed, and in ten minutes afterwards was in
a profound sleep.
I was suddenly awakened by a loud
noise, which I thought came from the
admiral's apartment. It increased ; the
noise of voices was heard, and then
came cries of pain, that left no doubt of
the occurrence of some catastrophe. I
sprung from my bed, and only taking
time to snatch the light and a sabre the
admiral had bought me at Morlaix, I
rushed in a moment along the staircase
that led to his room, and heard very dis-
tinctly the precipitate steps of several
persons running off. I doubled my speed,
and immediately under me perceived the
individual who had spoken to me the
evening before, skulking off towards the
ground-floor. I have since reflected that
there was no change in his dress, and that
he had not been in bed. Something
urged me to pursue him, but my first im-
pulse led me to the admiral's room, the
door of which I forced open. I advanced
a few steps, and saw the unfortunate man,
whom the balls of Trafalgar had respect-
ed, stretched pale and bloody on the bed,
with the coverlets scattered on the floor.
He was pale and livid, breathed hard,
and struggled with the agonies of death.
He recognised me ; attempted in vain
to rise, tried to speak some phrases, but
the only words I could make out were
those of commissary or secretary, and he
breathed his last before I could even
think of procuring him the smallest as-
sistance. Five deep wounds pierced
his breast : yet no weapon, no arms of
any kind were near him. 1 called, and
rang the bell with all my force. In a
moment the master of the hotel, and the
travellers who occupied it, filled the
apartment ; the confusion was very great;
and the first, the only idea entertained
Till' LITERARY COTKIUK.
MP
was, that the admiral had been assassi-
nated. Yet the same day I saw, with as
much surprise as sorrow, the admiral in-
terred without pomp or ceremony ; and,
what was strongly inconsistent with the
night before, I heard every one say that
he had himself shortened his days, and
terminated his life by five stabs, of a
poignard. Every time that I wished to
express what I thought on the subject,
they refused to listen to me, or talked of
something else- I could not obtain any
information when I inquired about the
little man and his four attendants. The
people of the house refused to give me
any information concerning them, and
would never pay the smallest attention
to my suspicions. I have myself been
much astonished since that I did not
push my inquiries any further, and that
I did not attempt to give notice to the
public magistrate.
Reginald. And pray, what became
of this individual, who had seen so
much that he ought not to have
seen and heard more than it was in-
tended he should have heard? Does
he give the sequel of his adventures?
Horace. O yes: subsequently to
the death of Villeneuve, he served
in Germany and in Spain. In the
latter country he was taken prison-
er, and sent to Cabrera, on which
barren rock he and some thousands
of his countrymen lived a wretched
life, having no shelter but what they
constructed themselves, and being
once exposed to great privations, dur-
ing which time (four days) 450 in-
dividuals died: yet, with the cha-
racteristic thoughtlessness of French-
men, they constructed a rude thea-
tre, and got up dramatic representa-
tions, chiefly through the means of
Robert Guillemard. Duels were
frequent amongst them; and crimes
were punished by their own code of
laws. Our author escaped from this
horrid place, and joined the French
army at the siege of Tortosa. It
was here that he was made a Ser-
jeant, and rewarded with the cross
of the Legion of Honour for his ser-
vices during the siege. In 1812 he
served in the Russian campaign, and
was taken prisoner and sent to Si-
beria. Since then lie has been al-
ternately a Bourbonite and a Buona-
partist, and his last service was in
Spain in 1828. He is now discharg-
ed.
Reginald. A very ingenious ro-
mance, upon my word !
Horace. Romance !
Reginald. Aye, romance! You do
not suppose that this book contains
the genuine and bona, fide adven-
tures of a French serjeant, do you?
Horace. To be sure I do.
Reginald. Then you are greener
than I took you to be. Why the
whole is a highly coloured narrative
of, perhaps, a few real adventures,
interspersed with so many romantic
and improbable incidents, that it re-
quires a reader with a tolerable share
of credulity to believe them. I much
question whether he was actually
engaged in any one of the scenes he
talks so much about; as there wants
a keeping about them, a sort of con-
catenation of events, a few corrobo-
rating circumstances, to warrant us
in giving credit to them. Some are
absolutely at variance with the facts
of the case; and I wonder, Basil,
so intimately acquainted as you are
with the subject which introduced
this gasconading adventure, the death
of Nelson, that you have not detect-
ed the variations from truth in his
account of it.
Basil. Belay, mate, belay! I not-
ed several observations in my log-
book, when looking over his account
Z 2
168
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
of the transaction, and now to over-
haul my reckoning. He says he was
taken on board the Victory with
Admiral Villenenve and the crew of
the Redoubtable, and made secre-
tary to the former whilst on board :
the crew of the Redoubtable were
not taken on board the Victory, but
on board the Swiftsure. Then he
tells us, the Victory arrived at Ply-
mouth on the 27th of November:
she did not arrive till December. He
also says, he shot our beloved admi-
ral through the right shoulder: he
was shot through the left*. Now
these discrepancies are sufficient to
make me doubt all his account of
the transactions on board the Re-
doubtable and Victory; and as I do not
know what grounds Mr. James has
for questioning the generally receiv-
ed narrative of Nelson's death, I
shall adhere to that, which I believe
to be perfectly correct.
Reginald. So do I. But we must
not disparage Mr. James's book,which
is a very useful companion to the
sea-officer, and will be invaluable to
the future historian. He has the
merit of having brought to light
the actions of many meritorious offi-
cers, who would otherwise have been
unknown to fame; and, as a careful
and laborious compiler, he has very
few equals.
The Vicar. I shall take an early
opportunity of perusing Mr. James's
* By a singular coincidence, these va-
riations from the real facts are pointed
out in the Literary Gazette of the 22d of
July ; but the writer only receives that
publication in parcels of several numbers
at a time; and this was written before he
saw the one which contains the review of
the French Serjeant. He at first thought
of erasing this passage, but on second
thoughts, he resolved to let it remain.
history, which I have not yet done.
Of late, Greece has engaged much
of my attention; and I have been
reading most of the works that treat
of the origin and progress of the
struggle now making by the Greek
people for independence, and that
pourtray the present state of the
country.
Reginald. And which would you
recommend as giving the best infor-
mation, and which may, therefore,
be read with most profit?
The Vicar. Why, Mr. Wadding-
ton's book gives a very succinct nar-
rative of the rise and progress of the
revolution; Mr. Blaquiere's narrative
also contains some valuable informa-
tion; but Colonel Leake's Historical
Outline of the Greek Revolution is,
perhaps, the best, as far as the his-
torical details are concerned. With
respect to the situation and prospects
of the people, you may now consult
the Journals of Mr. Emmerson, An
Autumn in Greece by Mr. Bulwer,
or the Journal of the Rev. Charles
Swan. The latter, with some ir-
relevant, and, perhaps, impertinent
matter, is still a very interesting
book.
Mr. Apathy. It is ; and I can as-
sure all those who have not read it,
that they have a treat in store. I
may say the same of this little vo-
lume, the production of a youth of
nineteen, Henry Rogers: it contains
poems of high merit, that give indi-
cations of much future excellence.
You shall judge:
THE MESSIAH WEEPING OVER JERU-
SALEM.
The Persian monarch, when he led
To Greece, in proud array,
His thousand thousand warriors, shed
A tear, to thinly that they,
Ere one brief hundred years had sped,
Should all be numbered with the dead.
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
169
He wept, and bade his army go
To fight with Greece again:
A few short months, and Greece laid low
His warriors on the plain.
Thus his ambition gave the lie
To his own false humanity.
The haughty- minded Roman wept
At mighty Carthage fall ; •
But still the scenes o'er which he slept,
Himself had wrought them all;
He wept o'er scenes his sword had bought,
He wept o'er ruin he had wrought.
Not such as these were those blesttears
Which from Messiah fell,
When in the view of coming years,
His heart foreboded well
The misery of Salem's lot,
The desolation of that spot.
Oh ! they were foes for whom he mourned,
And foes he sought to save;
But they his pitying mere)' spurned,
And all that mercy gave.
Such tears no human eye bedewed —
With godlike love they were imbued.
Counsellor Eitherside. The vo-
lume was sent to me; I read it, and
recollect a more striking specimen
of the author's talents than the one
Mr. Apathy has just read, at least
in my opinion. It is called The De-
dication of the Temple.
Mr. Apathy. Here it is. It is
founded on 2 Chron. v. vi. vii. 1, % 3.
Each pillar of the temple rang,
The trumpets sounded loud and keen,
And every minstrel blithely sang,
With harps and symbols oft between :
And while those minstrels sang and played,
The mystic cloud of glory fell ;
That shadowy light, that splendid shade,
In which Jehovah loves to dwell.
It slowly fell, and hovered o'er
The outspread forms of cherubim;
The priests could bear the sight no more,
Their eyes were with its splendour dim.
The king cast off his crown of pride,
And bent him to the ground ;
And priest and warrior, side by side,
Knelt humbly all around.
Deep awe fell down on every soul,
Since God was present there,
And not the slightest breathing stoic
Upon the stilly air ;
Till he, their prince, with earth-bent eyes,
And head uncrowned and bare,
And hands stretched forth in reverend guise,
To heaven preferred his prayer.
That prayer arose from off the ground,
Upon the perfumed breath,
Which streaming censers poured around
In many a volumed wreath;
That prayer was heard — and heavenly fire
Upon the altar played,
And burnt the sacrificial pyre
Beneath the victim laid.
And thrice resplendent from above
The cloud of glory beamed,
And with immingled awe and love
Each beating bosom teemed.
They bowed them on the spacious floor,
With heaven-averted eye,
And blessed his name who deigned to pour
His presence from on high.
Reginald. Several volumes of po-
etry have made their appearance
during the month. The Wanderer
of Scandinavia is a metrical tale of
very unequal merit, founded on the
adventures of Gustavus Vasa, from
his imprisonment in the castle of
Calo, in North Jutland, to which for-
tress he was conveyed from the dun-
geons of Copenhagen, to his final
triumph over the enemies of his
country. The faults of the young
author are, a great obscurity of style
in many parts, and an inexcusable
carelessness with respect to the melo-
dy of the versification. Such rhymes
as eve and wave, child and thrill'd,
dust and rest, and others equally
faulty, disgrace most of the pages.
Yet the volumes evince genius, and
genius too, that with careful cultiva-
tion may produce something of a
much higher order than the Wan-
derer of Scandinavia.
Counsellor Eitherside. Are you
not inclined to be hypercritical, Re-
ginald ?
Reginald. No : I will give the
fair authoress all due praise; but
170
THE LITEIIAUY COTKRlE.
had I the means of conveying my
opinion to her, I should tell her how
necessary it is that she should cor-
rect her faults. But I can select
some passages of great merit from
the poem. The appearance of the
captive Gustavus at a banquet, and
the effect his presence produced up-
on the Lady Edra, daughter of Lord
Edric Bana, whose prisoner he was,
is well described in the following
lines:
But who is he of noble mien,
Now at the arched entrance seen ;
That all the glittering group surveys
With eye whose every glance betrays
The soul no power on earth can bend,
Uowe'er dark dest'ny downward tend j
Whose polish'd brow the ivory throne
Seems of the spirit's dignity,
Ne'er from its realm of beauty torn,
Tint shining there in majesty,
'Midst every varied change of fate,
That makes that bosom desolate ?
The quivering breast of the maid could tell,
Did it heave as before with hope's sweet
swell ;
The burning cheek, and the stealing eye,
In their lovely beam and crimson dye:
But tells she not in other tongue ?
What means that start, that faded cheek,
And then that calm, as if was hung
Despair o'er all the spirit meek ?
None other such dye o'er her cheek could
fling !
None other such start to her soul could bring !
But he, the noble captive Swede,
Who comes, by lord Erie's prayer decreed,
To steal suspicion from the soul
Of the vizor'd knight, in gloomy stole.
Not he advanced to share the board
With Calo's guests, with Calo's lord;
Apart the captive wSrrior stood,
Nor dared, in pleasure's lightest mood,
One from amidst the joyous train
Seek from his silent lips to gain
Word of reply to question bold,
That scorn or hatred's power told.
Gustavus's entrance into the mines
of Dalecarlia is also told in vivid
strains :
Descending from his hanging car,
Upon the platform stretching far,
Survey'd the chief the varied view,
With feelings to his bosom new.
There, amid rocks and caverns bare,
Deep redden'd with the torches' glare,
Labour'd strong forms for many a day,
That scarce had gazed on sunny ray,
I Or breath'd the healthful gale of morn,
Or the sweet breeze of evening, borne
Along the purple heath;
Plying the never-ceasing stroke,
While the dull echoes round awoke,
Like voices from the cave of death.
In scatter'd groups, around were seen
Females, that scarce of female mien
One soft'ning vestige had retain 'd,
So had their toil their features stain'd,
So rudely fell their matted hair
Upon their shoulders brown and bare,
And in their eyes a look so wild
As pity into horror ehill'd.
But weak and vain, by face and hue
The secret soul it were to view :
Beneath that wild unsightly mien,
And garb of poverty,
Were hidden souls to feeling keen,
As open and as high
As those mid palace walls and bowers
That spend their soft and silken hours.
One to Gustavus held the hand,
And welcomed him amongst the band ;
Then, snatching up a flaming torch,
Led him beneath a. rock-hewn arch,
Whose variegated sides display'd
Where the rich ore's fair mass was laid,
And to his hand, with meaning smile,
Gave the rude weapons of his toil.
11 Onrs is a lone and humble shed,
Stranger," with soften'd voice she said :
" But if thou choose, its shade is thine,
Long as thou labourest in the mine."
Gustavus, grateful, bent his head ;
" And be it e'er my home," he said,
" With such reward as poverty
And toil united may supply."
Horace Primrose. Sibyl's Leaves :
Poems and Sketches, by Elizabeth
Willesford Mills, contains some gems
of a pure water. I like the follow-
ing verses :
They said I must not sing of love,
I threw my lyre away ;
For, oh ! I could not wake one tone
Without that sweetest lay !
'Twas strange to bid a woman's heart
Forbear its loveliest power;
They might as well tell Nature's hand
It must not rear a flower.
TUT. LITERARY COTERIE.
171
They might as well forbid the sky
To give her forms of light —
Tell forms of light they must not shine
Upon the clouds of night.
The flow'rets, they are Nature's own,
And stars the midnight seek ;
And Love his sweet untranquil rose
Has thrown on woman's cheek.
'Tis vain to fly from destiny,
For all is ruled above;
Nature has flowers, and night has stars,
And woman's heart has love.
And if I must not sing of love,
Throw, throw the lyre away;
For, oh ! I cannot wake one tone,
Without life's dearest lay !
The Vicar. I think The Crazed
Maid of Venice, by the author of
Giuseppino, a very favourable speci-
men of the poetical talent of the day.
It is the story of a girl whose brain
is turned by love —
Love, by whose hallow'd influence
We break and spurn the joys of sense;
On whose white wings we soar above,
Like native dwellers of the skies ;
Whose birthplace was in Paradise,
That had but utterable joys
Before the birth of Love !
Basil Firedrake. Why, zounds,
cousin, what rhapsodies you are in !
Such a warm eulogium on love does
not suit a man of your cloth. What
would Mrs. Primrose say?
The Vicar. I only quoted the
poem, Basil, which I would recom-
mend you to read.
Basil. Not I, 'faith : I have no
taste for poetry, except it be a good
sea-song, like " The Storm," " Tom
Bowling," or aught of that — but for
any thing else,
" I'd rather be a kitten, and cry mew !
Than one of these same metre-ballad mon-
gers."
Reginald. That is your taste, my
gallant companion ; and I, who love
to hear the songs of Dibdin sung by
a British tar, nevertheless have a
keen relish for poetry of a different
order. Now there is a " Wizard
Song" in the volume which our good
host has mentioned, as fine in its way
as ever any of Dibdin's. Hearken :
By the shore of the sea, the wild shore of
the sea,
'Tis there, 'tis there I love to be,
When the storm hath past, with a harrowing
blast,
O'er the billowy wilderness dark and vast;
When the sea-sepulchres disgorge
Their new dead to the foaming surge,
That flings its prey unto the land,
And smooths their biers on the trackless
sand ;
When the dismal wreck floats to the shore,
Whereon its crew shall tread no more,
And the mighty ocean heaves as thougli
'Twcre tired with the long, long work of woe ;
When the low winds breathe the knell of the
diown'd
With a most bewailing sound —
There let my gloomy pastime be,
As one who fears not storms or sea.
When new-made widows, maids bereft
Of youth's fond dream, and orphans left
Homeless on earth, and childless eld,
Have on the dreary beach beheld
The ghastly change that death has wrought
On each pale corse they tottering sought ;
Or search'd, though many an hour in vain,
For the vanish'd that none shall see again,
Shuddering at the sun, that seems
To mock them with returning beams,
And at the seas, now waveless grown,
When all the grievous scathe is done: —
Then let me roam beside the deep,
With watchful eyes that will not weep ;
Then let me human grief behold,
But not as one of mortal mould.
Basil. Aye, it sounds well ; but is
not equal to " Lovely Nan," " Tom
Clewline," or " Tom Bowling."
Horace. Such is the force of pro-
fessional prejudice ; but don't avow
that opinion publicly, or you will be
laughed at by every one.
Basil. Publicly or privately, all's
one to me ; I shall never shrink from
avowing my opinions because they
may displease any one who hears
me. I should as soon think of strik-
ing the British fiiig to a I7rcnch-
\n
THE MTl.KAItV COTERIE,
man, whilst a shot was left in the
locker.
The Vicar. What do you think of
the Annals of the House of Hano-
ver, Counsellor?
Counsellor Either side. It is a va-
luable book, which ought to be in the
library of every Englishman. I have
read and re-read it, for I take de-
light in dwelling upon the past his-
tory of the noble house which now
fills the British throne. Sir Andrew
has condensed his facts very ably,
and given a very clear though con-
cise view of the events of the period
over which his " Annals " extend.
Take, for example, his account of
the origin of the feud between the
Guelphs and Ghibellines :
In 1116, the Countess Matilda died at
her palace of Bondeno, in the 69th year
of her age. She was, as we have stated,
the daughter of Boniface, Marquis of
Tuscany, a cadet of the family of Guelph,
and one of the most powerful princes in
Italy. Her mother was the daughter of
Conrad the Salic, and the sister of Hen-
ry III. Succeeding to the princely do-
mains of her father, which comprehended
Tuscany, Lombardy, and the duchy of
Mantua, she married the Duke of Lor-
raine, who was a man of talent, but ex-
cessively deformed. After his death
she married, in 1089, the young Prince
of Bavaria, from whom she was divorced
in 1095; but there being no issue of either
marriage, she is said to have intrigued
with Gregory VII. and it is certain that
she supported the cause of that pope,
in opposition to her uncle and the inter-
ests of the empire. Her army was com-
manded by the Marquis Azo of Este,
and was the cause of Henry IV. 's humi-
liation ; and the wars which she sup-
ported and carried on were the begin-
ning of those contests which so long
ravaged Italy, under the name of the
Guelph and Ghihelline factions. At her
death she bestowed her whole property
on the church. The emperor, however,
refused to ratify that will, and Guelph
claimed the estates as her legitimate heir.
After many fruitless attempts at negoci-
ation, the emperor marched his army
a second time to Rome, drove the pope
from his capital, and took possession of
that city, with the states of Matilda.
Sentence of excommunication was in con-
sequence pronounced against Henry and
his party, and a formidable league was
organized by the Archbishop of Mentz,
which, for a while, gave the church party
the advantage.
The Vicar. In those days very
frivolous causes produced quarrels
of great magnitude and long dura-
tion, and, not unfrequently, bloody
wars.
The Counsellor. Yes : I recollect
an instance related by Sir Andrew,
of a war which commenced in 1225
on a very ridiculous provocation :
The Baron of Assemburg, whose
estates lay in the duchy of Brunswick,
was desirous of an excuse for throwing
off his allegiance ; and as the armorial
bearing of the duke, his sovereign, was
a lion, and his own a bear, he got some
herald to paint a standard with a bear on
the back of a lion, pulling him by the
ears. This insult was a sufficient cause
for Albert to take up arms, and it was
the cause of a civil war in the duchy of
Brunswick, which lasted nearly three
years, and involved in ruin not only the
Baron of Assemburg, but many others,
among whom were the Lord of Wolfen-
buttel and the Count of Everstein. The
former was brought into the contest by
the Bishop of Hildesheim, and the latter
at the instigation of the Archbishop of
Mentz.
Horace. The baron paid dearly for
his joke. He had better have kept
his bear chained up, and not have
let him loose to growl at the lion of
Brunswick.
Tllli LITER All Y COTEUIF.
17.3
The Vicar. The house of Guelph
is of great antiquity?
The Counsellor. Yes : the first
founder of the dynasty was Anul-
phus, Hanulphus, or Guelph, who
flourished in the latter part of the
fifth century ; and the family has
been divided at times into various
branches, which possessed property
in Germany and Italy. They were
united in the person of Guelph,
Count of Altdorf, Duke of Bavaria,
and sovereign lord of the Italian
principalities, about the year 1100,
and again divided about 1592 ; from
which latter period the families of
Hanover and Brunswick more imme-
diately take their rise. The cele-
brated ancestor of the reigning fa-
mily of Great Britain, the Princess
Sophia, is thus described by our his-
torian :
She was a woman of uncommon beau-
ty, and of a masculine understanding.
At the age of seventy-three, she pos-
sessed all the vigour of youth, stepped
as firm as a young lady, and had not a
wrinkle in her face, nor one tooth out
of her head ; she read without specta-
cles, and was constantly employed. The
chairs of the presence-chamber were all
embroidered with her own hands, as also
the ornaments for the altar of the elec-
toral chapel. She was a great walker,
and generally spent two or three hours
daily in perambulating the garden and
pleasure-grounds about Herrnhausen.
She possessed great general knowledge,
and was the firm friend and protector of
the learned men of her day. She was
the first to discover the genius of the
immortal Leibnitz ; and her munificence
and condescension attached that philoso-
pher to her court during the greater part
of his life. Her most happy hours were
spent in his society ; and she took a warm
interest in the success of his discoveries
Vol. VIII. No. XLV.
in science, and in the promulgation of
his well-merited fame. She spoke five
languages so well, that by her accent it
was doubtful which was her native
tongue. The Low Dutch, the German,
the Italian, French, and English were all
equally familiar to her ; and she would
discourse in the last with an ease and
fluency that few foreigners have ever at-
tained. She made the laws and consti-
tution of England her peculiar study,
from the moment it became probable that
she might be called to the throne ; and
no one understood them better.
She had a genius, says her biographer,
equally turned for conversation and bu-
siness, that rendered her not only the
delight and ornament of a court, but able
to manage and support its interests. The
greatness of her soul bore equal propor-
tion to her illustrious birth and the ex*
alted station which she filled ; but withal
was tempered with so much sweetness
and affability, that the duty of those be-
low her became all one with their plea-
sure. The knowledge of her virtues
added to the lustre of her titles, and rc-»
spect grew upon familiarity. No one
ever gave liberties with a better grace,
or could act without reserve to greater
advantage ; and she acted her part to ad-
miration as a daughter of England and
mother of Germany.
Her wit was sprightly, curious, and
surprising ; her judgment solid ,and pe-
netrating, founded on the best maxims of
reading and study, and corrected by ob-
servation and experience. Nothing could
I exceed the brilliancy and beauty of her
1 conversation but her letters ; and both
: were easy, entertaining, and instructive.
She had a fund of happiness within her-
self, which made retirement pleasant; but
! her care in her domestic economy, and in
the general government of the countiy,
shewed that she had a just sense of her
being born for the good of others.
Her piety was exemplary, without af-
fectation ; and her religious sentiments
A A
174 ANECDOTES, &C HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PI.RSONAL.
were neither perplexed with doubts, nor
enslaved Ivy superstition. She was stu- I
dious to prevent, sedulous to oppose, and j
active to suppress, every little quarrel, '
or party intrigue, that grew up or ripen-
ed where she had any influence. No one
had a higher idea of what was due to i
birtli and majesty, or maintained better the
dignity of the royal lineage from which !
she was descended, She had experienced,
when young, the misfortunes of her own
and her mother's house, and no tempta-
tion could weaken her attachment to the
blood of the Stuarts.
It may be objected to this princess,
that ambition made her prefer her own
aggrandizement to the claims of her ex-
iled relations ; but when we find that
the children forgot their duty to their fa-
ther and their sovereign, we have a suf-
ficient excuse for the conduct of the
Electress Sophia, in urging her claims to
the throne which they had forfeited.
This extract finished our even-
ing's reading. The vicar proposed
an adjournment to the supper-room ;
and his first toast, after the eatables
had been discussed, was — " The
House of Hanover; and long may
it fill the throne of the British em-
pire !" A wish in which I am sure
all the readers of the Repository
will join ; and that it may do so, is the
ardent prayer of
Reginald Hildebuand.
Elmwood-Hall,
Anyust 10, 1826.
ANECDOTES, &c.
HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
COUNT SCHAUMBUUG-LIPFE, BETTER
KNOWN AS COUNT BiiCKEBUUG.
Tins eccentric, but learned, brave,
and worthy personage was born in
London; and as England is said to
he the land of humourists, he cer-
tainly imbibed a full portion of the
spirit which scorns the trammels of
common notions and practices. He
laid no restraint upon his singular
propensities, except the dictates of
benevolence and honour, which he
never transgressed. His eccentrici-
ties diverted superficial observers;
but they who knew his real charac-
ter, his sagacity, his magnanimity,
his erudition, his integrity and phi-
lanthropy, regarded his whimsicali-
ties as the philosopher contemplates
dark spots upon the sun. Nature
had given him a remarkable exte-
rior: a visage of extraordinary length ;
a person tali, meagre, and erect; and
hair, his large hat and little sword,
finished the peculiarity of his ap-
pearance, affording various jests to
both armies.
He was, nevertheless, held in high
estimation by the greatest scholars
and the most distinguished warriors
of his time. Moses Mendelsohn has
raised an imperishable monument to
his talents and virtues; and it is to
be lamented, that by indulging him-
self in opposition to the public opi-
nion in trifles, the count lost much
of the general respectability which
always attends those who pay due
deference to the proprieties of life.
This innuendo is intended for the
service of young aspirants to distinc-
tion. Any departure from common
rules will make a debutant stared at
and talked of; but in their hearts,
the gazers and speakers consider him
with sentiments far from flattering
when he commanded the Portuguese ! to his pride or self-love.
against the Spaniards, his flowing '! Count Schaumburg-Lippe laid a
ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, UTKUARY, AND PERSONAL, 1 / O
wager that he would ride from Lon- II punctually executed ray orders." —
don to Edinburgh backwards; and !, We are far from insinuating that this
experiment deserves to belauded: it
is given as an instance of eccentricity.
he actually accomplished the jour-
ney, with the horse's head turned to-
wards Scotland, and the rider with
Ins face towards the tail of the equine GEORGE the second a
bearer. In company with a German pretender.
prince, lie travelled through Great The king, one day, asked Lord
Britain as a beggar ; and tradition i Holdernesse, the secretary of state,
yet speaks in the south of Scotland j where the Pretender was. — " Sire,
of the " Gaberluiizie" that " gae I I do not exactly know, but will con-
physic and siller to bodies poorer I suit my last dispatches." — " Poh,
than himsel." | poh, man ! don't trouble your head.
During the war in which the Count j: about the last dispatches. We can
Lippe commanded the artillery in jj tell you where he is. He is now at
the army of Prince Ferdinand of | No. — , in the Strand ; and was last
Brunswick against the French, he i night at Lady 's rout. What
one day invited several Hanoverian |! shall we do with him?" — Lord Hol-
oflicers to dine with him in his tent. ! dernesse proposed calling a council.
When the company, after dinner, !j — " No, no," said the king; " we can
gave themselves up to convivial gaie- i manage this business without a coun-
ty, several cannon - balls flew in all |! cil : let Charles Edward stay where
directions about the marquee. " The j he is ; and when the poor man tires
French cannot be far off," exclaimed
the Hanoverians. — " Pray, gentle-
of amusing himself in London, lie
will go home again." The affair ter-
men, keep your seats," replied the j, minated as the king had predicted.
count ; " the enemy, I assure you, f At the battle of Oudenarde,
will not molest us." The officers George, then Prince of Hanover, ex-
complied, and resumed their enjoy- I posed his person with such romantic
ments. However, the firing of ord- jj bravery, that the Duke of Marlbo-
nance recommenced; and rising with |l rough felt it his duty to adopt the
simultaneousimpulse,theysaid, "The , only expedient for preserving the
French are most certainly at hand." i presumptive heir to the crown of
— "No, the French are not at hand; j Great Britain, and put the prince
therefore, gentlemen, I desire you under arrest. .
will sit down, and rely upon my
word." Again the officers yielded Paul and Virginia.
to the influence of their Amphitryon; The picture of simple life and
the balls continued to fly about, and faithful love delineated by St. Pierre
even carried off the top of the tent: captivates the imagination and the
yet wine and wit and mirth prevailed, heart. Mr. Henry Ennis visited
At length the count rose from table, || Tomb Bay, in the Isle of France,
saying, " Gentlemen, I was desirous j seven miles from Port Louis, immor-
of convincing you, how perfectly I j talized by this pathetic story. The
may rely upon the officers of my ar- 1 tombs are not on a splendid scale,
tillery. I ordered them to fire at the \\ but are kept very neat. They stand
pinnacle of my tent, and they have jj on two small islands, formed by a
A a 2
17H
musical review.
stream about fourteen feet wide, which
glides through the centre of a de-
lightful garden. Mr. Ennis saw the
shaddock grove, the village church,
and the cocoa-nut trees, supposed to
have been planted by Paul ; and his
heart melted in viewing objects inse-
parable from sad, yet sweet associa-
tions.
FREDERICK THE GREAT.
After losing the battle of Kollin,
Frederick of Prussia galloped up
to his guards, saying, " My brave
friends, when do you mean to die ?"
" Now !" was the electric reply.
" Then follow me !" said Frederick :
and with the support of his small,
but resolute band, he preserved him-
self and his treasure-chest from fall-
ing into the hands of the enemy.
IIIW IP I > II HI II
MUSICAL
(t Les Charmes de Vicnnc," Ron- |
dean brillant pour le Piano, com- \
post, et dcdie a Mr. A. Gold-
schmidi, par J. P. Pixis. Pr. 4s.
— (Cramer and Co. Regent-street.) ,
It seems that in writing " Les i
Charmes de Vienne," Mr. Pixis had
a mind to call to the proud recollec-
tion of the good-humoured people
of that tuneful capital the works of
its great musical luminaries, dead or
living. Or perhaps, considering the
difficulty not to remember other peo-
ple's compositions in writing one's
own, Mr. P. on perusing his manu-
script, found that it contained sun-
dry good bits of reminiscences from
the works of Haydn, Mozart, and
Beethoven. To cut them out would
really have been a pity, for they fit
in so well ; and to destroy the entire
manuscript would have been barba-
rous, for, as a whole, the production
is truly charming. Hear ye, then,
ye arrangers ! ye adapters ! hear ye
too, ye musical plagiarists and filch-
ers ! what remedy the upright con-
science of our honest Viennese sug-
gested to him. None more just and
natural than to write under ever?/
passage the name, in full, of its
rightful owner! Give unto Cassar
what is Caesar's.
REVIEW.
If such was Mr. P.'s meaning, his
Austrian candour and good faith
have set an example which merits
admiration on our part, and imitation
on the part of his compositorial col-
leagues, at least of such as use the
gift of a good memory with discre-
tion : for there are those, and Le-
gion is their name, whose recollec-
tion is so vivid and incessant, that if
they were compelled to write down
the primary owner of all their se-
cond-hand ideas, their productions
would teem with so much letter-
press, that some might at first sight
mistake it for a vocal composition,
and be tempted to sing the names
while they play the notes above.
The Practice of the Scales : con*
sisting of Examples of all the
Scales in the Major and Minor
Keys, for the Piano-forte ; with
a Development of the Plan of Fin-
gering them. To which is affix-
ed, a Treatise on the Diatonic
Scale. By Thomas Turvey. Pr.
7s. Gd. — (S. Chappell, Bond-
street.)
Mr. Turvey's book includes every
thing that a pupil ought to know
and to practise with reference to the
scales, both as regards their forma-
tion and their practical execution on
MUSICAL HEVILW.
177
the piano- forte. On this subject so
much has been published, by high
and low in the profession, that no-
velty is out of the question. But
while we find in this book what has
so often been taught in others, it is
fair to acknowledge, that Mr. T.'s
little treatise on the formation of the
diatonic scale deserves the peculiar
attention of the student. He has
judiciously availed himself of the la-
bours of some of his predecessors ;
among others, of Mr. Burrowes', in
placing the theory of the scales in a
proper and satisfactory light.
With regard to the minor scale,
the sore subject of the major sixth,
so often contended against in our
pages, again stares us in the face.
But we must not quarrel with Mr. T.
for doing that which is taught by
nine professors and theorists out of
ten, and for which there are speci-
ous but insufficient and untenable
grounds ; more especially as Mr. T.
does give the true and correct minor
scale likewise (p. 3, at the bottom),
which does not vary in ascent or de-
scent, and is alone susceptible of mi-
nor harmony. To convince Mr. T.
of the truth of the latter remark, we
need only refer to what he terms the
circular exercises on the scales (pp. 1 2,
&c), where he has ventured to asso-
ciate the usual but faulty minor scale
with a bass of sixths in ascent and
thirds in descent. The result is such
harmony as no good musical ear can
reconcile itself to : whereas, had the
true minor scale been put into ac-
companiment with thirds and sixths,
the harmony would have been infi-
nitely more satisfactory.
We are far from offering these re-
marks with a view to depreciate the
present publication, which, as we
have already observed, is decidedly
useful and meritorious. When a
prejudice has become so almost uni-
versal as that relating to the minor
scale, it is not only pardonable, but
perhaps safer to float along with its
stream, than to make, as we do, a
feeble effort to stem the current;
and in mere scale-work the principle
may be viewed by some as being less
important than in the theory of har-
mony, in which, for reasons that
would now lead us too far, the minor,
and not the major sixth, is essential
in the minor scale. But what is es-
sential in the further progress of
musical study might as well be set
to rights in its elementary portion.
The Notation of Music Simplified,
or the Development of a System
in which the Characters employed
in the Notation of Language are
applied to the Notation of Mu-
sic. By Alexander Macdonald.
Pr. 1 s.6d. — (Basil Steuart, Cheap-
side.)
Mr. M.'s object in presenting this
system of musical notation seems
not to be, as far as we can collect, to
overthrow the one at present in use,
but to furnish the means of indicat-
ing simple tunes with simple accom-
paniments, by the help of the com-
mon letter-press types. This idea is
far from being new. Among others,
a Mr. Rootsey, in the year 1811,
published a system of notation simi-
lar in almost every feature to Mr.
M.'s plan, with the avowed intention
indeed of superseding the prevailing
method ; and in our Miscellany of
January 1812, the reader will find
a detailed account of Mr. R.'s sys-
tem, accompanied with ample re-
marks on its merits in comparison
with that which it meant to supplant.
Mr. R.'s book is forgotten, and the
application of his notation, as far as
178
MUSICAL RTiVIKW.
we are aware of, has been confined
to the inventor ; nobody else has
ever used it.
The pretensions of Mr. Macdo-
nald's proposal are, as we take it,
more limited and moderate : it seems
he offers it rather as a convenient
auxiliary on plain occasions, with a
view to save expense and space. As
.such, we accept the offer, and we
approve the simplicity and ingenuity
of the plan. It is soon understood,
and when learned, it will go about as
far as to enable a musical person to
note down quickly, intelligibly, cor-
rectly, and in a little compass, any easy
tune he may chance to hear. The
higher class of compositions, such as
a Razumowsky quartett of Beetho-
ven's, a grand sonata of Hummel's,
or one of the ornamental arias of
Rossini, Meyerbeer, &c. would make
a poor figure under Mr. M.'s alpha-
bets afid numbers.
Mr. M. provides for about five
octaves ; viz. (in descending order) :
CA g f e d c b a
Treble ja GFEDCBA
'A g f e d [c] b a
n (a GFEDCBA
Bass 1 . .
Mgfe&cba
N. B. The [c] in the above is the
note which connects bass and treble
on the piano-forte.
To designate the duration of these
notes, a numeral is added to them ;
1 for a semibreve, 2 for a minim, 4
for a crochet, 8 for a quaver, 6 (in-
stead of 16) for a semiquaver, 3 (in-
stead of 32) for a demisemiquaver.
An accidental sharp is represented
by the acute accent (') : an acciden-
tal flat by a grave accent ( ' ) ; a na-
tural by a perpendicular line ; the
dot by a comma, at top, behind the
letter (as D') ; the bar by a comma
i placed in the usual way. Without
|| detailing various other signs, we shall
j add, by way of exemplification, a
■'■ portion of the melody of " God
j! save the King" (in C major) :
| 2 ( C4 C4 D4 , B4' C8 T)A ,
\ God save great George our King,
I E4 E4F4, E4'D8 C4 , D4 C4
( Long live our noble King; God save
{ B4, C2
\ the King, Sec.
From this specimen the simplicity
of the system will be evident ; and
its adequacy for the more simple
kind of music, especially vocal, is
apparent from the numerous exam-
| pies given by Mr. M. There are
songs accompanied by a plain bass
(without double notes or chords !),
duets, and glees for three or four
voices, in all twenty pieces ; and
these, with all the words, besides the
exposition of the system, including
two engraved plates, amount to the
very moderate price of eighteen
pence !
ARRANGEMENTS, VARIATION'S, &C
1. The Favourite Airs of Mayer's Opera of
Medea, arranged for the Piano-forte, with
an Accompaniment for the Flute, by J. F.
Burrowes. Books 1. 2. and 3. Pr. 4s. eacb.
— (S. Cliappell.)
2. Select Italian Airs from the most popular
Operas, flfc. arranged for the Piano-forte
and Violoncello by F W. Crouch. Book 2,
Pr. 7s.— (S. Chappell.)
3. V Effort sans Effort, a Melange onpopular
Airs for the Piano-forte, by James Calkin.
Pr. 2s. 6d.— (S. Chappell.)
4. Divertisement , in n-hichis introduced " The
Rose of the Val1ey,,'' and a favourite Air in
Midas, nen-ly arranged for the Piano-forte,
with a Flute Accompaniment (ad lib.) by T.
A. Rawlings. Pr. 3s. — (J. B. Cramer and
Co )
5. Introduction for the Piano forte, and March
from Rossini's Opera of Ricciardo e Zo-
raide, composed by Mrs. Miles. Pr. 4s —
(Goulding and Co.)
6. Grand Jubilee Overture, composed by C. M.
MUSICAL ItUVIKW.
179
von Weber, arranged at a Duet for the
Piano-forte by S. V. Riaibault. Yr. 4s.—
(Goulding and Co )
7. Rode's Air, sung by Madame Catalavi, with
Variations for the Pianoforte by M. Hoist.
l'r 2s. — (Cocks and Co.)
8 Alusard's Forty-second Set of Quadrilles
from " La Dame Blanche," composed, end
arranged for the Piano-forte, with an (ad.
lib.) Accompaniment for the Flute, by P,
Mnsard, Pr. 4s. — (Uoosey and Co.)
1. The production of Mayer's ope-
ra of Medea at the King's Theatre
was a welcome relief after the con-
stant repetitions of so many of Ros-
sini's works, which the public by this
time almost know by heart; and it
proved eminently successful, partly
from the extraordinary talents, mu-
sical as well as histrionic, exhibited
by Madame Pasta, but not less so from
the high merit of the music in general.
With the exception of // Fanatico
per la Musica, the operas of Mayer
are much less known in England
than they deserve to be ; they abound
in natural and graceful melodies,
especially those of a comic cast, which
display considerable musical humour;
and the harmonies are always rich,
correct, and well diversified. In fact,
Mayer, whom we believe to be still
alive at Bergamo, happily unites
the melodic taste and elegance of
Italy with the science and harmonic
skill of Germany, of which country
he is a native. He was born about
1760 at Sandersdorf, in Bavaria, and
has studied under the first German
masters ; but, from his long residence
in Italy, probably, his melodies and
his style of accompaniment are, with
few exceptions, perfectly Italian.
This is quite the case with Medea,
which is justly considered as a classic
work of the higher order. Many
of the melodies are beautiful, and
the finale of the first act is a master-
piece. In some instances, perhaps,
the composer has fallen short of the
full extent of deeply pathetic expres-
sion which certain scenes were sus-
ceptible of, but as a whole, we may
safely prognosticate that Mayer's
Medea will outlive most of Rossini's
serious operas.
In adapting this music for the
piano-forte and flute, Mr. Burrowes
has rendered an essential service to
those who are unable to enjoy it vo-
cally themselves, and indeed to mu-
sical amateurs in general. The airs,
&c. were eminently susceptible of
such an arrangement, and with Mr.
B.'s skill and experience in matters
of this kind, his labour could not
fail to prove successful in a high de-
gree. The arrangement throughout
is precisely what we could have wish-
ed it to be ; it exhibits all the essen-
tial features of the original, making
allowance for the limited means pre-
sented by three staves; and there are
no executive difficulties which ought
to deter a steady player of moderate
attainments.
2. The first book of Mr. Crouch's
Italian Airs has been favourably no-
ticed in a previous number of our
Miscellany, and its sequel is equally
entitled to unqualified approbation ;
it contains the following pieces: " La
Donna che e amante," by Cimarosa
— " O Giove omnipotente," by Win-
ter— " Ah quell 'anima che sdegRa,"
by Andreozzi — " Voi che sapete," by
Mozart — " Donne 1'amore,'' by May-
er— and " Quanto a quest 'alma
amante," by Rossini. This catalogue
sufficiently shews the value of the
selection ; and of the arrangement
itself we cannot speak otherwise than
in terms of high commendation. The
violoncello part not only is obligato,
but frequently carries the principal
melody, so that it cannot bedispens-
180
MUSICAL KEVIIW.
ed with ; but a player of moderate
abilities may fairly venture upon it.
Considering the real merit of this
arrangement, we think it would be
worth the publisher's while to pro-
vide a flute-accompaniment in lieu of
the violoncello, for such as might pre-
fer the former.
3. Mr. Calkin's " L'effort sans ef-
fort" so far corresponds with the title,
that its execution demands but little
exertion on the part of the perform-
er, and the effort in writing this pub-
lication can hardly be supposed to
have been of a strenuous nature; but
such as it is, it may be well recom-
mended to junior performers : there
is an andante and a rondo, in which
various favourite melodies are strung
together with some ingenuity and in
a way to produce considerable effect.
4. The divertimento of Mr. Raw-
lings is also a pleasant and easy pro-
duction, partly original and partly
compilation, consisting of four move-
ments: a march, the two airs men-
tioned in the titlepage, and a rondo;
all in E b major. Some diversity as
to key would have been all the better.
5. The echo march in Rossini's
Ricciardo e Zoraide has furnished
Mrs. Miles with the chief materials for
the preparation of a lesson of much
variety and interest. Some liberties
have been taken with the above sub-
ject, but the ideas engrafted upon
it evince fertile and tasteful imam-
nation, and no mean degree of mu-
sical knowledge ; a merit not gene-
rally to be met with in professors of
the other sex.
6. Weber's Grand Jubilee Over-
ture is a masterly composition, and
under the able arrangement given to
it by Mr. Rimbault, presents a most
effective and brilliant duet, in no way
intricate, especially if the tempo be
taken a shade slower than Weber
intended it to be.
7. The air of Rode has gained
celehrity from the preposterous, but
certainly astonishing and successful
attempt of Madame Catalani, to sing
the variations which Rode had writ-
ten for the violin. Mr. Hoist's vari-
ations, before us, four in number, are
not the same ; but they will be found
sufficiently attractive to serve as a
lesson, especially as there is nothing
complicated in their construction.
8. Monsieur Musard is the favour-
ed purveyor of quadrilles for the
beau-monde ; and it must be con-
fessed, like the cooks of his country,
who produce the most savoury dishes
from the plainest viands, he manu-
factures these dances in excellent
style from any thing he can get hold
of. No wonder, then, that the col-
lection has accumulated to the forty-
second set, before us, in which Mon-
sieur Musard, agreeably to the qua-
drillizing mania, takes liberties with
La Dame Blanche, by extracting
from that opera of Boieldieu a mat-
ter of five or six saltatorian tunes,
with great ingenuity and excellent
quadrille taste. Indeed the airs
themselves seeined absolutely invit-
ing for the operation.
VOCAL, MUSIC.
1. " The home of my fathers," a Sony, writ'
ten by Mary Ann Barber, composed by John
Barnett. Pr. ls.6d. — (Cramer anil Co.)
2. " In yonder yrave a Druid lies," Glee for
four Voices (Poetry from an Ode on the
Death of Thomson, by Collins), composed
by J. M'.Murdie, Mus. Bac. Oxon. Pr.
2s 6d.— (Cramer and Co.)
3. The light Quadrille, the Quadrille Song,
sung by Miss Toole, written and adapted by
William Ball. Pr. Is. 6d.— (S. Chappell )
4. Six Spanish Airs arranged, with an Accom-
paniment for the Spanish Guitar, by C. M.
Sola. Pr. 3s. — (S. Chappell.)
1. The more we see of Mr. Bar-
nett's lyric compositions, the higher
MtfSfCAL REVIEW.
181
is our opinion of their value. Al-
lowing for casual imperfections now
and then, the taste, the occasional
flashes of science, and the intense
pathos of his songs place him in the
highest rank of English vocal com-
posers : in fact, his style can scarcely
be considered as English ; he has
abandoned the hackneyed track of
the ballad, and formed his taste, both
as to melody and accompaniment, on
the most classic foreign models, prin-
cipally German; and he is no less at
home in the superior style of Spa-
nish and even French airs. What
renders us still more partial to Mr.
B.'s productions is, the manifest im-
provement which we have watched in
them successively, and which holds
out the fairest promise of still greater
excellence. These observations apply
forcibly to his " Home of my fa-
thers ;" it is a composition of deep
feeling, uniting a noble simplicity of
melodic conception with a most se-
lect and often highly scientific system
of harmonic support.
2. Mr. M'Murdie's glee is an able
and highly interesting composition,
evidently not the production of the
moment, but written with laudable
care and a resolution to do his best.
The melody of the successive strains
is select and well varied, and in the
arrangement of the several voices we
observe frequent traces of skilful in-
terlacement, responsive and canonic
construction, &c. highly creditable to
Mr. M.'s taste and science.
3. " The light quadrille" is of light
calibre, yet gay and pretty enough.
It is professedly an adaptation to a
text devised by Mr. Ball, which ac-
cords kindly with the expression and
rhythm of the tune.
4. We have often expressed our
Vol. VIII. No.XLV.
partiality for the national airs of
Spain ; there is an originality and a
peculiarity of expression about them,
the charms of which are irresistible.
Mr. Sola's six airs before us are of
this description ; their authenticity
is manifest, and they have pleased us
so much, that we would recommend
their being published with a piano-
forte accompaniment likewise. The
accompaniment for the guitar, de-
vised by Mr. Sola, is neat and highly
effective, and calculated for mode-
rate proficiency on the instrument.
IlAItP music.
1. Sixth Divertimento for the Harp, composed
by J. P. Meyer. Price 4s. — (Boosey and
Co.)
2. The admired Overture to Boieldicii's Opera,
" La Dame Blanche," arranged for the
Harp and Piano-forte, with Accompaniments
for the Flute and Violoncello, b3r N. C. Bocli-
sa. Pr. 6s. — (Boosey and Co.)
3. The favourite Airs in the Opera of "Otcllo,"
comj)Osed by Rossini, and arranged for the
Harp, with an Accompaniment for the Flute,
ad libitum, by N. C. Bochsa. Pr. 5s. —
(S. Chappell.)
4. Two favourite Airs from Spohr's Opera of
" Faustus," arranged for the Harp and
Piano-forte by N. C. Bochsa. Pr. 4s. —
(Cocks and Co.)
1. Mr. Meyer's divertimento con-
sists of an introduction in G minor,
an andante in the relative major
key, made upon an air (La dolce Ri-
membranza) by Perruchini, a com-
poser unknown to us, and a rondo in
the like key, of considerable extent.
The whole is good music, and by no
means so difficult as the author's own
skill on the instrument might have
tempted him to render it. We re-
commend it strongly to the amateur's
attention.
2. The overture to Boieldieu's La
Dame Blanche is a spirited compo-
sition, in the better sort of French
instrumental style ; and Mr. Bochsa's
arrangement for the harp, piano-forte,
B B
182
MUSICAL HKVIKW.
flute, and violoncello, is calculated to
convey a very adequate idea of its
score and effect with a full orchestra.
3. Under this number we have
noticed a collection of half a dozen
of the most attractive airs, marches,
and chorus, from Rossini's Otello,
arranged for the harp and flute by
Mr. Bochsa likewise. The adapta-
tion, as well as the pieces themselves,
is of a nature to obtain decided fa-
vour with amateurs.
4. The two airs of Faustus which
Mr. Bochsa has cast into the shape
of a duet, are, a chorus of strong
effect, and a very elegant polacca.
They are both sure to please, as
there is no intricacy in the arrange-
ment.
FLUTE MUSIC.
1. The Modern Art of Flute- Playing ; being
a new and original Treatise on the Flute,
£fc; to which is added, an Explanation of the
most obvious Laws of Harmony, in their
simplest Form; with Rules for Expression, j
Accent, and Emphasis, by J. Arthur. Parti.
Pr. 6s.— (Published by the Author, also at
Willis and Co. 's, St. Jam<:s's-street. )
2. Mat/seder's " La Sentinclle," arranged for
the Flute and Piano-forte by Raphael
Dressier. Pr. 4s — (Cocks and Co.)
3. Favourite Airs from Winter's celebrated
Opera, " Le Sacrifice interrompu," for the
Flute, by Charles Saust. Pr. 3s. 6d. —
(Cocks and Co.)
1. Although the flute is not an in-
strument with which we are practi-
cally familiar, we know enough to be
convinced of the utility and real me-
rit of Mr. A.'s treatise. It is impos-
sible to expound the elementary por-
tion of instruction with greater care
and clearness, and at the same time
with greater brevity, than Mr. A. has
done. The chapter, too, on the best
method of producing, not only the
various scales on the flute, but the
notes of more difficult and unfavour-
able intonation, cannot but be of the
greatest value to the student. Here
Mr. A. has taken infinite pains to
initiate the pupil into all the peculia-
rities requisite for a pure and perfect
intonation, both by means of perti-
nent and perspicuous directions, and
by proper examples and diagrams.
The exercises and lessons which form
the latter part of the book, are not
only devised or selected with great
judgment, but, by the sensible re-
marks with which they are accompa-
nied, tend to illustrate still further
the previous and more theoretical
branch of the work, especially as re-
gards perfection of tone and Anger-
ing. We have in vain looked for
the exposition of " the most obvious
laws of harmony in their simplest
form," promised by the title. This
is a great promise indeed, the ful-
filment of which is perhaps deferred
for the second part. What are to
be the contents of that future por-
tion of the treatise the author has
not told us.
2. La Seniinelle, by Mayseder, is
so generally known, that we only feel
called upon to state our unqualified
approbation of the manner in which
Mr. Dressier has made the arrange-
ment for the flute and piano-forte.
The former instrument is almost
throughout solo, and the piano-forte
mere harmonic support. Some of
the variations require considerable
study and practice in order to do
them full justice.
3. Mr. Saust's little volume de-
rives its interest not from the success
alone with which Winter's Inter-
rupted Sacrifice is at present per-
forming at the Theatre of the Eng-
lish Opera, the airs themselves are
conspicuous for their natural and
truly beautiful melody, and Mr. S.
has exhibited them in as attractive a
form as the limited means of one
flute would admit of.
CAR -
13:3
FASHIONS.
LONDON FASHIONS.
CARRIAGE COSTUME.
High dress of lilac g?-os de Na-
ples, fastened behind ; the fulness of
the corsage brought to the centre
in the front and back; the sleeve
large and full at the top, but small
below the elbow; corded epaulette,
divided in the centre, and trimmed
with narrow pinked scollops : the
cuff* is formed by two rows of van-
dykes pinked, one row pointing up-
wards, the other extending towards
the hand, with a gold bracelet be-
tween. The skirt is ornamented
with three rows of pinked trimming,
of the same material as the dress,
emanating from a button that heads
each division; widening as they pro-
ceed, they take a semicircular direc-
tion till they meet, and by their junc-
tion form a continuous chain of scol-
lops : beneath is a satin rouleau. Pink-
ed scolloped pelerine of Jilac gros de
Naples, pointed behind, and tied in
front with a satin bow of the same
colour, and confined at the waist by
the ceinture. Blond lappet cap; the
border extremely full, spreading like
a fan, and rather low in front, ar-
ranged in deep Vandykes or zig-zags
on the sides, and adorned with flow-
ers; trimming of the crown in ac-
cordance, and a bow of gold and
rose-colour shaded gauze ribbon at
the top. Gold chain and embossed
Grecian cross; long gold ear-rings;
yellow gloves and shoes.
EVENING DRESS.
White Italian crape dress worn oVer
a gold-colour satin slip ; the corsage
moderately high, and adorned in
front with two pinnatifid branches
in gold-colour satin, diverging from
the centre of the waist to the top of
the bust, and terminating beneath a
cape of about a quarter of a yard in
depth, divided on the shoulder, and
trimmed with gold-colour satin piping
and narrow blond. The sleeve is
short and full, set in in regular plaits,
and reversed in the band round the
arm. The skirt has an elegant bor-
der of gold-colour satin pipings, the
three upper rows commencing by a
satin bow, elevated in the front of
the dress, and turned off circularly
towards the right side, proceeding
in a longitudinal direction till they
(the pipings) meet; then gold-colour
satin rows and palm-branches are
arranged alternately, and beneath
are three pipings, as above, equidis-
tant. Large white crepe lisse sleeves
are still in favour, and are confined
at the wrist by broad Egyptian brace-
lets. Gold-colour satin sash, with
short bows in front, the ends fringed
and of different lengths. The hair
is parted towards the left temple in
large curls, and adorned with a Pro-
vins rose in front, and shaded gauze
ribbon in puffs at the back. Pear-
shaped pearl ear-rings; necklace of
medallions united by rows of small
pearl; white kid gloves, and white
satin shoes.
We are indebted to Miss Bayley
of No. 14, Charles-street, Middlesex
Hospital, for the accompanying taste-
ful costumes.
B b 2
184
FASHIONABLE FURNITURE.
CANDULABIIA.
If the merit of the invention of
candelabra is due to the Greeks,
the Romans are certainly entitled to
great praise for the perfection to
which they brought this kind of de-
coration, most elaborate and beauti-
ful specimens of which have been
discovered, not only in the excava-
tions of Pompeii, but in other parts
of Italy.
They are generally either of bronze
or marble, and their richness corre-
sponds with the magnificent character
of the Roman architecture. This sort
of decoration seems not to have been
employed in the middle ages; indeed
there is no record by which we can
form any certain criterion to judge
of the manner of lighting apartments
at that period. The most probable
conjecture is, that as candles were
so much used in the religious cere-
monies, they were also introduced
for other purposes. In many cases,
perhaps, the only light diffused
through the apartment proceeded
from either a blazing fire or fir-
splinters; and to this very day in
some northern countries this latter
method is still practised.
At the time when the Roman style
of architecture was adopted in this
country, candelabra were also intro-
duced, and have since formed a con-
spicuous part of elegant furniture.
We now employ them in halls, stair-
cases, libraries, and even drawing-
rooms. Their height may be regulat-
ed by the dimensions of the apartment
in which they are placed, and from
their vertical form they are well adapt-
ed to the Gothic style, which has been
given in the annexed plate. The
plan of the first is a triangle, sup-
ported by three griffins; and the
two octagonals are decorated with
pinnacles and flying buttresses.
INTELLIGENCE, LITER
Mb.. Ackkrmann has ready for deli-
very, two interesting Views of the City
of Mexico, coloured from drawings
taken on the spot by Mr. George Ac-
kermann. Also four plates of the Royal
Stag-Hunt, coloured from pictures by
P. B. Davis.
A volume of Essays, Sketches of Cha-
racter, and Imaginative Speculations,
called Facts and Fancies, will shortly be
published.
Mr. Thomas Roscoe is busily engaged
on Memoirs of the Court of 'Huccn Anne,
comprising literary and biographical no-
tices of the most distinguished charac-
ters of her reign.
The llev. Archdeacon Coxe has nearly
ARY, SCIENTIFIC, &c.
ready for publication, The History of the
Administration of the Right Hon. Henry
Pelham, from 1743 to 1754.
A friend of the late Dr. Parr's is pre-
paring for press, Extracts from the pub-
lished and unpublished works of that
celebrated scholar, which will he accom-
panied by an authentic and interesting
memoir.
Speedily will be published, The His-
tory of Scotland, from the earliest Period
to the Middle of the Ninth Century ; being
an Essay on the Ancient History of the
Kingdom of the Gaelic Scots, the Ex-
tent of their Country, its Laws, Popula-
tions, Poetry, and Learning — which
gained the prize of the Highland So-
L^BELABRAS
- • .:■_
I'OETJiY.
185
ciety of London — by the Rev. Alexander I
Low.
[t is proposed to publish by subscrip-
tion, a volume of Poems by Mr. John
Taylor, so well known to the literary
and theatrical world by his " Monsieur
Tonson," and other poems, and a greater
number of prologues and epilogues than
was ever perhaps written by any indivi-
dual. We are sorry to learn, from the
prospectus issued on the occasion, that
the misconduct of some person with
whom this veteran in periodical and ge-
neral literature was connected has ren-
dered this measure, taken by his friends,
essential to his comforts.
Sir Walter Scott's forthcoming Life of
Napoleon will extend to six volumes, four
of which are already printed.
Mr. Soames has nearly finished the
third volume of his History of the Re-
formation, which will be completed in
two more volumes.
Mr. Britton's long-promised volume of
Chronological History and Illustrations
of Christian Architecture will be speedily
published. It is illustrated by 86 beau-
tiful engravings ; and as it also embraces
copious lists of ancient monastic archi-
tects, churches, architectural monuments,
fonts, pulpits, crosses, &c. this volume
will prove a sort of Encyclopaedia of
Christian Architecture for the library of
the antiquary and professional architect.
^octrp-
LINES ADDRESSED TO MISS F****R,
With a Copy of the " Forget-Mc-NotV
By genius fram'd, to friendship dear,
This votive pledge of faith sincere,
May chance the warm esteem to trace,
Inspir'd by ev'ry mental grace;
By ev'ry charm of soul and feeling;
By all of beauty's fair revealing,
That mind and heart could wish to prove
In the best idol of their love.
And yet the gift and words are faint
My thoughts of thee, sweet friend, to paint;
No measur'd lines can meetly show
All that, for thee, this breast must know:
Still may they lightly indicate
My wishes for thy cloudless fate ;
My hopes that bright may be thy hours,
And rich thy path with buds and llow'rs ;
The buds of joy — the flow'rs of peace —
That bloom with time — with time increase.
Oh ! may that brow, so calm and fair,
Ne'er own the with'ring touch of care;
Ne'er shrink beneath the hand of pain,
Nor, fading, prove its tyrant reign !
May those dark eyes, so soft and clear,
Be strangers to the burning tear
That, from the fount of anguish stealing,
Speaks of past hope and blighted feeling;
Then deeply wends its silent way,
And bears the bloom of youth away !
As now, may e'er that cheek disclose
The blush of summer's fairest rose —
The bright suffusion of a mind
Where mingle sense and thought tefin'd ;
Where all of radiant magic lies,
That wins the soul — the heart — the eyes !
May that pure bosom, ever blest,
Hail sweet serenity its guest,
An alien to the billowy strife
That strands, too oft, the bark of life !
May Fortune, from her dazzling bow'r,
Her choicest favours on thee show'r ;
The speaking glance ; the sunny smile ;
The breathing graces void of guile;
The lights that happiness define —
Oh ! may these be for ever thine!*
* I here notice, with pleasure, the inten-
tion of a young lady, who, possessed of great
genius, aided by the refinements of classical
taste and discrimination, is on the point of
commemorating the features of her accom-
plished friend by a portrait, of which I have
had the gratification of seeing the very beau-
tiful idea. I cannot resist an opportunity,
so flattering to my wishes, of paying the just
tribute of admiration to this rising artist's
abilities, and the enthusiasm with which she
pursues her profession. Her sketches are
full of originality and feeling; and her fi-
nished studies, in oil and chalk, from the an-
tique, are distinguished by an impassioned
grace and sentiment, which convey to the
eye all the dignity and character of the ori-
ginals, and create the fairest anticipations of
her future excellence. For one of her draw-
ings, from the head of the Apollo, Miss M.
A. A'**,**,», this year, received the prize
186
POETRY.
Love cannot wish thee more than this —
Thine be the only lasting bliss,
The bliss that spreads to heav'n its wings,
And from Religion's lustre springs ;
That, pointing to a brighter sphere,
Sustains us in our vigils here;
Lights up with joy the closing eye,
And tells the Christian how to die.
Such do I wish thee ; and if here
One selfish thought might interfere,
That thought would breathe — whate'er thy
lot,
Still may thy heart " Forget-me-not."
July 22, 1826. E.S.C***r.
THE REMONSTRANCE OF AGE TO
BEAUTY. By J. M. Lacey.
Reproach me not with silver hair,
Nor smile at age's sorrow;
'Tis hard to feel a weight of care,
Which no relief can borrow.
It ill becomes thv beauteous brow,
So form'd in Nature's glory ;
But 'twill not always beam as now —
Like mine, it will grow hoary.
The tint that on thy now smooth cheek
Vies with the loveliest roses,
Will fade, and wrinkles there bespeak
How beauty's short dream closes.
Then thou wilt sigh o'er ruin'd charms,
Wilt mourn for youth departed,
And haply feel those sad alarms
That wound the feeble-hearted.
ofthe silver palette from the hands of H. R. H.
the Duke of Sussex, at the annual distri-
bution of premiums awarded by that public-
spirited body, the Society for the Encourage-
ment of Arts, Sciences, and Manufactures.
I cannot but add, that this young lady's pro-
gress in art reflects high honour on the able
instructions of the very eminent painter to
whom she is a pupil.
Then too may memory's hitter tears
Recal this moment's error,
And fill thy breast with all the fears
That harrow souls with terror.
Translations from Herder's Fragments
of the Greek Anthology.
ON SEEING A SHEPHERD'S PIPE SUS-
PENDED IN THE TEMPLE OF VENUS.
O sweet and rural pipe ! what dost thou
here ?
Why 'neath these gilded porticos appear,
Where thou art silent and neglected ? — No;
Back to thy native vale of Tempe go !
Let not thy simple tones here breathe a
measure
To the mad dance of wild voluptuous plea-
sure.
Back to the shepherd lawns — there may thy
voice
The heart of rustic innocence rejoice !
THE ORIGIN OF THE HOT SPRINGS.
Beneath these planes, protected from SoPs
ray,
In harmless slumbers once as Cupid lay,
His torch from his relaxing fingers fell,
And threw its ruddy gleam across this well.
" Now," cried the Nymphs, exulting, " let
us seize
The tyrant's torturing brand ! Henceforth
shall ease
And soft repose exist in mortal hearts :
His torch extinguished, harmless are his
darts."
Rejoiced, the Nymphs surround the foun-
tain's brink,
And smile to see the hissing mischief sink
Below the limpid wave. Ah! Nymphs, in vain
Repose for mortal hearts ye seek to gain !
No more refreshing shall your cool spring
flow,
That with Love's fires inflamed shall ever
glow.
Valeria.
Piinted by L. Harrison, 37^, Strand.
^c
THE
Beposttorp
OP
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, §c.
THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII.
October 1, 1826.
N° XLVI.
EMBELLISHMENTS. pagk
1. View of Maristow, Devon, the Seat of Sir Manasseh Lopes, Bart. 187
2. Fulford-House, Devon, thb Seat of Colonel Fulfoed . 188
3. Ladies' Head-Dresses
4. ' Evening Dress .....
5. Upright Piano-Forte, Music-Stand, and Chair
6". Muslin Pattern.
CONTENTS.
244,
ib.
215
MISCELLANIES. page
Views op Country Seats. — Maristow,
Devou, the Seat of Sir Manasseh Lopes,
Bart 187
Fulford-House, Devon, the Seat of Colo-
nel Fulford 188
Le Bureau de Marriage ib
The Modern Cassandra. (Concluded) .
Popular Superstitions of the French
Provinces.— No. IV. — The Heroism
of Love
The Prisoners in the Caucasus. By
i Count Xavier de Maistre ....
Indian Superstitions
The Hussar's Saddle. From " The Odd
Volume," lately published ....
The Literary Coterie. — No. XX. —
The Songs of the Patriot, &c. by Ro-
bert Millhouse — Parry's Journal of
a Third Voyage for the Discovery of a
North- West Passage — Four Years in
France — Miers' Travels in Chili —
Betham's Irish Antiquarian Researches
— The Rambles of Redbury Rook — The
London Hermit's Tour to the York
Festival 217
Extraordinary Attachment of a Rat . 230
The Hermit of La go Maggiore . . .231
Popular Superstitions of the Swedes . 235
Anecdotes, Historical, Literary, and
Personal. — Gigantic Remains — Re-
markable Cures — Conjugal Rebellion
193
199
202
208
212
237
240
241
212
— Narrow Escapes — Singular Mer-
chandise— Alchemy — Fanaticism —
The Advantages of Taciturnity — Pos-
sibility of fertilizing the Deserts of
Africa — The Cheerfulness of Genuine
Piety — Tycho Brahe the Astronomer
MUSICAL REVIEW.
Neate's La Grazia
Rimbault' Airs from Winter's Opera,
The Interrupted Sacrifice
The Beauties of Winter's Interrupted
Sacrifice
Weber's Arrangement of Mehul's Ro-
mance ib.
Rawlings' " Shepherds, I have lost my
love" 243
Pleyel's Melange ib.
Blewitt's " Lovely Rosa" . . . . ib.
Fleet's " Put round the bright wine" . ib.
Barnett'* Monody on Weber .... ib.
FASHIONS.
London Fashions. — Ladies' Head-
Dresses 244
Ladies' Evening Dress ib.
Fashionable Furniture. — Upright Pia-
no-forte, Music-Stand, and Chair . 245
INTELLIGENCE,
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC . ib.
POETRY.
Glendower
247
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR, AND PUBLISHED BY, R. ACKERMANN, 101, STRAND;
To whom Communications (post-paid) are requested to be addressed.
Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand.
TO READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.
Publishers, Authors, Artists, and Musical Composers, arc requested to transmit,
on or before the 20th of the month, Announcements of Works which they may have on
hand, and we shall cheerfully insert them, as we have hitherto done, free of expense.
New Musical Publications also, if a copy be addressed to the Publisher, shall be duly
noticed in our Review; and Extracts from new Books, of a moderate length and of an
interesting nature, suitable for our Selections, will be acceptable.
The article referred to by our fair Correspondent who dates from " Rockleby-
House," was discontinued in consequence of the removal of the writer from this
country. We expect soon to be enabled to give her satisfaction.
We cannot gratify A Subscriber, at Pimlico, having no department for the re-
cord of deaths.
The Repented Compact does not suit us ; but we have no doubt the writer could
furnish contributions that would be acceptable
The Bandit — The Great Tun of Grdningen — The Jew and the Travelling
Tinker, shall have an early place.
We acknoxvledge the receipt of several communications from D. L. J. ; and also
the favour of Valeria.
The notice of several new Musical Publications is deferred, owing to the absence
of our Reviewer from Town.
Persons who reside abroad, and who wish to be supplied with this Work every Month as
published, may have it sent to them, free of Postage, to New- York, Halifax, Quebec, and
to any part of the West Indies, at £4 12s. per Annum, by Mr. Thornhii.l, of the General
Post-Office, at No. 21, Sherborne-lane; to Hamburgh, Lisbon, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malta, or
any Part of the Mediterranean, at £4 12s. per Annum, by Mr. Seujeant, of the General
Post-Office, at No. 22, Sherborne-lane ; and to the Cape of Good Hope, or any part of the
East Indies, by Mr. Guy, at the East-India House. The money to be paid at the time of
subscribing, for either 3, 6, 9, or 12 months.
This Work may also be had of Messrs. Aiujon and Kiiai», Rotterdam.
THE
Bepofittorp
OF
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, fyc.
T H
THIRD SEKIEJS.
Vol. VIIT.
October 1, 1826.
N°XLVr.
VIEWS OF COUNTRY SEATS.
MAltTSTOW, DEVON, THE SEAT
Although the county of Devon
is embellished with a variety of no-
blemen's and gentlemen's seats, none,
perhaps, is more delightfully situated
than Maristovv, it being surrounded
-with the most romantic scenery,
which is enlivened by the river Tavy.
The house, however, is not remark-
able for architectural grandeur; but
it is an elegant, simple structure, con-
taining a number of spacious apart-
ments. The principal front is exhi-
bited in the accompanying engraving,
and the north and east sides are
sheltered by extensive plantations.
This estate is one of the most va-
luable in the county, and formerly
belonged to the Cb.ampernownes,
who disposed of it to Sir John Slan-
ning of Shaugh, in this county. It
was purchased by the present pro-
prietor, in the year 1798, of the co-
Vol. VIII. No. XL VI.
OF Silt MANASSKII LOPES, HART.
heirs of the late John Modyford
Heywood, Esq. the representative
of the Slannings. During the time
their late Majesties and the Prin-
cesses were on a visit at Sal tram (the
seat of the Earl of Morley), they
made two excursions to Maristovv,
and were much gratified with the
delightful and romantic scenery of
this neighbourhood : indeed, the
ride from Plymouth to Maristovv,
passing through the picturesque vil-
lage of Tamerton-Foliot, is seldom
to be equalled. The ancient chapel,
from which the place is said to de-
rive its title, has been rebuilt by the
present proprietor, who has the ap-
pointment of the minister ; but the
living of the vicarage of Tamerton-
Foliot is in the gift of the king. In
the church are some ancient memo-
rials highly deserving of notice. The
C c
188
FULFOKD-1IOUSE.
neighbourhood also contains several
valuable mines; but those of Beer-
alston, in which a considerable quan-
tity of silver has been found, have
ceased being worked. At the last
Exeter assizes Sir M. Lopes was
obliged to adopt legal measures to
restrain the proprietors of a mine
in the neighbourhood of his estate
from extending their operations be-
yond certain limits, and obtained a
verdict to that effect. In concluding
our account of this charming place,
it is but justice to state, that the
proprietor is at all times anxious to
gratify the curiosity of visitors, or
to promote their views in any other
respect.
FULFORD-IIOUSE, DEVON,
THE SEAT OF COLONEL FULFORD.
This house is situated in a very
romantic part of the county, and is
chiefly remarkable for its great an-
tiquity, the estate having been in the
possession of the Fulfords since the
reign of Richard I. The mansion
is built on rising ground, and in form
is a complete quadrangle, having a
large entrance-gateway, surmounted
with the family arms; and, when
viewed from the opposite side of
the water, forms a very pleasing sub-
ject for the pencil. Although the
house has undergone very consider-
able repairs, its original Gothic cha-
racter has been preserved.
This place is also remarkable as
having been fortified during the tur-
bulent reign of King Charles I.; and,
as a testimony of royal approbation,
that unfortunate monarch presented
his portrait by Vandyke to the fa-
mily. The interior contains a num-
ber of spacious apartments, which are
most elegantly fitted up: the draw-
ing-room is extremely handsome, and
among the paintings is one repre-
senting the Battle of Gravelines, in
1558; as also the portrait of King
Charles, above alluded to, and which
represents his Majesty seated in his
royal robes. The staircase leading to
the drawing-room is very striking,
being composed of various species of
wood inlaid, with a handsome carved
ceiling. The paving of the hall, which
is formed of white and black marble,
polished, has a very rich effect.
Fulford-House is situated in the
parish of Dunsford, nearly three
miles to the right of the road lead-
ing to Moretonhamstead, and about
ten miles from Exeter. The park
abounds with beautiful plantations,
and from its inequality of surface,
presents a diversity of beautiful and
picturesque scenery. The adjoin-
ing parish of Drewsteignton is re-
markable as having been the chief
seat of the Druids, and still contains
an ancient cromlech and a logan-stone,
both of which have caused much
literary discussion among antiqua-
rians.
LE BUREAU DE MARIAGE.
Thekk has lately been opened
an office under this title in one of the
most frequented streets of Paris, and
in order that the thing may be suffici-
ently known, the public are frequently
informed, through the medium of the
9 H
LE BUREAU DP. MAlltAGK
189
Pctites Ajp.ches and Galignani's Eng-
lish newspaper, of the fortunes and
qualifications of several fair candi-
dates for matrimony.
This singular establishment, which
is yet in its infancy, is announced by
the conductor as one that cannot fail
to give general satisfaction; a propo-
sition most stoutly negatived by the
landlord and all the other tenants
of the house in which it is carried
on. In order" to explain this, I must
just take a glance at the generality
of Parisian lodging-houses, which
may be said to comprehend nineteen
twentieths of the houses in Paris;
for none, except the first nobility and
persons of very great fortune, and
few even of them, have a mansion to
themselves. The houses, which in
general are immensely large, are par-
celled out into lodgings of different
apartments, and even sometimes of
single rooms. It is no uncommon
thing to find from twelve to twenty
families dwelling under the same roof,
gome of whom perhaps have never so
much as heard the names of the others.
There is sometimes a mixture of
ranks in even the most respectable
houses, which to English ideas seems
strange enough; for while people of
title occupy two or three stories, the
others are frequently tenanted by per-
sons belonging to the lowest class.
This indiscriminate mixture of ranks,
and the very great number of persons
in the same house, might often lead to
unpleasant consequences, were it not
that every mansion is provided with
a porter, who keeps a sharp look-out
after all comers and goers.
In the house of which I have been
speaking, the tenants are mostly re-
spectable people, and as ill-luck would
have it, there is rather more than a
fair proportion of ladies ; among whom
is an old maid, a coquettish wife, a
buxom widow, a starched prude, a
lovely girl of eighteen, and a super-
annuated marquise, who seems to have
no other earthly business or pleasure
than that of watching and comment-
ing upon the actions of her neigh-
bours.
No sooner was the Bureau open-
ed, than the house was crowded
from morning till night with loung-
ers, ruined gamesters, and fortune-
hunters; so that none of the fair in-
mates could go up and down alone
without being accosted with, " Pray,
ma'am, are you the widow or the
young lady whose advertisement for
a husband appeared in Galignani's
Messenger of yesterday, or the Pc-
tites Affiches of to-day?"
This sort of salutation, disagreea-
ble enough in itself, was rendered dou-
bly annoying by the terms in which it
was sometimes conveyed ; par exem-
ple, the old maid, who has, during
the last fifteen years, declared con-
stantly that she was between three
and four and twenty, was asked by
a man of fifty, whether she was not
the dame d'un certain age desirous
of meeting with a companion of her
own standing. The gay wife, who
has nearly ruined her husband by
her taste for dissipation, was lately
accosted by a miserable-looking ani-
mal, the very picture of Moliere's
Miser, who begged to know if she
was not the young person of small
fortune whose frugality would make
her a treasure to a prudent man. A
gentleman of nearly seventy told the
widow, that he hoped she was the
lady whose sympathizing disposition,
and intimate knowledge of the treat-
ment necessary for people in delicate
health, would render her a most de-
sirable helpmate for an elderly inva-
\j c ft
190
LK BUREAU MS MARIAGK.
lid. And the prude, who, be it ob-
served, has only a trifling life-annuity,
and who, besides her professed dis-
like to matrimony, has a particular
horror of the military, was caught
hold of the other day by a young-
lieutenant, who saw in her face that
she was the sprightly widow who
avowed with such charming frank-
ness her intention to bestow her half
million of livres upon a brave soldier.
These mal-a-propos rencontres,
aided by the active cares of the
dowager, to whom each of the fair-
ones has related in turn the affronts
she has received, have produced a
general commotion in the house.
The ladies in question have given
warning, and all the other tenants
seem disposed to follow their exam-
ple, to the great regret of the pro-
prietor, who would readily appease
their wrath by dismissing the mar-
riage-broker, if that worthy gentle-
man, foreseeing probably what his
fate might be, had not taken care to
prevent it by securing to himself a
long lease. As to the business of
the office, I cannot tell the reader how
it goes on, not being at all in the
secret; but it has been the means of
bringing about one marriage, which
gives me the liveliest pleasure, be-
cause it renders two worthy families
happy; and as the incident is at once
simple and singular, I shall relate it
to my readers.
Monsieur de V , the father of
the lovely girl of eighteen whom I
have spoken of above, has been re-
duced by circumstances, which it is
unnecessary to enter into, from afflu-
ence to something less than compe-
tence. The loss of an adored wife
threw him into a state of melan-
choly, under which he would per-
haps have sunk, but for the unre-
mitting cares of his daughter. She
devoted herself entirely to him, and
continually exerted her talents, which
he had carefully cultivated, to lighten
the grief that for some months threat-
ened his life. At the time that the
Bureau was just opened, a slight ill-
ness confined de V. to his chamber;
till then Melanie had never gone
out alone ; but as both herself and
her father wei'e in the habit of £oin<j
daily to church, de V. would not
suffer his illness to prevent his daugh-
ter's continuing her pious custom.
One morning she proceeded, for the
first time, by herself, and at a later
hour than usual. In returning to
her apartment she met a group of
young men close to the door of the
Bureau, which she was obliged to
pass, and timidly drew back. Im-
pudence itself could not have pre-
sumed to question a creature like
Melanie oh the subject of a marriage
advertisement. The group respect-
fully made way for her, and restrain-
ed the expression of their admiration
till she was out of hearing, when
every mouth, except that of Eugene
Delmar, was opened in her praise.
He. alone was silent and abstracted,
which was the more strange, as he
had, till the moment of her appear-
ance, been the merriest of them all,
and enjoyed, more than any of the
others, the idea of hoaxing the mar-
riage-broker. .His young companions
rallied him gaily on the loss of his
heart; the faint manner in which he de-
fended himself redoubled their mirth ;
and it was agreed nem. con. that Hy-
men had revenged himself by calling
in the assistance of Cupid, to punish
the most audacious of those offenders
who had dared to mock his new
high priest.
One might be tempted to believe
LB MJRIiAU Dl'i MARIAGE.
91
that there was some truth in their
badinage, from the very strong im-
pression Melanie made upon the
heart of Eugene. From that hour
he haunted the Bureau, in order to
catch a glimpse of her, but he haunt-
ed it in vain; she was not again to be
seen. We may be sure that he spar-
ed neither pains nor expense to learn
who she was; and as all he heard
tended to make him believe that her
• mind was not less lovely than her
person, it increased the violence of
his passion.
While things were in this state,
his father surprised him one morning
with the intelligence, that he had
just concluded a match for him with
the rich Mademoiselle de .
Eugene, who was completely an en-
fant gate, immediately declared, that
it could never take place.
" And why so?"
" Because I love another."
" Love another! and without tell-
ing me! But who is she? what is
she? what fortune has she?"
" She is the daughter of Monsieur
de V. an old Chevalier de St. Louis.
As to her fortune, she has the best
of fortunes, the beauty and innocence
of an angel."
" You are mad! Beauty and inno-
cence, forsooth! A fine fortune truly
for a fellow of your expensive habits.
But where did you get acquainted
with this paragon?"
" I am not acquainted with her."
" What, the devil! you love a
woman then of whom you know no-
thing!"
" I know that she is good and
beautiful, for I have seen her."
" Where?"
At the
She-
Bureau de Mariage.
At these words Del mar, who is
naturally choleric, lost all patience.
" Get out of my sight!" cried he, in-
terrupting his son, with vehemence,
" get out of my sight, or I shall cer-
tainly knock you down!" Eugene
knew his father's temper too well to
attempt any explanation at that mo-
ment; he ran out of the room as fast
as he could; and Delmar, after hav-
ing stamped and fumed, and devoted
the Bureau de Mariage and all con-
cerned with it scores of times to the
devil, began to think of taking im-
mediate measures to prevent any one
connected with such an establish-
ment from ever becoming a member
of his family. His first step was to
hasten to the office; and just as he
was going up stairs to make his in-
quiries, he saw coming down a vene-
rable-looking man, leaning en the
arm of a lovely girl. At another
time Delmar, who is still young
enough to feel the power of beauty,
would have had eyes for the lady,
but he scarcely glanced at her ; his
whole attention being engrossed by
the gentleman, on whom he sted-
fastly gazed for a moment, and then
rushing towards him, " O marquis!"
cried he, " is it possible ? can it be
you that I see?"
" For whom, sir," replied de V ,
in a reserved tone, and without any
apparent recollection of Delmar, "for
whom do you take me?"
" For whom? for my preserver, for
him who saved my life at the ha-
zard of his own ! Deny it not! you
are, you must be, the Marquis de
C ."
The veteran's reserve vanished; he
threw himself into the arms of the
grateful Delmar, and in two minutes
they were seated side by side in de
C 's little apartment, relating to
one another the vicissitudes each had
19
LR BUREAU mi MARIAGE.
experienced since tie C , a Vcn-
dean chief, had rushed into a barn
which a party of his men had set on
fire, to carry from it the only human
being it contained, a young republi-
can soldier, unable from his wounds
to follow his companions in their
flight.
We need not give the history of
the friends; suffice it to say, that the
Vendean chief, after enhancing the
splendour of his ancient title by the
most brilliant valour, laid it aside in
his old aije, because he had nolon<>-
er the means to support it; and the
republican soldier, faithful to the
oath that gratitude induced him to
take of never again raising his arm
against his countrymen, had acquired
by honourable industry a splendid
property. He had, however, too
much delicacy to dwell upon the last
circumstance, though he only blessed
it as a means of enabling him to re-
pair the wrongs which Fortune had
done to his preserver.
Delmar had now eyes for Melanie;
he congratulated de C on pos-
sessing such a treasure; the mar-
quis spoke of her with all the warmth
of paternal love. " And you, my
friend," cried he, " have not you also
children?" Till that moment Delmar
had forgotten the cause of their meet-
ing. " O yes," said he ; " one son,
who, up to this day, has been the
joy of my life; but a strange, a dis-
graceful infatuation promises to blight
all my hopes."
" God forbid! But explain your-
self."
" Why, the boy, who, I must con-
fess, has always had too much his
own way, has fallen in love."
" Well, there is nothing very ter-
rible in that !"
" Yes, yes, but there is though;
for the object of his passion is an ad-
venturess, I am sure. I came here on
purpose to find her out; her name is
Mademoiselle de V ; and he own-
ed to me, that he had seen her at
the cursed Bureau de Manage, in
this very house."
At these words Melanie, who was
not ignorant of the passion she had
inspired, rose, almost sinking with
confusion, to leave the room. Her
father laid his hand upon her arm.
" Stay, my dear child," said he;
" there is, there must be some mis-
take: never, I am sure, would my
friend Delmar.apply, knowingly, such
an epithet to you."
A few words of explanation set all
to rights, except the head of Delmar,
who, one moment on his knees soli-
citing pardon of Melanie, and the
next embracing the marquis, could
only sob out, that he never could for-
give himself, nor know a moment's
happiness, unless his son, his noble-
minded boy, could obtain the lovely
object on whom his affections were
so worthily bestowed. The marquis
looked at Melanie; her eyes were
cast down, but her father read in
her glowing blushes and the soft
confusion of her air a willing, though
bashful consent.
Delmar, almost beside himself with
joy, hastened home, and presented
himself abruptly to his son. " Cir-
cumstances have induced me," said
he, with assumed sternness, " to
change my mind with regard to Ma-
demoiselle de
I no longer
desire to see her your wife."
" Heaven be praised !"
" But I have found a bride for
you, whose alliance I should prefer
to that of royalty itself: get ready
instantly to accompany me to her."
" Father, I swear "
Tills MODKUN CASSANDRA.
19.1
** And I swear, also, that you si 1 all
seethe woman of my choice: if after
seeing her you can still refuse her,
which I do not believe possible, I
will wed her myself, and you may
consult your fancy, and find a wife at
the Bureau de Mariage, or wherever
you will. No words ; it is time that
I should let you know I will be
obeyed."
Away went poor Eugene cruelly
perplexed, and conning all the way
a fine set speech to soften his intend-
ed refusal of the lady's hand. To
render the denouement more com-
plete, de C , at the desire of
Delmar, had given him a rendezvous
at the house of a friend. When the
carriage stopped, Eugene would once
more have supplicated his father;
Delmar, without listening, led, or
rather dragged him into a saloon,
where the first object that met his
eyes was Melanie.
A gallant French nobleman once
told his queen, that if the thing she
ordered were possible, it should be
done; andif itwere impossible, itmust
be done. Would that we had this
clever gentleman at our elbow, to
paint, for the gratification of our fair
readers, the scene that followed.
Alas! we cannot have this assistance;
and as our limited powers will not
reach the impossible, we shall only
say, that Eugene, the happy Eugene,
soon led Melanie to the altar; and
that Delmar has founded an annual
donation of four marriage-portions,
of a thousand francs each, for the
most deserving girls in the parish
in which his principal chateau is si-
tuated, and their nuptials will in fu-
ture be celebrated every year on the
anniversary of his son's first visit to
the Bureau de Mariage.
THE MODERN
(Concluded fr
" One evening," continued the ba-
ron, " when the count was at Cha-
tillon, we were seated at table and
very merry. Besides myself, the
only persons present were a Swedish
gentleman, who likewise belonged to
our select circle, and Florine, that
charming Muse of dancing, whom
you must still remember, and who
was then my constant companion
when I went into the country. Mu-
sic, singing, and the mimic dancing
of the two females, had made the
evening pass very agreeably ; inter-
esting adventures communicated by
the two Swedes, and some of the re-
sults of my experience, diversified
and seasoned the entertainment, in
which art had spared nothing that
CASSANDRA.
om p. 1G4.)
could gratify the most fastidious taste.
The spirit of the generous cham-
pagne was at length added to the
series of select enjoyments, and in-
creased the hilarity of the little com-
pany. The count was particularly
attentive to his mistress, who that
day appeared the more fascinating
to us all from an air of gentle melan-
choly, which caused her to receive
and return the count's caresses with
extraordinary tenderness. He could
not thank her enough for complying
with his wish to accompany him,
which on this occasion he had great
difficulty to prevail on her to do : he
rejoiced to see the fit of hypochon-
dria which had come over her, as
he said, dispelled ; and, solicitous to
194
the mod::ui\' cassandua.
prevent a relapse, he urged her to j|
take a glass of champagne, which
was contrary to her practice, as she
was not accustomed to drink wine,
unless mixed with a good deal of
water. At first, she refused almost
with obstinacy ; but at length being
obliged to yield, she swallowed a
glass of the sparkling beverage : its
effects soon manifested themselves.
A deeper crimson suffused her
cheeks, her eyes flashed an un-
earthly fire, and her expressions as-
sumed an unusual and almost poetic
turn. The count was delighted, and
replenishing the glass, raised it again
to her lips. She scarcely sipped a
drop of the pearly fluid, and gently
pushed back the hand that held the
glass, when a splendid diamond ring
which the count sometimes wore
caught her eye. She had hitherto
never taken the least notice of ob-
jects of this kind : hence it was re-
markable that she should now draw
the hand with the ring nearer to her
eye, and examine it long and atten-
tively. The count wished her to no-
tice a peculiarity in the chasing, and
that she might see it the better, he
turned the palm of his hand towards
her. All at once the poor girl gave
a terrible shriek, started back and
hid her face, which turned deathly
pale, in her hands, as though to
avoid some fearful sight.
" The count conceiving this to be
the effect of sudden indisposition,
embraced his mistress, loudly calling
for assistance and medicines; but she
burst out into Vehement sobs, and
held the count convulsively clasped,
as though she would never loose him
from her arms. He strove to cheer
her up ; but when, as he tenderly
caressed her, his right hand ap-
proached her eyes, we saw the same
mysterious horror again pervade her
countenance. Then, as if from a
sudden inspiration, she sprung up,
sank at the count's feet, embraced
his knees, and cried, in the most
moving tones, ' Promise me never
to leave this country, and never to
return to your own. A dreadful fate
is indicated in the lines of your hand
— death on the scaffold, by the sword !
Oh ! let us flee to the solitude of my
native mountains ! there it is impos-
sible that such a fate can overtake
you. Reject not, I implore you, this
supplication.' The count raised her
with a smile ; he drew her to his
bosom, and strove" by a thousand ex-
pressions of fondness to reassure her,
attributing the whole affair to her
condition, for she bore beneath her
heart a pledge of his love, and to
the increased irritability incident to
that state. ' You are mistaken,' re-
plied Manon, with the utmost gra-
vity. ' An unfortunate peculiarity of
my tribe has transmitted to me the
ability to read the fate of men in the
lines of the hand. My parents prac-
tised this art: and thus I am no
stranger to it, although I always
avoided penetrating deeper into its
mysteries. As they died while I was
young, I forgot by degrees what I
knew of it ; so that it was only when
any circumstance augmented the
powers of my soul, and quickened
my vital spirits, that I perceived this
unhappy faculty revive within me,
and felt an irresistible impulse to ex-
ercise it. I shunned, as much as pos-
sible, every thing that could produce
these effects ; I have avoided, ever
since I knew you, my dear count,
every occasion of seeing the lines of
your hand, that nothing might excite
in me the dangerous curiosity to in-
quire the decrees of fate respecting
THK MODflUN CASSANDKA.
19.3
the man whom I adore. This even- 1
ing, you know how positively I de-
clined drinking that wine ; at last I
complied, because my refusal seemed j
to vex you ; but from that moment |
I felt an irresistible impulse to read
your lot. I endeavoured to conquer
it, and when at length the magic
power constrained me to grasp your
hand, I strove to fix my eyes as long as
possible on the sparkling stone upon
your finger, hoping that the cruel
impulse which urged me would mean-
while subside. At that moment, you
turned those mysterious lines towards
me — I could not help reading them,
and I cannot contradict what I read.'
" The count seemed to be affect-
ed, either by this extraordinary ad-
dress, or, what we thought much
more probable, by the state of his
mistress, for whom he began, no
doubt, to be seriously alarmed. It
seemed high time to throw an air of
jest on this singular conversation :
the other Swedish gentleman and I
nodded to each other, and approach-
ing her with smiling countenances,
and holding out our hands, cried,
' Prophesy, then, to us also, fair Si-
byl, if you cannot help prophesying!
We, too, are desirous of having our
fortunes told by such lovely lips !' —
'Ah ! why will you lead me into temp-
tation V she exclaimed sorrowfully ;
and an almost compulsory look at
the hand of the Swede, who held
it up close to her face, produced the
same start of horror as before. ' Your
lineaments, too,' said she at last, 'pro-
mise nothing good. You are threat-
ened with great danger, distress,
and long confinement, in a distant
country : assist me, therefore, to de-
tain the count here /' I fancied that
I could perceive a slight cloud of in-
Vpl. I III. No. XL VI.
quietude overcast the brow of my
friend ; and still hoping to give a
cheerful turn to the matter, I pushed
away the hand of the Swede, and
holding out mine in its place, jocose-
ly cried, ' I too wish to know my
fortune ; and if you see this time no-
thing but ill-luck, we will all three
set off at once with you for a wilder-
ness.' She looked long and pen*
lively at the palm of my extended
hand, and then said, in a tone the
melancholy sound of which I shall
never forget, ' All that now adorns
and embellishes your life you will
lose. One severe experience, one
loss after another, awaits you ; years
of distress and privation succeed
years of pleasure and enjoyment.
Nothing is left you but a lonely old
age in poverty ; and if through a
new turn of fortune part of your
property be restored to you, death is
at hand to prevent your enjoying it.'
— ' Upon my word,' said the count,
' here are disasters enough for all of
us ! But, my dear, don't give way
to these gloomy fancies. Another
glass will impart a more cheerful
tone to your imagination ; and the
best thing we can all do is, to drown
the fear of such a melancholy futu-
rity in the enjoyment of the present
moment.' With these words he con-
ducted her to her chair: and filling
her glass, handed it to her again.
She drank without hesitation, as if
she had now nothing more to fear.
We all replenished our glasses more
than once; but our former gaiety
was gone, and not to be recovered.
There was a coldness and constraint
in our conversation ; neither could
Manon again wholly collect herself.
She continued silent and thoughtful;
and the count, anxious for her health,
D D
196
TUB MODERN CASSANDRA.
soon afterwards retired with his pro-
tegee.
" As soon as we were alone, Flo-
rine made some satirical remarks on
the extraordinary scene. She re-
garded it as a subtle artifice of the
count's mistress to bind him to her-
self, and to give permanence to their
connection. To me, however, this
notion appeared totally inconsistent
with the whole previous conduct of
Manon ; I was rather disposed to at-
tribute the circumstance to an unu-
sual degree of mental excitement,
and had soon forgotten the whole af-
fair, retaining only the recollection of
the unpleasant impression made by
it on our gay circle.
" Manon's health continued from
this period to decline : her melan-
choly seemed to increase with her
indisposition, and she importuned
the count, without ceasing, to give
up all thoughts of ever returning to
his own country, and to choose for
his residence some sequestered spot
in the valleys of Switzerland or the
Pyrenees. In order to pacify her,
he promised to consider of her wishes,
hoping that, after her confinement,
these gloomy thoughts would give
place of themselves to a more cheer-
ful tone of mind. About half a year
had thus elapsed since the occur-
rence just related, when the count
one day came to me in considerable
agitation. ' I have received letters,'
said he, ' commanding me to return
with all possible speed to my own
country. I have long had reason to
expect my recall; but, for Manon's
sake, I did wish that it might be yet
awhile deferred. I intended at first
to take her with me, but this her
present state will not admit of, as my
duty obliges me to travel with the
utmost expedition. Neither dare 1
now shock her with the news that we
must part, which she would not per-
haps survive. I have, therefore, de-
termined for the present to deceive
her with the pretext of a short jour-
ney to the Spanish frontiers, where
unforeseen circumstances may after-
wards detain me longer than I ex-
pected. To your kindness I confide
the commission, to acquaint Manon,
when she is recovered from her con-
finement, with the truth as tenderly
as you can, and to comfort her with
the promise to send her after me as
soon as circumstances shall permit.'
Having deposited in my hands a con-
siderable sum for Manon's use, he
took leave of me with great emotion.
Every thing was done according to
his directions. Scarcely three weeks
after his departure Manon was de-
livered of a boy. She was profound-
ly shocked when I broke to her by
degrees the intelligence that the count
was no longer in France ; and when
I strove to sooth her with the pro-
spect of speedily rejoining him with
her child in his own country, she on-
ly shook her head sorrowfully by way
of reply. She lived very retired, and
scarcely saw any one except myself;
for I had promised the count to visit
her from time to time, and to assist
her in the management of her affairs.
The count wrote often and very af-
fectionately to her, after his return
to his own country ; but he there
found himself in a very different si-
tuation from what he had expected,
and was obliged to defer the execu-
tion of his intention to send for Ma-
non. She bore the disappointment
with that tranquil resignation, which,
since the parting from her protector,
had become the prominent feature in
her character, and lived quite se-
cluded, engaged solely with her re-
TTin MODERN CASSANDRA.
107
collections and the care of her child,
whose delicate constitution required
more than usual attention.
" In the ordinary course of events
I had more and more lost sight of
her, and thus years had impercepti-
bly stolen away, without producing
any change in her situation. At
length the news of the death of
Charles XII. King of Sweden, burst
suddenly upon us. It was commu-
nicated to me by the count himself,
who was deeply afflicted by the pre-
mature end of that distinguished mon-
arch, and seemed to expect from it
no very favourable results to his own
fortunes. His letters had latterly
been less frequent : time had, per-
haps, somewhat diminished the ar-
dour of his affection for Manon; for
he had not for years made any men-
tion of his former design to send for
her, probably because his unsettled
and busy life would not admit of his
doing so. As, however, his liberality
towards her continued the same, and
Manon spent but a small part of the
sums which he remitted to me for
her, I put the surplus to various uses,
in hopes of raising in this manner
a capital for the child. I found Ma-
non deeply affected by the intelli-
gence of the death of Charles XII.
and soon perceived that it was more
than sympathy in the sorrow of her
friend for the loss of a beloved so-
vereign which distressed her to such
a degree, and that all her former
mysterious apprehensions were re-
vived on this occasion. How soon
and how dreadfully they were re-
alized, and how literally that fatal
prediction was fulfilled, will be ob-
vious, when I tell you, that Manon's
protector was no other than the ce-
lebrated Count Gortz, whose name is
as universally known as his fate.
" I shall say nothing of Manon's
anguish or her despair when the ca-
tastrophe had actually happened, nor
shall I attempt to describe the hor-
ror which I myself felt, when her
prediction relative to the other Swe-
dish gentleman was fulfilled, and he,
being implicated in the fall of Count
Gortz, was doomed to close impri-
sonment for life. I could not deny
that my circumstances had of late
years been far from improving. Ap-
prehensive that the prophecy rela-
tive to me would likewise be verified,
I took many a step in the hope of
recovering myself, but an unlucky
fatality seemed to pursue me. One
heavy loss rapidly followed another.
Measures of the government against
creditors of the state, dictated by
necessity and admitting of no excep-
tion, contributed to my ruin, and the
final blow was the failure of the com-
mercial house of Favart, in which
Manon's capital also was invested.
" Accustomed to pour forth my
sorrows into the bosom of this sym-
pathizing friend — for the giddy Flo-
rine had deserted me with my pro-
sperity— I went to Manon to acquaint
her with her loss, and to lament my
own. She led me to her dead child,
which, after protracted sufferings,
had expired the preceding night.
' Here learn,' said she, * that there
are severer losses than the loss of
wealth and fortune !' I was much
shocked. ' I have now nothing more
in the world to lose,' added she, again
covering the face of the little corpse —
'but there is still a duty which I
think myself bound to perform. You
are now poor — so am I : but at an
age when we are but little capable
of habituating ourselves to privations,
you would soon succumb under this
necessity, without the consolation of
D D 2
98
Tllli MODIiRN CASSANDRA.
faithful friendship and sincere sym-
pathy. If you will accept this from
me, I am ready to accompany you
into any retirement, that you may not
be wholly destitute of that attend-
ance which your time of life requires.'
You may readily conceive that I ac-
cepted this proposal with gratitude.
I strove to arrange my affairs so far,
at least, as to secure the entire dis- I
posal of the little I had left. My
creditors seized without mercy ; an I
unfortunate fire consumed the rest. |
I was now reduced to absolute po- j
verty, but Manon's friendship con-
tinued unshaken. She still possessed
a few jewels, the produce of which
sufficed to purchase this little habi-
tation. No solitude could be too
profound for Manon, and I had for
my part no further longing after the
world, by which I found myself so
ill treated and so soon forgotten.
Here we have now lived several years,
and I am confident that mutual ad-
versity has bound us more firmly to-
gether than prosperity could former-
ly have done.
" You will scarcely believe me
when I assure you, that I have not
made any attempt to recover the large
sums owing me by the government,
which, to confess the truth, I might
have done, through my former con-
nections, especially of late years, with
some chance of success, as the state
of its finances has considerably im-
proved. But the literal accomplish-
ment of Manon's predictions has, I
confess, made so deep an impression
upon me, that I have not the least
doubt of the fulfilment of the last
point concerning myself. Arrant
epicurean as I once was, I am now
stoic enough to value my bare life
above all things ; and the recovery of
those sums, so far from affording
pleasure, would fill me with constant
apprehensions of approaching death.
If, however, I was strongly tempted,
especially in the first years of my se-
j elusion, to take some steps for this
purpose, Manon's melancholy looks
and the deep sigh with which she
used to answer my intimations soon
caused me to forego my intention,
and I learned at length to submit to
a lot which cannot change but with
my death."
By the time Baron Hoguet had
finished this narrative it was almost
quite dark. Both of us were silent, oc-
cupied with our respective thoughts.
All at once the tender notes of a
harp, played by a masterly hand, and
accompanied by a superb mellow fe*
male voice, burst from the upper
room. They were truly ethereal
strains, which seemed now to flow
from the deepest, earthly sorrows,
now breathed heavenly consolation,
and finally melted into softly sooth-
ing chords. " That is Manon's even-
ing hymn," said the baron ; " with
such tunes she tranquillizes her af-
flicted bosom, and thence she derives
solace and resignation to continue to
live as long as God pleases."
Next morning, on leaving the lit-
tle cabinet in which I slept, I found
the baron and Manon at the break-
fast-table waiting for me. It was
not till then that I discovered the
whole charm of that ideal form, which
the meanness of her apparel could
not disguise, and the lovely features,
on which grief and time had left
fewer traces than might have been
expected. Inexpressible fidelity and
sincerity beamed from her large dark
eye. It was impossible to doubt that
such a form was animated by a truly
noble soul. When I was about to
depart, the baron took me aside. " I
tiii-: iiKttoisM or LOVE.
109
have laid myself completely open to
you," said he ; " but I cannot let you
go without a promise that you will
not take the slightest step in my fa-
vour in Paris ; and also that you will
not divulge a syllable of my story,
lest others who may still feel inter-
ested in my behalf might attempt to
serve me. Smile if you please at the
fool who so anxiously desires not to
shorten a life which to you may ap-
pear wretched ; but that you may be
able to comprehend this, I assure you
that in this retirement my heart en-
joys a tranquillity and satisfaction,
which I never knew in the days of
my greatest prosperity." After some
useless remonstrances, I gave the ba-
ron the promise which he required,
and parted, not without deep emo-
tion from him and Manon.
Business soon afterwards removed
me from Paris. I was two years ab-
sent. On my return, I learned that
part of Baron Hoguet's claims on
the state had been ordered to be li-
quidated, without any application ;
but when, after long inquiry, his
place of abode was discovered, it
was found that he had died a few
days before. Manon had sold the
little property, and retired to a con-
vent of the Sisters of Mercy.
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS of the FRENCH PROVINCES.
No.
THE IIEROIS
In the church-yard of the little
town of Salins, may still be seen the
remains of a tomb on which is sculp-
tured, in figures as rude as the age
in which they were carved, a repre-
sentation of a soldier firmly clasped
in the arms of a maiden ; near them
stands the devil, in a menacing atti-
tude. Though the inhabitants of
the town are all ready to swear to
the truth of the story, they are not
agreed as to the time when it hap-
pened ; so that we can only say, that
some centuries have rolled away
since a young soldier named Isidore,
a native of Salins, was returning,
after a long absence, to the bosom
of his family. He walked with quick
and cheerful steps, carrying with
ease in a small knapsack the whole of
his worldly goods. Never since he
quitted the paternal roof had he felt
so happy, for he hoped ere night to
see his pretty cousin Fanchon, whom
IV.
M OF LOVE.
he loved with all his heart, and whom
he it) tended to make his wife.
He walked on, gaily carolling, till
he saw a cross-road before him, and
uncertain of his way, he called to an
old woman who was stooping with
her back towards him to direct him.
She was silent, and as he approach-
ed he repeated the call, and she
raised her head to answer it. The
stout heart of the young soldier
quailed as he cast his eyes upon a
countenance such as never before
met his gaze. He had, indeed, rea-
son to tremble ; for he had just dis-
turbed, in the middle of an incanta-
! tation, one of the most powerful
witches in the country. She regard-
ed him with a demoniac smile, and
said, in a tone which froze his blood,
" Turn where thou wilt, thy road is
sure — it leads to death !"
For some moments, he stood as if
rooted to the spot ; but soon fear of
200
THE HEROISM OF I.OVE.
the sorceress, who remained gazing
upon him, gave him strength to flee.
He ran forward, nor stopped till he
had completely lost sight of the fear-
ful being whose dreadful prediction
had struck him with such horror.
Suddenly, a frightful storm arose;
the thunder growled, and the light-
ning flashed round the weary travel-
ler, who, drenched with rain, and
overcome with fatigue, had hardly
strength to proceed. How great was
his joy when he saw at a distance
a magnificent chateau, the gate of
which stood open! He exerted all his
remaining strength to reach it, and
precipitately entered a large hall.
There he stopped, expecting every
moment to see some of the domes-
tics, but no one appeared. He
remained some time, watching the
progress of the storm : at length it
began to abate, and he determined
to pursue his way ; but as he ap-
proached the door, it closed with a
loud noise, and all his efforts to open
it were vain.
Struck with astonishment and dis-
may, the young soldier now believed
that the prediction of the witch was
about to be accomplished, and that
he was doomed to fall a sacrifice
to magic art. Exhausted by his vain
efforts to open the ponderous door,
he sank for a moment, in helpless
despondency, on the marble pave-
ment; but his trust in Providence
soon revived. He said his prayers,
and rising, waited with firmness the
issue of his extraordinary adventure.
When he became composed enough
to look round him, he examined the
hall in which he was : a pair of fold-
ing doors at the farther end flat-
tered him with the hope of escape
that way, but they too were fasten-
ed. The hall was of immense size,
entirely unfurnished ; the walls, pave-
ment, and ceiling were of black
marble ; there were no windows, but
a small skylight faintly admitted the
light of day into this abode of gloom,
where reigned a silence like that of
the tomb. Hour after hour passed;
this mournful silence remained still
undisturbed; and Isidore, overcome
with fatigue and watching, at length
sunk into a deep though perturbed
slumber.
His sleep was soon disturbed by a
frightful dream : he heard all at
once the sound of a knell, mingled
with the cries of bats and owls, and
a hollow voice murmured in his ear,
" Woe to those who trouble the re-
pose of the dead !" He started on
his feet, but what a sight met his
eyes ! The hall was partially illumi-
nated by flashes of sulphureous fire ;
on the pavement was laid the body
of a man newly slain, and covered
with innumerable wounds, from which
a band of unearthly forms, whose
fearful occupation proclaimed their
hellish origin, were draining the yet
warm blood.
Isidore uttered a shriek of terror,
and was in an instant surrounded by
the fiends ; already were their fangs,
from which the remains of their hor-
rid feast still dripped, extended to
grasp him, when he hastily made the
sign of the cross, and sank senseless
upon the ground. When he re-
gained his senses the infernal band
had vanished, and he saw bending
over him an old man, magnificently,
but strangely dressed : his silken
garments flowed loosely round him,
and were embroidered with figures
of different animals and mystic
devices. His countenance was ma-
jestic, and his venerable white
beard descended below his girdle :
but his features had a wild and
gloomy expression ; his eyes, above
THK HEROISM OF LOVE.
201
all, had in their glance that which
might appal the stoutest heart.
Isidore shrunk from this mysterious
being with awe mingled with ab-
horrence, and a cold shudder ran
through his frame as the old man
bent upon him those piercing eyes.
" Rash youth!" cried he, in a se-
vere tone, " how is it that thou hast
dared to enter this place, where
never mortal foot save mine has
trod ?"
" I came not willingly; an evil
destiny, and not vain curiosity,
brought me hither."
" Thou wouldst not the less have
expiated thy presumption with thy
life, but for my aid ; I have saved
thee from the vampyres who guard
it, and it depends upon me whether
thou shalt not still become their
prey."
"Oh, save me then, I pray thee!"
" And why should I save thee ?
What price art thou willing to give
me for thy life ?"
" Alas ! I have nothing worthy of
thy acceptance."
" But thou mayst have; and it is
only through thee that I can obtain
what I most desire."
" How ?"
" The blood of a dove would be
for me a treasure, but I may not kill
one ; she must be slain for me by
one whose life I have saved. Should
I liberate thee, a dove will fly to thy
bosom ; swear that thou wilt instant-
ly sacrifice her for me, and thou
shalt be free."
" I swear it."
Hardly had Isidore uttered the
words, when he found himself in the
chamber of Fanchon, who, with a
cry of joy, rushed into his arms.
He prest her with transport to his
breast ; but scarcely had he em-
braced her, when he saw the magi-
cian standing by his side. " Wretch !"
cried he, " is it thus thou keepest
thine oath ? Pierce her heart — she
is the dove that thou must instantly
sacrifice, if thou wilt not become a
feast for the vampyres."
" Sacrifice her ? Never ! never !"
" Then thou art my prey." And
the fiend, assuming his own form,
sprang towards his victim : but he
stopped suddenly, he dared not seize
him ; for the maiden held him firmly
clasped in her arms, and the little
cross of gold which, night and day,
she wore upon her bosom had been
blest by the venerable priest whose
gift it was. Thus nought unholy
dared approach the maiden, and the
baffled fiend fled with a tremendous
yell, as the crowing of the cock an-
nounced the approach of dawn.
The cries of the maiden soon
brought the neighbours to her cham-
ber, and among them was the pastor,
to whom Isidore related his adven-
ture. " O my son !" said the good
priest, " what have you done ? See
you not that you have entered into
a contract with the powers of dark-
ness ? Unable to wreak their ven-
geance on you when you had guard-
ed yourself with the blessed sign of
our redemption, the fiend has had
recourse to craft to draw you into
his power. You have promised a
sacrifice to the enemy of God and
man, but you have done it in igno-
rance. Abjure, then, solemnly the
cursed contract, and dread no longer
the vengeance of the fiend."
The young soldier made the re-
quired abjuration, during which the
most dreadful noises were heard : it
was the last effort of the demon's
vengeance ; for from that time he
was neither seen nor heard of. Isi-
202
THE PRISONERS IN THE CAUCASUS.
dore married the maiden who had
given him such a courageous proof
of her love ; and the cross, trans-
mitted from her to her descendants,
was always considered hy them as
the most precious part of their inhe-
ritance. In process of time the fa-
mily became wealthy, and a great-
grandson of Isidore's erected the mo-
nument we have described, to com-
memorate the miraculous escape of
his ancestor.
THE PRISONERS IN THE CAUCASUS.
By Count Xavier de Maistre.
The mountains of the "Caucasus
have long been inclosed by Russia,
without forming part of that empire.
Their ferocious inhabitants, divided
by language and interests, compose
numerous petty tribes, which have
but few political relations with one
another, but are all animated by the
same love of independence and plun-
der.
One of the most formidable of
these tribes is that of the Tchet-
chenges, inhabiting the Great and
Little Kabarda, two provinces, the
lofty valleys of which extend to the
very summits of the Caucasus. The
men are handsome, brave, and intel-
ligent, but withal cruel, addicted to
depredation, and in a state of almost
continual warfare with the troops of
the Line*.
In the midst of these dangerous
hordes, and in the very centre of
that chain of mountains, Russia has
constructed a road communicating
with her Asiatic dominions. Re-
doubts erected at distances protect
this route as far as Georgia ; but no
traveller dare venture alone from one
of these redoubts to another. Twice
a week a body of infantry, with can-
non and a considerable party of Cos-
* Such is the appellation given to the
chain of posts occupied hy the Russian
troops between the Caspian and Black
Seas, from the mouth of the Terek to
that of the Cuhan.
sacks, escorts travellers and the go-
vernment dispatches. One of these
redoubts, situated at the principal
outlet of the mountains, has become
a populous village. From its situa-
tion it has received the name of
Whtdi- Caucasus* ; and it is the resi-
dence of the commander of the troops
engaged in the dangerous service
just mentioned.
Major Kascambo, of the regiment
of Wologda, a Russian gentleman of
Greek extraction, was ordered to
take the command of the post of Lars,
in one of the defiles of the Caucasus.
Impatient to repair thither, and brave
to temerity, he had the imprudence
to undertake the journey with an
escort of about fifty Cossacks, who
were under his orders, and the still
greater indiscretion to talk of his plan
and to boast of it previously to its
execution.
TheTchetchenges dwelling on the
frontiers, and commonly called the
peaceable Tchetchenges, are subject
to Russia, and enjoy in consequence
free access to Mosdok; but most of
them keep up an intercourse with the
mountaineers, and very frequently
participate in their depredations.
The latter, being informed of Kas-
cambo's journey and the day fixed
for his departure, waylaid him in
great force. About twenty wersts
* Wludi comes from the Russian verb,
ivladcli, to command, to overawe.
THE PRISONERS VS. THE CAUCASUS*
20.1
from Mosdok, at the foot of an
eminence, covered with copse-wood,
he was assailed by seven hundred
horsemen. Retreat was impossible;
the Cossacks dismounted and sus-
tained the attack with great firm-
ness, hoping to receive succour from
the troops of a redoubt not far dis-
tant.
The natives of theCaucasus,though
individually brave, are incapable of
attacking in a body, and are conse-
quently not very dangerous to troops
that steadily oppose them: but their
fire-arms are good, and they are ex-
cellent marksmen. Their great num-
ber, on this occasion, rendered the
conflict too unequal. After a long
resistance, more than half of the
Cossacks were killed or disabled:
the rest formed, with the dead horses,
a circular rampart, behind which they
discharged their last cartridges. The
Tchetchenges, who, in all their ex-
peditions, take along with them Rus-
sian deserters, to serve upon occasion
as interpreters, intimated through
this medium to the Cossacks, that
unless they delivered up the major,
they should be put to death to the
last man. Kascambo, foreseeing the
inevitable destruction of his whole
party, resolved to surrender himself,
to save the lives of the survivors.
He delivered his sword to his men,
and advanced alone towards the
Tchetchenges, who instantly ceased
firing; their sole object being to take
him alive, that they might extort a
considerable ransom. Scarcely had
he put himself into the hands of his
enemies, when the succours sent to his
relief appeared at a distance. It
was now too late; the banditti pre-
cipitately retreated with their pri-
soner.
Vol. VIII. No. XL VI.
His denshik* had remained in the
rear with the mule which carried the
major's baggage. Concealed in a
ravine, he was awaiting the issue of
the action, when the Cossacks came
up and acquainted him with the fate
of his master. The brave fellow im-
mediately determined to share his
captivity, and, taking his mule with
him, he followed the traces of the
horses of the Tchetchenges. When
it grew so dark that he could no
longer distinguish their track, lie fell
in with one of the enemy's stragglers,
who conducted him to their place of
rendezvous.
The feelings of the prisoner, when
he saw his denshik come voluntarily
to share his misfortune, may easily
be conceived. The Tchetchenges
instantly divided the booty which he
brought them, leaving the major no*
thing but a guitar, which was among
his baggage, and which they restored
to him in derision. Ivan, this was
the name of the de?ishikf, took charge
of it, and refused to throw it away
as his master advised him. " Why
should we despond?" said he; " the
God of the Russians is great%. It
is for the interest of these robbers
to treat you well; they will do you
no harm."
After a halt of some hours, the
horde were about to pursue their
route, when they were joined by one
of their people, who stated that the
Russians continued to advance, and
* A soldier who acts as servant to
an officer.
t His whole name was Ivan Smyrnoff,
which signifies John the Gentle, forming
a singular contrast with his character, as
we shall see in the sequel.
% A common saying of the Russian
soldiers in the moment of danger.
E e
204
THE riUSONMUS IN TI1K CAUCASUS.
that in all probability the troops
from the other redoubt would join
in the pursuit. The chiefs held a
consultation: the question was, how
to conceal their retreat in such a
manner as not only to secure their
prisoners, but also to divert the ene-
my from their villages, and thus es-
cape reprisals. Ten men on foot
were appointed to escort the prison-
ers, while a hundred horsemen kept
together in a body, and marched in
a different direction from that which
Kaecambo was to follow. They took
from the major his boots, lest the
iron tips should leave on the ground
marks that might betray them; and
they obliged him, as well as Ivan, to
to walk barefoot part of the forenoon
of the next day.
On coining to a stream, the little
escort pursued its course on the
turf along the bank for the space of
half a werst, and descended to cross
at a spot where the banks were steep-
est, among thorny bushes, taking par-
ticular care to leave no traces of
their passage. The major was so
fatigued, that, before they reached
this stream, they were obliged to
carry him upon their girdles. His
feet were covered with blood, and
they resolved to give him back his
boots, that he might be able to per-
form the rest of the journey.
On their arrival at the first village,
Kascambo, who suffered still more
from chagrin than fatigue, appeared
to his guards to be so weak and ex-
hausted, that they entertained fears
for his life, and treated him with
more humanity. He was allowed
some rest and provided with a horse;
but, to baffle any future search which
the Russians might be disposed to
make, as well as to put it out of the
power of the prisoner himself to ac-
quaint his friends where he was, they
removed him from village to village
and from valley to valley, taking the
precaution to blindfold him several
times. In this manner lie crossed a
considerable river, which he judged
to be the Sonja. During these ex-
peditions he was well treated, being
allowed sufficient food and the re-
quisite" rest; but on his arrival at the
remote village in which he was to be
definitively confined, theTchetchen-
ges all at once changed their conduct,
and subjected him to every kind of
ill usage. They fettered his hands
and legs, and put about his neck a
chain, the end of which was attached
to an oak-log. The densJiik was
treated less harshly; his fetters were
lighter, and permitted him to render
some services to his master.
In this situation, at every fresh
hardship he had to endure, a man
who spoke the Russian language
came to see him, and advised him to
write to his friends to obtain his ran-
som, which had been fixed at ten
thousand rubles. The unfortunate
prisoner was unable to pay so large
a sum, and his only hope was in the
assistance of government, which had,
a k\v years before, redeemed a colo-
nel, who had fallen like himself into
the hands of banditti. The inter-
preter promised to furnish him with
paper, and to take charge of the
letter; but after Kascambo had sig-
nified his assent to the proposal, he
saw no more of the man for several
days;and this timewas employed to ag-
gravate the sufferings of the prisoner.
He was stinted of sustenance; the
mat on which he had slept, and the
cushion of a Cossack saddle that
had served him for a pillow, were
taken from him; and when at last
the negociator returned, he informed
THE PUISONKRS IN THE CAUCASUS.
205
the major, as it were in confidence,
that if the sum demanded should be
refused at the Line, or if the pay-
ment of it were delayed, the Tchet-
chenges had determined to dispatch
him, to spare themselves the expense
and the uneasiness he had occasion-
ed. The object of their cruelty was
to induce him to write in a more ur-
gent manner. At length they brought
him papev and a pen made out of a
reed, in the Tartar manner; they re-
moved the irons from his hands and
neck, that he might write with ease,
and when the letter was finished, it
was translated to the chiefs, who un-
dertook to send it to the officer com-
manding the Line. Thenceforward
he was treated less harshly, being
secured by a single chain, which was
fastened to his right hand and to
one of his feet.
His host, or rather his gaoler, was
an old man of sixty, of gigantic sta-
ture and ferocious look, with which
his character exactly corresponded.
Two of his sons had fallen in a ren-
counter with the Russians, which cir-
cumstance caused Win to be selected
from among all the inhabitants of
the village to have the charge of the
prisoners.
The family of this man, whose name
was Ibrahim, consisted of the widow
of one of his sons, aged thirty-five
years, and her child, a boy of seven
or eight, named Mahmet. The mo-
ther was as cruel and still more ca-
pricious than the old gaoler. Kas-
cambo had much to suffer from her;
but the familiarity and kindness of
little Mahmet were in the sequel an
alleviation, nay, a real support under
his mifortunes. This child conceived
such an affection for him, that the
threats and severity of his grandfa-
ther could not deter him from going
to play with the prisoner, whenever
he had an opportunity. He called
him his fconiak, which, in the lan-
guage of the country, signifies a guest
and a friend. He gave him clan-
destinely a share of any fruit that he
could procure, and during the com-
pulsory abstinence imposed on the
major, young Mahmet, moved with
compassion, dexterously availed him-
self of the momentary absence of his
parents to carry him pieces of bread
or potatoes roasted in the ashes.
Thus several months elapsed after
the letter was dispatched without any
occurrence worthy of record. Dur-
ing this interval, Ivan had found
means to ingratiate himself with the
old man and his daughter-in-law, or
at least to render himself useful, nay
almost necessary to them. He was
extremely clever at making IcislitcJii*,
and preparing salted cucumbers, and
accustomed the palate of his hosts to
all the new delicacies which he in-
troduced to their table.
To strengthen their confidence, he
placed himself on the footing of a
buffoon with them, inventing every
day some new gambol for their
amusement. Ibrahim took particular
delight in seeing him perform the
Cossack dance. Whenever he re-
ceived a visit from any other inhabit-
ant of the village, Ivan's fetters were
removed, and he was desired to dance,
which he always did with the great-
est cheerfulness, and never failed to
add some new antic to excite the
laughter of the spectators. By pur-
suing invariably this line of conduct,
he had procured liberty to go about
in the village, where he was usually
followed by a troop of children, drawn
together by his pranks ; and, as he
* A Russian beverage : a sort of beer
made with flour.
Ee2
THIS PRISONERS IN THE CAUCASUS.
understood the Tartar language, he
soon learned that of the country,
which is a kindred dialect.
The major himself was frequently
forced to sing Russian songs with his
(fenshik, and to play on the guitar,
to amuse the ferocious company. At
first the chain which fastened his
right hand was removed when this
complaisance was solicited of him;
but the woman observing that he
sometimes played for his own recrea-
tion notwithstanding his fetters, that
indulgence was no longer granted,
and the unhappy minstrel more than
once repented having ever displayed
his musical talents.
The two prisoners formed a thou-
sand plans for regaining their liberty,
but the difficulties that must attend
theirexecution appeared insurmount-
able. From the time of their arrival
at the village, the inhabitants by turns
sent every night a man to guard the
prisoners, in addition to their ordi-
nary keepers. This precaution was
in time less strictly observed. It
was frequently the case that no sen-
tinel came : the woman and her
child slept in an adjoining room,
and old Ibrahim was left alone with
them ; but he took good care to
keep in his possession the key to
their fetters, and awoke at the slight-
est noise. From day to day the
major was treated with more and
more severity. As no answer to his
letters arrived, the Tchetchenges fre-
quently came to his prison to insult
and threaten him with the most cruel
treatment. He was kept without
food, and one day he had the pain
to see poor little Mahmet unmerci-
fully beaten for having given him some
fruit.
A very remarkable circumstance
in Kascambo's unpleasant situation
was the confidence and esteem ma-
nifested for him by his persecutors.
Though he had to endure incessant
hardships and humiliations at the
hands of these barbarians, yet they
frequently came to ask his advice,
and to make him their umpire in
their concerns and quarrels. Among
other disputes which he was called
upon to decide, the following, from
its singularity, is worthy of notice.
One of these people put into the
hands of another, who was going to
a neighbouring valley, a Russian
bank-note of five rubles, requesting
him to pay it to a third person. The
traveller's horse died by the way, and
he took it into his head that he had
a right to keep the money as an in-
demnification for the loss which he
had sustained. This reasoning, wor-
thy of the Caucasus, was not relish-
ed by the man who entrusted him
with the note. On his return, the
affair made a great noise in the vil-
lage. The two men collected round
them their relatives and friends, and
the quarrel might have produced
bloodshed, had not the elders of the
horde, after endeavouring in vain to
make up the matter, prevailed on the
disputants to submit their cause to
the decision of the prisoner; on which
the whole population of the village
thronged to the house where he was
detained, impatient for the result.
Kascambo was taken from his prison,
and conducted to the platform which
served as a roof for the house.
Most of the dwellings in the val-
leys of the Caucasus are partly sunk
in the earth, and project only three
or four feet above its surface ; the
roof is horizontal, and composed of
a stratum of stamped clay. The in-
habitants, especially the women, are
accustomed to rest themselves on
these terraces, and frequently pass
the night there in the bummer season.
TIIK PRISONERS IN TUB CAUCASUS.
207
The moment Kascambo appeared
on the roof, profound silence pre-
vailed. This extraordinary tribunal
afforded the singular sight of furious
litigants, armed with pistols and dag-
gers, submitting their cause to a judge
in fetters, half-starved and emaciated
with want, whose judgment was ne-
vertheless definitive, and whose de-
cisions were always respected.
Aware that the arguments of rea-
son would be thrown away on the
accused, the major ordered him to
come forward, and to shame him and
render him ridiculous, he asked him
the following questions: " If the
complainant, instead of giving you
five rubles to carry to his credit-
or, had merely desired you to take
him a good morning, would not your
horse have died all the same?" —
" Probably he might," answered the
defendant. — " And in this case," re-
joined the judge, " what would you
have done with the good morning?
Would you not have been obliged
to keep it in payment, and to be con-
tent with that ? I enjoin you, there-
fore, to restore the note, and the com-
plainant to give you a good morning."
When this sentence was translated
to the spectators, peals of laughter
hailed the wisdom of the new Solo-
mon. The defendant himself, after
wrangling some time, was forced to
submit, and gave up the bank-note,
muttering, " I knew beforehand that
I should lose, if this dog of a Chris-
tian had any thing to do with the
matter."
This extraordinary confidence de-
notes the high idea which these peo-
ple entertain of European superiori-
ty, and the innate sense of justice
which exists even in the most fero-
cious minds.
Kascambo had written three let-
| ters since his detention, without re-
j ceiving any answer. A whole year
had elapsed. The unfortunate pri-
soner, destitute of linen and all the
conveniences of life, found his health
decline, and abandoned himself to
despair. Ivan too had been ill for
I some time. The rigid Ibrahim, to
| the great surprise of the major, had
! released the young man from his fet-
ters during his illness, and left him
j afterwards at liberty. The major
j one day questioned him on this sub-
ject. " Master," said Ivan, " I have
long wished to consult you about a
scheme that has come into my head.
I think it would be a good thing for
me to turn Mahometan." — " You
must be crazy, surely." — " No, I am
not crazy : but this is the only way
in which I can be of service to you.
The Turkish priest has told me that
when I am circumcised I cannot be
kept in irons any longer. I shall then
have it in my power to serve you, to
procure you at least wholesome food
and linen ; nay, who knows but
when I am once free the God
of the Russians is great we shall
see ." — " But God himself will
forsake you, if you prove a traitor to
him." Kascambo, angry as he af-
fected to be, could scarcely refrain
from laughing outright at this strange
project; but when he peremptorily
enjoined him to think no more of it,
— " Master," replied Ivan, " it is no
longer in my power to obey you. The
business is done. Ever since the
day when you supposed me to be ill
and my fetters were taken oft" I have
been a Mahometan, and my name
now is Hussein. What harm is there
in that? Cannot I turn Christian
again as soon as I please, when you
are at liberty ? You see I am no
longer in fetters : I have it in my pqw-
208
INDIAN SUPERSTITIONS.
er to break yours on the first favour-
able opportunity, and I trust it will
not be long before one occurs."
They did indeed keep their word:
he was no longer chained, and thence-
forward enjoyed more liberty ; but
that very liberty had well nigh prov-
ed fatal to him. The leaders of the
expedition against Kascambo soon
became apprehensive lest the new
Mussulman should desert. From
his long residence among them, and
his acquaintance with their language,
he knew all their names, and might
give a description of their persons at
the Line, if he should ever return
thither, and thus they would be ex-
posed individually to the vengeance
of the Russians. Of course they
highly disapproved the misplaced zeal
of the priest. On the other hand,
the pious Mussulmans who had con-
tributed to his conversion remarked,
that when he said his prayers on the
house-top, according to custom, and
as the mollah had expressly enjoined
him, that the new convert might con-
ciliate the favour of the people, he
frequently intermixed, from habit and
inadvertence, the sign of the cross
with the prostrations that he ought
to have made towards Mecca, on
which, however, he sometimes turned
his back — a circumstance that led
them to doubt the sincerity of his
conversion.
(To be continued.)
INDLYN SUPERSTITIONS.
" Compose yourself, I pray you,
and yield your heavy eye to sleep,
good old man," said Franklin Mor-
ris, a young voyager from North
America, who sat on the floor of a
hut beside a very aged Indian stretch-
ed on a threadbare poncho of a stuff
manufactured for domestic use among
the natives of Chili. " Compose
yourself, I beseech you," repeated
Franklin Morris, " and allow your
dislocated limb to regain its powers.
Believe me I feel no discomfort, ex-
cept in seeing you add to your suf-
ferings by anxiety for my accommo-
dation. This bed of dried grass sup-
plies all I wish to promote repose,
and it forms a comfortable seat when
I am not inclined to slumber."
This expostulation was uttered in
the dialect of Peru, which he under-
stood, and he replied in the same
language.
" Compassionate white man ! I
ought to obey thee — and I will — yet
my heart is cleft in pieces to see my
deliverer laid upon the withered herbs
of mountain hollows, while I have
the mat and the poncho."
" I can rise from my couch of herbs
when I have tired on its soft surface,'*
answered Morris : " but I am sorry
to say you can hardly move to ease
your joints a little ; nor will you be
in a condition to leave your bed this
moon, unless you keep your mind
and body free from disquiet. If it can
afford you any satisfaction, I pledge
my word not to leave you till some
of your friends arrive. They "
" Hold ! make no promises," in-
terrupted the Indian ; " make no en-
gagements to me, white man of the
generous soul! Let me not be so
ungrateful as to fetter thee with ties
beyond the extent of thy claims in
thine own land. Never can a friend
arrive — nor is there a mortal in ex-
istence to care for the long-separated
Guaraspo. All that shared the blood
INDIAN SUPEUSTrnoNS.
209
in my veins have mouldered in dust.
The last of my race, my son Batala-
pato, towering in stature as the he-
liconda, and graceful as the untamed
young horse of the wide savannah,
fell hy my side, as I sunk to the earth
covered with wounds. Our tribe
had fought and hied till all who could
resist the foe were extirpated, and
the women and children were dragged
away by the Spaniards, who on them
wreaked their vengeance for our in-
surrection. My son and I were the
only survivors ; but when the fierce
combatants left us they supposed life
to be extinct. The refreshing dews
of night roused me to new being —
my son had not ceased to breathe ;
and exerting all my strength, I bore
him up the mountain, the living stream
of which bathed our wounds and
moistened our parched lips. My son
recovered the power of speech ; I
erected over him a shelter of boughs
cut from the mammae; and its invi-
gorating fruit appeased our hunger.
He recovered a little, and I carried
him higher and higher up the steeps,
to conceal him from the shouting con-
querors, who ravaged the lower An-
des, seeking for gold, the idol of their
souls, though they profess to worship
the cross, and their priests take vows
of abstinence and poverty. Spirit
of the skies ! to thee I raised my
heart while, loaded with sorrows, I
beheld my son expire ; I bore him
from a death of steel in the plains to
meet death in the cold and lofty re-
gion where avarice had no tempta-
tion to pursue us. The last offspring
of a chief, the leader of a mighty
tribe, breathed no more. I gave his
remains to the earth near the spot
where you found me, and near it
have passed days and nights, while
on a notched stick were registered
moons to the number of two hun-
dred and ten. All who would have
searched for me were mangled clay ;
and I wished not to behold the face
of man. When the tempest of the
sky raged abroad, it was my custom
to ascend the rugged cliffs, that the
voice of my son might vibrate on my
ear, denouncing vengeance upon the
spoilers of Chili ; and vengeance has
fallen upon their city of Copiapa, and
a vast extent on every side of their
dwellings. The earth, shuddering
at their crimes, hath quaked from the
foundations; multitudes have sunk
in a living tomb, and destruction, fa-
mine, and disease overwhelm the op-
pressors of our land. Stretching over
a rock to view the ruins of their gran-
deur, I became dizzy and fell, at the
moment when my son with extended
arms appeared ready to embrace me :
but he vanished ; I made a spring
to detain him — he is gone — I yet live
— and live but to renew my sorrows.
White man, I see in thy countenance
melting pity for a bereaved father —
a desolate chief of nations. Cheer
thy open brow, and think of Gua-
raspo only as an old man drowning
near the place of his rest. The fall
from a summit of rocks shall hasten
the liberation of the aged ; and Ba-
talapato shall meet me where no in-
vader can approach us. But how
hast thou ventured to this forlorn
mountain? White men come only
in quest of gold."
" I am," said Morris, " a shipwreck-
ed native of the northern parts of
America. The surf casting me ashore,
stunned me. I traversed the stony
beach as soon as my senses returned,
and climbed the lower Andes, seek-
ing a brook to quench my thirst:
ascending where I saw a grove of
trees that promised shelter and fruits,
210
INDIAN SUPEUSTiTIONS.-
I heard tlie plaints of suffering hu-
manity, and guided by the sounds,
discovered you among fragments of
rock."
" May the strength of thine arm
never fail in time of need !" exclaimed
the Indian,with uplifted hands. " May
the Great Spirit reward thy effort of
mercy to a wretched old man ! I
can but speak my thanks in power-
less words : yet it may be of service
to urge thy departure from this un-
happy, though beautiful land. The
Spaniards will slay or enslave thee.
They have made bondmen and bond-
women of all the nations except the
remaining tribes of Chili. In the last
insurrection, my tribe, the most dar-
ing warriors among thousands of the
brave, were cut to pieces, and of
the other tribes multitudes chose ra-
ther to die with weapons brandished
against the common enemy, than to
accept a truce upon terms ignoble
and precarious. The survivors re-
treated to fastnesses of the moun-
tains, and they assert their indepen-
dence. If you see a Chilian, you
must observe how superior he shines
in stature, in form, and in a counte-
nance animated by the lofty soul of
freedom. Compare them with the
dastard, crouching wretches who have
submitted to tyranny, and your heart
will tell you it is better to preserve
liberty in the fastnesses of Chili, than
to revel at the festivals of white men
in Peru or Paraguay. In other
years I have visited those countries
as a trader for my nation ; and the
blood of my veins boiled with rage
to behold Indians, free-born Indians,
so degraded. White man of the
generous soul, hie thee back to the
land of thy fathers ! Wilt thou in-
deed barter freedom for gold ? Thou
canst not know the miseries of ser-
vitude unless by experience, and it
will then be too late to repent of the
rash exchange* Return, return to
the land of thy fathers, and let me
die in solitude, comforted by the hope
of thy safety!"
" Again let me beseech you to ba-
nish all inquietude on my behalf,"
replied Franklin Morris. " The Spa-
niards will not molest me. Their own
interest has formed a spell to guard
my liberty. My father, a merchant
of Philadelphia, has traded with the
Spanish settlers of Mexico, Peru,
and the more southern ports for ma-
ny years. I have been at Lima, and
am personally known to men of emi-
nence in that city. I shall make my
way to them, and they will furnish
me with means to explore the won-
drous scenes of South America, while
I wait the arrival of another ship,
freighted by our house, which will
carry me home."
11 White man of the generous soul,
beware of the treacherous Creoles !
And what can you see worthy of tra-
vel through regions where the na-
tives are reduced to a state beneath
the free animals that roam the wilds,
cleave the waters, or skim the air?"
The Indian raised himself in the
earnestness of remonstrance. Frank-
lin Morris gently assisted him to a
recumbent posture, adjusted his in-
jured limb, and thus responded:
" I desire to see under all aspects
the luxuriant and varied vegetation
of your forests and plains. I would
ascend your Andes, contemplate your
volcanoes, dive into the mines, and,
above all, I am eager to examine the
Cueva del Guacharo."
The old Indian, with a cry of dis-
may, again raised himself on his el-
bow, saying, in tremulous accents,
" The Great Spirit defend thee, my
INDIAN SUrnltSTITION?.
c211
son ! Alas ! thou srieakest of hor-
rors all unknown to thee ! My son,
my son, let not thy ignorance betray
thee ! Thouspeakest — thou speakest
of terrific dangers, and art not aware
of them."
" Father, I am perfectly aware
of the gloom and the hoarse mur-
muring sounds of the Cueva del
Guacharo," answered Franklin Mor-
ris. " I know every particular by
description ; but I wish to see the
cave with my own eyes."
" Trust not the lying Spaniards,
my son," persisted the Indian in a ve-
hement tone; " they will deceive thee
to thy ruin."
" It is not from a Spaniard I have
had the description," returned Frank-
lin Morris. " A German, named
Baron Humboldt, went from the con-
vent of Carepe to the Cueva del
Guacharo, and has described it."
While he endeavoured to explain
this account in language adapted to
the simple notions of the Indian chief,
the fixed eyes and clasped hands of
the latter testified alarm, repugnance,
and grief. Then kindling into ec-
stasy, he muttered words in his own
dialect, and turning to Franklin Mor-
ris, said to him, in tli£ Peruvian lan-
guage, " My son, I have prayed the
Great Spirit of the bright heavens
to protect thee from the sleep-impos-
ing evil genius of the moon-eyed
Indians, and from the tremendous
magician that spoke the alluring
words you have repeated. I have
prayed, and the glorious Spirit of
the Heavens is propitious ; for, lo !
his image, the sun, sheds his clearest
lustre over thy golden hair. See the
brilliant rays that quiver through the
low entrance of our hut, and stretch
toward thee. Hear my words, and
contemn not a warning from the
Vol. fill. No. XL ft
aged, whose prayers have drawn a
visible sign of favour from the orb
of light. Long before the surges of
the great ocean bore rapacious stran-
gers to the coasts of Chili, her peo-
ple, countless as leaves of the forest,
were unmatched in strength and va-
lour. Their high chief, my ances-
tor, had lived to extreme old age,
when the moon-eyed Indians, sor-
cerers of dreadful arts, suddenly
poured upon our plains, assisted by
wild tribes from the south. A young
descendant of the disabled chief, the
daughter of his son's son, defended
her grandsire ; but a host of the
enemy seized her, and slew the war-
rior, loaded viith years that enfeebled
his once mighty hand. His sons were
supposed to have fallen in the strife;
but Ilosohuntas,thebravest,was borne
from the field of blood by his spouse,
and his wounds cured by her skill in
herbs of balsamic virtue. He wait-
ed moon after moon, till the invaders
retired, laden with spoils, and then
employed his son Pocolaras to ap-
prise the remnant of the Chilians
that their hereditary leader yet liv-
ed, and would prove his right, by
delivering Caraibaye from the Gua-
charo cave, where she was detained
in a sleep resembling death. Two
hundred warriors were required to
attend to rescue the maid, in case
the necromancer should raise a force
j to oppose her liberation. Two hun-
dred warriors assembled with the
speed of light, and Caraibaye was
released. Protected by counter-
spells, the gifts of his mother, the
valiant Pocolaras proceeded alone to
the Cueva del Guacharo. Caraibaye,
fast bound to an arum -tree, was
guarded by ten thousand monstrous
serpents, prolonging her deep slum-
bers with drowsy notes. Twined
F v
212
THE HUSSAIl S SADDLE.
around manchineel-trees, they pro-
jected their poisonous fangs, hissing
with open jaws, and coiling them-
selves to dart upon the hero. He
invoked the Great Spirit — he struck
Iris lance against the ground, and
discharged an arrow, charmed by
counter-spells, over the arum-tree.
The manchineel- trees and the ser-
pents vanished, and the arum-tree
changed to a beautiful heliconda.
The youth cut the gyves from the
captive maid, and in his arms pre-
sented her to his warriors, who, with
anxious hearts, obeyed his command
to wait at a distance. How joyful
was the astonishment of Caraibaye
when roused from deathlike repose
and troubled dreams ! She awoke and
found herself the bride of a hero,
and surrounded by mighty hosts of
Chili. To this hour the rage of the
evil genius for the loss of Caraibaye
fills the Cueva del Guacharo with
horrible lamentations; thy voice, my
son, will be joined with theirs, if thou
art enticed by the words of a Ger-
man magician to trust thyself to the
enchanted bound. His description
is formed to delude the unwary stran-
ger ; but let not my admonition be
addressed to thee in vain."
Franklin Morris appeased the
alarm of the dying chief by promis-
ing to avoid all contact with necro-
mantic influence. In a few days he
discovered a number of Spaniards,
native and negro labourers, in the
vicinity. The earthquake had loosen-
ed a rock from the peak of an ad-
jacent mountain, and a vast quantity
of pure gold was found among the
fragments. This circumstance in-
duced the Spaniards to make an ex-
tensive search in that direction, and
they were repaid by collecting much
precious metal. Some of these gold-
finders entered the hut of the Indian
chief, and his strong aversion ope-
rated fatally on a constitution nearly
worn out by sorrow and pain. A few
days terminated his sufferings ; and
Franklin Morris, after paying the last
duty to his remains, accompanied the
Spaniards to the next town, whence
he was enabled to proceed to the
city of Lima. B. G.
THE HUSSARS SADDLE.
From " Tiik Odd Volume," lately published.
Old Ludovic Iiartz always re-
garded his saddle with the deepest
veneration ; and yet there appeared
nothing about it capable of exciting
his idolatry. It was a Turkish sad-
dle, old, and deeply stained with
blood : yet, to the brave Ludovic, it
recalled a tale of other days, when,
young, ardent, and enthusiastic, he
first drew his sword in defence of
Iris country against its enemies.
He had been opposed in battle
against the hostile invaders of his na-
tive Hungary, and many an unbeliev-
ing dog had his good sword smitten
to the earth. Various had been the
fortune of the war, and too often
was the glory of the holy cross
dimmed by the lustre of the tri-
umphant crescent. Such sad disas-
ters were seldom alluded to by the
brave hussar, but he loved to dwell
on the successful actions in which he
had been engaged.
It was in one of these fierce com-
bats that, suddenly cut off from his
party, he found himself surrounded
by four infuriated Turks. " But the
recollection of you and your angel
mother," would Ludovic say to his
daughter, " nerved my arm. I was
assailed by all my opponents. How
TIIK HUSSARS SADDLE.
ns
three fell, I knew not ; but severe
and long was the conflict with the
last of ray foes, whose powerful arm
was raised against me. Already I
saw my wife a mournful widow and
my child fatherless, and these dread-
ful thoughts infused fresh vigour in-
to my arm ; I smote the infidel dog
to death, hurled him from his steed,
and rifled him as he lay. At this
moment several of the enemy ap-
peared in sight, but I was too much
exhausted to renew the perilous con-
flict. My gallant horse lay wounded
and in the agonies of death ; I threw
myself on the Turkish courser, and
forced him on at his utmost speed
until I regained my squadron. The
saddle was steeped in the blood of
my foe, and mine mingled with it.
When a cessation of hostilities per-
mitted the troops to rest for a space
from the horrors of war, I hastened
with the treasure, which, during the
campaign, I had acquired, to my
home, purchased these fertile fields
around my dwelling, and forgot for
a season the miseries of war."
The good Ludovic would here
pause. He still retained a lively re-
collection of his lost wife, and he
could not bear to narrate the circum-
stances of her illness and death.
After that sad event, his home be-
came hateful to him, and he resolved
again to engage in the arduous du-
ties of a soldier. The little Theresa
was kindly adopted into the family
of his only brother, and there, after
a lapse of some years, our good hus-
sar found her blooming in youthful
beauty.
Ludovic arrived only in time to
close the eyes of his brother, who,
on his death-bed, entreated him to
bestow Theresa on his only son,when
they should have attained a proper
age. Grateful for his almost paren-
tal care of his child, and moved by
the situation of his brother, whose
whole heart seemed to be bent on
this union, Ludovic promised that
when his daughter should have at-
tained the age of eighteen, she
should become the wife of Karl, pro-
vided Karl himself desired the con-
nection at that time ; and, satisfied
with this promise, the old man died
in peace.
This engagement was concealed
from Theresa, but it was known to
Karl, who exulted in the thought
that this rich prize would one day be
his. With low habits and a coarse
turn of mind, the delicate graces of
Theresa had no charms for him ; he
loved her not, but he loved the wealth
which would one day be hers, and
which he looked on with a greedy
eye. The thousand soft and name-
less feelings which accompany a ge-
nerous and tender passion were un-
known to Karl. It was a hard task
to him to attend his gentle mistress ;
nor did he ever appear disposed to
play the part of a lover, except when
some other seemed inclined to supply
his place. It was at a rura\ fete, given
by Ludovic to his neighbours at the
termination of an abundant harvest,
that Karl first chose openly to assert
his right. He had taken it for grant-
ed that he should open the dance
with Theresa. What, then, was his
indignation, when, on entering the
apartment, he saw Theresa, her slen-
der waist encircled by the arm of a
young hussar, moving in the graceful
waltz ! The evident superiority of
his rival, whose well-knit limbs, firm
step, and free and martial air, formed
a striking contrast to his own clownish
figure and awkward gait, only in-
creased his ire, and, in violent wrath,
Ff2
214
Till'! HUSSARS SADDLE.
he advanced to Theresa, insisting on |
his right to open the dance with her.
Theresa pleaded her engagement;
he persisted ; she refused his request,
and laughed at his anger. He be-
came violent and rude. The hussar
interfered, and the quarrel rose so
high as to draw Ludovic to the spot.
Karl, in a voice almost choked
with passion, laid his grievances be-
fore him. Theresa, in a tone of in-
dignation, complained to her father
of his insolence, and appealed to
him whether she were not at liberty
to select any partner for the dance
she thought proper. " You have
no such liberty !" thundered forth
Karl. " You are my betrothed wife,
and as such, you belong to me alone."
Theresa cast on him a smile full
of scorn and contempt, but it faded
as she looked to her father, and a
deadly paleness overspread her coun-
tenance as she inquired, " Father,
does this man speak truth V — " He
does, my child," was the reply ; and
she dropped insensible at his feet.
The young hussar now knelt down
beside her, passionately kissed her
fair forehead, and, raising her in his
arms, bore her to an adjoining apart-
ment, followed by the father and
Karl. Theresa slowly revived. At
first she saw no one, and breathing a
deep sigh, murmured, " It was all a
horrid dream!" An anguished groan
startled her into perception and ago-
ny. She looked up and saw her fa-
ther standing before her, with folded
arms and a countenance clouded with
grief. Karl also stood near with an
exulting smile; and the hussar knelt
beside her, but his face was buried
in his hands. She then found it was
no dream. She looked to her father.
" Father, is there no hope ?" — " None,
my honour is pledged." She then
turned to the hussar, and placed for
a moment her cold hand in his ; then
rising suddenly, threw herself at the
feet of Karl. " O Karl, have mer-
cy ! I love another — you do not love
me — have pity onus !" — "By all the
powers of heaven and hell, you shall
be mine, Theresa !" — " I appeal to
my father." — " Will your father vio-
late his promise to the dead ?" — " I
will not" said Ludovic, with solemni-
ty.— " Then, Theresa," exclaimed
Karl, with fiendlike exultation, " no
power on earth shall save you from
being mine !" and thus saying, he left
the house.
Theresa rose from her knees, and
threw herself into the arms of her
lover. The presence of her father
was no restraint on her pure tender-
ness. Her tears fell fast on his man-
ly countenance, but his agony was
too great for that relief. Ludovic
was deeply moved. He approached
them, endeavoured to calm their af-
fliction, and related the circumstances
under which this promise had been
given ; but his concluding words,
" that he must hold it sacred,"
threw them into a new paroxysm of
grief. " We must part, then, Arn-
hold," said the weeping Theresa ;
" we must part — ah ! can we survive
this cruel blow ?" — " No," said Arn-
hokl, " no : I cannot live without
you : let us once more entreat your
father to have pity on us !" and the
youthful lovers threw themselves at
his feet. — " Arnhold !" said Ludovic,
sternly, " thou a soldier, and ask me
to tarnish my honour !" Arnhold felt
the appeal; he started up, raised
the weeping Theresa, cut oft* with
his sabre one long bright tress, em-
braced and kissed her, placed her
in the arms of her father, and fled.
Every passing day carried with it
TIIK HUSSARS SADDLE.
some portion of the fortitude of The-
resa, as if she saw the near approach
of the period which was to consign
her to a fate so dreadful. Three
little weeks were all that lay between
her and misery. Ludovic endea-
voured to sooth her, but she woidd
not be comforted. Had even her
affections been disengaged, Karl
would have been distasteful to her :
but with affections placed on ano-
ther, the idea of a union with him
appeared insupportable.
" My dear child !" would Ludovic
say, interrupting a passionate burst
of grief, "by what magic has Arnhold
gained possession of your heart ?" —
" He is an hussar," replied Theresa.
There was something in this reply
which moved Ludovic : he recollect-
ed that he himself had imbued the
mind of his daughter with sentiments
of respect and esteem for the cha-
racter of a good soldier ; and con-
science reminded him, that he had
too often exalted the profession of
arms above the peaceful and unob-
trusive occupations of the husband-
man. Was it wonderful, then, that
Theresa should have imbibed some-
thing of this spirit ? or that she
should have yielded her heart to one
who possessed courage to defend
her, and tenderness to sooth her,
under the afflictions of life ? Arn-
hold dwelt near them ; he had been
the early playmate of Theresa, and,
with glowing cheeks and sparkling
eyes, they had often listened together
to the warlike exploits which the
good Ludovic delighted to relate to
them ; and to these conversations
might be attributed the passionate
desire of Arnhold to adopt the pro-
fession of arms. Accustomed to see
them play together as children, and
liking the society of the generous and
spirited boy, Ludovic forgot the dan-
ger, when their childhood passed
away, of their affection assuming a
totally different character. It was
so, and Ludovic now saw with deep
grief that his daughter was unalter-
ably attached to the youthful sol-
dier.
If Theresa was unhappy, her fa-
ther was scarcely less so : he blamed
his own imprudence; and on con-
trasting the characters of the two
youths, a violent conflict between his
feelings and his duty arose in his
breast ; but the stern honour of the
soldier triumphed, and he deemed
himself bound to complete the sacri-
fice. Unable, however, to endure
the sight of her grief, he carried her
to the abode of a youthful female
friend, who formerly resided near
them, but on her marriage had re-
moved to a village about sixty miles
distant. There he left Theresa, af-
ter receiving her solemn promise that
she would return with him the day
before that on which she should
complete her eighteenth year. "Fa-
ther," said she, with streaming eyes,
" I have never deceived you. If I
live, I will return : but do not grieve
too deeply, should my heart break
in this fearful struggle." The old
hussar dashed away a tear which
strayed down his scarred and sun-
burnt cheek, embraced his child, and
departed.
Time wore gradually away, and at
last the day arrived which was to seal
Theresa's fate. It found her in a
state of torpid despair. Exhausted
by her previous struggles, all feeling
seemed dead ; but her mind was
awakened to new suffering. A friend
arrived to conduct her to her father.
The good Ludovic lay, apparently,
on the bed of death ; and with breath-
216
TUlt HUSSARS SADDLE.
less impatience Theresa pursued her
journey.
On her arrival her father's sick-
room was not solitary. The detest-
ed Karl was there, and there too
was the youthful hussar. "My child," |
said Ludovic, " my days are num-
bered : my fate must soon be decided,
and, alas! yours also! To my dying
brother I solemnly promised, that on
this day I would offer you to his son
for his bride. Without fulfilling my
engagement, I could not die in peace :
even the grave would afford no rest.
Can you sacrifice yourself for my fu-
ture repose?" — " I can — I will," cri-
ed the unfortunate Theresa, sinking
on her knees, "so help me Heaven'."—
" Heaven will bless a dutiful child!"
said Ludovic, with fervour. " Karl,
draw near."-~Karl obeyed — Theresa |
shuddered.
" Karl," said Ludovic, " you say
you love my child: cherish her, I
conjure you, as you hope for future
happiness. In her you will possess
a treasure; but I must warn you,
she will bring you but one portion
of my possessions — " Karl started
and retreated a few steps. " That,
however,** continued Ludovic, "which
I look upon as my greatest earthly
treasure, I give you with my daugh-
ter. You, Karl, believe me to have
some virtues. Alas! alas! you know
not the secret sins which have sullied
my life — the rapine, the murder —
but enough of this ! I have confessed
to my spiritual father, and have ob-
tained absolution for the dark cata-
logue— but on condition that I leave
all my wealth to the church as an
atonement for my transgressions. I
could not forget I was a father: I
pleaded the destitute state of my
child — I implored, I entreated — at
length I wrung from the pious father
his consent that I should retain my
greatest treasure for my Theresa. I
chose my saddle. Keep it, dear
child, in remembrance of an affec-
tionate father. And you, Karl, are
you satisfied to relinquish worldly
goods for the welfare of my soul?
Are you content to take my daugh-
ter with this portion?"
" Fool!" exclaimed Karl, "doting
idiot! how dare you purchase exemp-
tion from punishment at my expense?
Your wealth is mine; your posses-
sions must be the portion of my
bride. I will reclaim them from those
rapacious monks, and tear them from
the altar!"
" You cannot, you dare not," re-
plied Ludovic, raising his voice in
anger: "my agreement witli your fa-
ther had reference to my daughter
only — my wealth formed no part of
it."
" Driveller! dotard!" vociferated
Karl, " think you that I will accept
a portionless bride? You must seek
some other fool for your purpose : I
renounce her."
" Give her to me, father!" cried
Arnhold; " I swear to cherish and
protect her while I live. Give her
to me, and when she shall be the
loved wife of my bosom, I will live
for her — aye, and die for her!"
Karl laughed in mockery. " You
value life but little," said he, " to
talk of sacrificing it for a woman. I
never knew one worth the trouble
of winning, and least of all Theresa."
The young hussar laid his hand
on his sabre. Theresa threw herself
between them. At the same mo-
ment Ludovic sprang from his couch,
tore the covering from his head,
snatched his saddle from the wall
where it hung, seized his sabre, with
one stroke laid it open, and a stream
?HB UTEUAHY COTIUltE.
217
of gokl bezants, Oriental pearls, and
sparkling jewels, fell on the floor.
" Wretch ! worm ! vile clod of earth !
art thou not justly punished? Hence,
reptile ! be gone before I forget that i
thou art of my blood!" Ludovic rais-
ed his sabre, and the dastardly Karl
fled, without daring to give utterance
to the imprecation which hung on
his colourless lips.
Trampling under foot the costly
jewels which lay strewed around,
Theresa rushed forward and em-
braced her father, exclaiming, " Is
not this a dream? Are you indeed re-
stored to me? Can this bliss be real?"
" Forgive me, my child," exclaim-
ed Ludovic, " the pain I have been
obliged to give your gentle heart.
My effort to make that wretch resign
his claim to your hand has been suc-
cessful. Grudge not that part of
our store has been appropriated to
holy church — not to purchase for-
giveness of the sins I mentioned, and
of which, thank Heaven, I am guilt-
less, but to be the blessed means of
saving you from a miserable fate.
Kneel down, my children — aye, sup-
port her, Arnhold — lay her innocent
head on your bosom, and receive
the fervent benediction of an old
hussar."
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
No. XX.
Present, the Vicau, Mrs. Primrose, Miss Primrose, Miss II. Primrose, Counsellor Eithersidf,
Basil Firedrake, Horace Primrose, Reginald Hildebrand, Mr. Mathews, and Mr. Montague.
Let me see what is its title. " The
Song of the Patriot, Sonnets and
Songs, by Robert Millhouse of Not-
tingham ;" and here's an " advertise-
ment," setting forth, I suppose, the
affection of the parent for his litera-
ry progeny, and deprecating the
frowns of the critic upon his young
bantling. " If any indulgence," —
aye, aye, the usual strain — " if any
indulgence be allowable to poetry for
the circumstances under which it has
been produced, some, the author
may reasonably presume, will be due
to this little work. Employment of
more serious moment has not been
omitted, to gratify the beguiling pro-
pensity of poetical enthusiasm. The
principal, indeed the greatest portion
of the work, has been composed in
the loom, and written down at such
brief intervals as the close applica-
tion required at his employment
would allow." Well, that is cer-
Reginald (entering). Ha ! wel-
come home from Scarborough, my
fair hostess, and you, ladies : and
what have you brought me from that
resort of fashion and gaiety ? What
trinkets, " rich and rare," am I to re-
ceive as a memento of your visit to
the Margate of the north ?
Rosina. Indeed, Reginald, we
have brought you nothing, unless
you will be content with this small
volume of poems, which attracted
our notice as we were lounging in a
bookseller's shop the last morning
of our stay in Scarborough, and
which I bought to add to your libra-
ry, if you think it worthy a place on
your shelves.
Reginald. Of course, as the gift
of a lady, it would be entitled to a
place there, even had it no merit of
its own to sanction its claim to a rest-
ing-place in my study ; and I accept
the gift as a pledge of friendship.
218
THE LITERARY COTKHII?.
tainly a legitimate claim to indul-
gence ; and if Robert Millhouse, un-
der such circumstances, has pro-
duced a volume that contains only a
few gems of poetical merit, he will
be entitled to high praise.
Miss Primrose. You will find
many " gems of purest ray serene"
scattered through the pages, if I
mistake not. I scanned it over in
the carriage, and have marked a few
passages for your perusal.
Reginald. Aye, here is one, in
" The Song of the Patriot." Listen
whilst I recite with " due emphasis
and discretion:"
Who docs not love his birthplace? There's a
spell
Of threefold magic in the Briton's home!
By heroes bought, from Freedom's hand it
fell,
Fast clinging to his heart ; and though he
roam
O'er lands remote, or where vast oceans foam
Iu noisy uproar, to the wanderer's breast
Wealth, poverty, or joy or woe may come:
Yet native scenes, as for May's bridal
dress'd,
Will haunt his very dreams, and, oh ! such
dreams are blest.
Ye Britons! who have other states survey 'd,
Intent new forms of government to try,
Say, have you found, where'er your search
was made,
That distant realm where you would live
and die,
Nor give one lingering voluntary sigh,
To see, once more, the land where you were
born ?
Methinks e'en now, beneath another sky,
Wide o'er the Atlantic, many a breast for-
lorn
Heaves for that peerless isle they late beheld
with scorn.
Whether where Gangesrolls o'er golden sand,
Or copious Nile makes glad Egyptian
swains ;
Where Niagara shakes the astonished land,
Or Orellana laves Peruvian plains ;
Whether free choice, or adverse fate detains,
Often, towards home, the Briton turns his
mind,
Listens, in vain, to hear the skylark's strains,
Nor feels that brisk invigorating wind,
Which blows across the land his footsteps left
behind.
Haply, while pacing on some seabeat shore,
With sad, yet hopeful wing his fancy roves
Swift o'er a waste of waves to re-explore
The hills, the dales, the streams, the meads,
and groves,
Haunts of his childhood; scenes where early
loves
And gentle friendships swayed his inmost
soul ;
While in his wrapt imagination, moves
She, whose endearments o'er his bosom stole,
And gain'd his youthful heart with beauty'*
soft controul.
Fair to his sight the briary bank appears,
Where grew the sweetest violet of the
spring ;
And the wild thorn its aged head uprears
Where he was wont to hear the linnet sing ;
And in the pasture he surveys the ring,
Where, as his grandam told, the fairies
played;
Beholds the raven from the cliff take wing;
Marks the green turf rise where his sire was
laid ;
Then vents the struggling sighs his aching
breast invade.
And would the Briton seek a happier clime,
Where laws more just and equitable reign ?
Long shall his head be hoary grown with
time
Ere he succeed that happier clime to gain ;
No bark has yet drove keel into the main
To bear the exile to a better shore:
And, O my country ! may'st thou long re-
main '
Matchless in worth and might, and ever-
more
Let justice from thy throne protect the poor
mau's door !
A beacon lighted on a giant hill,
A sea-girt watch-tower to each neighbouring
state,
A barrier to controul the despot's will,
An instrument of all- directing fate,
Is Britain : for whate'er iu man is great,
Full to that j- atness have her sons at-
tained ;
Dreadful in war to hurl the battle's weight;
Supreme in art, in commerce unrestrained ;
Peerless in magic song to hold the soul en-
chained.
The Vicar. That is indeed a pa-
triot's song; ,and coming from so
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
219
lowly a source it is doubly valuable.
If the humble weaver feels the su-
periority of British liberty and Bri-
tish laws, what ought not the rich
and mighty, the titled and the proud,
to feel, exalted as they are, by those
laws, almost to an equality with
princes?
Counsellor Eitherside. Yet it is
amongst those that the tone was
given to the disaffection which once
filled the land ; it is amongst those
we have even now to look for the
worst enemies of England, because
their station gives them an influence
which the demagogues in a different
rank do not possess. However, thank
God, Radicalism and Whiggism are
going out of fashion; and a man may
now avow himself to be loyal without
being hooted in the streets.
Basil. And the man who would
not avow himself to be loyal, even
though not merely hooting, but death
itself was to be his reward, is unwor-
thy the name of Briton ; is unworthy
to share the blessings which that
magic word, England, conveys to the
wanderer's heart.
The Vicar. The poet has well ex-
pressed the sentiment of patriotism :
O England, who has seen thy purple vales,
Drunk on thy sunny hills the joyous gales,
Roved the rich bowers where a Chatham paid
The soul's high homage to a Newton's shade ;
Or where the unfailing form of Commerce
pours
The tribute of the nations on thy shores ;
Whose is the human heart, not curs'd and
cold,
That sees thy chartered millions, brave and
bold,
At shut of eve their healthful labour o'er,
Stretched with their infants at the cottage-
door ;
While the thick vine and silvery jasmine train
Their mingled foliage round the latticed pane,
And sees the British peasant's humble home
Secure and sacred as the lordly dome ;
Vol. VIII. No. XL VI.
Sees o'er the land one face of beauty shine,
And, Freedom, knows the bright creation
thine :
Yet loves thee not — yet feels no sudden start,
No hallowed envy of the patriot's heart ;
Feels not with thee his spirits swell sublime,
And deems e'en slackness in thy cause a
crime*!
Horace. We want Apathy, now,
with his croaking to mar our con-
cord : without him we are all marvel-
lously of one mind, and I think even
he has of late been less captious
than usual. Where is he?
Mrs. Primrose. At Scarborough,
where we left him enjoying the cool
sea-breezes, and the refreshments of
the bath, which he was indefatigable
in taking every morning. Even on
the morning after that dreadful thun-
der-storm, when scarcely an indivi-
dual but himself was tempted to ven-
ture into the sea, our friend Apathy
bathed, he says, though he was think-
ing all the time of the poor girl who
lost her life by the mysterious dis-
pensation of Providence.
Reginald. Did you hear much of
the storm ?
Mrs. Primrose. Hear ! It would
have awoke any sleeper, I should
think, but those who were sleeping
the sleep of death. I, however, had
not retired to rest when it came on ;
Mary-Ann and Rosina had gone to
their rooms ; but as the peals of
thunder followed each other in quick
succession, they rejoined me, and to-
gether we watched its progress from
our window, which commanded a full
view of the sea. The clouds were
one mass of blackness, unillumined
by a single star ; but ever and anon
emitting flashes of lightning, which
were followed by thunder-claps, so
loud, that they seemed to shake the
* The Times.
G G
220
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
very foundation of the building in
which we were. By degrees the
lightning became more vivid, till the
sea appeared one wide sheet of flame;
and the agitated waves lashed the
shore in impotent madness, adding,
by their hollow murmuring, to the
horrors of the night.
Rosina. I thought of Thomson's
animated description of a storm as
dreadful :
To the startled eye the sudden glanee
Appears far south, eruptive through the
cloud ;
And following slower, in explosion vast,
The thunder raises his tremendous voice.
At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of
heaven,
The tempest growls ; but as it nearer comes,
And rolls its awful burden on the wind,
The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more
The noise astounds: till over head a sheet
Of livid flame discloses wide; then shuts,
And opens wider; shuts and opens still
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze.
Follows the loosened aggravated roar,
Enlarging, deepening, mingling; peal on
peal
Crash'd horrible, convulsing heaven and
earth.
Miss Primrose. One poor girl in
a lodging-house fell a victim to the
terrors of the storm. The house
where she resided was reduced al-
most to ruins; and she expired in her
bed unknown to her companions, who
were assembled in the same room.
I saw her funeral : it was attended
by a vast concourse of spectators,
who all seemed deeply impressed
with the uncertainty of human life.
It threw quite a gloom over the
gaieties of Scarborough.
The Vicar. Poor girl! she was
quickly called from this world to
another; and her fate should be a
warning lesson to us all.
Reginal I, Come, to divert our
minds from this melancholy theme, I
Will read you one of Mr. Millhouse's
sonnets :
TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER.
Sweet blue-eyed cherub ! in my prayers for
thee
I have not asked for beauty — yet thou'rt
fair ;
And as for wealth — thy lot is poverty ;
Nor do I wish much gold to be thy share.
May Heaven protect thee from the villain's
snare,
And give thee virtue and a prudent mind ;
Long may thy cheek the rose and dimple
wear,
With breath as fragrant as the vernal wind!
O may to thee the lib'ral arts be kind !
Nor be thou Fortune's scorn so much as I ;
And let thine heart to those firm precepts
bind,
Which will not fail to lift the soul on high!
My cherub ! if enough of these be given,
Thee and the rest I leave to judging Heaven.
Mr. Montague. There appears to
be a great purity of language and
nervousness of expression in i these
poems. I wish the author, who is a
very deserving individual, every suc-
cess.
The Vicar. Captain Parry's Jour-
nal of a Third Voyage for the Dis-
covery of a North-West Passage,
is a splendid book ; a fit companion,
in point of appearance, to the two
volumes which have preceded it.
Basil Firedrake. The gallant cap-
tain is, according to the papers, go-
ing upon a new expedition ; it is a
further attempt. I predict the pas-
sage will never be discovered ; or if
it be, it will certainly be completely
useless for commercial purposes. I
predict, that as all the voyagers from
old Martin Frobisher to Parry have
failed, so will this next expedition
fail also.
Miss Primrose. How came this
thirst for making discoveries in the
arctic regions to be revived again ?
Basil Firedrake. Why it can't
properly be said ever to have alto-
gether subsided (although it certainly
slumbered for a time,) since it was
THE LITERARY COTf.ltlK.
221
first entertained in the sixteenth cen-
tury. After Columbus had been foil-
ed in his grand design of penetrating
to Asia by the west, but had been
rewarded for his daring by the dis-
covery of a land richer even than
the Oriental regions, England and
the other maritime powers of Eu-
rope turned their attention towards
discovering a passage by the north.
Reginald. Aye, and the first voy-
agers took a north-easterly course.
The bold Sir Henry Willoughby,
with his compatriots, Chandler and
Burroughes, between 1553 and 1556,
matte no less than three attempts to
reach the coast of Asia by the north-
east, after having "doubled the North
Cape, touched at Archangel, and
reached Nova Zembla and the straits
of Waigats ; but could proceed no
further, on account of immense shoals
of ice." The consequence of their
discoveries, however, was the esta-
blishment of the Russia Company.
Basil. Then the idea of a north-
west passage was started by Sir Hum-
phrey Gilbert, brother-in-law to Sir
"Walter Raleigh, who wrote a dis-
course to prove that such a passage
existed ; and, in the reign of Eliza-
beth, a company having been formed
for its discovery, for which Dudley,
Earl of Leicester, obtained the pa-
tronage of the queen, the renowned
Martin Frobisher was dispatched to
that quarter. He sailed July 1576,
and returned the following October.
He had penetrated as far as 63° 10'
N. latitude ; and, on touching upon
the coast of Greenland, found a spe-
cies of spar, which, on his return
home, was shewn to an assay er by
Dame Frobisher, who persuaded her
that it was a marcasite of gold. The
next year he sailed again for the
same quarter, more with a view to
get gold than to discover the north-
west passage. He brought home
with him a large quantity of earth,
which he foolishly fancied contained
the precious ore ; and this was all he
reaped from that voyage. He was
sent out the following year, " chiefly
to discover Cathay or China, by the
Meta incognita (Greenland);" and
he had a fleet of fifteen ships in com-
pany. But nothing was effected.
Davis, Waymouth, Cunningham,
Knight, Hall (the three latter sent
by the King of Denmark), Hudson,
Button, Baffin, Fox, Knight and Bar-
low, Scroggs, Dobbs, Middleton, and
others, although they greatly improv-
ed the navigation and geography of
those regions, yet made no progress
in discovering a north-west passage ;
an impenetrable barrier of ice op-
posed itself to all attempts to pene-
trate beyond its boundary; and though
the probability of finding an outlet
into the Pacific in that direction con-
tinued to be discussed, no attempt
of late years was made to find it,
previous to the voyage of Captain
Ross.
Miss Primrose. I am very inqui-
sitive ; but what was the occasion of
his being sent out?
Basil Fir edr alee. Mr. Barrow, the
very clever and intelligent secretary
of the Admiralty, had persuaded
himself that this passage really ex-
isted ; and that if an expedition were
sent out, under proper auspices, it
might be found. In the 31st Num-
ber of the Quarterly Revieiv, he call-
ed the attention of the public to the
subject; and in the 35th Number
he renewed his speculations. At that
period certainly the prospect of suc-
cess appeared greater than at any
former one. All the Greenland cap-
tains, for the two or three previous
G o 2
222
THI< LITLKAKY C0TEU1I-
seasons, bad concurred in the ac-
count, that the Arctic Sea was
clearer of ice than it had ever before
been remembered. The immense
barriers, which had hemmed in the
pole with a boundary that could not
be passed, were broken up ; and in
1816 and 1817, large masses of ice
were encountered in different parts
of the Atlantic, which had been drift-
ed from the north ; and the sea in
that direction was remarkably clear.
These facts, with Mr. Barrow's
deductions and his reasons for think-
ing that a north-west passage actu-
ally existed, are ably set forth in the
article to which I allude. Soon after
Captain Ross's expedition was fitted
out: he penetrated into Lancaster
Sound, and returned certainly with-
out having devoted that time and at-
tention to the accomplishment of his
object, which its magnitude required.
Captain Parry has since been sent
on three separate expeditions: he
lias added, as his predecessors have
done, to the stores of our geogra-
phical and botanical information, but
lias completely failed in his efforts
to discover the so-much-wished-for
passage.
The Vicar. But in the late voy-
age the failure can scarcely be con-
sidered as decisive. The expedition
sailed in 1824, and wintered in Port
Bowen, in Regent's Inlet, long. 90°
W. lat. 73° N. The vessels (the
Hecla and Fury) remained here from
the 1st of October till the 20th of
July, when their prospects dawned
most auspiciously. The ice broke
up earlier than was expected, the
weather appeared favourable, and
every thing promised success : but
the Fury was unfortunately wrecked,
and of course Captain Parry return-
ed ; for it would have been the
height of impolicy to have pursued
such a voyage with two ships' crews
pent up and confined in one vessel.
Basil Firedrake. True ; but still
my opinion is, that the passage, if it
exists, will never be found. If there
be a passage, it must be in a higher
latitude than any yet reached ; and
it is clear that the ice is never so far
broken up as to render the polar
sea perfectly clear. Indeed, Captain
Sowerby, one of the most intelligent
of the Greenland captains, about
eight years since, published a project
for crossing the polar ice to the pole
itself.
Reginald. It was a bold project,
and I should have no objection to
accompany him. He proposes to
winter in Spitzbergen, and then to
set out in the spring, in sledges
drawn by dogs : a journey of six or
seven hundred miles would be before
the adventurous traveller ; but if he
achieved his object, if he reached
the pole, and stood where the foot
of man had never trod, he would be
amply rewarded.
The Vicar. Yes, if he were such
an enthusiast in every thing he un-
dertook as you are ; but they are not
easily to be found.
Reginald. O, I beg your pardon :
look at Captain Parry, look at Cap-
tain Lyon ; the indefatigable Frank-
lin, the Bowdiches, the Belzonis,
the Burckhardts, and others whom
I could name. What were my fee-
ble efforts, even if I were now to
embark on a voyage of discovery,
compared to the gallant daring of
those brave and devoted men, who
brave danger in every form, and
death frecpiently in its most appalling
shape, to promote the interests of
science ? These are all enthusiasts,
and enthusiasts too of the noblest
THE LITE 11 All Y COTKIUE.
22.3
stamp, if it be enthusiasm to devote
one's-self, body and mind, to the ar-
dent and indefatigable pursuit of
one object.
The Vicar. I recall my words : I
was unjust to those gallant men, who
have so signally distinguished them-
selves ; and none deserves a higher
meed of praise than Captain Parry.
Mr. Montague. The present vo-
lume adds very little to our previous
knowledge of the arctic regions.
The Vicar. It cannot be expected
that it should, under all the circum-
stances. The principal time for ob-
servation was when the squadron was
stationed at Port Bowen ; and here
but little food for narrative or de-
scription was afforded. Few new
facts in natural history were gleaned ;
and yet this part of the volume was
to me of high interest, as its de-
tails shew the sedulous care with
which the officers promoted the com-
forts of the men, and the good spi-
rit in which the latter received the
attentions of their superiors.
Every attention was, as usual, says
Captain Parry, paid to the occupation
and diversion of the men's minds, as
well as to the regularity of their bodily
exercise. Our former amusements being
almost worn threadbare, it required some
ingenuity to devise any plan that should
possess the charm of novelty to recom-
mend it. This purpose was completely
answered, however, by a proposal of
Captain Hoppner to attempt a masquer-
ade, in which officers and men should
alike take a part, but which, without
imposing any restraint whatever, would
leave every one to their own choice, whe-
ther to join in this diversion or not. It
is impossible that any idea could have
proved more happy, or more exactly I
suited to our situation. Admirably dress
ed characters of various descriptions rea
dily took their parts, and many of these j
were supported with a degree of genuine
spirit and humour which would not have
disgraced a more refined assembly ; while
the latter might not have disdained, and
would not have been disgraced, by copy-
ing the order, decorum, and inoffensive
cheerfulness which our humble masquer-
ades presented. It does especial credit
to the dispositions and good sense of our
men, that, though all the officers entered
fully into the spirit of these amusements,
which took place once a month, alter-
nately on board each ship, no instance
occurred of any thing that could inter-
fere with the regular discipline, or at all
weaken the respect of the men towards
their superiors. Ours were masquerades
without licentiousness, carnivals without
excess. A school was also set on foot,
and attended with the very best effects.
Basil Firedrahe. I should like to
have been at one of their masquer-
ades. My stars ! how Jack would
swagger away ; and the native hu-
mour of the British seaman would
be admirably displayed.
The Vicar. The following ob-
servations on the weather, and the
paucity of animals, &c. seen on the
coast they visited, are curious :
The summer of 1825 was, beyond all
doubt, the warmest and most favourable
we had experienced since that of 1818.
Not more than two or three days occur-
red during the months of July and Au-
gust, in which that heavy snow took
place which so commonly converts the
aspect of nature in these regions, in a
single hour, from the cheerfulness of
summer into the dreariness of winter.
Indeed we experienced very little either
of snow, rain, or fog ; vegetation,
wherever the soil allowed any to spring
up, was extremely luxuriant and for-
ward ; a great deal of the old snow,
which had lain on the ground during the
last season, was rapidly dissolving even
early in August ; and every appearance
of nature exhibited a striking contrast
rm
THTC LITERARY COTERtE.
with the last summer, while it seemed
evidently to furnish an extraordinary
compensation for its rigour and incle-
mency. We have scarcely ever visited a
coast on which so little of animal life
occurs. For days together, only one
or two seals, a single sea-horse, and
now and then a flock of ducks, were
seen. I have already mentioned, how-
ever, as an exception to this scarcity of
animals, the numberless kittiwakes which
were flying about the remarkable spout
of water ; and we were one day visited,
at the place where the Fury was left, by
hundreds of white whales sporting about
in the shoal-water, close to the beach.
No black whales were ever seen on this
coast. Two rein-deer were observed by
the gentlemen who extended their walks
inland ; but this was the only summer in
which we did not procure a single pound
of venison. Indeed, the whole of our
supplies obtained in this way during the
voyage, including fish, flesh, and fowl,
did not exceed twenty pounds per man.
Reginald. If Captain Parry and
his brave companions again under-
take a voyage to the north, I wish,
for their sakes, it may be successful;
but certainly the want of success
can in nowise derogate from their
merit.
Mr. Montague. Not in the least.
They will be entitled to their coun-
try's gratitude, whether their enter-
prise be crowned with success or
not. But has there been no other
book published during the recess?
Reginald. Why not many, I be-
lieve. The booksellers, like the ma-
nufacturers, are lying on their oars,
with a view to getting rid of their
dead stock.
Mr. Mathews. One of the most
curious publications I have seen for
a long time is, " Four Years in
France" with an account of the au-
thor's conversion to the Roman Ca-
tholic faith.
The Vicar. It is a curious book ;
and the introduction is not the least
curious part of it : though I think,
from the association of early ideas,
and the bias which the author's
mind early received, his embracing
the doctrines of the Roman Catholic
church is a circumstance by no means
difficult to account for.
Mr. Mathews. No : it is only a
wonder it did not take place sooner
than it did. In his youth, every
thing around him tended to make
him papistically inclined. When a
child, he says,
I went every day to learn Greek and
Latin at the school founded, for the use
of the city [Lincoln], out of the spoils
of some monastery abolished at the time
of Henry the Eighth's schism. The
sons of citizens are here taught gratis ;
others give a small honorarium to the
master. The school was held in the very
chapel of the old religious house ; the
windows looked into a place called the
Friars, or Freres, and over the east win-
dow stood, and still stands, the cross,
" la trionfunte croce." But this was not
all. Opposite to the door of the school-
yard lived three elderly ladies, Catholics,
of small fortunes, who had united their
incomes, and dwelt here, not far from
their chapels, in peace and piety. One
of these ladies was Miss, or, as she chose
to call herself, Mrs. Ravenscroft. Now,
my great-grandfather, James Digby, had
married a lady of that family ; it fol-
lowed, therefore, that my mother and
Mrs. Ravenscroft were cousins. My
father's house was about a third of a
mile from the school ; Mrs. Ravenscroft
obtained leave for me, whenever it should
rain between nine and ten in the morn-
ing, the hour at which the school-boys
went to breakfast, that I might call and
take my bread and milk at her house.
THK MTEUARY COTERIE.
225
Some condition, I suppose, was made
that I should not be allowed to have tea,
but they put sugar in my milk ; and all
the old ladies and their servants were
very kind, and, as I observed, very
cheerful ; so that I was well pleased
when it rained at nine o'clock.
One day it chanced to rain all the
morning, an occurrence so common in
England that I wonder it only happened
once. I staid to dine with Mrs. Ravens-
croft and the other ladies. It was a day
of abstinence. My father, to do him
justice as a true Protestant, an honest
man, " who eat no fish," had not accus-
tomed me to days of abstinence; but, as
I had no play all the morning, I found
the boiled eggs and hot cockles very sa-
tisfactory, as well as amusing, by their
novelty. The priest came in after din-
ner, and Mrs. Ravenscroft telling him
that I was her little cousin, Master
[Best would supply the hiatus correctly,
I believe,] — he spoke to me with great
civility. At that time Catholic priests did
not dare to risk making themselves
known as such by wearing black coats.
Mr. Knight was dressed in a grave suit
of snuff-colour, with a close neat wig of
dark brown hair, a cocked hat, almost
an equilateral triangle, worsted stock-
ings, and little silver buckles. By this
detail may be inferred the impression
that was made on my mind and fancy. I
believe I was the only Protestant lad in
England, of my age, at that time, who
had made an abstinence dinner, and
shaken hands with a Jesuit.
When the rain gave over, I returned
home, and related to my father all the
history of the day. This I did with so
much apparent pleasure, that he said, in
great good-humour, " These old women
will make a Papist of you, Henry."
The Vicar. So much for early im-
pressions ; for that these impressions
had great weight in producing the
author's conversion cannot be doubt-
ed. There really is not the shadow
of argument in any of the discussions
upon which he entered with differ-
ent Roman Catholics which can jus-
tify that step.
Reginald. I think so too ; but as
the man was unquestionably sincere,
I honour his motives, though I dis-
sent from his conclusions.
Mr. Mathews. I was altogether
much pleased with the book. It
contains some interesting descriptions
of the state of society in France ;
and every heart must feel the narra-
tive of his son's illness, and execrate
the treatment he received from the
French physicians ; though the non-
chalance of the author himself, and
the indifference he manifests, are
sufficiently conspicuous.
Mr. Montague. Colburn has been
remarkably fortunate lately : almost
all the readable books, during the
season, have issued from his shop.
Reginald. Miers's Travels in Chi-
li, a very readable book, is not, how-
ever, from this publisher, but by
Baldwin and Co. It gives one of
the best accounts of that country I
have seen.
Horace. It exposes the chicanery
and want of faith frequently prac-
tised there ; and the chapters on
mines and mining may be read with
particular interest, now so many of
those bubbles, called joint-stock com-
panies, are on the point of breaking
up. On the whole, however, I think
he gives too unfavourable a picture
of Chili.
Reginald. The account of the
American Indians, contained in the
diary of Mr. Miers's friend, Dr. Tho-
mas Leighton (who accompanied an
expedition, sent by the republicans
against them, in a medical capacity),
is most entertaining and instructive,
and gives an admirable account of
226
THU LITERARY COTfcRlIu
tlieir habits and customs. He de-
scribes them as
exceedingly affectionate and tame, be-
low the common stature, of a dark com-
plexion, round and full-faced, with small
keen black eyes, very little forehead, the
hairy scalp, in many cases, almost reach-
ing the eyebrows ; flat noses with wide
nostrils, large mouths, their teeth white
and regular, with the exception of the
superior denies canini, which are, in ge-
neral, very large and long : they have no
beards; their bodies are large, their limbs
very muscular, their legs disproportion-
ately short, and generally bandy. The
cacique wore a hat and feathers; the
others were, in general, bare-headed;
some had their long black hair flowing
loosely over the shoulders, while others
tied it in a knot on the crown of the
head ; but all had their heads encircled
by a piece of ribbon or tape, generally
red, which added greatly to the effe-
minacy of countenance so remarkable
amongst them.
Their equipment was curious:
Several were dressed in old Spanish
uniforms; some had stockings without
feet, but none wore shoes, nor any substi-
tute for them ; some had brass spurs, the
rowels of which were an inch and a half in
diameter ; but, for the most part, their heels
were armed with wooden spurs, sharpened
to a point. Each Indian carried his lance,
an extremely awkward-looking weapon ;
the head is generally the blade of a knife,
a broken bayonet, or a piece of iron hoop,
ground sharp, and tied to the end of a
cane from eight to twelve feet long.
The lance is used on horseback or on
foot, where the field of action is moun-
tainous or woody ; it is never thrown,
but when a charge is made, the shaft is
pressed hard between the right elbow
and side, which serves both as a rest and
fulcrum : it is always poised and directed
by the left hand. When the Indian is
pursued, he never quits his lance, but
drags it after him. The caciques had
swords, and all the Indians had machetes,
long, heavy, broad-bladed knives, which
serve for cutting and chopping; and
without these they could not find their
way through the thickets of trailing shrubs
which cover the country.
They are very dirty and filthy in
their habits, particularly in their eat-
ing and drinking. The expedition
against them concluded in a negocia-
tion, after a war distinguished by as
much cold-blooded barbarity on the
part of the Chilians as marked the
conduct of the first discoverers to-
wards the aboriginal inhabitants.
The Vicar. I have been much in-
terested with Sir William Betham's
Irish Antiquarian Researches : they
promise to set the history of Ireland
in a new light; and merit the atten-
tion of all who feel a regard for our
sister island. In his capacity of
keeper of the records in Birmingham
Tower, in Dublin Castle, he says he
could not fail, in the course of the in-
vestigations and arrangements which
his official duties from time to time
rendered necessary, observing how
little was known of the true history
of Ireland.
I saw, he says, in the ancient re-
cords, ample materials to enable the his-
torian, not only to investigate the public
events and elucidate the political machi-
nery of those remote periods which suc-
ceeded the invasion of Strongbow, but
also to portray the true state of the
country as to the administration of its
laws, the character of its government, and
the degree of advancement it had attain-
ed in agriculture, in commerce, and in
the arts.
The state of Ireland from Strongbow's
conquest, to about the end of the reign of
Richard II. is generally considered as a
continued struggle between the conquer-
ors and conquered, a state of perpetual
warfare and anarchy : yet, among the re-
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
227
cords in Birmingham Tower are rolls of
the pleas before the justices itinerant, who
held the assizes in most parts of Ireland
with the same regularity as they were
held in England during that period.
The records exhibit striking proofs of
the rapid progress made by the first set-
tlers in the introduction of the laws and
customs of England; even as early as
the reign of John baronial courts were
held with great regularity and precision ;
and the country appears to have been in
a state indicating the presence of settled
government. The first Edwards drew
supplies of men, money, and provisions
from Ireland, for their wars in Scotland
and France; great quantities of wheat-
flour, wheat, bran, barley, oats, peas,
malt, beer, salt beef, and salt fish, were
sent to their armies ; and even red wine
was among the supplies sent from Dublin
to the king's army in Scotland, as well
as large sums of money to the wardrobe
and treasury of England ; great quanti-
ties of wool were also annually exported
to the Continent, on which duties were
paid.
I must add, however, that Sir Wil-
liam has not done much in the pre-
sent volume to illustrate the ancient
History of Ireland. It is more anti-
quarian and genealogical than histo-
rical; but in the future parts of his
Researches we may expect somewhat
more important on matters of public
interest.
Mr. Montague. The descriptions
of the antique boxes, with their un-
pronounceable Irish names, in which
copies of various portions of the
Scriptures have been preserved al-
most from time immemorial, are cu-
rious. One of these contained a
copy of the four Gospels, supposed
to have been written by a person
named Dimma, for St. Cronan, the
founder of the abbey of Roscrea,
Vol. VIII. No. XL VI.
who died about the year 619, or,
at the latest, 621. Of this MS. a
legend is related by an old writer,
who gives us an account of the life
of Cronan: it is quoted by Sir W.
Betham from Colgan's Acta Sanc-
torttm.
The blessed father Cronan requested a
certain scribe to make him a copy of the
four Evangelists. Now this writer was call-
ed Dimma, and was unwilling to write for
more than one day. " Then," says the
saint, "write till the sun goes down." This
the writer promised to do, and the saint
placed for him a seat to write in ; but by
divine grace and power, St. Cronan caus-
ed the rays of the sun to shine forty days
and forty nights in that place ; and nei-
ther was the writer fatigued with conti-
nual labour, nor did he feel the want of
food, or drink, or sleep, but he thought
the forty days and nights were but one
day ; and in that period the four Evange-
lists were not so well as correctly written.
Dimma having finished the book, felt
day and night as before, and also that
eating and drinking and sleeping were
necessary and agreeable as hitherto ; and
he was then informed by the religious
men who were with St. Cronan, that he
had written for the space of forty days
and forty nights without darkness, where-
upon they returned thanks to the power
of Christ.
The Vicar. The MS. thus obtain-
ed by a sort of pious fraud on the
part of St. Cronan, has come down
to our time, preserved
in a brass box, richly plated with sil-
ver, which Thady O'Carroll, chief of Ely
O'Carroll, who lived about the middle of
the 12th century, caused to be gilt, and
Donald O'Cuanain, afterwards Bishop
of Killaloe (by Ware called O'Kennedy),
repaired about the year 1220. The MS.
and box were preserved in the abbey of
Roscrea until the dissolution of monas-
teries, when they came into lay hands,
H n
228
THE L1TEKAKY CQTEUIR.
and were at length bought by Henry
Monk Mason, Esq. from Dr. Harrison
of Nenagh, in Tiperary.
And from Mr. Mason they came,
by purchase, into the possession of
Sir W. Betham. There are effigies of
the first three Evangelists at the be-
ginning of their respective Gospels;
and at the beginning of St. John, the
representation of an eagle, the em-
blem associated with that Evangelist.
Fac-similes are given of these; and
they are eurious as specimens of the
art in a rude age.
Reginald. I confess I think those
fac-similes, and the representation of
the different boxes which formed re-
positories of the Scriptures, are the
only things in the book worth notice :
the descriptions seem to me mere an-
tiquarian twaddle ; and surely the
worthy knight must have wanted
matter strangely when he has given
us such copious extracts from Bede,
an author which is in every scholar's
hands.
The Vicar. Do not be too severe
on my worthy brother antiquary ! To
you young scapegraces all our pur-
suits I know appear as so much loss
of time : yet they are not without
their value ; and the labours of an-
tiquarians have been the means of
elucidating many difficult and ab-
struse questions in the history of na-
tions.
Reginald. Aye, and of confound-
ing many others. I have had no
opinion of antiquarians since my
grandfather was imposed upon by an
arch fellow, who sold him a collec-
tion of broken pipkins for genuine
Roman paterre.
Mr. Montague. The memoir of
the O'Donnells is interesting ; that
of the Geraldines is not much
more than a collection of names and
dates, and affords little information
relative to the family : indeed scarce-
ly any thing that was not known be-
fore.
The Vicar. But there is a fruit-
ful field for the labours of the com-
piler ; and I hope he will persevere,
and soon give another volume of An-
tiquarian Researches to the world.
Horace. Attracted by the title, I
purchased The Rambles of Redbury
Rook, by the author of the " Subal-
tern Officer." The latter work had
nothing to offend, if not much to
please (it must not be classed with
the " Subaltern" of Blackwood, re-
collect) ; but The Rambles I found
a mass of egotism and radical abuse.
One only passage struck me; and as
it is amusing, I will read it. The
scene occurred at Dunkirk.
Taking a morning's stroll among the
villages which environ the town, I ob-
served in the hamlet of Burgh, a large
assemblage of human beings from my
country ; and on inquiring from one of
my tribe, I found that they were collect-
ed at the door of an English Protestant
captain, who, with his wife and family,
had taken up their abode at this place,
from whence, after a short residence, it
pleased God to take the officer to his
eternal home. Most of his countrymen
dwelling in the vicinity were come to
pay due honour to his remains, and re-
spect to his afflicted widow, by attending
the obsequies about to be performed. It
so happened that the poor widow, in the
goodness of her heart, provided a sur-
loin of beef ; and being anxious to have
it sufficiently cold, to serve as a collation
for her friends on their return from the
funeral, placed it outside the garret-
window, in a very conspicuous spot, to
cool. By this time, a great concourse of
people had crowded round the house to
view the ceremonies of a Protestant fu-
neral, it being a novelty to them ; when
THE LlTlillAUY COTIiRlE.
suddenly the meeting was surprised by
shouts of laughter and noise among the
by-standers, whose eyes were all directed
to the house-top. One of the mob, hav-
ing espied the roast beef, an article so
characteristic of English taste, proclaim-
ed his opinion, that this prime dish was
to be the principal feature in the proces-
sion, and put into the coffin with the
dead man, to serve as his resurrection
dinner, according to what the sapient
observer affirmed to be the usual custom
of the English. The poor widow, on
discovering the cause of all this uproar
and mirth, just before the departure of
the corpse, at that unlucky moment took
in the beef, which the spectators observ-
ing, they were confirmed in the belief
that it was actually to be inclosed in the
coffin ; consequently it only served to
corroborate the conjecture and increase
the clamour of this strange assemblage.
The procession being now about to pro-
ceed to the burial-place, and the fore-
going story gaining ground, there was
scarcely an inhabitant of the village who
did not hasten to join the merry party,
which converted a ceremony usually so-
lemn and impressive into the most ludi-
crous scene I ever witnessed. Some fa- i
cetious persons remarked, that they had
better eat the beef in this world ; and j
others inferred that the deceased wished
to give Charon a specimen of English
hospitality. All hastened to the grave,
anxious to see the end of this strange
proceeding ; and not finding the meat
removed from the place where they be-
hoved it to be deposited, they imagined
it to be interred with the corpse ; nor
could all the efforts of the good widow
ever after persuade them to the contrary.
Basil Firedrdke. They must have
thought the ruling passion of John
Bull to be strong in death at any rate :
fond of beef as he is, I question
whether he would digest it in his
coffin.
Reginald. I lately stumbled on a
small duodecimo, entitled- The Lon~
don Hermit's Tour to the York Fes-
tival, in a Series of Letters to a
Friend. The title-page promises
much, hut the reader will, I think,
like me, be disappointed. The au-
thor (who is not The Hermit in
London,) professes to attempt to as-
certain " the origin of the White
Horse, Abury, Stonehenge, Lils-
bury-Hill, and also of the Druids
and ancient Britons ;" but he says
nothing which has not been better
said before, and his descriptions are
sufficiently meagre and jejune. Some-
what more entitled to notice are
some of his " general hints respect-
ing musical festivals," with which ho
winds up the volume.
So much do these Musical Festivals
(he observes in conclusion,) meet with
my approbation, so much do they resem-
ble those religious, yet festal observances
by which Numa (the Roman Moses) en-
deavoured to humanize and socialize the
bandit bands of the warlike Romulus,
and to win them to the arts and enjoy-
ments of peace ; and so many excellen-
cies do they possess peculiarly their own,
that it is most sincerely to be hoped
something of a similar nature will be ex-
tended to Ireland, and her deserted ca-
thedrals once more echo the voice of
gladness and the hymn of praise. After
the long war in which we have been en-
gaged, scenes like these may be the more
necessary, even in a political point of
view, than some of our politicians may
suspect. In the sister kingdom, the
j band of patriots who should introduce
and cherish them would deserve to have
their names engraven in monumental
brass. All religions, at the heavenly
voice of harmony, would be assembled
together in the same temples, for tl>e
same charitable objects, at the same reli-
gious rites, and at the same social board.
Over the mania for continental travelling
such festivities must, doubtless, possess
II 11 2
2.30
EXTRAORDINARY ATTACHMENT OF A RAT.
the most beneficial controul ; whilst re-
gattas, races, and field-sports might add
to the attractions of the tourist, and
make the tide of British wealth, which
still overflows the Continent, revert to
its proper channel, and enable the pea-
sant to fill the coffers of the peer.
Mrs. Primrose. When is there to
be another festival at York ?
Reginald. It was said in 1828,
but of late I have heard nothing
about it. I almost ^ar we shall not
again be gratified with one on the
scale of magnificence which charac-
terized the last ; but I hope my fears
may prove unfounded.
Here a summons to the supper-
table interrupted us, and I conclude
my paper.
Reginald Hildeurand.
Elmwood-Hall,
September 10, 1826.
EXTRAORDINARY ATTACHMENT OF A RAT.
Last year, a young man who is
designated by his initial H. was con-
fined, on account of theft, for several
months in the house of correction at
Geneva. His punishment was ren-
dered the more severe by his being
obliged to work alone in his cell,
apart from the other prisoners. This
solitary confinement, to which he
had not been accustomed, was into-
lerable to the lively young man. Long
did he seek a companion, but in vain.
At length he was lucky enough to
catch a young male rat. In a few
days the animal was rendered, by
kind treatment, tame and familiar,
and made himself quite at home.
He took his food only out of his
friend's hand, and whilst he worked
would creep between his waistcoat
and shirt, and there lie for hours as
quietly as possible. It is worthy of
remark that Ratinet, for so the pri-
soner christened his new associate,
invariably sought the left side, never
the right, either because he found it
warmer near the heart, or because
he was less liable to be disturbed
there by the motion of the right
hand while H. was at work. Rati-
net soon began to be a favourite with
the governor of the house, and with
other prisoners, on account of his
good qualities, which indeed were
such as a rat would not be suspected
to possess. To cleanliness alone the
animal could not be accustomed, and
his master would sometimes chastise
him on that account with a little
stick.
About a month after the com-
mencement of their acquaintance H.
had corrected his four-footed friend
rather too severely, and had also
forgotten to supply him with drink,
on which Ratinet, to use H.'s own
words, jetn son bonnet au-dela du
moulin, and ran away. The sorrow
of the prisoner is not to be described.
He waited one, two, three days, a
week, but in vain ; Ratinet did not
return. H. now began to think of
trying to catch and tame another rat.
He was soon fortunate enough to se-
cure one of the same sex, but older
than Ratinet, and not possessing his
good qualities. He grew tame enough
to be sure, and would eat and drink
out of H.'s hand, but manifested
none of the attachment, docility, and
capacity of little Ratinet. The stran-
ger had lived with him about a month
when, one evening after dark, he was
sitting on his bed ; Rat the second
lay beside him. All at once he heard
something stir at his feet, stretched
THE HERMIT OF LAGO MAGGIORE.
231
out his hand towards the spot, and,
behold ! Rati net ran nimbly up his
arm, and slipped as usual into his
bosom, trembling with joy. H. de-
clared that when once, after a long
absence, he met his sweet-heart again,
he had not experienced stronger
emotion. Ratinet, according to his
old practice, crept under the bed-
clothes to his friend, when the latter
retired to rest. Rat the second, who
had not this habit, seemed to take no
notice of it. Next morning the two
animals first saw one another. They
looked, indeed, a good while at each
other, but no jealousy, no quarrel,
no hostilities took place between
them ; on the contrary, they ate and
drank familiarly together. In a few
days, however, Rat the second seemed
aware that he was a supernumerary,
and that H. was more attached to
Ratinet ; he disappeared, and was
never seen afterwards.
H. now continued to live on the
most intimate footing with his old
friend for several months, till the
term of his confinement expired.
He spoke with sorrow of the ap-
proach of the time when he should
be under the necessity of parting
from Ratinet, as he could not take
the animal with him dans le monde,
as he expressed it. In recommend-
ing his little favourite to the governor
and to all the other persons whom
he knew, he thought he had done all
he could. The day at length ar-
rived. H. bade adieu with tears to
Ratinet, whom he kissed a thousand
times, and whom it was necessary to
detain by force when H. went out
at the door. After his friend was
gone, the poor creature never held
up his head. From that moment he
neither ate nor drank, notwithstand-
ing the tit-bits that were set before
him ; neither did he attempt to
escape, but would not quit H.'s bed.
In three days poor Ratinet was found
dead, in an old cloth which H. had
left behind, and into which his
broken-hearted friend had crept.
These particulars were received
by the writer from the lips of M.Au-
banel, governor of the Maison Pe-
nitentitre at Geneva, who pledged
his word for the truth of them.
THE HERMIT OF LAGO MAGGIORE.
Galeazzo the Third, of the illus-
trious family of the Visconti, who, on
account of important services ren-
dered to the Emperor Wenceslaus,
was created by him sovereign Duke
of Milan, sought in the diversions of
a brilliant court recreation from the
fatigues of war. Feasts, balls, con-
certs, tournaments followed each
other in gay succession. One day
Galeazzo diversified them with a
grand nautical entertainment on Lago
Maggiore. More than a hundred
richly decorated gondolas, with the
fairest ladies of the court and the
principal nobles of Milan, and an in-
numerable multitude of other ves-
sels, some having on board bands of
music, which filled the air with the
sweetest melodies, appeared on the
enchanting lake. After various move-
ments and evolutions had been per-
formed with the gondolas, Galeazzo
ordered his rowers to steer to an
island, which was then only a barren
rock projecting above the surface of
the water, but which, in later times,
holds, by the name of /sola bella, the
first place among the lovely Borro-
maean Islands. When the duke with
r±tt
THIS HERMIT OF LAGO MAGGIOKE.
his train had landed on the shore
covered with chalk and slate, he ima-
gined himself transported to a de-
sert. The whole vegetation of the
island seemed to consist of a few spe-
cies of moss and creeping plants ;
and there was nothing but a grotto,
hewn at the foot of a granite-rock,
and covered with ivy, to induce a no-
tion that the island was not wholly
uninhabited, and that it might be the
abode of some human being or other.
Umbrageous chesnut-trees overhung
the grotto on one side, and on the
other severe and incessant toil had
succeeded in gaining from the sea
a small plot of ground for a rice plan-
tation, and in preventing its destruc-
tion. " This can only be the abode
of an exile or a hermit !" said Ga-
leazzo, who, though possessing many
estimable qualities, was vindictive
and bigoted ; and he went up to the
grotto with the intention either of
bringing the inhabitant to punishment
or of joining him in his devotions.
A hermit, named AnselmoGiramo,
had dwelt here for many years, the
sole inhabitant of this desert islet.
He was surprised, yet not dismayed,
at the sudden appearance of the duke
and his splendid retinue ; but still
at the sight of the ladies who were
of the party, a transient blush tinged
his cheek, and his eyes were cast
down, as though with shame, to the
ground.- At a sign from Galeazzo,
his attendants drew back, and he was
left alone with the hermit, who pre-
sently recovering his former modest
dignity, displayed in his conversation
with the duke, such correctness of
judgment and such extensive know-
ledge, that he exclaimed in astonish-
ment, " But, reverend father, how
could you, with so cultivated a mind,
have quite withdrawn yourself from
human society, to which by your ta-
lents you might have been so ser-
viceable?"— "I have found happiness
on this rock," replied Anselmo : " nei-
ther is my life here wholly useless to
my fellow-creatures ; for the fisher-
men about the lake often have re-
course to me in their spiritual and
temporal difficulties for solace and
advice." — " But how do you contrive
to subsist on this barren rock ?" —
" My net and my rice-field, my ches-
nuts, and when these fail, my roots,
afford me abundant subsistence." —
" Are you not sometimes in this so-
litude a prey to mortal ennui ?" —
" He who has a clear conscience and
can behold the sea and the sky in
their splendour knows no ennui. I
go with cheerfulness to my labour,
for it contributes to my health ; and
from prayer and meditation flow ever
new and pure delights : wherefore
then should I hanker after the world?"
The ambitious Galeazzo left the her-
mit in astonishment at the simplicity
of his wants, and filled with high re-
spect for his virtues. The particu-
lars which he learned concerning him
from the gondoliers and fishermen
served to heighten, if possible, the
favourable opinion which lie had con-
ceived of him ; for they could not
sufficiently extol the sanctity of his
life and the benevolence of his dis-
position. They declared that his
application to their patron-saints was
always sure to be of service to them,
sometimes procuring them better luck
in their fishery, at others a greater
number of passengers ; nay, his very
blessing was sufficient to driva away
diseases and wicked thoughts.
It was not long before the duke
paid Anselmo a second visit; but this
time in private and without retinue.
Anselmo took advantage of Galeaz-
THE HERMIT OF LAGO MAGGIORK.
233
zo's condescending familiarity, to ac-
quaint him with the loud complaints
of his people, which had penetrated
even to this solitary retreat. He
censured in gentle terms his ambi-
tion, his profusion towards unworthy
favourites, his blind confidence in
cheating astrologers ; and then drew
a lively picture of the melancholy
situation of his subjects, groaning
under the load of taxation. Truth,
when told in mild words and with-
out witnesses, finds a more favour-
able reception with high and low,
than severe reproaches uttered in the
presence of the multitude. Galeazzo
thanked the hermit for his candour.
" I perceive, reverend father," said
he, " that your counsels may be of
great benefit both to my subjects and
myself: leave then your rock, and
come and reside with me. Hitherto
only fools and buffoons have been
privileged to speak the truth at the
courts of princes; in future Truth
shall employ, at my court at least, a
nobler organ." Long did Anselmo
decline this invitation; but Galeazzo's
solicitations were so pressing, that at
length, animated with the delicious
hope of bringing back a powerful
prince from his errors into the right
track, and of promoting the welfare
of a whole nation, he complied; and
having with tears in his eyes bidden
adieu to his grotto, his chesnut-trees,
and his rice-field, he accompanied
the duke to Milan. Agreeably to
las advice, Galeazzo immediately
dismissed the swarm of parasites,
astrologers, dancers, buffoons, and
misshapen dwarfs who at that pe-
riod formed part and parcel of the
establishments of all the Italian
princes. The duke paid daily visits
to the wise Anselmo, in the simple
apartments which he had chosen for
his abode, asked his advice in the
most important affairs, confided to
him his most secret wishes and pro-
jects, and always left him full of in-
ward content, though the hermit
spared none of his faults.
It was about this time that the re-
publics of Florence and Venice form-
ed that league, threatening imminent
danger to the independence of Milan,
which was dissolved by the valour
and address of Galeazzo. Before
he took the field, he received the
blessing of Anselmo, and commanded
the officers of his court during his
absence to obey implicitly the injunc-
tions of the wise hermit. In a short
time Galeazzo was master of the ci-
ties of Pisa, Sienna, and Bologna,
which conquests were followed by a
peace that gave solidity to his formi-
dable power. The nobles and the
people received him at his return
with loud demonstrations of joy, and
even the holy Anselmo, who had
joined the deputation sent to meet
and congratulate the duke, welcomed
him with a speech full of expressions
most flattering to the conqueror. An-
selmo's praise excited in the duke
more astonishment than pleasure :
still he was gratified to find that his
military achievements had the power
to disarm the wonted severity of the
hermit.
><ext morning, just at the moment
when Galeazzo, according to his
former practice, was about to pay a
familiar visit to his sage adviser, An-
selmo suddenly entered the audience-
chamber, and haughtily advancing
between the ranks of courtiers, who
respectfully made way for him, he
made a low obeisance to the duke,
and exclaimed in the words of Jere-
miah the prophet, " I have set thee
over the nations and over the king-
234
THE HERMIT OF LAGO MAGGIOUE.
doms, to root out, to pull down and
to destroy, and to build and to plant."
— "Jeremiah is a flatterer," replied
the duke smiling ; " it is Anselmo alone
that I desire to hear to-day." All
present thereupon withdrew from the
apartment.
Various acts of violence and trea-
chery, not wholly reconcileable with
the principles of the law of nations,
troubled the conscience of the con-
queror of Florence and Venice, and
therefore it was that he wished to
seek consolation of his spiritual coun-
sellor. The hermit declared Galeaz-
zo's scruples to be groundless, say-
ing, in order to give still greater
emphasis to his words, " The house
of Judah and the house of Israel — "
" We are now talking of Florence
and Venice," rejoined the duke, in-
terrupting him; w let us therefore
set aside the houses of Judah and
Israel, the prophet Jeremiah and all
the saints, for a few moments." An-
selmo then endeavoured to convince
the duke, in a less scriptural way, of
the lawfulness of his actions and the
immaculate splendour of his victor-
crown, and concluded his speech in
the following terms: " Now, illustri-
ous prince, in order to prove to all
Europe, that thou art a tender fa-
ther to thy subjects, thou hast no-
thing more to do than to reward
those who, during thy absence, con-
tributed to preserve the internal tran-
quillity and well-being of thy domi-
nions; and my frankness and my at-
tachment to thy sublime person ren-
der it my duty to enlighten thy ge-
nerous sentiments, and to direct thy
particular attention to the merits of
the governor of the palace, the high-
treasurer, and the chief cup-bearer,
whose zeal and indefatigable activity
are deserving, in my opinion, of the
most honourable distinction." — " I
will consider of it," replied Galeazzo,
who, when Anselmo had retired, said
to himself, " My hermit seems to be
already infected by the atmosphere
of the court : he begins to flatter and
to favour." But another matter of
some importance soon diverted his
thoughts from the prosecution of this
subject. The Archbishop of Milan
had recently died, and the cathedral
of that city, then the most mag-
nificent temple of Christendom, just
finished after the designs of the
celebrated Bramante, was waiting
for the archiepiscopal hand to con-
secrate its new altars. Galeazzo re-
solved to consult the hermit immedi-
ately on the choice of a person to
fill the high office, and repaired to
his apartments; but what was his as-
tonishment, when he saw them fur-
nished with the greatest splendour
and elegance, and the anti-chamber
swarming with parasites and suppli-
cants ! In the room where Anselmo
himself was, were assembled the chief
officers of the duke and the most
eminent artists of Milan, who were
paying court with the grossest adula-
tion to the holy man as he carelessly
lolled in a magnificent arm-chair.
On the appearance of the duke, all
present fell back to the farther end
of the room ; and Galeazzo, turning
to Anselmo, said, " I expected to
find you alone, and wished to ask
your opinion respecting a fit person
to fill the archiepiscopal see of Milan ;
but as I perceive my ordinary coun-
sellors assembled here, they may lend
us the benefit of their talents in this
business." The governor of the pa-
lace, the high-treasurer, and the chief
cup-bearer thereupon approached.
" May it please your highness," said
they, " there is but one man, distin-
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE SWEDES.
235
giiished by the universal veneration
of the people, recommended by the
holy father at Rome, and, above all,
great by his own virtues, who seems
to us to be fit for this elevated situa-
tion." At these words Anselmo
bowed with a look of humility. " I
understand," said Galeazzo; and then
raising his voice, he thus proceeded:
" Anselmo Giramo, I conceived that
in thee I had found a real friend ;
but now I see that I have only gain-
ed an additional flatterer. The poor
and virtuous anchoret is transformed
into a haughty and intriguing pre-
late; and a residence of but a few
months at my court has sufficed to
rob thee of thy virtue and peace of
mind. Return to thy rock, whither,
as I alone have been the cause of
thy fall, my bounty shall attend thee.
For the rest, thou, who art so conver-
sant in the sacred scriptures, sliouldst
imprint upon thy memory the follow-
ing texts: ' Let him that thinketh
he standeth, take heed lest he fall.'
1 Cor.x. 12.; — and ' Can the blind
lead the blind?' Lukevl 39."-" Your
commands, gracious sovereign, shall
be obeyed," said Anselmo, with feel-
ings of mortification and remorse.
"But before I leave this place, let
me give you one useful piece of ad-
vice: Should you ever again take it
into your head to summon a hermit
to your court, let him, for his and
your own safety, not remain longer
than a month within these walls."
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE SWEDES.
The lower classes in Sweden, and
especially the country-folk, are ad-
dicted to superstition; and people
earth, air, and water with spirits and
genii. The lakes and rivers are the
abodes of the Neck and the Strom-
mann ; the former of whom is a mis-
chievous sprite, but the latter kind
and benevolent, and very fond of mu-
sic : he sits quietly at the bottom of
transparent water playing upon the
harp, or rises to the surface to watch
the dances of the Alfen (elves) in
the meadows by moonlight. Those
who possess the faculty of seeing
spirits may then perceive them frisk-
ing and gambolling about; but others
can do no more than discover their
slight traces the following morning
in the dewy grass. The Alfen are
fairies that punish only the auda-
cious wight who dares profane their
haunts and disturb their sports — him
they afflict with diseases. Another
Vol. VIII. No. XL VI.
class of the genii are the Skogs-rd,
wood-demons. They are not vi-
sible, but their voices may be heard
in the woods : sometimes, however,
they appear to the hunter in assumed
forms, generally in those of pretty
little nymphs ; or they fly like birds
with a rushing noise over his head,
or take pleasure in teasing him, con-
juring up a sudden shower to wet
him through in the midst of a serene
sky, or charming his gun, so that he
may wander about whole days with-
out killing a single head of game:
yet if he can but contrive to throw
a piece of iron or steel across (he
way of the spirit the charm is dis-
solved. The water has a similar
sprite called the Sju-ra, the sea-de-
mon. More than one incredulous
fisherman has seen him tumbling
heels over head into the water, and
the consequence was, that he had
bad luck in his fishery.
I i
236
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE SWEDES.
They have besides these, ghosts,
called Skelcorangare, the souls of
deceased persons, who in their life-
time bore false witness, took false
oaths, or removed land-marks, and
who are doomed to roam about after
death and fill the woods with their
howlings. But still more general is
the belief in and reverence of the
To>nlegubber, beneficent genii, a sort
of Lares and domestic deities, who
take under their protection the place
where they are venerated, and even
defend it against those who approach
with hostile intentions. The ut-
most respect Is paid to their place of
abode ; trees and groves are planted
for them, and these no axe may ever
touch. The Swedish peasant is
thoroughly convinced, that every,
even the slightest injury, such as the
breaking off a twig or a branch,
would bring ruin upon the perpe-
trator.
In Smaland in particular great su-
perstition prevails. On Thursday
afternoon no noisy work must be per-
formed. When a man dies, three
mutton-steaks and a woman's cJiemise
are put into the coffin along with him ;
and the same number of steaks and
a man's shirt when the deceased is a
woman: this they consider as a sure
method of preventing the dead from
walking and appearing again. The
coffin is not Railed, but the lid is fast-
ened down with wooden pegs. At
christenings it is customary to wait
for the last sound of the bell before
the infant is carried into the church ;
for, say they, were this done while the
bell is ringing, the child would not
fail to become a great chatterbox.
Some of their customs at weddings
are also remarkable. When the
couple kneel before the priest, the
spectators and witnesses take parti-
cular notice which of them inclines
the head most towards the other, for
that one will die first. If the heads
of both are inclined in an equal de-
gree, it will be a happy marriage. In
going to church the oldest and worst
horse is assigned to the bride ; for,
they say, such an errand is fatal to
the horse, which is sure to die not
long afterwards. In returning, as soon
as the bride reaches home, she must
repair to the kitchen and taste of all
the articles of provision : this brings
good luck and abundance.
When they are going to kill a
sheep, they first cut off a lock of
wool from the forehead, and make
the animal swallow it. They dislike
to pronounce the names of noxious
animals, which they describe by a cir-
cumlocution : thus they call the fox
the fowl-slayer, the wolf the Iamb-
stealer, the bear the honey-eater, &c.
Even certain birds, as the owl and
the cuckoo, and among domestic ani-
mals the cat, they never mention but
in a round-about way. No stranger
must be present at the slaughtering
of an animal, for the latter would be
kept longer in suffering, and the per-
son would fall ill. When any one
has passed through a wood, he must,
as soon as he reaches home, stir up
the fire in the oven, under the brew-
ing-copper, or in the kitchen, lest
any evil spirit he might unwittingly
bring with him should spoil the bread,
the beer, or whatever may just then
happen to be cooking.
237
ANECDOTES, &c.
HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
GIGANTIC REMAINS.
In 1G45 the Swedes, during the
time they occupied Krems, in Aus-
tria, found in the ditch of the forti-
fications, at the depth of four fathoms,
a human skeleton, which was broken
by the tools employed in digging.
All the bones, however, that could
be saved were collected. The skull
was found to be as large as a round
table, a yard in diameter, and the
bone of the arm thicker than the
body of a robust man. Applications
arrived from all quarters for these
gigantic remains, and the proprietors
of collections offered as much as a
hundred dollars for a single bone.
Several of the double teeth weighed
five pounds and a half: one of these
was presented to the emperor, and
others to the churches of Passau,
Munich, and Steyer. Several bones
were exhibited for money in the Je-
suits' church at Krems, but the prin-
cipal ones were sent off to Sweden
and Poland, to be preserved in ca-
binets of natural curiosities. In the
ancient chronicle from which these
particulars are taken, it is related that
near this gigantic skeleton were dis-
covered two others about one-eighth
smaller; but they were not dug out,
as the excavation would have injured
the fortifications. Are any of these
yemains still in existence, to prove
the veracity of the writer ?
RKMAKKAULE CURBS.
On the 2d of February, 1786, the
following curious circumstance took
place at Chateaudun, in France : The
prior of the convent was so ill that
for some days his life had been de-
spaired of. The physician, however,
caused lils temples to be rubbed with
scented water, and a little Spanish
wine to be dropped now and then
into his mouth. The patient, who
had previously lain motionless, soon
afterwards, to the great surprise of
all present, stirred and uttered some
inarticulate sounds, but soon relaps-
ed into his former lethargy. In
the afternoon the physician intro-
duced into the sick-room two persons
who were to play various tunes on
the violin. At the same time he sent
for two venerable men, one an inha-
bitant of the town, the other a monk
of seventy-two, who began to dance
to the music. The physician's dog
danced along with them. The mu-
sic and the dancing awoke the ap-
parently dying prior, and attracted his
notice. He could not forbear laugh-
ing, recovered, and soon afterwards
in his first sermon he gave his con-
gregation an account of his extraor-
dinary recovery.
When Henry IV. was advancing
to besiege Paris, the Duke d'Angou-
leme, natural son of Charles IX. who
accompanied the army, was seized
with a fever, which obliged him to
remain behind at Meudon. Doubts
were entertained of his recovery.
His physician had pronounced the
ominous words, Non vacat periculum
— the case is dangerous; and as the
sick have sharp ears, and the prince
understood Latin, he desired a priest
to be sent for, that he might confess
himself and prepare for death. Af-
ter confession, the physicians inform-
ed his attendants that there was but
one chance left for saving the life of
the prince, and that was to make him
laugh heartily. His secretary and
Ii2
<sm
38
ANECDOTES, &C HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
intendant, both about sixty years of
age, and the captain of his guard, a
grave old soldier, hereupon agreed
.to try an expedient for accomplish-
ing that purpose, AH three entered
the chamber of the royal patient in
Jong white robes, and advanced be-
fore the bed. The captain was in
the middle, and slapped the cheeks
of the two others, on the right and
left of him, in regular time. These
wore red caps with cocks' feathers,
and strove alternately to knock off a
large grotesque hat from the head of
their companion. This ludicrous
scene excited in the patient such a
fit of laughter as to cause a consider-
able discharge of blood at the nose,
and produced in him such a revolu-
tion that in two hours he was a great
deal better. The fever, which had
tormented him for twenty-two days,
gradually subsided, and in less than
a week he was so far recovered as
to be carried about in a sedan to take
the air.
CONJUGAL REBELLION.
In the year 1(382 the women of Soe-
timoer, in Holland, rebelled against
the authority of their husbands, and
marched with a flag and drum, and
armed with broomsticks, pokers,
spades, pickaxes, ike. to the house
of the chief magistrate. Here a
troop of soldiers, coming upon the
insurgents in the rear, surrounded
and took them prisoners. The ring-
leaders were publicly whipped ; and
this punishment had such an effect
on the others that they returned to
their duty.
NARROW ESCAPES.
In 1G97 a soldier at Hameln mur-
dered his landlord, and was condemn-
ed to be beheaded. He knelt down,
but the executioner was so wide of
the mark as to cut off only a part of
the scull about the size of a crown-
piece. The criminal availing himself
of the general surprise, sprang upon
his legs, ran off, and hid himself
among the attending soldiers, crying,
" I have had my due!" He was
seized, remanded to prison, cured,
and finally pardoned by the Duke of
Hanover.
In 1681 a woman at Stockholm
was sentenced to death for a double
adultery; but the axe, on touching
her neck, rebounded as from an an-
vil, leaving only a red mark, which
afterwards swelled. The axe was
tried and found perfectly sharp. The
culprit was pardoned.
SINGULAR MERCHANDISE.
In 1684 the Leipzig Michaelmas
fair was attended by several mer-
chants, who had for sale some casks
of Turks' heads dried, of various
sizes, of hideous physiognomy, with
prodigious beards, and some with long
and others short hair. These heads
they sold at the rate of four, six,
eight or more dollars, in proportion
to their ugliness, and they were sent
to Holland, France, Spain, England,
Sweden, and Denmark.
We are assured that two human
heads preserved by a process pecu-
liar to the islands of the East, and
brought from Java by the late Sir
Stamford Raffles, were among the
ornaments of his drawing-room.
ALCHEMY.
The veil of mystery with which
the writers concerning alchemy have
covered their rhapsodies, has pro-
bably contributed to the respect
which that whimsical science yet re-
tains among persons whom one would
ANECDOTES, &C HISTORICAL, LlTKRARY, AND PERSONAL. 2.39
not suppose capable of such credu-
lity. The following anecdote, though
\t ])roved nothing, had its weight with
amateurs :
In 1687, a stranger, naming him-
self Signor Gualdi, profited of the
known ease and freedom of Venice
to render himself much respected and
well received there. He spent his
money readily, but was never observ-
ed to have connection with any bank-
er; he was perfectly well-bred, and
remarkable for his sagacity and pow-
ers of entertainment in conversation.
Inquiries were made about his fa-
mily, and whence he came, but all
terminated in obscurity. One day a
Venetian noble, admiring the stran-
ger's pictures, which were exquisitely
fine, and fixing his eye on one of
them, exclaimed, " How is this, sir !
Here is a portrait of yourself drawn
by the hand of Titian : yet that art-
ist has been dead one hundred and
thirty years, and you look not to be
more than fifty !" — " Well, signor,"
replied the stranger, "there is, I hope,
no crime in resembling a portrait
drawn by Titian." The noble found
that he had been too curious, and
withdrew; but before the next morn-
ing's dawn the stranger, his pictures,
goods, and domestics had quitted
Venice.
FANATICISM.
On the 5th of October, 1 403, Agnes
du Rochier, a beautiful girl, eighteen
years of age, and the only daughter
of a rich tradesman, was received with
great ceremony at the church of St.
Opportune, in Paris, as " a recluse."
Recluses were at that time so call-
ed from their being literally sealed
and shut up, by the hands of the
bishop, in a small chamber built
for the purpose close to the wall
of the church, with an opening in-
wards, that the recluse might hear
the service and receive necessary
sustenance. In this retreat Agnes
lived to the age of eighty years. St.
Foix, who tells this tale, rationally
observes, that, as she was rich, the dis-
posal of her income for the benefit
of the poor, under her own inspec-
tion, might have given her at least
an equal chance for heaven, with that
which she could gain by the indolent
plan which she chose to embrace.
THIS ADVANTAGES OF TACITURNITY.
A Persian merchant, having suf-
fered a loss of a thousand dinars,
said to his son, " You must not men-
tion this matter to any one." He an-
swered, " O father, it is your com-
mand, and therefore 1 will not speak:
but pray tell me, what is the use of
keeping it secret?" — He replied, "In
order that we may not suffer two mis-
fortunes: one, the loss of the money;
and another, the reproach of our
neighbours. Impart not your sorrows
to your enemies, for they will exclaim,
' God avert the evil !' at the same
time that they will rejoice at it."
POSSIBILITY OF FERTILIZING THE
DESERTS OF AFRICA.
The sagacious and ingenious John
Leyden maintained that the de-
serts of Africa might be rendered
into productive soil by planting ex-
tensive forests of acacia. A tract
of sand of sufficient breadth could
be retained for the Arab " ships of
the desert" — the indefatigable, the
patient camel ; and what a blessed
relief for them and their riders to
pasture on the green margin of the
arid waste, and to take in supplies of
water, which might be obtained by
digging to a certain depth, and form-
ing wells properly secured !
240
MUSICAL ICE VIEW.
THE CHEERFULNESS OE GENUINE
PIETY.
A clergyman, in the diocese of Fe-
nelon, Archbishop of Cambray, boast-
ed to him that he had abolished the
dances of the peasants at their fes-
tivals and holidays. " My good
friend," returned Fenelon, " let us
not dance ourselves ; but let us per-
mit to the poor a harmless enjoy-
ment. Why should we deprive them
of momentary gratifications, which
give them for a short time the obli-
vion of wretchedness 2"
TYCHO BRAHE THE ASTRONOMER.
Tycho Brahe, descended from an
illustrious family in Scania, gifted
with genius, and adorned by splen-
did acquirements, aspired to the re-
putation of a fortune-teller more anx-
iously than to the celebrity so justly
due to his proficiency in the fine
arts, science, and literature. At Ura-
nienburg he had several devices cal-
culated to astonish his visitors : amone
others, a suite of bells, communicating
with the upper story, gave immediate
notice when any of his pupils were
required to attend, and the name of
the individual was also indicated.
He would secretly pull the nearest
bell, and call aloud, " Come hither,
Peter Christian," or any other name;
speedily the pupil appeared, while
the company were convinced that
Tycho Brahe gave a supernatural
MUSICAL
" La Grazia" a Rondo for the Pi-
ano-forte, composed by Charles
Neate. Op. 10. Pr. 4s.— (Cra-
mer and Co. Regent-street.)
The choice of the title, in this in-
summons. Tycho had a fool whose
name was Sep, whose incoherent ex-
pressions his master noted down,
being convinced that, under emotion
and strong excitement, the mind is
capable of predicting future events.
Tycho Brahe had this fool continu-
ally with him ; even at meals Sep sat
at his feet, and was fed from his own
plate.
How pernicious to the vulgar was
such an example from a man celebrat-
ed for wisdom and learning, may be
judged from the fatal consequences
to the Emperor Rodolph the Se-
cond. Tycho believed that his fool
could predict death or recovery ; and
when any inhabitant of the Isle of
Huen was sick, the relatives con-
sulted the great astronomer, who
made answer according to his astro-
logical calculations and the rhapso-
dies of Sep. He went yet further,
and announced to Rodolph that a
star presiding at his nativity revealed
that the sinister designs of his rela-
tions would prove fatal. The em-
peror, thrown into a panic, confined
himself to his palace, and died of the
corroding anxiety which preyed upon
his spirits.
Tycho Brahe, by his mechanical
powers, constructed several automa-
ta, which he took pleasure in shewing
to the peasantry ; and they supposed
them to be genii, subject to the do-
minion of their admired philosopher.
REVIEW.*
stance, is warranted by the publica-
tion, which blends gracefulness, se-
lectness of conception, and a display
of the higher aims of the science.
We have seen nothing of Mr. N.'s
* Owing to the Reviewer's absence from town, the consideration of a variety of
publications with which he has been favoured is unavoidably deferred.
MUSICAL HKVIEW.
241
that pleased us more than this ron-
do ; the subject is extremely engag-
ing, and the various ideas engrafted
upon it are in the best taste : some
of them are much in the style of
Beethoven. The whole rondo, in-
deed, may rank with the classic
works of the German school, in the
style of which it is obviously written,
without ever incurring the imputa-
tion of intention, or even accidental'
imitation. It requires a matured
player, but is not abstruse by any
means.
Favourite Airs from Winters cele-
brated Opera, " The interrupted
Sacrifice" arranged for the Pia-
no-forte, with an Accompaniment
for the Flute (ad lib.), by S. F.
Rimbault. Books 1 . to 4. Pr. 4s.
each. — (Cocks and Co. Regent-
street.)
That an opera like Winter's "Un-
terbrochene Opferfest" should for
these thirty years past have resound-
ed on all the theatres in Germany,
and excited there a sensation little
inferior to that produced by Mozart's
dramatic compositions, that such an
opera should during so long a period
of time have remained almost un-
known in England, is a circumstance
as surprising as it must be admitted
to be humiliating to British musical
taste. But, better late than never ;
and thanks, infinite thanks, to Mr.
Arnold, the proprietor of the Lyceum
Theatre, not only for bringing this
opera on the stage at last, but, gene-
rally, for his endeavours to introduce
altogether a better taste in music, by
transferring to our boards the great
classic works of the Continent, un-
clipt and in their native purity. The
Freyschutz, first brought out by Mr.
Arnold, gave the signal and furnish-
ed the dawn of a better state of
things. Then came Tarare ; and
the production of The interrupted
Sacrifice, this summer, has really
exceeded our expectations. We feel
truly delighted in bearing witness to
the excellent manner in which this
opera has been represented at Mr.
Arnold's house. There has been,
taking all in all, no performance like
it at either of our national winter
theatres, and the choruses at the
Lyceum are superior to those of the
Italian Opera. Infinite praise also
is due to most of the solo-singers :
here and there a little want of the
right style is felt ; but we cannot
have every thing at once; all will
come if we go on as Mr. Arnold has
begun. We have made great strides
within these two years, considering
the imperfect method and means of
professional musical education in this
country. Mr. Philipps as a bass-
singer gave us great pleasure, and
Mr. Atkins shewed that he can do
better things than mere ghosts at the
Italian Opera. Of Miss Paton and
Mr. Sapio, first as they rank in
their line, it is scarcely necessary to
say any thing in the way of praise,
so justly due to them. But solicit-
ous as we feel for Miss Paton's fu-
ture success, we must caution her
against two defects in her perform-
ance. She indulges far too much in
what appear to her embellishments,
and takes unwarrantable liberties
with the musical time. We had
hoped poor Weber's advice had been
: of service. But her delivery of the
beautiful air in four sharps (" Mir
[ war als ich erwachte," in the origi-
nal,) proved the reverse. Wrhy not
i give the notes in their simple, sus-
tained, affecting purity ? Why dis-
guise the melody by constant, adven-
titious, over-tasty ornaments, and by
<7» /< Cf
i4i
MUSICAL IlKVIKVv.
illegitimate inroads upon the time ?
Of the orchestra, also, and espe-
cially their able leader, Mr. Wag-
staff, we cannot forbear making ho-
nourable mention. Their efforts
evince their zeal in the cause of their
art; and nothing but eminent skill,cul-
tivated taste, and immense care and
attention on the part of their leader,
could have produced so near an ap-
proach to perfection.
The above remarks, we trust, will
not be deemed an absolute digres-
sion: as our Miscellany has not a dis-
tinct dramatic department, we felt
justified by the occasion, in taking
this opportunity of expressing our
sentiments upon the important ser-
vice rendered to the art by the per-
formances at the English Opera.
With regard to Mr. Rimbault's
four books, which gave rise to these
observations, our comment may be
comprised within a few words. Each
book contains about four pieces. The
best and most suitable for extract
have been selected, and, agreeably
to Mr.ll.'s general practice, great care
has been taken not to assign to the pi-
ano-forte more, in quantity or quali-
ty, than what a moderate performer
might be able to execute with conve-
nience and satisfaction. Nevertheless,
their adaptation is such as to convey
as fair an idea of the beauties of the
composition, as can well be expected
without the assistance of the voice.
The Beauties of P. Winters " In-
terrupted Sacrifice." Pr. Gs. 6d.
or Is. Gd. each Piece separately.
— (Cocks and Co. Prince's-street.)
This is an extract for the voice,
the translation of the German words
being made by Mr. M'Gregor Lo-
gan, and the accompaniment for the
piano-forte, being arranged by Mr.
John Barnett. The six pieces con-
tained in the book consist, unques-
tionably, of those airs which have
been received with the greatest ap-
plause at the Lyceum; and which
indeed, from their fine and simple
melodies, are sure to be best remem-
bered. The new English texts, with
few exceptions, and those inconsi-
derable, accord particularly well with
the airs. The accompaniment is ade-
quate and effective; but the staves
might have held a little more of the
score, especially some of the elegant
and effective repletions of the flute-
parts. But there is quite enough to
portray the march and essence of
the harmony. In the first air, we
observe, Mr. Barnett has resorted to
transposition, substituting the key of
Eb for E natural; for what reason we
cannot guess. The air in the original
key is not too high for even ordi-
nary voices, and nothing is gained in
point of facility ; on the contrary, in
the minore portion, the key of E b
minor, with its numerous flats, will
prove much more intricate than the
E b minor in the original.
But be this as it may, the publica-
tion, in every respect, deserves our
best commendations: it has moreover
the rare advantage of being very rea-
sonable; not to mention a portrait of
Winter in the title-page, which is
not only well executed on st6ne, but
a striking likeness. Winter died last
year, on the 18th of October, we
believe.
Romance, composed by Mehul, ar-
ranged, with Variations for the
Piano-forte, by CM. von Weber.
Pr. 3s. Gd. — (Cramer and Co.)
The theme of these variations is
the sweet and simple romance sung
by Joseph in Mehul's opera of
" Joseph." The variations are seven
in number, written in such a classic
MUSICAL RKYIKAV.
.24.1
style, so beautiful and perfect, that,
in all our experience, we do not re-
collect one composition of this class
to which we should feel justified in
giving the preference over this ad-
mirable effusion of poor Weber. It
requires much skill on the instru-
ment ; but, as a study, it will be of
the greatest utility to less advanced
players.
The favourite Air, u Shepherds, I
hare lost my love," arranged as a
Divertimento for the Piano-forte,
with an Accompaniment for the
Flute, by T. A. Rawlings. Pr. 4s.
— (Chappell and Co.)
The contents are, an introduction
(adagio), the air above-named, two
variations on it, and a finale in the
bolero style, in which the % subject
of the air is neatly transformed into
%. All is in good taste and keeping,
so as to form a pleasing and instruc-
tive lesson.
Melange on favourite Airs from
Rossini's Opera, " II Turco in
Italia" for the Piano-forte, by
Camille Pleyel. Pr. 3s.— (Cocks
and Co.)
In this melange, Mr. C. Pleyel, ac-
cording to a practice adopted by him
in similar previous publications, has
selected the essential features of three
or four airs from the above lively
opera ; and, by bringing these into
proper connection, and occasionally
amplifying favourable passages, and
otherwise adapting them to the cha-
racter and capabilities of the piano-
forte, has produced a whole, which
not only presents the charm of a
great variety of good melody, but
also a sufficient opportunity for ac-
tive execution and improvement.
The piece is perfect in its kind.
" Lovely Rosa" a Cavatlna, sung
Vol. VIII. No. XL VI.
by Mr. Sinclair, composed by J.
Blewitt. Pr. 2s.— (Clementi and
Co.)
We had occasion some time ago
to notice, with much approbation, a
harp-song of Mr. Blewitt's (" O
touch that harp,") and the present
cavatina fully confirms the good opi-
nion we had formed of that gentle-
man's qualifications as a vocal com-
poser. There is much tasteful me-
lodic expression, great variety of
thought, and the accompaniment,
independently of its harmonic merit,
is properly diversified, often elegant,
and always effective.
" Put round the bright wine" com-
posed by Esther Elizabeth Fleet.
Pr. Is. 6d. — (Monro and May,
Holborn-Bars.)
A jovial song, full of well-meant
counsel to enjoy life's varied plea-
sures. This advice, no doubt, will
be felt with the greater force, when
conveyed through the musical me-
dium provided by the pen of a fair
lyrist. The song, without present-
ing much novelty, is lively, and every
way creditable to the lady's talent
and musical taste.
Monody on Weber, written by W.
M'Gregor Logan, composed by
John Barnett. Pi*. 2s. — (Cocks
and Co.)
The text has some passages of
rather prosaic homeliness ; while
others, whether from their unaffect-
ed simplicity, or the nature of the
melancholy event, cannot fail to create
deep emotion. All that is connected
with the fate of Weber in this coun-
try, is a tale of sorrow not easily for-
gotten. Mr. Barnett's composition
bears many traces of the inten-
sity of his feelings on this deplorable
occasion, with the extent of which
K K
244
LONDON FASHIONS.
we are so deeply impressed, that we
would rather avoid entering upon a
dry critical analysis of the composi-
tion. It is not unworthy of the cha-
racter which Mr. B. has hitherto
home in our Miscellany. Let this
be enough !
FASHIONS.
LONDON I
HEAD-DRESSES.
1 . Hat of rice-straw ; the breadth
of the brim equal in front and sides,
but rather shallow behind; bound
with green satin ribbon of the co-
lour of the waters of the Nile : on
the outside of the edge, and within
the brim on the left side, are small
branches of the beautiful Peruvian
browallia, from which proceed two
ribbons as far as the top of the crown
on the right side, where they are in-
terrupted by a cluster of browallias;
they descend again and go round the
crown, thus crossing it four times in
front; a smaller branch of browallia
is placed on the opposite side : two
bows are attached to les brides, or
strings withinside the brim.
2. Cap of white crepe Usse ; the
crown, a la biret, is flat, large, and
circular, ornamented with blue satin
rouleaux spreading from the back ;
the head-piece is straight, trimmed
profusely with deep blond lace, a
Provins rose, and waving crepe Usse
edged with blue satin.
3. French demi-toilette cap of li-
lac gauze ; the crown very full and
arranged en bouffes ; gold -colour
shaded gauze ribbon fancifully dis-
posed in front, with full trimmings
of lilac gauze, bound with shaded
gold-colour gauze; long loose string
of the same, terminated with two
bows, and a short end fastened some-
times on the opposite side: deep full
border of British lace.
ASHIONS.
4. Bonnet of sprigged rose-colour
gros de Naples ; the brim large and
rounded at the sides, ornamented
with two rose-colour satin rouleaux
and a curtain blond veil more than
half-a-quarter deep : behind is a stif-
fened silk trimming, the brim not ex-
tending to the back ; the crown is
high, and has a waving trimming and
a large cluster of arbutus in front,
and also at the edge of the brim,
from whence proceeds a rose-colour
crejte Usse to the opposite side of
the crown, the top of which is ar-
ranged in waving flutes, and at the
edge is a shell-like ornament : the
strings commence with bows on the
outside of the brim.
EVENING DRESS.
Dress of gros de Naples ; the co-
lour acajou, now much in favour at
Paris, that and yellow dividing their
empire among the haut-ton; the cor-
sage cut bias, and made plain, high
across the front and lower on the
shoulders, which have epaulettes of
puffed ribbon and leaves, uniting with
the trimming, that descends on each
side of the bust to the sash, which
is of the same colour as the dress,
and tied behind in two short bows
and ends. The sleeves are of a
basket form ; the upper half plain
and projecting; the lower has revers-
ed plaitings, confined to the size of the
arm by a band edged with blond.
The skirt is ornamented with a rich
NING- DlRESS .
INTELLIGENCE, LITJiKAHY, SCIENTIFIC, &C.
245
blond lace nearly a quarter of a yard
in deptl), set on very full, and headed
by a wreath of diamond - shaped
leaves, united by a berry and two
rouleaux : beneath is a wreath of
leaves and wadded hem. The hair is
in large curls in front, dressed high,
and with large bows at the top ; be-
tween is a papilionaceous wreath of
azure crepe lisse, with gold orna-
ments. Necklace, ear-rings, and
bracelets of embossed gold and be-
ryl ; long white kid gloves, trimmed
with blond ; white satin shoes.
FASHIONABLE FURNITURE.
UPRIGHT PlANO-rOllTK, MUSIC-STAND, AND CIIATH.
In the annexed plate are repre-
sented an upright piano-forte, a mu-
sic-stand, and chair.
Having in a preceding portion of
this work had occasion to treat of
the horizontal piano, we shall here
only mention some peculiarities of an
upright one.
From the little space which this
instrument requires, it is admirably
calculated for a small apartment, in
which a horizontal piano would be
heavy and inconvenient; it has also a
very pleasing appearancewhen placed
in a recess, such as that formed by
the projection of the chimney ; and,
though so different in its form from
the grand piano, it is nevertheless
capable of producing the same pleas-
ing sounds, but not in so powerful a
tone.
The second subject ip our plate
is a music-desk. In consequence of
the Roman Catholic service being
chanted before the Reformation, a
music-stand was to be found in all
ecclesiastical edifices, from the chapel
to the cathedral; but when, under
Henry VIII. the mutilation and plun-
der of these edifices took place, few
of the desks, which were mostly con-
structed in brass, escaped the rapa-
cious and sacrilegious hand of ava-
rice. But those few which still re-
main claim the admiration of every
lover of ancient art. Among them
there is none more entitled to our
consideration than that of King's
College, Cambridge, which, for beau-
ty of workmanship, is not surpassed
by the productions of the present day:
but elegant as these specimens are,
we have been obliged to differ from
them in the present design, in order
to render the stand more easy of re-
moval ; taking care, however, at the
same time, to present the general
character so beautiful in the originals.
The music-chair is constructed with
a screw, so as to be capable of being
raised or lowered like a stool; and it
is decorated in the same style as the
other pieces of furniture represented
in the plate.
The material to be employed is
rose-wood, inlaid with brass, and the
space within the large circle, as well
as that in the two square quatrefuils
in the base, is of crimson silk.
a&M atMuuwiimm •
INTELLIGENCE, LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, &c.
That popular annual, the Forget Me II year appear with increased claims to
Not, of the last volume of which near- I public favour. The literary department
ly ten thousand copies were sold, will this 'j exhibits ninbty compositions in prose
!l. K k %
246
INTELLIGENCE, LITKUARY, SCIENTIFIC, &C.
and verse, among the authors of which
appear the names of the Rev. Geokge
Ckoly ; Delta, author erf " The Legend
of Genevieve ;" Rev. R. Polwhele ; Rev.
W. L. Bowles ; Rev. Dr. Booker ; J.
Bowring, Esq. ; H. Neele, Esq. ; J.
Kenney, Esq. ; Bernard Barton, Esq ;
Rev. W. B. Clarke ; D.L. Richardson,
Esq. ; D. Lyndsay, Esq.; Henry Bran-
drktii, jun. Esq. ; J. Bird, Esq. ; Rev.
G.Woodley; Alexander Balfour, Esq. ;
the authors of " The Duke of Mantua"
and " Chronicles of London Bridge :"
Miss Landon ; Mrs. Hemans; Miss
Mitford ; Miss Benger ; Miss Emma
Roberts ; Mrs. C. B. Wilson ; Mrs.
Bowdich ; Mrs. Ghant of Laggan ;
the late Mrs. Piozzi, &c. The graphic
embellishments consist of thirteen en-
gravings, in the highest style of the art,
executed by Heath, the Findens, Le
Keux, Warren, Freebairn, Smart,
&c. from original designs, made ex-
pressly for the work, by Westall, Cor-
bould, Fradelle.Owen, Prout, Hills,
and Porter. Though a very large edi-
tion of the forthcoming volume has
been prepared, still all those who wish
to spare themselves the disappointment
Co extensively experienced in former
years would do wisely to be early in
their orders for this elegant Christmas
present.
Nearly ready for publication, in one
volume 8vo. Narrative of an Excursion
from Corfu to Smyrna, comprising a tour
through part of Albania and the north
of Greece ; with some account of the
ancient and present state of Athens, by
T. R. Jollifte, Esq.
The second part of Self- Examinations
in Algebra, by Muir Kersch, translated
by the Rev. J. A. Ross, A- M. will be
published in October.
Shortly will be published, Principles
of Dental Surgery, exhibiting a new
method of treating the diseases of the
teeth and gums, especially calculated to
promote their health and beauty : ac-
companied by a general view of the pre-
sent state of dental surgery, with occa-
sional references to the more prevalent
abuses of the art, by Leonard Koecker,
M. D. surgeon-dentist.
Among the literary annuals preparing
against the approach of Christmas,
Friendship's Offering, edited by T. K,
Hervey, Esq. will haye to boast of very
high literary merit, as well as of a most
splendid series of engravings.
Mr. Hawkesworth has been some time
engaged in collecting materials for a His-
tory of Fiance from the earliest period.
Shortly will be published, Memoirs of
the Court of Queene Anne, by a lady.
A prospectus has been circulated, an-?
nouncing the publication of Illustrations
rf Ornithology, by Sir William Jardine
and P. J. Selby, Esq. with the co-opera-
tion of Mr. Bicheno, Secretary to the-
Linnean Society ; Mr. Children, Zoolo-
gist to the British Museum ; Major-Ge-
neral Hardwicke ; Dr. Horsfield, Zoo-
logist to the East India Company ; Pro-
fessor Jameson, Director of the Edin-
burgh Museum ; Mr. Vigors, Secretary
to the Zoological Society ; and the late
Sir Stamford Raffles. It will contain
coloured plates of birds, accompanied
by descriptions, including their generic
and specific characters, references to the
best figures of those already published,
and occasional remarks on the nature,
habits, and comparative anatomy of the
species. The work will be published in
quarterly parts, royal 4to. with from fif-
teen to twenty plates, on which will be
figured from twenty to thirty species in
each. The first part is expected on next
new-year's day.
Shortly will be published, Protestant
Union, or a Treatise of True Religion,
Heresy, Schism, Toleration, and what
best means may be used against the
Growth of Popery, by John Milton ; to
which is added a Preface on Milton's
Religious Principles and unimpeachable-
Sincerity, by the Bishop of Salisbury.
Early in October will appear, in one
vol. 4to. The History of the Reign of
POKTRY.
247
Henry the Eighth, being the first part of
the Modern History of England, by Sha-
ron Turner, F. A. S.
Letters, Memoirs, b)'c. of General Wolfe,
are in preparation.
Mr. Hallam has in the press a work of
English History, in two 4to. volumes.
The Rev. John Mitford has nearly
ready for publication, a volume of devo-
tional poetry, entitled Sacred Specimens,
selected from the early English Poets,
with prefatory verses. It will contain
extracts on religious subjects from many
scarce publications, commencing from the
year 1565.
Miss Mary Russel Mitford is prepar-
ing for publication, the second volume of
Our Village, or Sketches of Rural Cha-
racter and Scenery.
A translation from the German of
Clauren's Swiss tale, Liesli, is announced
as being in the press. It will be recol-
lected that this tale was some years since
introduced to the English reader in the
first volume of the " Forget Me Not."
The author of " Recollections in the
Peninsula" is preparing for the press,
Notes and Reflections during a Ramble
through Germany.
The Rev. S. H. Cassan is engaged on
the Lives of the Bishops of Winchester,
from the first bishop down to the present
time, which will form two 8vo. volumes,
to correspond with the " Lives of the Bi-
shops of Salisbury."
PANORAMA OF MADRID.
The Exhibition-Room in Leicester-
square is now occupied by an excellent
view of the picturesque city of Madrid,
executed by the Messrs. Bur ford with the
happiest effect. It is taken from a point
which embraces the principal churches,
public buildings, and promenades. The
ancient edifices, the prevalence of Moor-
ish architecture, the superb modern pa-
laces, and the surrounding country and
distance, all combine to produce an ex-
tremely interesting scene ; while it is
rendered lively by the gay colours dis-
played, according to Continental custom,
on the exterior of the houses.
IJoetrp,
GLENDOWER.
{( The fight is fought, the battle's o'er,
A bloody victory is won;
See to the captives, hide the slain,
Before to-morrow's rising sun.
?< The grim Llewellyn's bloody race
Is scatter 'd, as when eastern wind
Drives the sear leaves through autumn'
woods,
Nor one is left to mourn behind."
So spake Lord Hubert Deloraine,
The noblest Norman of the land ;
In courtly halls the gentlest heart.
In fields of fight the boldest hand.
Yet o'er his brow, just touch'd with age,
A secret sorrow lay conceal'd j
Hopes nipt untimely in the bud
Witb woe his later years had seal'd.
And now, with pride of conquest flush'd,
He liail'd a bloody vii tory o'er^;
Llewellyn, long his deadly foe,
Had fallen, ne'er to vex hiin more.
Yet one remain'd, whose trusty sword
Had deeply drank the foeman's blood;
And now, disarm'd, and bleeding, faint,
In all save soul a captive stood.
" Art thou the youth," Lord Hubert said,
" Who cross'd me in this morning's strife,
Whose powerful hand and pond'rous sword
Had nearly robb'd me of my life ?"
With cheek "unblanch'd and eye of fire,
The youth his proud defiance frown'd :
" I am I" he cried, " and 'twas this arm
Which brought Lord Hubert to the ground.
" And I regret this treacherous blade,
Which ever faithful was till now,
Fail'd to revenge us on our foes,
In buying freedom with the blow.'*
A soldier loves a bearing bold,
And courage in a foe admires ;
The valiant heart a feeling has
For those whom lofty fame inspires.
" Brave captive, lo! I find my soul
Incline to make thy path as free
As hart or mountain deer would rove —
Then friendship give for liberty. "
" I sell not friendship," said the youth :
" Tlii/ star prevails to make me slave j
248
POFTltY.
But. not thine anger, power, or wealth,
Can buy the friendship of the brave.
" Were I unbound, and we on terms
As equal as two foes could be,
Methinks thou'dst wish thy dungeon's keep
Had held so firm an arm from thee.
" We have to freedom bent the knee,
We're pledged to it in life and death ;
Our banner's liberty, our crest
That honour only lost with breath.
" Though tyranny and ruthless power
At present in the forest reign,
Soon shall the Cambrian lion wake,
And rend th' usurping foeman's chain."
" Hence wiih the dog!" Lord Hubert cried,
" Who dares insult me to the face !
Confess and shrive him — choose thy priest,
Thou hast but one short hour of grace."
" I fear not death!" Glendower replied,
And on the baron lower'd his eye:
" Vain are thy threats, proud Norman ; know,
A coward only fears to die.
" And life's as vain, when honour's gone,
As freedom to the dying slave,
Whose tyrant breaks his iron chain
When it has bow'd him to the grave."
A finer form, a step more free,
Was never yet in Britain seen ;
Though pale his cheek and stain'd his dress,
Yet dignity was in his mien.
Scarce had he left the victor's tent,
When Morvan claim'd Lord Hubert's ear:
" Llewellyn, at the point of death,"
He said, " has something to declare.
" A heavy crime weighs on his soul,
Which will not let the spirit flee ;
He says 'tis something wondrous dread,
Which he would feign impart to thee."
f* Seek him a priest ; those lazy friars
Have nothing else to mind but prayer;
My heart's engaged with weightier thoughts :
Morvan, I have no time to spare.
" What say'st thou — Eva! — what of her ?
What of my lost, my murder'd bride?
Oh ! tell me, what of Eva's fate
Have I to learn ? I wait my guide."
Stretch'd on a couch by guilt made hard,
The stern Llewellyn groaning lay;
The consciousness of crime was such,
The spirit could not pass away.
u I cannot die," he murmur'd forth :
" Eva, thy fate, so long conceal'd,
Must, as thy dying lips declared,
In racking torments be reveal'd."
" What of my wife?" Lord Hubert said,
And hurried to the sick man's side :
" Oh ! say by him who bled for thee,
What know'st thou of my murder'd bride ?"
" Talk not of Christ," the ruffian said,
No hope have I in earth or heaven ;
But Eva's blood weighs on my soul,
A crime which cannot he forgiven.
" When we were young, and she as fair
As seraphim of yonder sky,
1 wooed her — but she scorn'd my love,
And chose to share thy destiny.
" I breath'd a vow — a deadly vow,
Of hatred on thy haughty wife;
And many a scheme of vengeance planu'd
To blight with woe thy married life.
" Thy castle storm'd, the prey was mine ;
Ap Griffith's towers conceal'd my prize;
And as she still refus'd my love,
Her life became the sacrifice.
" I saw her take the fatal bowl,
Which held the potion fraught with death ;
And looking at her son, foretold
A curse with her expiring breath,
" That legacy invoked by her
Has wrapp'd my wretched days in gloom :
I have no hope in life ; and, lo !
I dread what lies beyond the tomb."
" Her son ! her son !" Lord Hubert cried-^
" What! had my murdered wife a son ?
Monster accurs'd, for Christ declare
What with that hapless babe was done?**
" I would have stahb'd the urchin's heart,"
Llewellyn said, " slain wife and child ;
But when I drew my shining blade,
The infant on the weapon smil'd.
" I could not strike, and so the boy
By that sweet look his safety wonj
I gave him to my nurse, who took
The young Glendower for her son."
" The young Glendower! was it he
Who bore thy standard in the fight?
It was, thou say'st ! O God of Heaven,
The youth condemn'd to die ere night!'*
Like winged arrow from the bow,
Lord Hubert reach'd the place of gloom ;
" Thank Heaven," he cried, " I'm not too
late
To save him from a bloody tomb !"
Joy seized his heart, and in the burst
Of hope all recollection fled ;
When life return'd, he heard these words -
Of woe—" This is a traitor's head !"
Printed by L. Harrison, ;)73, Strand.
o
0
o
J
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'Oi
THE
Bepsttorp
OF
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, §c.
THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII.
November 1, 1826. N° XLVII.
EMBELLISHMENTS. page
1. View of Oaklands, Devon, the Seat op Albany Saville, Esq. . 249
g. ■ Crete-Hall, Kent, the Residence of Jeremiah Rosher, Esq. 251
3. Ladies' Promenade Dress ........ 305
4. - Evening Dress ......... ib.
5. A Sofa . SOG
0. Muslin Pattern.
CONTENTS.
MISCELLANIES. page
Views of Country Seats. — Oaklands,
Devon, the Seat of Albany Saville,
Esq 249
Crete-Hall, Kent, the Residence of Je-
remiah Rosiier, Esq 251
The Prisoners in the Caucasus. By
Couul Xavier de Maistre. (Continued) 252
Popular Superstitions of the French
Provinces. — No.V. — The Devil's Cha-
teau 259
The Great Tu« of Groningen . . . .263
The Jew and the Travelling Tinker . . 268
The Precieuses of the Hotel Rambouillet 271
Maina and the Mainottes. From the
Journal of a recent Traveller . . . 273
The Isle of St. Bourondou 275
The Literary Coterie. — No. XXI. — Ex-
plication de VEnigmc de la Revolution
Ewropdaute — More Odd Moments —
King James's Progresses— Henderson's
Jiiblical Tour in Russia — Head's Rough
Notes, talien during some rapid Jour-
neys across the PampAS- Moore's Min-
strel's Tale — Daoley's Death's Doinjgs
— The Nun, by Capt. Elliott . . .
Ingenuity of the Beaver in Confinement.
By M. Geoffrov de St. Hilaire
Mr. Hogan. By W.C
282
298
299
Anecdotes, &c. Historical, Literary and
Personal.— Lucky Exchange — Singu-
lar Mode of Conversation — Extraor-
dinary Presentiment — Legislation of
Boumou — French Quackery — Extra-
ordinary Antipathy of the Ostrich —
Opinion of the Portuguese respecting
Duelling — La Fontaine's Fables — J. J.
Rousseau — Harris's Hermes — Genea-
logy of Louis XV. — Population of Pa-
ris— Jean Bonhomme — Voltaire — Chi-
nese Freemasons 299
FASHIONS.
London Fashions. — Ladies' Promenade
Dresses 305
Ladies' Evening Dress ib.
Fashionable Furniture. — A Sofa . . 306
INTELLIGENCE,
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC . ib.
POETRY.
The Funeral Knell 308
A Sketch 309
The First Brown Leaf. By J. M. Lacey ib.
Lines by a Lady on the Death of J. G.
Walton, Esq ib.
Lines from the German of Schiller . . 310
Song: Adapted to Mozart's " Frcxtct
cuch des Lebeni" ib.
LONDON :
PRINTED FOR, AND PUBLISHED BY, K. ACKERMANN, 101, STRAND;
To whom Communications (j>ost-paid) are requested to be addressed.
Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand.
TO READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.
Publishers, Authors, Artists, and Musical Composers, are requested to transmit,
on or before the 20th of the month, Announcements of Works which they may have on
hand, and we shall cheerfully insert them, as we have hitlterto done, free of expense.
New Musical Publications also, if a copy be addressed to the Publisher, shall be duly
noticed in our Review; and Extracts from new Books, of a moderate length and of an
interesting nature, suitable for our Selections, will be acceptable.
The friendly and gentlemanly but awful warning of Coventry has made a
suitable impression upon us; but we must confess that we should have profited a little
more by it, had he carried his courtesy so far as to pay the postage.
Our Musical Reviewer again solicits the indulgence of our Readers, and hopes
next month to make ample amends for the temporary suspension of his critical remarks.
Persons who reside abroad, and who wish to be supplied with this Work every Month as
published, may have it sent to them, free of Postage, to New- York, Halifax, Quebec, and
to any part of the West Indies, at £4 12s. per Annum, by Mr. Thornhill, of the General
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^> fc=l
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THE
&ejpo0ttorp
OF
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, fyc.
THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII. November 1, 1826. N°- XLVII.
VIEWS OF COUNTRY SEATS.
OAKLANDS, DEVON, THE SEAT OF ALBANY SAVILLE, ESQ.
This fine mansion is the creation
of the present spirited proprietor,
having been but recently finished
from designs by Bacon. It is of the
Grecian Ionic, as will be seen by our
plate, presenting a view of the prin-
cipal front, elegant in its proportions,
beautiful and chaste in its detail.
The portico is equal in dimensions
and beauty to any modern edifice we
are acquainted with. The hall of
entrance is pleasing ; it is an admira-
ably proportioned vestibule. The
scagliola columns, of a rich colour,
ranged around at equal distances,
supporting a highly wrought archi-
trave, have a pleasing effect as con-
nected with the quadrangular hall,
or body of the mansion : for here,
over against a beautiful staircase, a
superb row of the richest scagliola
columns, highly enriched, forms a
Vol. VIII. No. XLVII.
lovely vista ; the eye, just catching
the top of their deep pedestals,
ranges through the building, termi-
nating with the library. This effect
will be heightened by the finishing
of the library-window in enriched
glass, as intended. The dining-room
and drawing-room are of fine pro-
portions, and command a charming
view across the grounds, over the
town of Oakhampton to the great
park, boldly rising in the distance,
with the picturesque castle in the
vale.
The gardens are in the rear of the
house, and well laid out ; and a small
fountain in the flower-garden has a
pleasing effect. The offices are very
complete, every way befitting a man-
sion of this class.
Great care has been taken of late
years in the improvement of the
L L
250
OAKLAND*, DKVON.
grounds ; new plantations to a great !
extent have been made, old roads j
have been removed, and new ones, I
forming more pleasing approaches to
the house, constructed.
The Okemcnt, a small river, winds
in a most pleasing manner through
the grounds in the immediate vicinity
of the house. There are two streams,
called the East and West Okement,
which embrace the lawn, and form a
junction near the housq, after sup-
plying some mills in their course.
The principal entrance to the
grounds is by a newly erected bridge
over the West Okement, the banks
of which are beautifully wooded,
steep, and rocky, which gives a pleas-
ing alpine appearance to this struc-
ture, by its elevation above the river
to carry the road on a level. Con-
nected with this bridge are the en-
trance-gate, and a very pleasing-
lodge, rising from the bed of the ri-
ver and overhanging the bridge. Its
great height imparts to it a peculiar
and picturesque appearance, well ac-
cording with the surrounding scene-
rv ; it forms an octagon, with a bold
overhanging thatch roof. Rustic
columns ranged around form a pleas-
ing colonnadc,particularly in that por-
tion which overhangs (he river. The
woods in a line with the house are
extensive, covering the brows of the
hills on either side of the river, which
takes its serpentine course thus em-
bellished for a considerable distance.
Oakhampton church is a pleasing-
object from the house and grounds
of Oaklands, being situated some way
above the town, on the brow of a
bold hill. In a line with the church,
and about half a mile from the town,
are the ruins of Oakhampton Castle,
which was the ancient seat of the
Barons of Oakhampton. The re-
mains of the once proud castle sweep
up the sides of the isolated hill to
the keep, the only portion that may
be said to bid defiance to time, and
from which a pleasing and beautiful
scene meets the eye : the bold out-
line of the park, which is spread in
massy verdure to the right, while on
the left is the wood-covered hill rising-
high above the castle, and on the
side of which runs the new and pic-
turesque road to Tavistock ; the in-
terspersed windings of the Okement
flashing across the valley, beneath
the wavy profusion of variegated fo-
liage, mellowing the sides of the hills
as they recede to the termination of
the vale, bounded by the picturesque
town of Oakhampton, which, though
poor, peers happily from amidst the
mingled beauties of nature and cul-
tivation ; while over the park may be
discerned, breaking into the blue dis-
tance, some of those prominent points
called Tors, rising above Dartmoor,
where no smiling emblem of man's
industry meets the eye, Nature hav-
ing moulded that tract with an iron
hand, and rendered it unsusceptible
of the soft embellishments of art.
William the Conqueror gave to
Baldwin de Bass, or de Brioniis, the
honour or barony of Oakhampton ;
it descended to his son Richard, who
dying without issue, it passed to
Ralph Avenell, son of Emma, his se-
cond sister, the elder not having had
issue. Ralph having fallen under the
displeasure of King Henry II. was
dispossessed of his barony, which
was given to Matilda, daughter of
the said Emma by her second hus-
band, William d'Averinches. Hawise,
daughter of Matilda d'Averinches,
by her husband the Lord of Ain-
court, brought the barony of Oak-
hampton to William de Courtcnay,
CUI-TE-I-IALE, KT.NT.
251
son of Reginald, who came over into 1
England with Eleanor the queen of ;
Henry II. The barony continued
without intermission in theCourtenay i
family till the reign of Edward IV.
when it was forfeited, together with
the earldom of Devon. The honour
and estates were restored to the
Courtenay family by Henry VII. who
afterwards advanced it to a marquis-
ate. They were again forfeited by
the Marquis of Exeter ; but the
earldom and estates were again re-
stored. After the death of the last
Earl of Devon, in 1566, the estates
were divided among the co-heiresses,
married to Arundel of Tolvern,
Trethurfe, Mohun, and Trelawney.
Sir Francis Vyvyan, one of the repre-
sentatives of Trethurfe, possessed an
eighth so lately as 1743 ; another
eighth was for nearly a century in
the family of Northmore ; it after-
wards passed to the Luxmoores, and
from Luxmoore to Holland. One-
fourth was for some time in the fa-
mily of the Coxes. The Mohuns,
who possessed one-fourth by inherit-
ance, acquired another fourth and
the site of the castle. These two
fourths came by purchase to the
Pitts, who possessed them for many
years. Lord Clive became the pro-
prietor of them and another fourth,
by purchase; and this estate was suc-
I cessively in the possession of his pre-
sent Majesty, when Prince of Wales,
| and of Henry Holland, Esq. of whom
j it was bought by Albany Saville,
j Esq. the present proprietor. The
Barons of Oakhampton were heredi-
tary sheriffs of Devon and keepers
of the castle of Exeter till the
reign of Edward III. : they held eight
manors in demesne, in which they
had the power of life and death- At
Brightly was an abbey founded by
Richard de Rivers, Earl of Devon :
on its site are still the ruins of a cha-
pel, now the property of Albany Sa-
ville, Esq.
CRETE-HALL, KENT,
THE RESIDENCE OF JI
Tins villa is pleasantly situated on
the banks of the Thames, about a
mile from Northfleet, in the county
of Kent ; the north front command-
ing a fine view of the river, where
the various vessels may be seen pass-
ing and repassing at all times in the
day. The annexed engraving repre-
sents the south front, which oilers a
model for the house of a private
gentleman, and is nearly the same as
the north ; admirable in its classic
correctness of proportion, and afford-
ing a beautiful illustration of the
simplex munditiis; and it is rendered
more picturesque by the surrounding
scenery. It was erected, about seven
REMIAU KOSHER, ESQ.
years ago, by the present proprietor,
Jeremiah Rosher, Esq.; and, as its
name imports, is built entirely of
chalk cut from the excavations south
of the building, which retains its na-
tive whiteness, and has much the ap-
pearance of stone. There is nothing
remarkable in the interior, but the
several apartments are very spacious
and agreeable, combining all the cmn-
forts of a country residence.
The excavations extend above a
mile on the banks of the river, and
are highly romantic, being planted,
with shrubs and trees of various
kinds, where, in. the spring, the
nightingale;;, thrushes, and blackr
L l 2
252
THE PRISONERS IN ffffi CAUCASUS.
birds sing the praises of these re-
treats in full chorus. This delightful
spot is also remarkable for the great
variety of wild flowers which grow
spontaneously upon it.
The views from the tops of these
cliffs are extremely fine : Gravesend
may be seen to the east ; to the north,
the county of Essex, Tilbury-Fort,
andLaindon-Hill; to the south-west,
Norfchfleet church and village, also
its dock-yard, and many other inter-
esting objects. The river has a
most beautiful appearance from this
place, taking a serpentine course to-
wards London ; and to the south,
the rich and fertile county of Kent
may be seen to great advantage. In
fact, the views from this place are
most charming, and cannot fail to af-
ford much gratification to all who
may visit these romantic retreats.
THE PRISONERS IN THE CAUCASUS.
(Continued
A few months after Ivan's feigned
apostacy, he perceived a great alter-
ation in the behaviour of the inha-
bitants, and the tokens of their dis-
pleasure were too manifest to be mis-
taken. He strove, to no purpose, to
discover the cause, when some young
men, with whom he had formed a
more intimate acquaintance, propos-
ed to him to accompany them in an
expedition which they were about to
undertake. Their plan was to cross
the Terek, for the purpose of plun-
dering the merchants whowere known
to be travelling that way to Mos-
dok. Ivan assented to their proposal
without hesitation. He had long
been desirous of procuring arms, and
was promised a share of the booty.
He conceived that when those who
suspected him of an intention to de-
sert saw him return to his master,
they would cease to mistrust him.
The major, however, strongly op-
posed this design, and the denshik
seemed to think no more about it,
when, one morning,Kascambo saw the
mat on which Ivan slept rolled up
against the wall. He had set out
in the night. His companions were
to cross the Terek the following
from p. 208.)
night, and to attack the merchants,
of whose route they had been apprise
ed by their spies.
The confidence of the Tchefc-
chenges ought to have awakened
some suspicion in Ivan's mind : it was
not natural that men so crafty and
so mistrustful should associate with
themselves a Russian, their prisoner,
in an expedition against his country-
men. He was actually informed, in
the sequel, that they had made the
proposal with no other intention than
to murder him by the way. Being,
however, necessitated to preserve ap-
pearances with him as a new convert,
they resolved to keep a strict eye
upon him during the march, and not
to dispatch him till the moment of
attack, to induce a belief that he had
fallen in the conflict. Some few
only of his companions were in the
secret. Circumstances frustrated this
arrangement; for just at the moment
when their band had formed an am-
buscade to waylay the merchants,
they were themselves surprised by a
regiment of Cossacks, who charged
them so vigorously, that they had
great difficulty to recross the river.
The imminence of the danger caused
TI1K PRISONERS IN THE CAUCASUS.
153
them to forget their plot against
Ivan, who followed them in their re-
treat.
As their troop, in the utmost con-
fusion, was fording the Terek, the
current of which is extremely rapid,
the horse of a young Tchetchenge
fell in the middle of the river, and
was immediately carried away by the
stream. Ivan, who was behind him,
rode to his assistance, at the risk of
his own life, and seizing the young
man, when on the point of sinking,
dragged him to the bank. The
Cossacks, recognising him by his uni-
form and foraging cap, for the day
was beginning to dawn, took aim at
him, crying, "A deserter! down with
the deserter!" His clothes were per-
forated with balls. At length, after
fighting desperately and expending
all his cartridges, he returned to the
village, with the glory of having sav-
ed the life of one of his comrades,
and rendered good service to the
whole troop.
If his behaviour on this occasion
did not g.Vai him the general confi-
dence, it secured him at least a friend.
The young man whose life he had
saved adopted him for his honiak
(a sacred title which the mountaineers
of the Caucasus never violate), and
swore to defend him against every
foe. This new connection, however,
was not sufficient to screen him from
the hatred of the principal inhabit-
ants. The courage which he had
just shewn, and his attachment to
his master, strengthened the appre-
hensions which he had excited. They
could no longer consider him as a
mere buffoon, incapable of any thing
but antics; and when they reflected
on the failure of the enterprise in
which he had borne a part, they were
astonished that Russian troops should
have been just at that moment at a
point so far distant from their usual
residence, and suspected that he
might have found means to apprise
the enemyof their intentions. Though
this conjecture was really unfounded,
he was watched more closely than
ever. Old Ibrahim too, fearful of
some plot for the escape of the pri-
soners, prevented them from holding
any long conversation together; and
the faithful denshik was threatened,
nay, sometimes beaten, when he at-
tempted to converse with his master.
In this situation the two prisoners
devised an expedient for interchang-
ing their ideas without awakening
the suspicion of their gaoler. As
they were in the habit of singing
Russian songs together, the major
took his guitar, when he had some-
thing important to communicate to
Ivan in Ibrahim's presence, and sung
what he had to say in a sort of reci-
tative, which his attendant answered
in the same manner, while his master
accompanied him on the guitar. This
arrangement was nothing new; the
stratagem excited no suspicion; and
the prisoners moreover had the pre-
caution to resort to it but very rarely.
More than three months had elaps-
ed since the unfortunate expedition
adverted to above, when Ivan thought
that he could perceive an extraordi-
nary bustle in the village. Some
mules laden with powder had just
arrived from the plain. The men
furbished their arms and made car-
tridges. He soon learned that they
were preparing for a great expedi-
j tion. The whole nation was to unite
I for the purpose of attacking a neigh-
bouring tribe, which had put itself
under the protection of Russia, and
! allowed a fort to be built in its terri-
I tory, Their intention was no other
Hyi
THIS PRISONERS IN THE CAUCASUS.
than to exterminate the whole tribe,
as well as the Russian battalion
which covered the erection of the
fort.
A few days afterwards, Ivan, on
leaving the hut in the morning, found
the whole village deserted. All the
mules capable of bearing arms had
marched away in the night. In the
walk which he took through the vil-
lage to make inquiries, he received
fresh proofs of the ill-will that was
borne him. The old men abstained
from all conversation with him; and
a, little boy told him plumply, that
his father designed to take his life.
As he was returning quite pensive
to his master, he saw on the roof of
a house a young female, who raised
her veil, and, with a look of the great-
est alarm, motioned to him with her
hand to begone, at the same time
pointing towards Russia. It was the
sister of the young man whom he
had saved in crossing the Terek.
On reaching the house, he found
the old gaoler engaged in examining
the fetters of the major. A third
person was seated in the room: it
was a man who had been prevented
by an intermittent fever from accom-
panying his countrymen, and who
had been sent to Ibrahim as an ad-
ditional guard upon the prisoners till
the return of the expedition. Ivan
was soon aware of this precaution,
but took care not to manifest sur-
prise. The absence of the men fur-
nished him with a favourable oppor-
tunity for the execution of his plans ;
but the increased vigilance of their
gaoler, and, above all, the presence
of the invalid, rendered their success
extremely doubtful. On the other
hand, he was convinced that if he
awaited the return of the people, his
death would be inevitable: he fore-
saw that the expedition would be un-
successful, and that he should not
fail to be sacrificed to their rage.
He had no other alternative than
either to abandon his master, or to
set immediately about his liberation.
The faithful Ivan would rather have
suffered a thousand deaths than have
pursued the former course.
Kascambo, who began to lose all
hopes, had for some time past given
way to deep despondency, and ob-
served an habitual silence. Ivan,
more calm and in better spirits than
usual, displayed unwonted alacrity
in the preparation of breakfast, and
while thus engaged, kept singing
Russian songs, introducing now and
then words of encouragement to his
master.
" The time is come," he said, or
rather sang, subjoining to each phrase
the unmeaning burden of a Russian
popular song — Hai lulee, hai lulee ;
" the time is come to terminate our
misery or perish. To-morrow, hai
lulee, we shall be on the way to a
city, a delightful city, hai lulee, which
I will not name. Courage, master !
be not disheartened, hai lulee ! Great
is the God of the Russians."
Kascambo, indifferent alike to life
and death, and ignorant of the plan
of his denshih, concluded with mere-
ly saying, " Hold thy tongue and do
what thou wilt." Towards evening
the invalid, who had been well treated
that he might stay the more willing-
ly, and who, besides making a hearty
dinner, had gratified himself all the
rest of the day with eating chislik*,
was seized with so violent a paroxysm
of fever, that he could stay no longer,
but was obliged to go home. He
* Mutton cut in small pieces, stuck
on a stick and roasted, or rather toasted
at the fire.
THE PRISONERS IN TH7-: CAUCASUS.
2.55
was suffered to depart without much
difficulty, for Ivan had by his mirth
lulled the old man's suspicions. To
remove them completely, he retired
at an early hour to the extremity of
the room, and lay down upon a bench
close to the wall, till Ibrahim should
be asleep: but the latter had deter-
mined to watch all night. Instead,
therefore, of taking up his quarters
as usual on a mat by the fire, he seat-
ed himself on a block, opposite to
the prisoner; he sent his daughter-
in-law to bed in the adjoining apart-
ment, where her son also slept, and
she locked the door after her.
From the dark corner where Ivan
lay, he surveyed attentively the scene
before him. By the flickering flame
of the fire he perceived a hatchet
glistening in a recess. The old man,
overcome by drowsiness, began to
nod. Ivan, aware that this was his
time, rose upon his feet. The sus-
picious gaoler instantly roused up.
" What art thou about?" said he
gruffly. Without returning any an-
swer, Ivan went up to the fire,
stretching and yawning like one just
awoke from a sound sleep. Ibrahim,
to dispel his own drowsiness, now
urged Kascanibo to play the guitar,
to keep him awake. The major he-
sitated, but Ivan brought him the
instrument, at the same time making
the preconcerted sign. " Play, mas-
ter," said he ; " I want to speak with
you." Kascambo tuned the guitar,
and both commenced the following
duet, intermixed with the stanzas of
a popular Russian song :
KASCAMBO.
Hai lulee, hai lulee! what hast
thou to say? Beware what thou dost!
[After each question and answer they sang
a stanza of the song, as follows :]
What, alas ! what shall I do ?
My lover comes not yet to greet me :
Sure he cannot be. untrue,
He would not else have vow'd to meet me.
Hai lulee, hai lulec,
Without my love, ah woe is me !
IVAN.
You see that hatchet, but do not
look at it. Hai lulee, hai lulee. I
will cleave that scoundrel's scull.
If the humming wheel I ply,
How the threads are always breaking'
To spin to-morrow I will try,
To-day I can't with heart that's aching.
Hai lulee, hai lulee,
Where, ah where, can my lover be ?
KASCAMBO.
A useless murder! hai lulee; how
should I flee with my fetters?
As thecal'*, or kid, or lamb,
O'er the herbage lightly bounding,
Seeks with anxious eye its dam,
While with its bleat the woods are sounding:
Hai lulec, hai lulec,
Just so, my love, do I seek thee.
IVAN.
We shall find the key to your fet-
ters in the pocket of this robber.
When, each morning, from the rill
With my pitcher homeward wending,
Without thought, my steps are still
Tow'rd my lover's cottage tending :
Hai lulec, hai lulec,
To his door they carry me.
KASCAiMBO.
The woman will raise an alarm,
hai lulee.
While I linger here alone,
The ingrate cares not for my anguish ;
Nay, perhaps, inconstant grown,
He for some other maid may languish.
Hai lulee, hai lulee,
Can my love play false with me ?
IVAN.
Let what will happen, should you
not die all the same, hai lulee, of
want and starvation?
Still he comes not!— If the youth,
The truant youth, indeed forsake me,
Heedless of his plighted truth,
To the cold grave I will betake me:
Hai lulee, hai lulee,
For what is life, love, without thee ?
The old man became more and
more attentive; they redoubled their
rim
TUP. PRISON T.ltS IN THE CAUCASUS.
/ma /«/<?*?, while the major struck ,
the strings with greater vehemence, j
" Play, master," cried the denshik, !
" play the Cossack dance, while I
will dance about the room till I can
get at the hatchet. Play boldly, hai
luleer
" Be it so, then !" rejoined Kas-
cambo, " that this hell may have an
end." He turned away his face, and
began to play with all his might the
dance required.
Ivan began those grotesque steps
and attitudes of the Cossack dance
with which the old man was particu-
larly pleased, making a variety of
antics and shouting to divert his at-
tention. Whenever Kascambo was
aware that the dancer was near the
hatchet, his heart throbbed with
anxiety : it was in a sort of closet
without door, formed in the wall of
the house, but at such a height that
Ivan could scarcely reach it. That
he might have it handy for his pur-
pose, he availed himself of a favour-
able moment, made a sudden snatch
at the weapon, and immediately placed
it on the flooi', in the shadow thrown
by Ibrahim's body. When the eyes
of the latter were again turned to-
wards him, he was far from the spot
and continuing the dance. This dan-
gerous scene had lasted a consider-
able time, and Kascambo, tired of
playing, began to imagine that his
denshilts courage failed him, or that
he judged the opportunity unfa-
vourable. He cast his eyes on him
at the moment when the intrepid
dancer, having seized the hatchet,
was advancing with firm step to strike
the fatal blow. Such was the hor-
ror which seized the major, that he
unconsciously ceased playing and
dropped the guitar on his lap. The
old man, stooping at the same mo-
ment, made one step forward to stir
the fire: some dry leaves blazed up
and threw a strong light about the
room, when Ibrahim raised himself
to resume his seat.
Had Ivan then attempted to exe-
cute his design, a combat man to man
would have been the inevitable con-
sequence ; an alarm would have been
raised, and this it behoved him above
all things to avoid. His presence of
mind saved him. Perceiving the agita-
tion of the maj or as Ibrahim was rising,
he set down the hatchet behind the
very block which served him for a seat,
and began dancing again. " What
are you at ?" said he to his master,
" play away." The major, sensible
of his indiscretion, again began to
play. The old gaoler, having no sus-
picion, resumed his seat, but ordered
them to cease the music and retire
to rest. Ivan coolly fetched the case
of the instrument, and set it down
by the fire-place, but instead of taking
the guitar, which his master held out
to him, he snatched up the hatchet
that lay behind Ibrahim, and dealt
him such a terrible blow on tlie head,
that the wretched man, without ut-
tering a groan, dropped down dead
with his face in the fire, which burn-
ed his long gray beard. Ivan drew
him back by his legs and threw a mat
over the corpse.
They listened, to ascertain whether
the woman was awake, when, sur-
prised no doubt at the sudden silence
which had succeeded so much noise,
she opened the door of her room.
" What are you doing here ?" said
she, advancing towards the prisoners,
" and whence comes this smell of
burnt feathers ?" The fire had been
scattered by Ibrahim's fall and gave
but little light. Ivan raised the hatchet
to strike her ; she had time to turn
aside her head, and received the
blow on the breast with a deep groan :
TI1F. PttlSONERS IN TIIK CAUCASUS.
ci~n
another stroke, more rapid tha&Mght-
ning, overtook her in falling, and ex-
tended her lifeless at the feet of
Kascambo. Horror-struck at this se-
cond murder, which was wholly un-
expected by him, the major, seeing
Ivan advance towards the room where
the boy lay, stepped before the door
to stop him. " What art thou about,
wretch ?" he exclaimed ; " couldst
thou have the barbarity to murder
that boy too, who has shewn me so
much kindness ? Shouldst thou de-
liver me at this price, neither thy at-
tachment nor thy services shall save
thee on our arrival at the Line." —
" At the Line," replied Ivan, " do
with me what you please ; but here
is a business that I must go through
with." Kascambo, mustering all his
strength, seized him by the collar, as
he endeavoured to force a passage.
" Scoundrel !" cried he, " if thou
darest attempt his life or to hurt a
hair of his head, I swear by the Al-
mighty God, that I will deliver myself
up to the Tchetchenges, without be-
nefiting by thy barbarity !"— " To
the Tchetchenges !" repeated the
densMJc, brandishing the bloody wea-
pon over the head of his master ; " they
shall never take you again alive : I
will murder them and you and myself
first. That boy may ruin us by rais-
ing an alarm : in the state in which
you are, women would be strong
enough to overpower and bring you
back to prison." — " Hold ! hold !"cried
Kascambo — from whose grasp Ivan
strove to disengage himself — " hold,
monster ! thou shalt dispatch me
before I suffer thee to commit such
a crime." Weak, however, as he was,
and embarrassed by his fetters, he
could not hold the ferocious young
man, who thrust him back so roughly
that he fell on the floor, half-fainting
Vol. VIII. No. XL VII.
with surprise and horror. " Ivan,"
he cried, whilst his garments dripped
with the blood of the first victims,
as he endeavoured to rise — " Ivan,
kill him not, 1 conjure thee! For
God's sake, shed not the blood of
that innocent creature !" He hurried,
as soon as he could, to save the child,
but at the door of the room he jostled
against the densMJc, who was coming
out.—" Master," said he, " 'tis all
over: let us lose no time, and don't
make a noise. Don't make a noise,
I tell you," cried he in answer to the
vehement reproaches with which the
major loaded him. " What is done
can't be undone: 'tis now too late to
recede. Till we are free, whoever
comes within my reach dies or shall
kill me; and should any one enter
this place before our departure, I care
not whether it be man, woman, or
child, whether friend or foe, I shall
extend him there with the others."
He lighted a splinter of fir, and
searched Ibrahim's knapsack and
pockets : the key to the fetters was
not there. To no purpose did he
seek it in the woman's pockets, in a
chest, and in every place where he
conjectured that it might be conceal-
ed. The major meanwhile gave free
scope to his grief; Ivan strove to
cheer him in his way. " You ought
rather to weep for the loss of the
key," said he. " Why should you
lament over this race of robbers, who
have tormented you for more than
fifteen months. They meant to mur-
der us, but their turn is come before
ours. How could I help that? May
hell engulph them all, I say 1"
The key of the fetters, however,
was no where to be found ; and un-
less means could be devised to break
them, this threefold murder would
be of no advantage. With the corner
M M
258
THE PRISON EHS IN TIIK CAUCASUS.
of the hatchet Ivan found means to
rid his master of the ring at his wrist,
but that which fastened the chain to
his legs withstood all his efforts ; for
lie durst not exert his whole strength
for fear of hurting the major. On
the other hand, the night was ad-
vancing, and the danger becoming-
more urgent. They resolved to de-
part. Ivan fastened the chain about
the major's waist in such a manner
as not to make a noise, and to in-
commode him as little as possible.
He put into a knapsack a quarter
of mutton, left from dinner the pre-
ceding day, and some other pro-
visions, and armed himself with
the pistol and dagger of his victim.
Kascambo took his bourka*. They
then, set out in silence, and going-
round to the rear of the house, lest
they should meet any one, took the
way to the mountains, instead of
following the usual route to Mosdok,
foreseeing that they should be pur-
sued in that direction. For the rest
of the night they kept along the foot
of the heights on their right, and
when day began to dawn, entered a
beech-wood, which covered the hills
and screened them from observation.
It was the month of February : the
ground on these heights, and espe-
cially in the wood, was still covered
with snow, frozen so hard as to bear
the travellers in the night and part
of the forenoon ; but towards mid-
day, when it was softened by the sun,
they sank into it at every step, and
hence their progress was very slow.
* A water-proof mantle of felt, with
long hair, resembling a hear-skin. It is
the ordinary mantle of the Cossacks, and
is manufactured by them only. In this
wrapper they defy wind and weather,
rain and mud, when they are obliged to
pass the night in the open air.
In this manner they proceeded till
they reached the margin of a deep
valley, which they would be obliged
to cross, and the bottom of which
was free from snow. A beaten track,
winding along the banks of the stream
which ran through it, denoted that
this spot was frequented. This cir-
cumstance and the fatigue of the
major induced the travellers to halt
there till night ; and they concealed
themselves among some detached
rocks, which projected from amid
the snow. Ivan cut branches of fir,
and made with them a thick bed upon
the snow for his master. While the
latter rested himself, his attendant
reconnoitred the country. The val-
ley which opened at their feet was
surrounded by lofty hills, to which
there appeared to be no outlet ; he
saw that it was impossible to avoid
the beaten track, and that they must
absolutely follow the course of the
stream in order to get out of this
labyrinth. About eleven at night,
when the snow began to be hardened
by the frost, they descended into the
valley : but before they started they
set fire to the branches which com-
posed their couch, as well to warm
themselves, as to make a supper of
chislik, a refreshment which they
much needed. A handful of snow-
was their drink and a dram of brandy
concluded the repast. They tra-
versed the valley luckily without en-
countering any person, and entered
a defile where the road and the stream
were confined by perpendicular hills.
Here they proceeded with all possi-
ble expedition, well aware of the
danger they should incur if they were
met in that narrow pass, which they
did not clear till about nine in the
morning. The dark defile then open-
ed all at once, and they discovered,
THIV DEVILS CHATKAU.
259
beyond the lower ranges of hills which
presented themselves, the immense
plains of Russia, spread out like an
ocean to their view. It is impossible
to conceive the joy of the major at
this unexpected sight. " Russia !
Russia !" was the only word that he
was able to pronounce.
The travellers sat down to rest
themselves and to enjoy the prospect
of their approaching liberty. This
anticipation was mingled in the mind
of the major with the recollection of
the horrid catastrophe which he had
recently witnessed, of which his fet-
ters and his blood-stained garments
strongly reminded him. With his
eyes fixed on the distant object of
his wishes, he calculated the diffi-
culties which he had yet to surmount.
The prospect of the long and dan-
gerous journey that he had still to
perform, with fetters about his legs,
which were swollen with fatigue, soon
obliterated every trace of the mo-
mentary pleasure caused by the sight
of his native land. To the torments
of his imagination were added those
of burning thirst. Ivan descended
towards a stream that flowed not far
off, to fetch some water for his master.
He found there a bridge formed of
two trees, and descried a habitation
in the distance. It was a kind of
chalet, or summer-abode of theTchet-
chenges, and then unoccupied. To
the fugitives this lonely dwelling was
an important discovery. Ivan roused
his master from his gloomy reflec-
tions, conducted him to this asylum,
and then began to seek the maga-
zine belonging to it.
(To be concluded in our next.)
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS
No,
THE DEVIL
In a village in Picardy are still to
be seen the ruins of a chateau which
has long been uninhabited. Tradi-
tion says, that its last possessor was
a peasant named Claude, whose his-
tory is as follows :
This man was the elder of two
brothers, who, together with their
father, lived a long time peaceably
and happily by their labour; but
Claude, who was naturally avaricious,
began at last to grow discontented
with his poverty, and his discontent
was fostered by an old woman who
had not the best repute among the
villagers : none of them indeed, ex-
cept Claude, would associate with
her, for she was generally regarded
as a witch. She threw out so many
hints that it was his own fault if he
of the FRENCH PROVINCES.
V.
S CHATEAU.
remained poor, that at last he one
day told her it should be his fault no
longer, for he was ready to do what-
ever she desired, provided she made
his fortune.
" I cannot do it myself," replied
the old woman, " but I can bring you
to him that will, if you are courage-
ous, and willing to do what he re-
quires of you."
" But who may that be ?"
" Oh, he will tell you himself.
Come to my house a little before
twelve to-night, and I will put you in
the way of obtaining all you wish."
Claude was punctual to the time
appointed ; the witch shut the door,
performed some conjurations, and
the spirit that she invoked appeared
under the fonn of a little winged boy,
* JM m 2
260
Till, DKVILS CHATEAU.
of exceeding beauty. Claude gazed
upon him with admiration ; he could
not conceive that there was any thing
to fear from a creature so beautiful:
but in spite of himself a cold shud-
der crept through his veins, when
the demon, fixing upon him his large
melancholy eyes, asked, in a solemn
tone, " What wouldst thou have of
me?"
" I would be rich," replied he, in
a faltering voice.
" Thou shalt be so, but upon con-
dition that thou makest over thy soul
to me."
" No," replied Claude firmly,
" that I will not do : I am willing to
serve you for a term of years, but
not to give myself entirely to you."
" I can assist you on no other con-
dition than that of having your soul
either after your death, or after a
term of years, or after you have
committed seven murders."
" Seven murders !" said Claude to
himself: " what, I commit murders !
Oh, I run no risk at all in mak-
ing that bargain." — " Well, then,"
cried he aloud to the demon, " upon
this last condition, I am yours : only
remember, I will have a good for-
tune."
" Thou seest this purse ?" replied
the fiend.
" Yes."
" Well, every first day of the
month, if thou wilt sign the agree-
ment thou hast made, thou shalt find
it full of gold."
Claude assented joyfully, drew the
blood from his arm with the iron
pen given him by the devil, and signed
upon the spot,
Claude put up the purse, which
he was resolved in future to carry
about his person, and went home
well satisfied with his bargain ; but
he could not sleep for thinking of
his expected good fortune. The
next day was the first of the month :
my readers will readily believe that
he examined his purse as soon as it
was light: he found it filled with
gold, and his joy was unbounded.
He left off work immediately, bought
fine clothes, and to the astonishment
of every body, said he should live in
future like a gentleman.
His father and brother inquired
where he got the money that he
boasted of having, but they received
only insulting replies ; and in a little
time afterwards he bought the cha-
teau mentioned above, and taking up
his abode in it, separated himself en-
tirely from his family.
At first, he thought himself the
happiest man in the world to have
so much money ; he ate, drank, and
dressed much better than he had
ever done before. But he soon be-
gan to think that there was no plea-
sure equal to counting his money,
and by degrees the contents of his
purse, ample as they were, seemed
too small to satisfy his wishes. In
order to make up this fancied defi-
ciency, he laid out the money of the
fiend in the purchase of land, and in
a little time found himself master of
an enormous fortune. His immense
wealth served only to increase the
natural hardness of his heart; he re-
fused the most trifling alms to the
poor, broke off all connection with
his father and brother, and when he
learned that the former was danger-
ously ill, he refused to give him any
succour. His brother, who was as
good and dutiful as he was the re-
verse, worked beyond his strength to
supply the old man with necessaries:
their neighbours, touched with the
filial piety of Jacques, pitied and did
tut: devils chateau.
261
all in their power to assist him, while
they execrated the avarice and un-
natural conduct of Claude, who, re-
gardless of their censures and of the
exhortations of the curt, placed all
his happiness in adding to his already
enormous fortune.
A new method of augmenting his
ill-gotten store soon presented itself
to this miserable wretch. A hard
spring brought on a scarcity, storms
and inundations destroyed the har-
vest, and the poor peasants saw with
terror, as the winter advanced, that
famine came on with hasty strides.
Corn rose to an extravagant price ;
and Claude, whose granaries were
full, had the inhumanity to resolve
that he would keep his corn till the
return of spring, hoping to sell it still
dearer. He saw his poor neighbours
drooping round him for want ; but
their tears and the exhortations of
his pastor were vain, nothing could
shake his cruel determination. His
brother avoided applying to him
while he could get work ; at length
being without it, and unable to pro-
cure bread for his aged father, he
set out with a heavy heart to repre-
sent his case to his unnatural bro-
ther, who asked him insolently how
he dared to appear before him ?
" Brother," replied he, " I am come
to beg of you, in God's name, to
give bread to our poor father, who is
dying of hunger."
" That must be his fault and
yours — why don't you work ?"
" For two years past he has never
been able to earn a shilling ; it is I
who have supported him, and I
would do so still if I could get em-
ployment."
" Oh, the idle never want ex-
cuses : you could get work if you
liked to seek it."
" Brother, I protest to you"-
" What, you would have the as-
surance to argue with me, your elder
and your better? Go, get out of
my house, and never dare to enter it
again."
The unfortunate Jacques went
away, with a heart bursting with grief
and indignation: he related what had
passed to his neighbours; everybody
participated in his feelings, but, alas!
no one could relieve him. He found
every where distress similar to his
own.
The aire, who had already parted
with every thing that he had for the
relief of his parishoners, determined
to make a last effort in their favour:
he went himself, and begged with
tears that Claude would afford them
assistance, offering to take measures
for securing to him the price of his
corn. The obdurate miserwasdeaf to
all solicitations; he disregarded even
the solemn assurance of the pastor,
that his cruelty would cause the loss
of many lives. The good man went
away in tears ; and two days after-
wards, Jacques presented himself
again at the gate of the chateau. His
father was reduced to the last extre-
mity, and he could not believe that
Claude would actually suffer him to
expire of hunger. He begged of
Jacques to apply once more to his bar-
barous brother. Jacques had hard-
ly the strength to obey his father, so
much was he exhausted by hunger
and suffering. In vain did he repre-
sent in the most moving terms to
Claude the miserable situation of their
parent; in vain did he assure him that
without instant succour famine would,
in the course of a few hours, termi-
nate his days. The wretch, without
any reply, grasped the arm of Jacques,
ami pushed him from his door.
mi
THE .DEVIL S CHATEAU.
" O my poor father !" exclaimed
the sorrowful Jacques, " thou must
go to the grave with the bitter
thought that it is thine own son who
precipitates thee into it I" He re-
turned weeping, and unable to relate
the reception he had met with ; but
the old man read it in his counte-
nance. Despair finished what fa-
mine had begun, and in a few hours
he breathed his last. The unfortu-
nate Jacques, already reduced by
hunger to the last extremity, could
not support the sight of this dread-
ful catastrophe ; before morning he
followed his father.
The monster who had caused their
deaths went to bed that night as
tranquil as usual, with his head full
of the gain which he expected to
make by selling his corn in the
spring; but hardly had he closed
his eyes, when he dreamed that he
was surrounded by spectres ; he re-
cognised in the foremost his father
and his brother: they seized him
with their icy hands, and in a hollow
voice murmured in his ear, " Wretch !
it is thou who hast caused our
deaths ; but the hour of vengeance
is at hand." These terrible words
were repeated by the other spectres.
In vain did he strive to disengage
himself from their grasp, he could
not succeed. At length he awoke,
half-dead with terror ; and his heart,
though inaccessible to pity or remorse,
began to be assailed by fear. He
arose with the dawn, and resolved to
send some food to his father and
brother, of whose deaths he was still
ignorant. But first he went, as
usual, to visit his granary. He found
his grain in the greatest disorder,
and in the midst of it a doe of mon-
strous size, who trampled upon it,
and mixed the different sorts toge-
ther. No sooner did he enter than
the animal ran towards him with such
a menacing look that he fled from her
in terror. Hardly had he reached the
door of his house, when he met the
curt coming to inform him of the
death of his father and brother. At
this news the most horrible appre-
hensions seized him ; he related the
vision he had had and the strange
sight he had just seen to the curt,
who proceeded with him to the gra-
nary, and ordered the doe to tell him
in whose name she came. " I come
to seize my own !" immediately ex-
claimed the fiend, assuming his real
form. The curt commanded him in
God's name to retire. " I must
obey," replied the demon ; " but I
shall take with me that which is mine.
The soul of that man belongs to me
by right, for our bargain is complete.
I required of him only seven mur-
ders : he has committed more : mine,
therefore, he is. I am ready to de-
part, but he shall accompany me.
Tell me, then, how you will have
me go."
The cur^ struck with consterna-
tion, saw at once that he could not
save Claude: yet he determined to
make an effort, and turning to him,
he exhorted him to pray ; but the
miserable wretch had not the power
to utter a single word.
" May I go in flames t" asked the
devil abruptly.
" No," replied the pastor, " thou
mightst destroy the village."
" I shall vanish in smoke then."
" Not so, neither ; for thou mightst
stifle my parishioners, for whose lives
I should be answerable before the
Supreme Tribunal."
" Well, then, I can depart only
under the form of a whirlwind."
The curt sighed: he turned once.
THE GREAT TUN OF GRONINGEN.
263
more to the miscreant Claude ; but
his exhortations were unavailing, the
demon of riches had contrived too
well to secure his prey. The heart
seared by avarice is incapable of true
repentance, and the exulting fiend
struck his talons into the breast of
his victim, exclaiming, " Monster!
thou hast committed more crimes
than I exacted of thee; come and
augment the number of those whose
damnation I have caused." As he
spoke, he mounted in the air with the
wretched miser, carrying in his flight
the roof of the chateau, and destroy-
ing the trees and the buildings which
surrounded it. The storm he raised
was the most terrible ever witnessed,
but it destroyed only the property of
the miser.
No one ever attempted to repair
the chateau ; for as it was known to
have been bought by the money of
the devil, no one could be found bold
enough to inhabit it ; and it has re-
tained from that time to the present
the name of the Devil's Chateau.
THE GREAT TUN OF GRONINGEN.
Among the bishops who governed
Halberstadt, Henry Julius of Bruns-
wick deserves particular notice. En-
dowed by nature with distinguished
qualities of mind and heart, he would
have graced the proudest throne ;
and his faculties had been highly
cultivated by a very careful educa-
tion for the age in which he lived.
His father, Duke Julius of Bruns-
wick, had brought him up in rural
retirement, and had been so fortunate
as to procure for him instructors of
equal zeal and ability. Hence in his
early youth he had made extraordi-
nary progress in the languages and
sciences. At so early an age as nine
years he took an active part in a
theological disputation at Ganders-
heim, and at twelve he delivered
extempore discourses in Latin. He
studied jurisprudence with such as-
siduity, that during his father's life-
time he was capable of undertaking
the functions of a judge. He pos-
sessed also the gift of poesy ; for he
wrote German plays, which, if we
may believe the divine who preached
his funeral sermon, were admirable
compositions.
Nominated bishop whileyetachild,
and declared of age by the emperor
in 1578, after he assumed the govern-
ment, his active mind delighted in
seeking sources of occupation. To
these belonged building.
The principal edifice erected by
him was the palace at Groningen.
A mansion had been previously built
there by Cardinal Albert, but Henry
Julius found it too small and too
tasteless ; it fell far short of his no-
tions of beauty and grandeur. He
therefore enlarged it, added wings,
and beautified the whole, to which
he gave the same external form that
it still retains. The interior was
loaded with a profusion of carving,
gilding, and paintings, agreeably to
the taste of the times, and especially
the church, which, however, contains
many valuable paintings in fresco, of
which a night-piece, representing the
apprehension of Christ, is particu-
larly conspicuous. The excellent
organ, with more than sixty stops,
which cost the bishop upwards of
ten thousand dollars, a very large
sum for that period, is now in St.
Martin's church at Halberstadt.
264
Tltfe GREAT 'iUN OF GUoNINGEN.
In tlie inner court of the palace
the bishop had a building erected,
beneath which was the gigantic tun
known in the sequel by the name of
the Great Tun of Gronhigen. Nor
was it miscalled, for it is thirty
feet long and somewhat more than
eighteen in diameter. The hoops
are strengthened with iron clouts,
which, with nine hundred and fifty-
five iron screws that fasten them to-
gether, weigh nearly six tons four
hundred weight. The vessel itself
weighs nearly twenty-two tons, and
holds twenty-eight thousand six hun-
dred and seventy-two gallons. It is
now on the Spiegel Hills, near Hal-
berstadt, thus named after a canon
of the cathedral, by whom they were
planted. The builder was Michael
Werner of Landau, the same person
who constructed the famous tun of
Heidelberg.
One day, after this tun had re-
ceived into its capacious bosom a
quantity of fragant Rhenish, it hap-
pened that the wall of the cellar re-
quired some repair. The butler sent
for a bricklayer to do what was need-
ful. This was a young man, named
Andrew Reuter, industrious and cle-
ver at his business, but a jovial fel-
low, and a great favourite both with
matrons and maidens, for the beauty
of his person and his merry disposi-
tion. The butler, to whom he was
well known, left him almost the whole
day alone in the cellar, only coming
now and then to see how the work
proceeded and to chat with the jolly
bricklayer. Towards evening the
latter, finding himself somewhat fa-
tigued with labour, took it into his
head to draw a little wine out of the
great tun, for the purpose of refresh-
ing himself. The few drops, he
thought, could not be missed out of
so large a quantity. But the first
indulgence led to a second, the se-
cond to a third, and the third to so
many more, that Reuter, overcome by
the potency of the beverage, at length
sunk senseless on the floor and fell
fast asleep.
The butler, after waiting an houf
in expectation that Reuter would
leave work and bring him the key of
the cellar as he had. desired, at length
set off* to see what was the cause of
his stay. On finding him in a sound
sleep, he readily conjectured what
had happened ; but as he should
himself have been liable to blame for
not looking more sharply after the
workman, which it was his duty to
do, he would not summon any of his
fellow-servants to assist in removing
him. He left him, therefore, lying
where he was and locked up the cel-
lar, intending the next morning to
release his prisoner, and to rate him
soundly for his misconduct.
About midnight Reuter awoke. It
was the first time in his life that he
had been in such a state. He was
the more puzzled to conceive what
had befallen him and where he was.
He groped about in the pitch-dark
cellar to find his way out ; but the
door was locked. He was going to
knock, but soon reflected, that for the
sake of his character it was requisite
that he should make no noise and
await the issue, as the only means of
escaping notice. He sat down upon
a stone, meditating on his situation
till he was thoroughly ashamed of
himself.
In a short time he perceived in the
opposite corner of the eellar a bright
light, that seemed to rise out of the
ground. Looking stedfastly at it,
he saw a little gray man, scarcely a
foot high, with slow and solemn step
T»E GREAT TUN OF GItONINOEN.
265
advancing towards him. Though
not timorous, yet not infected with
the incredulity of modern times, which
in bright sunshine pertinaciously de-
nies the possibility of supernatural
appearances, he started with affright;
his blood ran cold ; and he clapped
his hand to his eyes, as though he
expected by so doing to withdraw
himself from observation.
The little gray man meanwhile
came up close to him. " Be not
afraid, Andrew !" said he ; "I am
thy friend, for I have taken a liking
to thee. I have dominion under the
earth, and whatever thou here wish-
est I will grant thee."
" Then let me out of the cellar!"
" Follow me ! — and shouldst thou
ever feel again a desire to recruit thy
spirits with the liquor in this tun,
come at midnight, knock with the
little finger of the left hand seven
times on the middle nail in the lock
of the outer door, and I will instant-
ly open it and admit thee."
Reuter fearfully followed his guide.
They were soon at the door. The
gray man touched the lock ; and the
door instantly flew open, but without
the least noise. Reuter was at li-
berty. Without once looking round,
he ran home as fast as his legs could
carry him. There he formed the
serious resolution to beware in future
of the great tun, and still more of
the diminutive ruler of the lower
world.
He rose early next morning to
fetch the key of the cellar and con-
tinue his work. He pondered by
the way — for he was not a little per-
plexed about it — what excuse he
should make for his conduct the pi-e-
ceding day, and above all how he
should account for his release from
Vol. VIII. No. XL VII.
the cellar ; for he could not possibly
confess the truth relative to the latter
circumstance, neither could he have
the least doubt that the butler had
purposely locked him up. He re-
paired under no slight appi'ehension
to the butler's lodgings, and was there
informed that he had not yet risen,
having come home late from a ca-
rousal and been put to bed insensible.
Aha! thought he — the game is mine !
He knew from experience how im-
perfectly a person in such a condi-
tion recollects previous circumstances,
and on this knowledge his ready wit
immediately built a plan.
When the butler had at last risen,
and Reuter went to him to fetch the
keys, the former began to inveigh
bitterly against him, calling him a
gOod-for-nothing fellow, not fit to be
trusted, and threatening to acquaint
the bishop with his misconduct. .
Reuter affected the profoundest
astonishment. " But how should I
have got home," said he, " if I had
been in such a state as you assert?"
" Got home ! That is precisely
what I wish to know. I left you lying
like a lump of lead in the cellar, as
I did not wish to make a noise, and
locked the doors. How did you get
out r
" You must have been dreaming,
my good sir. I had neither keys nor
any other implements for unlocking
the doors ; and even if I had such,
you know those locks cannot be open-
ed from within."
"You must have used main strength
— your large hammer."
" What a noise that would have
made ! Consider the strength of
those prodigious locks! Ask the
watchman if he heard any thing."
" He was asleep I dare say."
N N
THK GMTi AT TUN OF GU&NlNGEN.
" Come along then and see."
Away they went — but not the
slightest mark of violence was to be
discovered either on the locks or the
doors.
The butler was completely puzzled .
He was positive that he had locked
up the drunken bricklayer, but he
was equally positive that, if he had
done so, Reuter could not have got
out of the cellar without betraying
himself.
" There you see !" said Reuter.
" You must certainly have been in
your cups last night, and your over-
heated blood or the foul fiend must
have inspired the dream which you
would pass off for reality, to shift
the fault from your own shoulders to
those of an innocent person."
The butler's conscience smote him
— and that always makes a man a
coward. He muttered something to
himself and went away, but sent a
person to stay in the cellar the whole
day and watch Reuter ; and he him-
self went besides several times to and
fro.
This treatment vexed Reuter ex-
ceedingly. He thought more tban
once of availing himself the next
night of the offer of the little gray
man, merely to play the butler a trick.
This, however, would have been
making free with the property of ano-
ther, and his natural sense of honour
revolted against that. Still more re-
pugnant to his mind was the idea of
any intercourse with unearthly spi-
rits, who, he was well aware, could not
be good ones, since they offered him
their aid to do what was wrong. He
shuddered at the thought of making
a covenant with the powers of hell ;
and he therefore rejected this scheme
of revenge as often as it recurred to
his miud.
The job was finished, and nothing
further transpired of Reuters ad-
venture, the butler keeping the one
half with which he was acquainted
a profound secret, as Reuter did the
other, to which he alone was privy.
The latter soon relinquished the cri-
minal idea of profiting by his know-
ledge of the cellar, and indeed seem-
ed to have totally forgotten it, when
soon afterwards wishes of a very dif-
ferent kind occupied his heart.
Maria was the daughter of one of
the wealthiest inhabitants of Gro-
ningen, who possessed some hundred
acres of excellent land, gardens, and
houses, and numbered many persons
even of distinction amongst his debt-
ors. At the same time he lived within
his income, so that his property was
constantly increasing ; for, though he
was by no means parsimonious, but
bountiful to the poor and zealous
in promoting the public welfare, still,
on the other hand, he was trained
from his youth to habits of industry
and moderation, and he took delight
in making the best possible provi-
sion for his only child — his darling
Maria.
Many suitors, allured as well by
her personal charms as her large ex-
pectations, had already solicited her
hand. She was in the first bloom of
youth. Vivacity, wit, and humour
heightened her attractions. She had,
however, hitherto rejected all ad-
dresses, and on this point her father
allowed her to follow her own incli-
nation.
It so happened that about this
time Maria met with Reuter at a
ball given by a young couple in cele-
bration of their wedding. She had
before heard a good deal concerning
him, from the young females of her
acquaintance ; and therefore observ-
THR GREAT TUN OF GllftNINGItN.
267
ed him with particular attention. Her
first glance at the handsome young
man prepossessed her in his favour,
and each of those that followed, and
there followed not a few, kindled a
fresh spark in her susceptible heart.
Her most earnest wish was, that Reu-
ter would ask her to dance with him,
and she insensibly drew as near to
him as she could. Reuter, however,
was too much engaged with his ac-
quaintance to regard Maria, strongly
as she attracted the notice of the rest
of the company. Vexed at this dis-
appointment, she drew back and re-
fused all the solicitations to dance
with which she was assailed. No
one could conceive what had come
to her, who used to be so full of spi-
rits and so fond of the amusement,
which she now alleged head-ache as
an excuse for not sharing.
Upon this pretext she sat still
in a corner and watched the object
of her wishes. The unexpected dif-
ficulty which she had encountered
only served to increase the vehemence
of desire, and her mind was wholly
engaged in devising means to accom-
plish her purpose. After some time,
it occurred to her that her father's
house wanted some repairs. The
very thing! said she to herself, this
job shall be done immediately, and
Reuter employed for one. She sud-
denly recovered her gaiety, and danc-
ed as usual, without appearing to
take the least notice of Reuter.
The following day she contrived |
to introduce the subject of the requi-
site repairs to her father with such
art, that no one could possibly have
suspected her motive. The job was
begun, and Reuter was engaged to
assist. Maria undertook to supply
the workmen with refreshments. "It
is a pleasure to me," said she to her
father, " and a kind word will often
go a great way with such people."
She provided abundantly for all,
but was particularly attentive to Reu-
ter. Such partiality rarely fails to
produce its effect. Reuter could
not help remarking it. His eye dwelt
with delight on the charms of the
lovely girl, and he was fascinated
with her amiable manner. In a few
days he was so deeply in love, that
it now came to his turn to form plans.
Great, however, as was the vola-
tility of disposition which nature had
bestowed on him, which shed a ro-
seate light over every thing around
him, and imparted a faith that re-
moves mountains; still he could not
satisfy himself that a poor journey-
man bricklayer, who lived by the
labour of his hands, was authorized
to look up to the greatest beauty and
the richest heiress in all Groningen.
More hopeless and more dejected he
returned every morning to his work,
and with that indeed he now found
that he could not make the same
progress as usual. A man, however,
often attains without plan an object
which he has failed to compass by
the very best that he could devise,
or that he has given up, because
he was incapable of forming any plan
at all for its accomplishment.
Maria was very soon aware of the
impression which she had made on
Reuter, but she perceived too how
shy he was towards her, and how
this, shyness increased every day.
She was as much vexed at the one
as pleased at the other. What was
to be done? Love and virgin modesty
combated in her bosom. Love prov-
ed victorious ; and she was constrain-
ed to act the suitor. This she ac-
cordingly did, but with all the deli-
cacy and tact peculiar to a, sensible
N n 2
268
THE JfiW AND THE TRAVELLING TINKER.
woman in such a situation; and yet
with an assurance which she possess-
ed in a high degree, and which, in
this instance, was greatly augmented
by her superiority in condition to
Reuter.
The latter was so completely taken
by surprise, that at first he doubted
whether he understood Maria's mean-
ing. As soon, however, as he had
satisfied himself on this point, and
the first ray of hope had penetrated
his soul, he became as bold and en-
terprising as he had before been ti-
mid and inactive. The business was
soon settled, and in three days they
were formally betrothed : for, though
Maria's father was not exactly pleas-
ed with her choice, and had probably
calculated upon a different kind of
son-in-law, still he made a point of
allowing perfect liberty to her incli-
nation; and after a few objections
which he could not repress, and which
his darling answered with protesta-
tions, that with this young man, and
him alone, could she be happy, he
gave his consent.
The wedding took place in a few
months. Reuter thought himself
the happiest man in all Grbningen,
and every body else thought so too.
He was a topic of general conversa-
tion, and an object of bitter envy to
many, especially to the disappointed
aspirants to Maria's hand. But it is
not all gold that glitters; the bright-
est things often rust the soonest.
(To be concluded in our next.)
THE JEW AND THE TRAVELLING TINKER.
In the winter of no matter what
year, as Hans Stendhal, a travelling
tinker, was pursuing his way to a
German village, he perceived a man
lying on the road-side wrapped up
in his cloak. " Poor fellow !" said
Hans to himself, " he has a cold
birth of it, and a dangerous one
too, to sleep upon the snow ; I had
better rouse him. Hollo, friend !"
cried he, " don't lie there, but jump
up, and jog on with me to the next
village : you will find a better bed, I
warrant me."
The man made no answer; the
tinker went up and shook him, but
he moved not, and, on opening his
cloak, Hans saw that he was appa-
rently frozen to death. Hans was
greatly shocked at this sight, but
thinking it might not yet be too late
to save him, he exerted his whole
strength, took him upon his back,
and proceeded with all the speed he
could to the next village.
We should not omit to state, that
a pack upon which the poor fellow's
head rested shewed that he was a
pedlar. Hans was, for a moment,
perplexed what to do with it ; but he
bethought himself of making a deep
hole in the snow, in which he hid it,
satisfied that it would be safe till he
could return to fetch it. On reach-
ing the village, he entered the first
house he came to, and with the as-
sistance of the honest peasant who
owned it, tried all means to restore
the pedlar to life. At last he had
the pleasure to see him open his
eyes, and then leaving him in the
care of the peasant, he hastened back
for the pack, which he brought with
him to the cottage. By this time,
the pedlar, who was an Israelite, had
come completely to himself, and was
THE JEW AND THE TRAVELLING TINKER.
looking round with a strong expres-
sion of anxiety in his countenance.
Judging that this was caused by fear
for the safety of his pack, the tinker
presented it to him. " You will find
it all safe and right," said he : " so
don't trouble yourself about it, but
swallow a drop of something com-
fortable, and think of getting a little
sleep. To-morrow, when you are
able to get up, you may convince
yourself that you have lost nothing."
The Jew pressed his hand without
speaking, drank the potion pre-
scribed to him, and soon sank into a
transient slumber, from which he
awoke quite recovered.
He then desired to be left a little
to himself, and ripping up the lining
of his coat, took from it some pieces
of gold, which, with many thanks
and expressions of gratitude, he of-
fered to the tinker.
" Not a farthing!" cried the ho-
nest fellow, drawing back : " I don't
want to be paid. God forbid that I
should take money for assisting a
fellow-creature."
" But, mine goot friend," said
Isaac, " I am not thinking of pay-
ment ; for what payment could I think
sufficient for saving my life, seeing
that it is worth more to me than all
the gold in the world ? This is only
a little acknowledgment of a service
which it would be impossible for me
ever to repay ; and I hope you will
not refuse what I can very well spare.
I am not so poor, that is not so very
poor, as I look."
" So much the better, much good
may your money do you ! I hope
you may live long to make a good
use of it ; but I can't take it, for all
that."
" You are too proud, den, to have
someting from a poor Jew ?"
" No, no !" cried Hans eagerly :
" it is not pride, I assure you. I am
not much of a scholar, so I don't
very well know how to explain my-
self; but you know that our Saviour
— you have heard of our Saviour, I
suppose ?"
Isaac nodded in the affirmative.
" Well, then, our Saviour orders
us to do to others as we would be
done by : now it is very clear that
that is all I have done ; and if I take
your money, I shall then receive a
recompence for doing that which as
a Christian I was bound to do. I
can't think of it, my good friend, I
can't indeed ; so now you know my
whole mind. Let us shake hands
and part friends ; and no offence in-
tended on my part, I assure you."
" I do believe thee, worthy Chris-
tian 1" said the Jew, stretching out
his hand ; " and for thy sake, I shall
think better of thy religion : it can't
be a bad one that produces such
fruits."
Before they parted, the Jew in-
quired the tinker's intended route,
determined to find some means or
other to pay his debt of gratitude.
He learned that Hans meant to stay a
couple of days in that village, and
then proceed to a town at no great
distance. The next day the pedlar
set forward on his journey to that
town ; he reached it without acci-
dent, and in passing through the
market-place, perceived a group of
people speaking with great earnest-
ness : he went up and asked what
was the matter.
" Why where did you come from,"
said the person he addressed, " that
you have not heard of the strange
will of old Gortz, nicknamed the Mi-
ser? He has scraped together an
immense fortune by his parsimony,
270
THE JEW AND THE TRAVELLING TINKER.
and he has bequeathed it in the most
whimsical manner that it is possible
to conceive. It can be inherited
only by a person who can prove that
he or she has done, on the very day
that Gortz died, a purely disinterest-
ed benevolent action."
" Eh ! mine Got 1" cried the Jew,
suppressing as well as he could his
emotion, " and when did he die V
" Three days ago."
The Jew clapped his hands in ec-
stasy. " Oh, how fortunate ! where
can I go to claim that money ?"
" You ! you claim it ?"
" Yes, yes ; I will claim it for mine
friend : he shall have it, he has
right."
" Ah, well done, cunning Isaac !
Let a Jew alone for getting some-
thing. What you and your friend
will go snacks, eh ?" cried one.
" Don't be too sanguine, honest
Isaac," said another : " this matter
is to be settled by the mayor, and I
fancy his worship will be a match for
you and all your fraternity."
Without heeding their sneers,Isaac
hastened to the magistrate, a man
whose aspect and manners were as
repulsive as his heart was kind and
humane. Isaac forgot, in speaking to
him, the habitually cringing tone
which he was accustomed to use.
He forgot that he belonged to a pro-
scribed and wandering race. He
told his story boldly and plainly; and
the truth and energy of his manner
carried conviction to the mind of his
auditor. Nevertheless, regarding the
deposit as a sacred one, he resolved
to do every thing necessary to pre-
vent imposition. He dispatched per-
sons whom he could trust to make
inquiries in the village; and he sta-
tioned others to intercept the tinker,
and take him into custody.
The surprise and consternation of
Hans may easily be conceived. "What
is my offence ?" cried he.
" We do not know."
" Why am I apprehended?"
" It is in consequence of the de-
position of your accomplice, the Jew."
" My accomplice ! God knows I
am a stranger to him."
" That remains to be proved ;" and
without saying more they conducted
him to the house of the magistrate,
who, arming himself with all the au-
thority of his office, ordered him, in
a stern tone, to tell him without re-
serve all he knew of the Jew. The
manner in which Hans delivered his
tale convinced the magistrate that
that there was no collusion between
them: however, he thought it pru-
dent to wait till the return of the
emissaries he had dispatched to the
village ; and they fully corroborated
all the circumstances of the case, for
the Jew before he left it had pub-
lished the generous conduct of Hans.
The magistrate then proceeded to
fulfil his duty as executor of the
will. He liberated Hans and Isaac,
and proceeded with them to the
town-hall to hear and judge of the
different claims that would be made
to the property; for, to the credit of
the townspeople be it spoken, there
were some persons among them who
could prove that they had on that day
performed benevolent actions; but, as
the power was vested in the magis-
trate to give the fortune to the per-
son whom he considered most wor-
thy of it, he decided in favour of
Hans, who remained, during the
whole of the proceedings, a mere
passive spectator; his claims being
stated by his friend Isaac, who es-
tablished them so fully, that even the
other claimants unanimously agreed
Tim PKKCIEUSKS OF THE HOTEL RAMBOVILLF.T.
271
that he alone deserved the noble in-
heritance, which was to be the prize
of disinterested humanity. No soon-
er did he hear it awarded to him,
than he declared he would only ac-
cept it on condition of being allowed
to divide one half of it among the
other claimants. " What remains,"
said he, " is a great deal more than
I shall know how to employ properly ;
nor can I enjoy it, unless he, to whose
friendship I owe it, will share it
with me."
Isaac was deeply affected with his
generosity. " You know," said he,
" I told you that I was not so poor
as I appeared ; all I want or will ac-
cept from you is, your friendship and
society. I can afford to throw away
my pack, and to settle near you, if
you will promise that we shall live
like brothers."
Hans joyfully agreed. It is almost
superfluous to say, that he made a
good use of the money he had so
worthily gained. Isaac, released from
the toils of his occupation, and rous-
ed by the conduct of Hans to inquire
into the grounds of Christianity, soon
became a convert to that heaven-
taught religion, from whose precepts
alone man can imbibe principles of
pure disinterested benevolence.
THE PRECIEUSES OF THE HOTEL RAMBOUILLET.
Aijout the middle of the 17th cen-
tury, there existed in Paris a coterie
composed of persons of both sexes,
distinguished by rank and wit, and
whose manners the higher classes of
society, not only in the capital, but
also in the provinces, strove to imi-
tate. This coterie met in the Hotel
Rambouillet, situated in the Rue St.
Thomas du Louvre, which possesses
some historic interest, as it commu-
nicated with the Hotel de Longue-
ville, which was rendered so cele-
brated at the time of the Fronde,
and especially by the Memoirs of the
Cardinal de Retz. Here assembled
La Rochefoucault, Chapelain, Pelis-
son, Balzac, and all the eminent beaux
esprits of the age, the mother of the
great Conde, her daughter, the mo-
del of a political female intriguer,
afterwards Madame de Longueville,
Mademoiselle Scuderi, at a later pe-
riod Madame de Maintenon and wife
of Louis XIV. besides many other
distinguished ladies, among whom,
as if by way of contrast, was Ma-
dame de Sevigne ; for, though our
national character may incapacitate
us for discovering genuine feeling in
the charming gossip of this writer,
still such of us as are sufficiently in-
timate with her language cannot but
admire her grace and acuteness. The
wretched taste which prevailed in
this society and the various epochs
of its celebrity render it worthy of
notice. After the accession of Louis
XIV. during the intrigues and con-
fusion of the regency of Anne of
Austria, when civil dissensions, fana-
ticism, and ambition left but little
scope for the sciences, an amiable
and accomplished woman, Catherine
de Vivonne, Marquise de Rambouil-
let, wishing to afford in her house an
asylum to the belles lettres, assembled
all the celebrated wits about her, but
was not able to prevent a tone most
affectedly extravagant from gaining
the ascendency among them : indeed
it is possible that it might even have
escaped her observation.
Of this coterie Labruyere says,
272
THE PRECIEUSES OF TUB HOTEL ItAMBOUlLLET.
that " it left to the multitude the
vulgar art of speaking intelligibly:
one obscure phrase drew after it
another still more obscure; and every
speaker strove to find more far-fetch-
ed expressions than the preceding,
till at last they spoke entirely in rid-
dles, which, however, obtained the
greatest applause. All that they
termed delicacy, grace, and tender-
ness in expression, they brought at
last to such a pass, that they could
not understand themselves or each
other. To carry on conversations of
this kind required neither sound rea-
son, nor memory, nor talents, nothing
but a little understanding, and that
of the very worst kind, for it was
perverted and abused by the imagi-
nation."
The manners of this society were
not less singular than its language.
The females made a show of the
most extravagant tenderness for one
another: they called each other chtre,
whence this term was employed to
designate them. Each chtre and pre-
ciense had a bed decorated in the
most costly manner, which stood in
an alcove, and in this bed she receiv-
ed visitors at the hour when the co-
terie met. To obtain admission into
this society, it was requisite that a per-
son, according to the language of the
place, should be "capable of grasping
the tenderness of an object," but it
must be the " greatest tenderness,"
nay, even the " tenderness of tender-
ness." Two abbes well known in
their day, de Bellebat and Dubuis-
son, had the title of " grand alcove-
introducers," and by them young
men were instructed regarding the
qualities essential for obtaining ad-
mission into the circle of the chtres.
Each lady belonging to this circle
had moreover an alcoviste, a sort of
cavaliere servente, who assisted her
to receive visitors, and to keep up
the conversation. At the present
day such an arrangement, which cer-
tainly presupposes great familiarity
between the cMre and the alcoviste,
would not fail to be condemned as
indecorous : at that time no one
thought there was any harm in it, nor
did it excite the least unfavourable
suspicion. St. Evremond asserts its
innocence when he tells us that " the
alcoviste was a mere title, for a pre-
cieuse made it her chief merit to love
her lover in the tenderest manner,
but platonically : whereas she hated
her husband, but lived with him most
unplatonically."
This coterie, to which even such
men as Bossuet gave consequence by
their presence, Moliere had the cou-
rage to hold up to derision in his
Prtcieuses Ridicules. " I was pre-
sent," says Menage, " at the first re-
presentation of the Prtcieuses. Ma-
demoiselle de Rambouillet, Madame
de Grignon (daughter of Madame
de Sevigne), the whole circle of the
Hotel de Rambouillet, were in their
boxes. The piece was performed
with universal applause, and I was
delighted with it ; for I even then
foresaw the effect which it could not
fail to produce. In going out of
the theatre, I took Mons. Chapelain
by the hand, and said, ■ We have
both given our sanction to all the
absurdities which we have just seen
ridiculed with such keen satire and
so much sound reason ; but, to use
the words addressed by St. Re-
migius to Clovis, ' We must burn
what we have worshipped, and wor-
ship what we have burned.' It hap-
pened as I had foreseen ; for, after
this first representation, the foolery
fell into decline."
C'ti -■
MAINA AND THE MAINOTTES.
From the Journal of a recent Traveller.
From the present state of Greece,
the following authentic particulars
respecting the high-spirited people
who claim the ancient Spartans for
their ancestors, collected from actual
observation, are peculiarly interesting:
The Mainottes and their country
have been hitherto but very little
known, because they, together with
the Kakovuniotes, who inhabit the
southernmost point, have been so de-
cried as an extremely dangerous race
and the worst of robbers, that few
travellers have ventured to explore
this district with any degree of at-
tention. This prejudice, however,
is for the most part unfounded : as
the most formidable and inveterate
foes of the Turks, they have at all
times struck such terror into the
latter, that the Mussulmans could
devise no other means of disguising
their own weakness than to circulate
the most absurd stories of the Mai-
nottes, the worthy descendants of the
Spartans, who have inherited from
their forefathers that proud spirit
and love of liberty which cannot
brook submission to any master.
The form of government of the
Mainottes has much of the republican,
but is in reality a mixture of aristo-
cracy and the patriarchal form, re-
sembling in many respects the ancient
institutions of the Highland clans in
Scotland. The country is divided
into larger or smaller districts, over
each of which there is a Capitano or
chief, who resides in a fortified tow-
er, which is at the same time a place
of refuge for his family in war. The
chiefs are also the leaders in war,
and their consequence is immedi-
ately at an end whenever they are
Vol. VIII. No. XL VII.
deemed unfit for the command. The
territory which they govern belongs
to their adherents, each of whom
contributes part of the produce of
his land for the subsistence of his
chief and his family. Each chief
has besides some land of his own, but
never much. They are perfectly in-
dependent of each other. The most
powerful capitano has usually the
title of Bey of Maina, and as such
transacts the business of his country-
men with the Turks, and leads them
against the common enemy. In the
country itself his authority depends
only on the voluntary obedience of
the other chiefs, and his jurisdiction
extends no farther than over his im-
mediate adherents. The Porte, in
order to keep up a show of sove-
reignty, generally confirms the Bey
by a firman ; though, without this
confirmation, he would be able from
his own power to maintain himself in
this post.
The population of the country so
far exceeds its fertility as to require
the importation of many commodities:
hence a traffic by barter is occasion-
ally carried on with the Turkish pro-
vinces, or recourse is had to smug-
gling, and even the Karalsc/i, or capi-
tation-tax, is regularly paid as a blind
for a time. That burden, however,
is instantly thrown off again when-
ever any extraordinary resource ren-
ders this semblance of submission
unnecessary. This conduct has in-
censed the Turks in the highest
degree against the Mainottes, whom
they have in consequence frequently
attacked, but by whom they have
hitherto been invariably repulsed.
The coast is foil of creeks, which
O o
274
MAINA AND THE MAINOTTES.
afford retreats for row-boats that are
universally engaged in piracy. These
creeks are so surrounded by rocks
and exposed to all winds that they
are not suited to merchantmen and
vessels of burden. On the arrival I
of an enemy, the villages and towns
on the coast are deserted, and the
Mainottes retire to the ridges and
steep declivities of the Taygetus,
which rises from the coast, where other
villages and more secure valleys af-
ford them a temporary asylum from
the foe. Should the latter land and
wreak his vengeance on the forsaken
habitations, the first wind that arose
would cut him off from all succour
on the part of his fleet. A bold race,
intimately acquainted with the paths
of their native mountains, and armed
with excellent weapons, readily dis-
persing in the daytime and as readily
assembling again at night, would in-
crease his danger with every mo-
ment's delay, and harass him at every
step that he advanced. The women
themselves are no strangers to the
management of arms, and they have
often dealt death and destruction
among the assailants, from whom as
conquerors they had to expect no-
thing but slavery. The country is
impassable for artillery ; and hence
their towers, inefficient as they would
be under a more improved system of
warfare, nevertheless furnish a pow-
erful medium of resistance, and have
more than once arrested the progress
of the Turks. Were the latter to
attempt an attack by land, the north-
ern frontier is still more impenetrable.
The most abrupt and inaccessible
rocks and peaks of the Taygetus oc-
cupy the whole line, and leave but
two approaches, bordered on the one
hand by precipices and on the other
by the sea. The avenues to the in-
terior are known to the natives alone,
and if troops were to attempt to pe-
netrate from the coast while the
Mainottes were in possession of the
mountains, this operation would re-
quire far greater courage and disci-
pline than Turkish soldiers possess.
In the war which Lambro carried on
with Russian money, the Mainottes
were so troublesome to the Turks,
that a joint attack was made on their
territory by the fleet which landed
troops on the coast, and by the army
in the Morea, which advanced at the
same time from Misistra. The forces
engaged in this attack were estimated
at fifteen thousand men. The ex-
pedition nevertheless failed ; the
Turks were obliged to retreat, while
the Mainottes scoured the plain of
the Eurotas, carrying away with them
every thing moveable and setting fire
to Misistra.
The Mainottes, whenever they are
threatened by the Turks, speedily
assemble. The petty chiefs indeed
are frequently at variance with each
other, but these feuds serve to keep
upamartial spirit among them. With
their little row-boats they harass every
corner of the Morea, and even the
Cyclades, and consider every ship
that is not too strong for them as a
lawful prize. Their vessels, called
trattas, have the form of long nar-
row boats, and carry from ten to forty
men, each armed with sword and
pistols. They possess uncommon ad-
dress in rowing, and when the wind
is favourable employ also small masts
with antique sails. Each chief has
several such boats, and all of them
practise piracy without reserve.
The guarding of the frontiers in
time of peace is intrusted to a select
corps of one thousand men, which,
like the sacred phalanx of the The-
THK ISLli OF ST. NOUROWDON.
275
bans, must always be complete. This
corps is constantly in activity and al-
most always fighting, being in camp
and bivouack night and day, watch-
ing every motion of the Turks, cut-
ting off such as pass along the fron-
tiers and repelling all attacks. A
young Mainotte who enters this corps
never quits it till he dies ; and yet not
an old man is to be seen in its ranks.
In general these men fall at an early
age for their country. The day on
which a youth is admitted into this
body is a festival for his family; and
his mother rejoices that she has given
life to a son who is deemed worthy
to be numbered among the avengers
of his native land. This glorious
victim, who devotes himself to the
defence of his compatriots, is carried
in triumph to the camp, where his
relatives take leave of him for ever.
A Mainotte mother, like one of Spar-
ta, would not survive any cowardice
in her son. But this misfortune, say
they, is as rare as a white crow.
The Mainottes are active, indus-
trious, and not destitute of natural
talents. Among their chiefs are men
tolerably conversant in the modern
Romaic literature; nay, some have
such a knowledge of ancient Greek,
as to be able to read Herodotus and
Xenophon, and possess a tolerable
acquaintance with the history of their
country. Their independence and
their victories have infused into them
great confidence in themselves, and
they possess the high spirit and at-
tachment to their native land which
universally prevail among mountain-
eers. The stranger who comes to
them is regarded as inviolable. One
chief accompanies him to another,
and he is every where sure of a wel-
come. If a stranger passes the abode
of a chief without entering, the lat-
ter considers it as an affront, because
he looks upon the entertainment of
strangers as one of his most valuable
prerogatives; and were anyone to at-
tempt to harm his guest the offender
would draw upon himself the most
signal vengeance.
The Mainottes are Christians and
profess the Greek religion. They
have numerous churches, which are
kept very clean and much frequent-
ed. They are a superstitious people,
and constantly carry about them a
great number of amulets. Their fe-
males are not shut up like thoie of
the other Orientals ; and when a fa-
ther leaves no male issue, the daugh-
ters inherit his whole property. Wives
possess the confidence of their hus-
bands, and take part in the education
of the children and in all domestic
concerns. In no part of Greece does
the sex enjoy more liberty and abuse
it less than in Maina. Infidelity in
marriage is rare, and it is punished
with death.
( To he concluded in our next.)
THE ISLE OF ST. BOURONDON.
The advanced brigades of the |
British army halted, after a long
march across the Pyrenees, and took
their ground eight miles to the north-
west of Auch, a handsome town of
France, in the department of Gers. i
To the south sloped a mountainous
district, comprising the Lower Pyre-
nees ; to the north-west lay the sandy
district of Landcs, where, by neces-
sity and habit, the natives have been
taught to move about upon stilts,
with a celerity and perseverance
which ignorance would incline a
O o 2
276
thj: isle of st. bouroxdox.
stranger to regard as a peculiar en- !
dowment from nature. On the east
might be descried, far off, the glit- j
tering spires of the magnificent ca- j
thedral of Audi ; and on all sides ;
the perspective was diversified, grand, j
and beautiful, with grotesque stu-
pendous cliffs towering in rocky bat-
tlements over the green hills, and
distributing foamy cascades or mean-
dering streams to enrich the valleys,
the gardens, the corn-fields, and syl- j
van scenery.
The soldiers were appointed to
their respective stations, with strict i
orders not to molest the people or
their property. Sentinels taking
their posts were reminded to have j
an eye to the fulfilment of this or- j
der, and to be vigilant in protecting
the cottages and vineyards, while a J
bustle of glad activity prevailed |
among the individuals who were off i
guard. Some unpacked camp-ket-
ties, and other culinary requisites ; ■
others drew water, or hewed wood,
to prepare their rations ; or were
occupied in waiting upon merry
groups of officers at their repast,
under the shade of a cork or ches-
nut tree. Some of these gentlemen, j
still suffering from the consequences
of severe wounds, were more inclined J
for retirement and rest than for join-
ing the desultory messes ; and a re- j
currence of hectic fever made even
the sight of food disagreeable to j
Major Napier, though he persisted j
in the discharge of his military du- '
ties. He slowly walked to an ele- ,
vated spot, umbrageous with clumps
of walnut, oak, and wild cherries ;
and his indefatigable attendant placed
a camp-stool under a spreading tree,
entreating his master's leave to mix a
little wine, or orange or lime-juice,
with a cup of the living waters that
flowed within sight. To satisfy Bris-
bane, Major Napier took a draught
of the acidulated beverage, and de-
sired him to return in an hour, after
getting his own dinner. In half an
hour Brisbane was again offering
some fresh fruits to the invalid, who
in a tone of kindness reproved him
for not taking sufficient time for his
own refection, when the rebuke was
interrupted by Serjeant Scott, fol-
lowed by a mean-looking foreigner
with a bundle in his hand. " Please
your honour," said Scott, " as this
man has curiosities to sell, I made
bold to bring him to your honour."
" You have done right, and I
thank you, Scott," answered Major
Napier. " Shew your wares," he
continued, turning to the stranger,
who, quickly bending on one knee,
untied a faded silk shawl, and spread-
ing it, displayed several rolls of an-
cient-looking parchments and small
heaps of gold coins. In a monotonous
tone, like a schoolboy rehearsing a
lesson he did not understand, the
Italian, in corrupt French, claimed
very high antiquity for the manu-
scripts, which he said were found in
a niche of the vault where one hun-
dred and fifty human skeletons had
been discovered, at Toulouse, un-
der a nave of the late church of the
Cordeliers. The bodies were pre-
served by the calcareous nature of
the soil of the Vault ; and he re-
minded Major Napier that Tou-
louse had been the chief city of
the Tcctosages, the conquerors of
Greece and of many Asiatic nations.
He averred it was probable the ske-
letons were of that era, or at least
coeval with the ravages of the Visi-
j goths, after Toulouse became the
i capital of a Roman colony. Major
Napier patiently examined the coins,
THE ISLE OF ST. UOUJIONDON.
277
to ascertain by their dates the truth
of this conjecture; but so far as their
inscriptions were legible, they pre-
sented only the names of Philip I. of
France, and Sancho the Strong of
Spain. The Italian, a little mortified
by this detection, acknowledged that
the coins belonged to another per-
son, and not to his employer. He
was commissioned to dispose of the
open manuscripts, and of two rolls so
carefully closed as to make it proba-
ble the purchaser would obtain a va-
luable prize ; and he produced the
rolls from a large pouch within his
coat, requesting Milor Anglais to
read an attestation from the munici-
pality at Toulouse, that the closed
rolls were found, with several vestiges
of African productions, in a niche of
a vault under the church of the Cor-
deliers at Toulouse, in 1809; and
that no tradition was extant to indi-
cate the age when that vault became
inaccessible. Major Napier knew
that the margossa oil or varnish is
employed in Asia to anoint the ho-
ld ys, or carl/ores, on which the ve-
das, histories, and important records
are written, and thence they acquire
imperishable durability. The mar-
gossa nut might grow in the western
torrid clime, and perhaps the rolls
would furnish Mauritanian registers
concerning the better days of Africa.
The Italian received permission to
offer his employer four dollars for
each roll. He returned in the even-
ing to say, that for ten dollars Mi-
lor Anglais wight have both ; and
the owner would not part with them
for double the sum, if cruel necessity
had not urged him to the deed : he
must procure ten dollars, or go to
prison. Major Napier paid the ten
dollars, and gave the Italian two
francs for his agency. He retired
with many bows, and a profusion of
compliments upon the generosity of
the English nation.
A few tents had been erected to
screen invalids from the damp of
night. Under this canvas canopy
Major Napier rested while he con-
cluded the blind bargain with the Ita-
lian. By the light of a taper he narrow-
ly examined each roll ; Brisbane also
searched for a crevice or fold to allow
the application of a small letter-folder
to enlarge the aperture. After every
effort had proved abortive, Brisbane
proposed cautiously to divide the up-
per edge with a sharp penknife. The
first wrapper was thus detached,with-
out injury to the contents : on the
second was written, in old English,
" The Adventures of Algernon Per-
cy and Barbara Cyril, and the Pa-
rents of Algernon, named Henry
Percy and Emma Mortimer, who
were separated on their bridal day,
and reunited in an island uninhabit-
ed, but not desolate, 1378."
Our invalid forgot pain and debi-
lity in the perusal of this singular
narrative; and when the surrender
of Paris afforded him leisure to take
care of his health, and indulge his
taste for literature, he made a trans-
lation from the Latin language, in
which the record was written. There
is reason to suppose that the island
it describes is St. Bourondon, so long
unavailingly sought by early naviga-
tors. Juan Fernandez returned to
South America after an absence of
some years, and related that he had
passed a considerable time at an
island in forty degrees south-west,
where the climate was uniformly ge-
nial and salubrious, the fecundity of
the earth unparalleled, and the inha-
bitants tall and handsome, and their
beautiful countenances expressing
278
THIS ISUl OF ST. BOUHONDON.
the most noble and amiable disposi-
tions. They had no distinctions
of rank ; for a superabundance of
the necessaries, delicacies, and luxu-
ries obtained in other countries by
labour, were yielded spontaneously
by the riches of nature, and a work-
ing class could have no employment.
Perfect concord and kindness united
the people as one vast family ; and
they welcomed Fernandez and his
crew with fraternal cordiality. Their
clothing, of the most elegant texture,
was produced by a tree which in-
creased in girth and multiplied its
shoots in proportion to the frequent
removal of the bark, and giving free
admission to the sun and air to nou-
rish the solid wood. No prepara-
tion of the bark was requisite but
soaking in water, and gently drawing
it out to a great width, till it became
so fine as to be almost transparent,
and shining as if streaked with gold
and silver, intermingled with the lus-
tre of gems in every variety of co-
lour. Juan Fernandez endeavoured
to prevail with the government at
Acapulco and with his private
friends to equip a fleet for conveying
works of art to excite the genius of
the wonderful people of St. Bouron-
don ; but his account of them gained
little credit, and before he could per-
suade his countrymen to engage in a
speculation so extraordinary, he was
seized with a sudden illness and died.
After his decease, the spirit of en-
terprise seemed to rise as a phoenix
from his ashes. Adventurers mourned
their own folly in delaying a voyage
of such important discovery while
the most able navigator and only
competent pilot yet lived. Many
attempts were made to find the Isle
of St. Bourondon, but all proved un-
successful. The reader will decide
whether its history and population
have been derived from Henry Percy
and Emma Mortimer.
We have already mentioned, that
after cutting the first wrapper that
inclosed the manuscript, Major Na-
pier found the second to be inscribed
in old English characters, " The Ad-
ventures of Algernon Percy and
Barbara Cyril." On the third
wrapper was written, in classical La-
tin, " The History of Henry Percy
and Emma Mortimer, recorded for
the satisfaction of their descend-
ants"
In the year of our Lord 1376,
Henry Percy, sixteen years old, and
Emma Mortimer, aged twelve, were
solemnly betrothed, with the full con-
sent of their parents. In the follow-
ing summer they were secretly mar-
ried, according to the rites of the
Christian church as reformed by
John Wickliffe, the fearless cham-
pion of truth. To avert open feud
with Lord Mortimer, the friend o>f
his youth and the father of Emma,
in whom his son Henry had trea-
sured all prospects of happiness,
Lord Percy sanctioned by his pre-
sence the administration of the sa-
crament of marriage to Emma and
Henry, debased by the ceremonies
of superstition. Sinful was the com-
promise, and signal the castigation
inflicted by the avenger of unrighte-
ous deeds. The day passed with glad-
some entertainments; a nuptial couch
of princely magnificence awaited the
happy pair, who, regardless of pomp,
loved each other with disinterested
affection. As Emma was motherless,
her nearest female relative had taken
her hand to lead her, covered with
blushes, to the bridal couch, when a
message from King Richard sum-
moned him to the royal standard he
THK ISLE OF ST. BOUUONDON.
279
had sworn to defend. Loyalty and
honour triumphed over love : Henry
tore himself from his weeping bride,
and committing her to the guardian-
ship of Lord Percy his father, has-
tened to the king. He arrived in
time to perform conspicuous service
in suppressing the riot stirred up by
Wat Tyler. Lord Percy arrayed
his brave Northumbrians to de-
fend King Richard ; Lord Mortimer
espoused the popular cause ; and
the estrangement created by a dif-
ference in political views flamed even
to animosity as soon as Lord Percy
avowed an opposition to the errors
of Popery. Lord Mortimer boasted
of ancestry ennobled and renowned
before the Norman conquest: but
his territory was diminished, yielding
a revenue hardly adequate to the
support of his rank. The house of
Percy had, from time immemorial,
flourished in vast possessions, and
thousands of warriors equipped in
gleaming armour, at a moment's warn-
ing, repaired to the banners of North-
umbria. The pride of Mortimer
rose as his fortunes declined: Henry
venerated his unconquerable spirit,
and still lamented that a nature so
lofty was deluded and subjugated by
priestcraft. Mortimer sent an envoy
to Loi'd Percy, intimating that he dis-
claimed alliance with a heretic ; but
Lord Percy withheld the cruel mes-
sage from his son, who underwent im-
minent danger from a wound inflicted
by a battle-axe which was aimed at
King Richard, when Henry, as in duty
bound, interposed bis own person.
In the delirium of fever he lay, call-
ing incessantly for the beloved Em-
ma. His lucid intervals were com-
forted by assurances that regard to
her safety detained her in the north ;
and that even the disturbed state of
the country hardly deterred her from
undertaking a long journey to seek
her own felicity — the presence of her
heart's dear spouse. It was not till
Henry and Emma met, when the
sole rational inhabitants of a remote
isle, that he knew her perils and suf-
ferings as a reformer, and that the
Northumbrians having rescued her
by force of arms, she surrendered
herself in duty to her expiring parent.
A sea-voyage was ordered for
Henry, and Lord Percy reconciled
him to a temporary absence from
England, by a promise that they
should disembark on the shores of
Northumberland. " While cruising
along the south-western coast of
Spain," continued the narrator, "tem-
pestuous east winds drove the ship
into a boundless ocean. The sails
and cordage torn and shattered, the
masts shivered and levelled on the
deck, the rudder and helm broken,
the ungovernable hulk was tossed
in every direction as changeful fu-
rious gusts and eddying currents
drove her through the roaring bil-
lows. Masses of vapour darkened
the skies, and combustibles being
rolled to and fro by the continual
heaving and pitching of the dis-
mantled bark, it was found necessary
that all the fires and lights should be
extinguished, except one lamp, cased
in horn, which shewed the ship's com-
pass, trembling and veering to every
point. To look back on those days
of horror still sickens my heart.
" My vigour of youth had been
wasted by tedious indisposition ; my
father verging upon the last decline
of life, yet retained full possession of
those personal and mental faculties
that shone the glory of England. His
skill as a mariner, his undaunted cou-
rage and presence of mind, were ad-
280
TIIK ISLIi OF ST. IiOUItONDON.
equate to all emergencies ; and his
crew, with admiring veneration, gave
prompt obedience to his commands.
In fields of battle he had often in-
spired me with ambition to emulate
his valour, coolness, decision, and
unfailing intrepidity. His conduct
as a sea-captain has served as a per-
petual example of fortitude, which
enabled me to support an isolated
existence. Holding by the pillars
that upheld a canopy of cloth of gold,
over a carved and elevated chair, ap-
propriated to Lord Percy in the great
cabin of his ship, my father and I
were in humble supplication to Al-
mighty God, when a tremendous
concussion shattered the wooden co-
lumn, and we staggered, and were
thrown to a distance, where the foun-
tains of the deep rushed in water-
spouts upon us. My father recovered
his erect posture, and snatched me
from the frightful bath. ' Henry,
we must swim for our lives,' he said,
' before the sinking hulk forms a vor-
tex to engulph us. You are debili-
tated by fever; but trusting in God,
omnipotent by sea as by land, my
strength will suffice to keep us both
afloat.' As he spoke, my tender pa-
rent helped me through innumerable
obstructions dashing upon us from
all quarters of the wreck, until another
heave of the surges burst the planks
with a crash which can never be
forgotten. At that instant of awful
jeopardy I felt myself seized by my
hair. My senses failed. Memory
presents but one dismal blank until
I revived upon a sandy beach, where
all objects were strange to my view,
except my favourite dog, whose per-
severing fondness made him swim
after our ship when we left England,
and, at my request, he was taken on
board. Minutes elapsed in a chaos
of indistinct recollections — I lay be-
wildered, and incapable of giving
utterance to my wild, distracted, tor-
turing, confused perceptions. My
affectionate canine preserver stood
gazing at me, wagging his tail and
holding up his paws alternately, as
if entreating me to speak. I looked
around for my father, and missing
him, sprung upon my feet. ' He hoped
to save me,' I exclaimed with the
voice and gesture of despairing an-
guish ; ' he hoped to save me — he
has perished — and I yet live ! Royal,
Royal, why have you not preserved
the good, the great Lord Percy ? I
charge you, dive deep to the bottom
of the raging seas, and restore Lord
Percy to his son.'
" The animal seemed to compre-
hend my upbraidings. He cast him-
self before me, and by whining tones
and imploring looks deprecated my
resentment. My heart was smitten
with a sense of injustice and ingra-
titude to my deliverer — I took him to
my arms, soothed him with caresses,
and in floods of tears vented the emo-
tions that wrung my feelings to ago-
ny. The contending elements were
hushed to silence ; the flowing tide
calmly gained upon the strand ; the
sun rose, and a mild cherishing fer-
vour reanimated my frame. 1 felt
new powers in my mind ; my atten-
tion was drawn to the brilliant re-
flection of the solar rays upon a clear
rivulet, winding among the rugged
steeps of a promontory. By gaining
the summit I might, perhaps, obtain
an extensive view all around, and I
could not forego a lingering hope
that I should descry my dear ho-
noured father, escaped from the tur-
bulent element so long subject to
the controul of his maritime skill. I
trusted more to the sagacity of my
THE IST.E OF ST. BOUttONnoiW
281
stag-hound than to my own acuteness
in tracing his steps ; and, at the ac-
customed signal, Royal led the way,
making a path for me through rank
grass, and often looking back, as afraid
to outgo his master. The lower re-
gion of the promontory had a broad
girdle of wood, peopled by aerial
inhabitants of the most admirable
plumage and melodious voice. Royal
made a halt, and I soon perceived
that he was not attracted either by
the eye or the ear. He stopped to
regale himself with eggs from a co-
lony of nests in the vicinity. I threw
myself on the flowery verdure, and
encouraged my companion to satisfy
the cravings of his appetite. He re-
paid my courtesy by rolling some of
the eggs with his muzzle, and ear-
nestly fixing his mild intelligent eyes
upon me, as if to beg I would accept
the humble donation. To please him
I took an egg, broke the shell, and
put it to my lips ; but strong repug-
nance sickened me, and I think I
must have fainted, unless I had ob-
served near me a profusion of fruits,
resembling the wild strawberry of my
native land, but of more exquisite
flavour.
"Royal resumed the ascent of the
mountain, and I followed with reno-
vated alacrity. On approaching the
rivulet, he made an eager bound :
yet quickly checked his impatience
to reach the liquid, and stood to al-
low me precedence. I signed to him
that he should drink, and he obeyed,
wagging his tail to express a sense
of the indulgence. It is but gratitude
to notice the characteristic traits of
more than half-reasoning assiduity
on the part of my canine friend. Af-
ter toiling up the wooded eminences,
and threading the intricate mazes of
trees stupendous in height and in-
fo/. VIII. No. XL VII.
terlaced by creeping plants, the ate
mosphere became moderated to the
temperature of Europe, and Euro-
pean fruits abounded ; but I passed
them with indifference, for my sovd
was fired with the hope of finding
my parent. I climbed the highest
pinnacle, straining my powers of vi-
sion at every point. Some vestiges
of the wreck were cast on the beach
where I first touched terra firma,
but no human being met my anxious
view. I continued to wander from
cliff* to cliff, looking on all sides, and
when my eyes were dazzled by ex-
cessive effort, I closed them, sat
down, and tried to flatter myself that
the desired object wds not lost tome.
" Daylight began to fail, and my
hopes became less sanguine, when
Royal barked loudly, and my heart
throbbed with joyful expectation,
while I sought in every direction to
descry Lord Percy, or some of his
crew. Alas ! I saw only a flock of
goats, disappearing as if they retired
to the bowels of the earth on the
land-side of the promontory. If I
could give utterance to the pangs of
disappointment which I then felt, I
should not attempt to describe them,
since only they who have known a
similar condition would make allow-
ances for the vehemence of anguish
that distracted my reason. At length
a confused dreamy slumber in some
measure composed my Feelings; when
I awoke, Royal lay with his head on
my bosom, and a large herd of deer
had stretched their dappled sides
around. Royal seemed to know his
occupation was suspended ; for he
did not disturb the stately visitors,
nor did they evince alarm at our pre-
sence— a sure proof that men and
dogs were hot of their acquaintance.
" With the dawn I recommenced
P P
«H9
!32
TIIII MTKUAUY COTEHIK.
a search for my father, repairing to
the most central and commanding
height. Numberless tribes of deer
and goats were hastening to pasture;
flocks of birds, leaving their nests,
filled the air with sounds of gladness;
but no human form greeted my sight.
I intimated to Royal my wish to re-
gain the beach. He descended ; I
followed his rapid movements, and
employed many days in exploring the
coast of this extensive isle, attended
by my faithful companion, and sub-
sisting upon fruits and the eggs of
birds which I had learned to use.
Chests, barrels, and packages en-
countered me at brief intervals; but
I found no human being,living or dead.
Having completed a circuit of the
island, I was brought back to the base
of the promontory, dejected, but not
repining. Reclined in a grove of
tall flowering shrubs, I endeavoured
to consider my situation with manly
and pious fortitude. * I am here,'
said I, ' cut off from intercourse with
my species ; but I am not in gloomy
solitude, knowing of a truth, that I
am permitted to hold communion
with the great omnipresent Lord of
the Universe, the author and pre-
server of my life.' With my mortal
body and inmost soul prostrated at
the footstool of divine goodness, the
peace of humble resignation enabled
me to perceive that in the midst of
judgment I had received mercy. I
might have been cast upon barren
rocks, chilled with cold or scorched
by sunbeams, without shelter or food.
Here nothing was wanting to my com-
fort but society ; my state of proba-
tion would terminate, and I might
hope for admission to the everlasting
mansions where saints and angels
surround the throne of supreme
glory."
( To be concluded in our next.)
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
No. XXI.
Present, ihcV icaii, Miss Primrose, Mr. Mai hews, Mr. Montacue, Horace Primrose,
Mr. Apathy, and Reuinald Hildf.dranp.
is not only something in posse, but
more in esse. Several new publica-
The Vicar. Welcome, gentlemen,
to our symposium ! I notice that
several old friends are absent; but I
am the more pleased to see those
who make a point of always giving
me their company on these occasions.
Mr. Apathy. I plead guilty to not
being so punctual in my attendance
as I ought to be; but I assure you
my pleasantest evenings are spent in
this society, where we meet with
pleasure; and though we part with
pain, it is soothed by the hope of
our next encounter.
Mr. Mathews. How stands the
boo
ivselima- world since our
i,i
last?
Mr. Montague. Why better : these
tions have made their appearance;
and the booksellers' announcements
(particularly Mr. Murray's) promise
much for the next and following
months.
The Vicar. I rejoice to hear it.
I should think the downfall of the
bookselling trade a national misfor-
tune ; though I am no friend to the
wide diffusion of knowledge, as it is
called, the advance of intellect, and
the march of mind, about which we
hear so much; but whose effects, if
they have any, at any rate do not
tend to aood.
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
28.3
Reginald. No, nor will they ever
come to good. But I do not like to
think, much less talk, about these
disagreeable subjects, on which our
friend Apathy I know would soon
be ready to give me a broadside of
his argumentative logic. But I posi-
tively am not in the humour to listen
to it to-night: so a truce, my dear
friend, and let me know what you
have been amusing yourself with
since last we met.
Mr. Apathy. In reading a most
curious book, entitled Explication
de VEnigme de la Revolution Euro-
pcenne, commencSe vers le Milieu
du Dix-huiticme Sitcle.
Mr. Montague. I have heard of
it. The object is to shew, that
the conspiracy in France, which we
have generally been taught to con-
sider as directed against all princes
and all religions, was the work of
a religious sect, and of a prince of
the royal house of France.
Mr. Apathy. Aye, the author
lays at the door of the Jesuits and
of the late King of France, Louis
XVIII. all the horrors and all the
crimes of the French Revolution:
the leaders of the Constituent As-
sembly, he says, were his tools; and
lie affirms, that all the movements,
nil the plots of that melancholy and
disastrous period, were arranged by
secret councils of foreigners, who
met in Paris, and had their secret
agents and secret police all over the
kingdom. The Duke of Orleans
was, he says, merely the convenient
cloak for the crimes of Louis Xavier;
and, says the anonymous writer,
I will prove that scarcely had he advanced
beyond childhood, when he was prepar-
ing the dreadful catastrophe which over-
whelmed his country. I will prove that
a society, vomited forth by hell to curse
the earth, or, to speak more precisely,
to make a hell of this world ; I will prove
that this society directed his first steps
in the career of crime. I will prove that
almost all his principal agents were of
this society. I will prove it by a series
of fifty years of contrivances, well known
to France and Europe.
The Vicar. Strong charges, and
which ought not to be brought
against any man without the most
overwhelming proof.
Mr. Apathy. And that proof the
author does not bring. He fails in
my opinion ; and although there can-
not be a doubt, that the late King of
France was much more liberal in his
ideas than any other member of his
family, yet it is absolutely horrible
to suppose him guilty of the crimes
here laid to his charge.
Reginald. He must have been a
devil in human shape, if he were.
Mr. Montague. The author has
succeeded in veiling himself in a
shroud of secrecy, which militates
against him : there would be danger
in avowing himself undoubtedly; but
no honest man would, under the
shield of obscurity, charge another
with the commission of crimes s© re-
volting to every feeling of our nature.
The Vicar. I always looked upon
Louis XVIII. as a good, though cer-
tainly a weak, man. He cared less
about the splendours of royalty than
his own personal comforts: he was
more of a goiinnand than a tyrant,
and possessed a far keener relish for
the luxuries of a well-furnished ta-
ble, than for the cares of govern-
ment or the intricacies of diplomacy.
He was, therefore, of all men in
the world, I should think, the most
unlikely to engage in such a scheme,
and to become the dupe of that art-
ful, designing, and mischievous soci^
P P %
284
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
ety, the Jesuits. Nor Is it at all more
likely that they should be the prime
movers in forwarding schemes that
common sense must tell them would
end in the downfall of their own
power.
Mr. Apathy. The attempt of the
anonymous writer could only have
been justified by the strongest evi-
dence. No suspicions merely should
have operated upon him; and if he
has any right feeling at all, that will
hereafter punish him for his desire
to violate the sanctuary of the dead.
Miss Primrose. I should not like
to read the book ; I am sure it would
leave an unpleasant impression upon
my mind. I think it would not be
so agreeable an occupation as per-
using More Odd Moments, a pretty
and agreeable volume by a lady, who
lately published a work under the
title of Odd Moments. She says,
Not of fays and goblins,
Not of prank and freak,
Not of tilts and tournays,
Do I mean to speak :
But of men and women,
Erring, frail, and weak ;
Of plain, simple manners,
Do I mean to speak.
And she has kept her word: she
has, in fact, caught " the manners
living as they rise;" and her descrip-
tions and illustrations strike me as
being alike apposite and agreeable.
For instance, on a subject which
concerns myself, " the coming out"
of a young lady:
" Pray, mamma," said Theresa, " what
is the meaning of coming out ? It is a term
I so often hear in company." — " That
is a question which I will solve," replied
a voice, which was immediately recog-
nised as Lady D 's. " Come with
me, child, if you are not pinned to mam-
ma's gown, and be all attention, for it is
not to every one that I would conde-
scend to be thus communicative. You
must know then, that it is the most im-
portant epoch in a young lady's life, and
is often deferred till a late period, be-
cause mammas are unwilling to be eclips-
ed by the more youthful graces of their
offspring. Another reason is this, that
the period in which they figure among
their rivals fall striving to reach the
goal of matrimony) is dated from the
time of coming out, or first introduction.
But to make amends for this cruel banish-
ment, they are taken, as children, to
balls, theatres, concerts, and any where
else that their fancy and inclination may
lead them. It was my fate a few nights
since to be present at a children's ball ;
and more vanity, airs, and graces were
displayed among these pigmy perform-
ers, than I ever saw in any assemblage of
full-grown veterans of fashion. One
instance particularly struck me. An in-
teresting little girl, about eight years old,
who seemed extremely anxious to join
the dancers, was sitting near me : a little
fellow about her own age was brought
up to her as a partner ; she refused danc-
ing with him : the lady of the house tried
to persuade her, but she continued obsti-
nate, nor would she assign a reason for
her refusal : she coloured violently, and
the tears stood in her eyes. At last the
lady took her by the hand, and led her
from the room, determined to ascertain
why she had objected to the partner al-
lotted her. And what do you think it
was, my dear Theresa ? She declared she
would not dance with such a baby, who
had a frill round his throat ; she would
have a bigger boy, with a collar. Thus
you see that vanity springs from the
very cradle ; and can it be surprising
that deceit of all sorts is practised, when
girls are formally ushered into society
with the avowed intention of securing a
husband ? You are admiring those young
women ; at one time they bore away the
prize for beauty, but their day is gone
by, they are passees. They came out
three long years ago, and after experi-
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
285
encing the fatigue and uncertainty of
a long campaign, are obliged to wear a
look of good-humour, whilst every one
knows they are devoured by mortifica-
tion. Poor things ! we must pity them,
but we cannot help laughing at the fail-
ure of those schemes which their * sage
mammas took such pains in forming."
Reginald. Alas! poor woman ! What
she undergoes to obtain the first ob-
ject of her life — a husband !
Miss Primrose. Don't be saucy,
sir ! Man undergoes as much to ob-
tain a wife. He has his follies and
frivolities as well as our sex ; and as
he is lord of the creation, they do
not sit so well upon his shoulders as
on ours.
Reginald. Granted ; and I assure
you, I have no wish to claim a supe-
riority for my sex over yours in that
respect. I shall read More Odd Mo-
ments though, as it may give me an
insight into some other mysteries of
female management.
The Vicar. You may spend an
hour worse, Reginald. But have you
read King James's Progresses, a
work which Mr. Nichols is publish-
ing so splendidly ?
Reginald. No : but I have heard
it is a very quaint and pleasant anti-
quarian book. I shall read it, and
that " righte soone."
The Vicar. Do: it will repay the
trouble. Mr. Henderson's Biblical
Tour in Russia is also well worth per-
using.
Mr. Montague. I have read it with
no small degree of interest, as all that
concerns Russia is now calculated to
excite curiosity. Notwithstanding the
elaborate works of Dr.Clarke and Dr.
Lyall, much yet remains to be known
of that country. Henderson's no-
tices of the Polish Jews are particu-
larly worthy of attention. The whole
number of Jews under the dominion
of Russia is estimated at little less
than two millions, and in Poland they
swarm in all directions: here, too,
they enjoy so many peculiar privi-
leges, that it has been long called
" the Jews' Paradise."
The Polish Jew (says Mr. Henderson)
is generally of a pale and sallow com-
plexion, the features small, and the hair,
which is mostly black, is suffered to hang
in ringlets over the shoulders. A fine
beard, covering the chin, finishes the
Oriental character of the Jewish physi-
ognomy. But few of the Jews enjoy a
robust and healthy constitution ; an evil
resulting from a combination of physical
and moral causes — such as early mar-
riage, innutritious food, the filthiness of
their domestic habits, and the perpetual
mental anxiety which is so strikingly de-
picted in their countenances, and forms 0
the most onerous part of the curse of the
Almighty to which they are subject in
their dispersion. Their breath is abso-
lutely intolerable ; and the offensive odour
of their apartments is such, that I have
more than once been obliged to break off
interesting discussions with their Rab-
bins, in order to obtain a fresh supply of
rarefied air. Their dress commonly con-
sists of a linen shirt and drawers, over
which is thrown a long black robe, fasten-
ed in front by silver clasps, and hanging
loose about the legs. They wear no
handkerchief about their neck, and cover
their head with a fur cap, and sometimes
with a round broad-brimmed hat.
They marry at the early age of 1 3 or
1 4, and the females still younger. Few
of them follow any trade ; some are rich,
and possess houses and other immoveable
property ; but the great mass of them
are like strangers and sojourners only,
having nothing to attach them to the
soil, but looking forward to the promised
restoration to the Holy Land, to which
their attachment is unconquerable. They
do not, like some of the natives of Africa,
286
THE LITERARY COTfcttlE.
who are doomed to pass their lives in the
west, under slavery's galling yoke, believe
that they shall return to Palestine imme-
diately after their death ; but, die where
they will, they believe their bodies will
all be raised there, though those that
die in a distant country will have to be
trundled there through subterraneous
passages ; on which account, numbers
sell all their effects, and proceed thither
in their lifetime, or remove to some of
the adjacent countries, that they may
either spare themselves this toil, or, at
least, reduce the awkward and trouble-
some passage within the shortest possible
limits. Instances have been known of
their embalming their dead, and sending
them to Palestine by sea.
Notwithstanding the privileges
they enjoy in Poland, they are in a
state of great moral degradation;
they are in the highest degree su-
perstitious, and are the ready dupes
of a set of impostors, who pretend,
by virtue of the mysteries of the
Cabbala, to have the power of work-
ing miracles ; they believe in charms
and amulets and talismans; they are
prone to the perpetration of crimes,
which are either modified or palli-
ated by rabbinical sophistries ; love
of money is their predominating vice,
and they regard no means as sinful
by which they can acquire it ; they
steal from the Christians whenever
they have an opportunity ; and are
awfully given to the sin of inconti-
nency: their prejudice and inveteracy
against Christianity and its divine
founder are as great as were those of
their ancestors, who crucified the
Lord of Life ; and they lose no op-
portunity of inspiring their offspring
with the same feelings. Such are
the Jews of Poland, according to
Mr. Henderson, who gives a much
more minute detail, and who particu-
larly describes their various religious
j sects ; but I must refer you to his
; Tour for these particulars.
Reginald. Talking of tours re-
; minds me that Head's Journey across
J the Pampas is a book of great in-
I terest and considerable merit. It is
i written in the frank and easy style of
j a rough soldier; and gives an admi-
I rable picture of the manners and
I customs of the people who inhabit
; the immense plains which extend
: from the Rio de la Plata to the Cor-
dilleras; a people to whom restric-
t tion seems to be unknown ; who live
a life of perfect freedom, uncon-
trouled and unfettered as the wind
which whistles round their frequently
unsheltered heads, and as wild as
the animals on which they depend
for sustenance.
Horace. Captain Head went out
in the employ of the Rio de la Plata
Company, did he not?
Reginald. Aye. He was sent in
search of mines ; and he galloped
many a weary mile to find one, but
failed in the object of his mission.
However, he has given us a very
amusing book ; therefore, as I have
not the slightest interest in the mine
concern, his failure on that head gives
me no uneasiness, as he has contri-
buted to my amusement by publish-
ing his " Rough Notes." Hasty
sketches they indeed are, but they
hear every appearance of being faith-
ful ones ; and they are evidently not
written for effect, but with a regard
to truth, which is more than we can
say for all travellers.
Mr. Apathy. Why Major Long-
bow may, undoubtedly, be taken as a
specimen of the genius of travellers ;
many of them do romance most con-
| foundedly.
Reginald. Yes. But our gallant
1 soldier tells his tale in such an unas-
THE L1TKKAK.Y COT J Kin.
287
suming, yet in so clear and frank a
manner, that his veracity appears un-
questionable; and his sketches are
so spirited, that the scenes and per-
sons he describes appear to be pass-
ing and living and breathing before
you.
The Vicar. The Pampas appear
from his description to be a wonder-
ful country, and more nearly ap-
proaching to a state of nature than
any which has yet been visited by
civilized man.
Reginald. It is indeed. The great
plain on the east of the Cordilleras,
which is called the Pampas, is, ac-
cording to Captain Head, about nine
hundred miles in breadth; and the
part he visited, though under the
same latitude, is divided into regions
of different climate and produce.
" On leaving- Buenos- Ayres, the first
of these regions is covered for one
hundred and eighty miles with clover
and thistles ; the second region, which
extends for four hundred and fifty
miles, produces low grass ; and the
third region, which reaches the base
of the Cordillera, is a grove of low
trees and shrubs." The second and
third regions vary very little in ap-
pearance throughout the year ; but
in the first there are very extraordi-
nary changes.
In winter the leaves of the thistles are
large and luxuriant, and the whole sur-
face of the country has the rough ap-
pearance of a turnip-field. The clover
in this season is extremely rich and strong ;
and the sight of the wild cattle grazing
in full liberty on such pasture, is very
beautiful. In spring, the clover has
vanished, the leaves of the thistles have
extended along the ground, and the
country still looks like a rough crop of
turnips. In less than a month the change
is most extraordinary ; the whole region
becomes a luxuriant wood of enormous
thistles, which have suddenly shot up to
a height of ten or eleven feet, and are all
in full bloom. The road or path is hem-
med in on both sides ; the view is com-
pletely obstructed ; not an animal is to
be seen ; and the stems of the thistles
are so close to each other, and so strong,
that, independent of the prickles with
which they are armed, they form an
impenetrable barrier. The sudden growth
of these plants is quite astonishing ; and,
though it would bean unusual misfortune
in military history, yet it is really possible
that an invading army, unacquainted with
this country, might be imprisoned with
these thistles before they had time to
escape from them. The summer is not
over before the scene undergoes another
rapid change : the thistles suddenly lose
their sap and verdure, their heads droop,
the leaves shrink and fade, the stems be-
come black and dead, and they remain
rattling with the breeze one against ano-
ther, until the violence of the pa/npero,
; or hurricane, levels them with the ground,
where they rapidly decompose and dis-
appear ; the clover rushes up, and the
scene is again verdant.
Although a few individuals are either
scattered along the path which traverses
these vast plains, or are living together
in small groups, yet the general state of
the country is the same as it has been
since the first year of its creation. The
whole country bears the noble stamp of
an Omnipotent Creator; and it is im-
possible for any one to ride through it,
without feelings which it is very pleasant
to entertain ; for, although, in all coun-
tries, " the heavens declare the glory of
God, and the firmament sheweth his
handy work," yet the surface of popu-
lous countries affords generally the in-
sipid produce of man's labour : it is an
easy error to consider that he who has
tilled the ground and sown the seed, is
the author of his own crop ; and, there-
fore, those who are accustomed to see the
confused produce, which, in populous and
288
TllK LITERARY COTF.RIE.
cultivated countries, is the effect of leav-
ing the ground to itself, are at first sur-
prised in the Pampas, to observe the re-
gularity and heauty of the vegetable
world when left to the wise arrangements
of Nature.
The Vicar. Or rather of Nature's
God, whose hand is indeed conspi-
cuous in all the manifestations of his
providence.
Miss Primrose. Is it possible that
in such a country travelling is practi-
cable, or that people can live ?
Reginald. It is both possible and
it is the fact. It is true, the roads are
scarcely tracked in the interior, and
that the inhabitants reside only at
wide and scattered intervals, in rude
huts which have scarcely any roof,
and no window, the walls of which
are full of holes, and the door a bul-
lock's hide; and where all the family
live, boys, girls, men, women, and
children, all huddled together. But
there are roads and there are inhabit-
ants ; and the Gauchos, as the latter
are called, are as happy, perhaps in-
deed more so, than the residents of
more civilized countries. " Born in
the rude hut, the infant Gaucho re-
ceives little attention, but is left to '
swing from the roof in a bullock's i
hide, the corners of which are drawn j
towards each other by four strips of;
the same material." He is early inured j
to hardship and privation. "As soon i
as he walks, his infantine amusements
are those which prepare him for the j
occupations of his future life : with a
lasso made of twine he tries to catch
little birds, or the dogs as they walk in
and out of the hut. By the time he
is four years old, he is on horseback,
and immediately becomes useful, by
assisting to drive the cattle into the
coral." As he grows up, his occu-
pations and amusements become more
manly : " he gallop* after the ostrich,
the gama, the lion, and the tiger ; he
catches them with his balls ; and
with his lasso he assists in catching
the wild cattle, and in dragging them
to the hut, either for slaughter or to
be marked." Beef and water are
his food ; his freedom is entirely un-
restrained ; his property consists,
when he has any, in droves of wild
horses and other cattle 5 and give
him a good saddle and spurs, he
cares not for money. Skeletons of
horses' heads form his seats, which
he is always ready to offer to the
stranger ; and, like the rude Arab of
the desert, he is frank and hospita-
ble. The traveller is sure to find a
welcome at his hut, and is invited
with hearty good-will to partake of
his humble fare.
Miss Primrose. But the absence
of every thing like civilization
Reginald. Is to be regretted, no
doubt. But Captain Head offers an
apology for the Gaucho, so far as he
appears regardless of improving his
condition, or of procuring what we
should consider the common neces-
saries of life, which a little applica-
tion, a different direction to his in-
dustry, would put within his reach.
It is true (says our author) the Gaucho
is of little service in the great cause of
civilization, which it is the duty of every
rational being to promote ; but a humble
individual living by himself in a bound-
less plain cannot introduce into the vast
uninhabited regions which surround him
either arts or sciences : he may, there-
fore, without blame, be permitted to leave
them as he found them, and as they must
remain until population, which will create
wants, devises the means of supplying
them.
Mr. Mathews, How do the women
spend their time ?
Tim LITLUAUY COTEtttE.
Reginald. Our author shall tell
you:
The habits of the women are very cu-
rious ; they have literally nothing to do.
The great plains which surround them
offer them no motive to walk ; they sel-
dom ride, and their lives certainly are
very indolent and inactive. They have
all, however, families, whether married
or not ; and once when I inquired of a
young woman employed in nursing a very
pretty child, who was the father of the
" crcatura" she replied, " Quien sale ?"
The Vicar. Probably the reason
why marriage is sometimes dispensed
with is the distance they have to go
to a church. I think in one part
of his Journal Captain Head says, I
" When a marriage is contracted, i
the young Gaucho takes his bride
behind him on his horse, and in the
course of a few days they can gene-
rally get to a church."
Reginald. That seems to be the
fact : the religion professed by these
people is the Roman Catholic ; but
churches are very thinly scattered
through the provinces of the Rio de
la Plata, which comprise the Pam-
pas. It is to be feared, therefore,
that religion exists amongst them
more in name than in reality. The
towns are very few, and little inter-
course is kept up between them ;
each entertains a jealousy of the
other, and all are envious of the as-
cendency of Buenos-Ayres. It is a
pity, however, that so fine a country
should be neglected ; a country
where
the rivers all preserve their course, and
the whole country is in such beautiful
order, that if cities and millions of in-
habitants could be suddenly planted at
proper intervals and situations, the peo-
ple would have nothing to do but to drive
Vol. VIII. No. XL VII.
out their cattle to graze, and without any
previous preparation, to plough whatever
quality of ground their wants might re-
quire.
Miss Primrose. Pray what is the
mode of travelling in the Pampas ?
Reginald. Either in carriages or
on horseback. The carriages are
without springs, but suspended on
ropes, made of the raw hide of a
bullock. They are bound together,
and the wheels, &c. are fastened
with thongs of hide, which being
put on wet, when dried they become
hard and tight. Whether on horse-
back or in carriages, relays of horses
accompany the traveller ; for the
post-huts are from twelve to thirty-
six, and in one instance, fifty-four
miles asunder. The horses are
changed sometimes five times in a
stage, and they gallop all the way.
It is scarcely possible (says Captain
Head) to conceive a wilder sight than
our carriage and covered cart, as I often
saw them, galloping over the trackless
plain, and preceded or followed by a
troop of from thirty to seventy wild
horses, all loose and galloping, driven by
a Gaucho and his son, and sometimes by
a couple of children. The picture seems
to correspond with the danger which po-
sitively exists in passing through uninha-
bited regions, which are so often invaded
by the merciless Indians.
Mr. Mathews. Indians! I thought
the Gauchos were the only inhabit-
ants of these plains.
Reginald. No ; they divide the
territory with Indians, who are their
merciless enemies. But I will speak
of them presently ; let us dismiss the
travelling first. The Gauchos ride
immense distances, sometimes one
hundred miles a day. Captain Head
attributes this to their food, -which is
Q Q
290
?HE LlTI.ftAUY COTKttlH.
Only beef and water. At' first our
countryman could hardly ride with
the natives, but was obliged, after
five or six hours galloping, to get
into tire carriage: yet, after riding
for three or four months, and living
upon beef and water, he says he felt
as if no exertion would kill him.
The country is intersected with
streams, rivulets, and even rivers,
through which it is necessary to
drive: but the greatest danger in
travelling is from the holes of the
bbeuehos, an animal something re-
sembling a rabbit in its habits : they
live in holes or burrows, which abound
in the plains, and are frequently the
means of bringing both horse and
rider to the ground. Captain Head
got more falls during the few months
lie was in the Pampas than in all his
life before; and the Gauchos are
sometimes killed by their horses
stumbling in the biscaeho-holes, and
frequently break a limb. Horses
and bullocks are met with in every
direction ; frequently their dead car-
cases are found in the waste, the j
prey of birds, more ravenous and of
much larger size than any the old
world affords. The Gauchos' me-
thod of breaking the horses is very
simple, and they are most excellent
horsemen when travelling :
In the plains of grass it is even won-
derful to see how the horses are driven
on ; but in a wood it is much more asto-
nishing : and it is a beautiful display of
horsemanship to see the Gauchos gallop-
ing at full speed among the trees, some-
times hanging over the sides of their
horses, and sometimes crouching upon
their necks, to avoid the branches. The
carriage-road is a place cleared of trees,
but it is often covered with bushes, which
bend under the carriage in a most extra-
ordinary manner.
Mm Primrose. Did not Captain
i Head get at the mines at all ?
Reginald. Yes, he visited several
in the Andes ; and the travelling on
the mountains was infinitely more
dangerous than on the plains. The
journeys are performed by mules;
and there are precipices to climb,
and torrents to cross, which in de-
scription are truly appalling : what,
therefore, must they be in reality ?
These mountains are covered with
perpetual snow, from which the plains
below are supplied with water.
The Vicar. Thus none of the
works of Providence are in vain.
Reginald. But now for the In-
dians. These are the descendants of
the aboriginal inhabitants, whom the
Spaniards were able not either to sub-
due or to extirpate. They continue
to inhabit the vast unknown plains
of the Pampas, and are almost al-
ways on horseback. Though the
climate is burning hot in summer
and freezing in winter, they go en-
tirely naked, and have not even a
covering for their heads. They live
in tribes, each of which is governed
by a cacique ; but like the wandering
Arabs, they have no fixed habita-
tions ; they take up their abode on
any spot which affords pasture for
their horses, and when it is eaten up
they remove. Mares' flesh forms
their food, and they never ride those
animals : they have no bread, fruit,
or vegetables; and the only luxury in
which they indulge is washing their
hair in mares' blood. They believe
in good and evil spirits, and in a fu-
ture state, to which they conceive
they shall be transferred as soon as
they die, and where they expect to
be always drunk and to spend their
time in hunting.
As the Indians gallop over their plains
Till- LITERARY CtfTEKIE
291
»t night, tltey mil point with their spears
to constellations in the heavens, which
they say are the figures of their ances-
tors, who, reeling in the firmament, are
mounted on horses swifter than the wind,
and are hunting ostriches. They bury
their dead, but at the grave they kill se-
veral of their best horses, as they believe
that their friend would otherwise have
nothing to ride.
Mr. Matheics. These appear to
be a singular race of men, more in-
teresting than even the Gauchos.
Reginald. They are a fine and a
bold people, and are not wanting in
a due sense of what will contribute
to their own advantage. When' at
peace with the provinces, they often
lake the skins of ostriches, hides,
&c. to exchange for knives, spurs,
sugar, liquors, &c. for they will not
have money, which they say is of no
use ; and they will not buy by weight,
which they say they do not under-
stand ; but they mark out upon a
skin how much is to be covered with
sugar, or any thing of the sort which
they desire to receive in barter for
their property. The first day of
their arrival and the last of their
stay they devote to drinking : be-
fore they begin they surrender then-
weapons to the cacique, as they are
aware of their propensity to quarrel,
■which they inevitably do as soon as
they become intoxicated. " They
drink till they can hardly see, and
fight and scratch and bite for the rest
of the evening." When in this state
they will never sell any goods, as they
say they are liable to be imposed
upon. When their business is con-
cluded, and they have got nearly so-
ber, " they mount their horses, and
with their new spurs, they stagger
and gallop away to their wild plains.''
Miss Primrose. Are they humane?
or do they possess the usual charac-
teristics of Indians, cruelty and bar-
barity 1
Reginald. They are mortal ene-
mies to the Gauchos, whose huts
they frequently attack at Bight. They
set fire to the roof, and when the
wretched inhabitants come out, they
are stabbed by the Indians with (heir
spears, which are eighteen feet long.
On these weapons the infants are
frequently impaled ; the men and old
women are killed ; and the young
women are placed on their horses,
and carried away by the victors.
Not unfrequently these captives be-
come so attached to their captors,
that no entreaties can prevail on
them to return to their own homes.
In the province of Santa Fe (says
Captain Head) a few of the posts are
fortified, to protect the inhabitants against
the Indians. The forts are very simple,
and most of them have been attacked ;
one of them I looked on with peculiar
interest, as it had been defended for
nearly an hour by eight Gauchos against
three hundred Indians. The cattle, the
women, and six families of little ehii-
dren,were all in the inside, spectators of a
contest on which so much depended, and
they described to me their feelings with
a great deal of nature and expression.
They said that the native Indians rode
up to the ditch with a scream which was
quite terrific, and that, finding that they
could not cross it, the cacique at last or-
dered them to get off their horses and
pull down the- gates. Two had dis-
mounted, when the musket which the
Gauchos had, and winch had constantly
before missed fire, went off, and one of
the Indians was shot. They then all
galloped away ; but in a few seconds
their cacique led them on again with a
terrible cry, and at a pace which was in-
describable. They took up their dead
comrade, and then rode away, leaving
Q Q 2
mi
THE LITERARY COTMUE.
two or three .of their spears on the
ground. I could never learn that any of
these forts had been taken by the In-
dians, who can do nothing on foot, and
whosehorses cannot leap ; but the ditches
are so shallow and narrow, that by killing
a few horses and tumbling them in, they
might in two minutes ride into every part
of the place.
The Vicar. The merits of this
book consist in its striking and vivid
portraitures of men and things. Not-
withstanding the account given in
Proctor's Travels, and in Mr. Miers's
Journey to Chili, I think it contains
the best account of the Pampas and
their inhabitants we have in print.
Mr. Mathews. The author ap-
pears to have written con amove, and
to have a taste for uncivilized life
which I should scarcely expect to
find in a well-educated Indian.
Reginald. We won't quarrel with
his taste, as it has produced us a
very pleasant book, which, in this
season of literary dearth, will in my
eyes atone for more faults than Cap-
tain Head has been guilty of. His
book, too, is valuable as well as
amusing, on more accounts than one,
and his descriptions are not confined
to the Pampas. He gives some ad-
mirable sketches of society in Buenos-
Ayres and other places he visited ;
and though he may, perhaps, have
erred in speaking too harshly or too
sarcastically of the measures of the
young governments of South Ame-
rica, yet there is an evident inclina-
tion to do justice to all classes and
descriptions of people.
Mr. Apathy. I occasionally dip
into a volume of poetry ; and in a
little book just published by Long-
man, entitled The MinstreVs Tale,
and other Poems, by George Moore,
I found the following exquisite mor-
ceau :
THE DEPARTED.
My being still is link'd to thine,
By holy thoughts that haunt my heart,
Like gleams of glory which recline
On evening clouds, and there impart
A sober charm of calm delight,
Gilding the gloom with beamings bright.
But darkness gathers on my soul,
And blots my spirit's brightness o'er,
And dreamy sounds with dread controul
Wbisper of joy that wakes no more ;
And smiles of heart-fraught fondness dear
On fancy flash — and all is drear.
But why does memory darkly weep ?
And why is earth a desert now ?
My love, thou sleep'st a dreamless sleep,
And stillness sits on thy cold brow j
That lip of smiles, that soul-lit eye,
With silent death in darkness lie.
The spell that spake in thy sweet voice
No more shall sooth my soul with dreams
Of potent richness, and rejoice
My panting heart with glowing themes j
What delicate delights supplied
My heaven of hopes that with thee died!
And doth thy spirit watch me here ?
O yes — thy presence deep I feel ;
Thou look'st into my heart, and there
Behold'st what I would ne'er conceal-*-
Thine image, throned in love and light,
A sacred shrine in Memory's sight.
Oh ! be my guardian angel still !
For thou didst love me while on earth.
At best this world is drench'd with ill ;
Then what, without thee, is its worth ?
Soon may my spirit wing away,
And blend with thine in ceaseless day !
The Vicar. What have you got
there, friend Montague, which seems
to engage your attention so in-
tensely ?
Mr. Montague. Since the appear-
ance of the Dance of Death, by Hol-
bein, there has been nothing better in
the same department than this, which
is entitled Death's Doings, and has
just appeared, in which a number of
spirited engravings, some humor-
Till'. LITERARY COTERIE.
ous, some pathetic, representing the
" Doings" of man's great enemy,
Death, are illustrated by some very
clever compositions; and when the
difficulty of successfully illustrating
the conceptions of other minds is
considered, the authors deserve no
mean praise for having so ably se-
conded the ingenious idea of Mr.
Dagley, who has himself both de-
signed and engraved the plates in a
style which, if not equal to the high-
est effort of the art, is certainly very
far removed from the lowest, and
may even be said to have passed the
middle path — " the golden mean," in
which some philosophers tell us the
charm of true excellence consists.
The Vicar. Aye, with regard to
worldly possessions, or worldly sta-
tions, they have truly told us so ; but
the maxim does not apply to the qua-
lifications of the mind or the attain-
ment of science, in which every man
should strive to excel his fellow.
Mr. Mathews. And I think Mr.
Dagley has gone beyond most of his
competitors, of modern times at least,
in the art of humorous designing ;
and his literary associates have done
themselves equal honour.
Mr. Montague. They have, and
so admirably have they all acquitted
themselves, that I scarcely know to
which to give the preference.
Mr. Mathews. I was most pleased
with a beautiful illustration of the
plate of a Senior Wrangler, by Mr.
Carrington, whose poem of Dart-
moor has rendered him, who was
before " unknown to fame," so de-
servedly popular. The engraving-
represents the student " pensive and
wan," exhausted by the conflicts
through which he has just passed;
his strength, weakened by poring
" o'er the midnight oil," was only suf-
ficient to bear him to the goal of his
young ambition ; and he is seen pale,
emaciated, and spiritless — the victim
of study. Mr. Carrington has enti-
tled his exquisitely sweet and flow-
ing lines on this engi'aving,
THE MARTYR STUDENT.
List not t' Ambition's call, for she has lur'd
To death hor tens of thousands, and her voice,
Though sweet as the old Syren's, is as false !
Won by her blandishments, the warrior seeks
The battle-field, where red Destruction waves
O'er the wide plain his banner, trampling
down
The dying and the dead ; on ocean's wave,
Braving the storm — the dark lee-shore — the
fight—
The seaman follows her, to fall — at last —
In Victory's gory arms. To Learning's sons
She promises the proud degree — the praise
Of academic senates, and a name
That Fame on her imperishable scroll
Shall deeply 'grave. Oh ! there was one who
heard
Her fatal promptings — whom the Muses
mourn,
And Genius yet deplores! In studious cell
Immur'd, he trimm'd his solitary lamp,
And Morn unmark'd upon his pallid cheek
Oft flung her ray, ere yet the sunken eye
Reluctant clos'd, and sleep around his couch
Strew'd her despised poppies. Day with night
Mingled insensibly — and night with day:
In loveliest change the Seasons came — and
pass'd :
Spring woke, and in her beautiful blue sky
, Wander'd the lark — the merry birds beneath
Pour'd their sweet woodland poetry — the
streams
Sent up their eloquent voices — all was joy ;
And in the breeze was life. Then Summer
gemm'd
The sward with flowers, as thickly strewn as
seen
In heaven the countless clustering stars. By
day
The grateful peasant pour'd his song — by
night
The nightingale :— he heeded not the lay
Divine of earth or sky — the voice of streams —
Sunshine and shadow — and the rich blue sky ;
Nor gales of fragrance and of life, that cheer
The aching brow, relume the drooping eye,
And lire the languid pulse. One stern pur-
suit,
One master-passion, mastered all — and Death
Smil'd inly as Consumption at his nod
294
TltfC LIT1RAUY COTERIE.
Poison'd the springs of life, and flush'd the
cheek
With roses that bloom only o'er the grave,
And in that eye, which onec so mildly bcam'd,
Kindled unnatural tires !
Yet Hope sustain'd
His sinking soul ; and to the high reward
Of sleepless nights and watchful days, and
scorn
Of pleasure, and the stem contempt of ease,
Pointed exutlingly. But Death, who loves
To blast Hope's fairest visions, and to dash,
In unsuspected hour, the cup of bliss
From man's impatient lip— with horrid glance
Mark'd the young victim, as with fluttering
step,
And beating heart,and cheek with treach'rous
bloom
Suffus'd, he press'd where Science op'd the
gates
Of her high temple.
There, beneath the guise
Of Learning's proud professor, sat enthron'd
The tyrant Death; and, as around the brow
Of that ill-fated votary he wreath'd
The crown of victory, silently he twin'd
The cypress with the laurel — at his foot
Perish'd the Martyr Student.
Reginald. I shall read an extract
of a different description. Mr. Dag-
ley lias drawn Death in the attitude
of a pugilistic champion ; and as
Cribb once floored all the pretenders
to the belt with whom he came in
contact, so Death has " laid low"
many an antagonist. His triumphs
are thus celebrated :
Well ! so I've " floored" these " fancy" fight-
ing-cocks,
And " finished" them in style! Presump-
tuous fellows !
They " chaffed" of science, and, forsooth,
would box
With one whose " hits" were sure to touch
the " bellows."
Conceited mortals ! thus to " spar" with
Death,
Whose fame's almost as old as the creation ;
For knock-down blows, which take away the
breath,
I've ever had a first-rate reputation :
And yet these heroes of the science fistic,
Poor stupid drones !
Thinking I could not "come it pugilistic,"
Threw up their ^ castors," slak'd the "ready
bustle,"
" Peel'd," and prepared with Death to have
a " tustle" —
As though their flesh and blood and muscle
Were proof against my bones !
They talk of championship ! what next, I
wonder ?
Did they imagine Death would e'er " knock
under ?"
Could they, in fact, suppose
/car'd about their blows ?
/.' who can " draw the claret" when I please,
" Fib,'' or " cross-buttock" 'em, or " close
their peepers ;"
77 who can " double-up" the " swells" with
ease,
And make them senseless as the seven
sleepers !
Not I, indeed ; and so, it seems, they found,
For there they all lie sprawling on the
ground:
They'll never " come to time" again — no,
never—
At least not here— »
For 'twill appear,
When I their business do, 'tis done for ever !
The greatest champions that the world e'er
saw,
By turns have bow'd obedient to my law.
Look back at history's page,
In every clime and age,
You'll find I " mill'd" the mightiest of them
all;
No matter how they sparr'd,
My blows were sure and hard,
And when I threw them, fatal was their fall.
From Alexander down to Iimperor Nap,
Whene'er I chose to give the rogues a slap,
Not one could parry off a single rap :
No, no! nor, had they each a thousand lives,
Could they have stood against my rattling
" bunch of fives!"
Mr. Montague. The epilogue, in
which Death makes a sort of apologe-
tic defence of his " Doings," contains
some happy touches ; it admirably
epitomizes the subjects which are
more elaborately treated of in the
former part of the volume. For in-
stance,
THE CRICKETER.
In the cricketer's care-killing game
There was something so manly and gay,
That his pastimes 1 never could blame,
But cheerfully join'd in the play :
TUB LITERARY COTERIE.
295
And if Time had not thought it a sin,
For ever to stand behind wicket,
The batsman might still have been in,
And Death might have still play'd at
cricket.
Again,
THE CAPTIVE.
'Twas I who set the wretched captive free,
And eas'd him of his load of misery ;
In mercy bore him from a dungeon's gloom,
And laid his body in the silent tomb :
His mortal part commingled with its kindred
dust,
His spirit took its flight, to join " the good
and just."
The following is also very happy :
THE SERENADER.
Would you know why so slily I grasp'd the
stiletto,
And slew young Adonis, the gay serenader ;
I had just before seen, in a fuul lazaretto,
A fair-one expire — it was he first betray'd
her!
*' No longer," said I, " shall thy strains so
melodious,
Their aid lend, to lead lovely woman astray;
Not a chord shalt thou strike for a purpose
so odious —
So haste, serenader! Death calls thee
away !"
An old idea is neatly expressed in
THE MOTHER.
Methinks I hear some pitying mother say,
" Why snatch a helpless infant thus away ?
Why turn to clay that cheek on which was
spread
The lily's whiteness with the rose's red ?
Why close those ruby lips — those deep-
fring'd eyes ?
Why seize so young, so innocent a prize?"
Hold ! hold ! nor murmur at the wise decree
That set a lovely earth-born seraph free,
And gave it bliss and immortality !
One more extract, and I shut the
book:
THE CHAMPION.
O mourn not for prize-fighting kiddies inglo-
rious;
Lament not the fate of those swells of the
ring ;
The championship's mine ! for I'm ever vic-
torious,
And fam'd Boxiana my prowess shall sing.
Then hoist the black fogle — let marrow-bones
rattle—
And push round the skulls which with cla-
ret o'erllow :
Drink, drink to the champion, who fairly iu
battle
The fam'd men of muscle for ever laid low!
Reginald. I recognise some old
acquaintances in the contributors:
Gaspey, the ingenious author of the
Lollards — by the bye, when will he
give us another tale so eloquent, so
full of imagination and vivid pictu-
resque description, and admirably
conceived characters ? — Mr. Pync,
who again figures as Ephraim Hard-
castle ; Miss Landon, the fair, the
accomplished improvisatrice ; Mr.
Proctor, under his nomme-de-gitcrre,
Barry Cornwall, are the most con-
spicuous. The prose contributors
have not been so successful as those
who have furnished the poetical ar-
ticles; but I hope they will soon
produce another volume, equally fe-
licitous, equally ingenious and amus-
ing.
Miss Primrose. Have you any
more poetry for me, Reginald ? You
know I am a devoted worshipper of
the Muses, though the " gods have
not made me poetical."
Reginald. There is a tolerably
: well written volume called The Nun,
• by William Elliott, of the 58th Bom-
j bay Native Infantry. It contains some
! beauties and many faults : on the
whole, however, it is a production of
promise ; although / am no advocate
for any thing which can convey, even
| by implication, a justification of a
i wife's unfaithfulness.
Miss Primrose. And does The
J Nun?
Reginald. Certainly not in the
j language ; but there is no moral to
be drawn from the story ; and if a
lesson be to be taken from it, as a
critic has already observed, it must
be one " of a kind excusative of adul-
tery and murder." But I dare say
Mr. Elliott, in the ardour of his feel-
200
THE LITF.ltAKY COTERIE.
ings, never dreamt of the impression
the finale was calculated to leave upon
the mind.
The Vicar. I should hope not : I
should hope there is no man whowould
come before the public as the apologist
for the two crimes, which, of all others,
are the most detrimental to the peace
of society, the most opposite to the
law of God.
Reginald. The author should have
awarded poetical justice to his Nun,
and the frightful idea would not have
obtruded. But the poem evinces
decided marks of talent ; and I hope
to meet him again in a less excep-
tionable form. The following is a
pleasing specimen of his poetic tact:
I have wreath'd an ivy-wreath
With the oak on which it grew,
Not a floweret flings its leaf
Through the garland firm and true.
Such is love; oh ! who would cherish
Moment-living flowers that blow,
Full of fragrance soon to perish,
Leaving but the thorns of woe ?
Take, O take my ivy-wreath,
Bind it on thy soldier-brow —
There no rose of bliss shall breathe
Mockery of our hapless vow !
See, the oak, by lightning shiver'd,
Falls a mighty ruin there :
Yet the ivy, nothing wither'd,
Twines it in its leafy care.
Such is woman's love, believe me,
Fresh in danger, great in grief;
Never will her spirit leave thee,
Faithful as the ivy-wreath.
Take, then, take my ivy-wreath,
Bind it on thy soldier-brow —
There no rose of bliss shall breathe
Mockery of our hapless vow !
But the ivy, summer shining,
Bound another tree will grow,
With adult'ress' branches twining,
Thoughtless of its master's woe.
Not so woman — she, still proving
Faithful, withers when the stay,
Which her soul was blest in loving,
Life's fell" lightnings blast away.
Then, O take my ivy-wreath,
Bind it on thy soldier-brow —
There no rose of bliss shall breathe
Mockery of our hapless vow !
Woman's love, when once 'tis giveiij
Knows no change — it cannot fling
Tendrils from their first hope riven,
That with constancy will cling.
If a second faith it nourish,
Stifling dreams that pass not by,
Passion's semblance still may flourish,
But the soul of love will die.
Then, O take my ivy-wreath,
Bind it on thy soldier-brow —
There no rose of bliss shall breathe
Mockery of our hapless vow !
Miss Primrose. Positively, Regi-
nald, the author of The Nun speaks
so prettily of "woman's love," that I
will not have him abused.
Reginald. Nor have I any wish
to abuse him. He is a single man, I
dare say: he will marry some of
these days and reform.
Miss Primrose. And you had bet-
ter follow so good an example.
Reginald. O willingly will I be-
come " Benedict the married man,"
if thou wilt be my Beatrice. (Sings.)
Oh ! were I a moss-rose, my love,
To repose on thy bosom so fair ;
Or could I like Zephyrus rove
In the maze of thy beautiful hair;
Could I kiss from thy cheek the bright tear
That falls at humanity's call,
No monarch I'd envy, I swear,
But look with contempt on them all.
Oh ! had I the wings of a dove,
To thee I would fly for my rest ;
I'd hover about thee, my love,
Then sink to repose on thy breast:
Or had I the nightingale's voice,
In soft accents I'd tell my sad tale ;
And, oh ! bow this heart would rejoice,
Could the pleadings of true love prevail!
And wert thou but mine, dearest maid,
To my cot I would bear thee away ;
And we'd wander all day in the shade,
At night by the moonbeams we'd stray.
Together how blest should we be !
Nor sorrow nor care should annoy:
But if I'm rejected by thee,
Farewell then for ever to joy.
Miss Primrose. Extremely gal-
lant! But how can I place any faith
in your professions, when I have no
doubt you can make them equally
THE LITERARY COTEEfE.
on
fervent and equally as sincere to my
sister, or indeed any other lady ?
Reginald. You shall judge: I sent
your sister a copy of verses the other
day. I have not the vanity to term
my doggerel poetry, be it remem-
bered, which I have no objection to
your hearing.
I wish I were in Richmond's groves,
At set of sun, where Rosa roves ;
I wish I were a fragrant flower
To decorate her favourite bower ;
The jasmine, or the climbing vine,
That round her window graceful twine.
I wish I were a bee, to sip
The sweets that hang upon her lip;
A dove, to nestle on her breast,
And lull my cares and fears to rest.
1 wish I'd Proteus' power to take
A thousand shapes for her dear sake,
That, like her shade, I might pursue
Her steps, and keep her in my view.
Wishes are vain, and we must part;
But fear not, Rose, my constant heart
Still loves ; nor tiine nor place shall tend
T' estrange from thee thy faithful friend.
In weal or woe, come pain or joy,
Should Pleasure cheer, or Care annoy ;
Should Misery thee her minion make,
Lovers prove false, or friends forsake ;
Or bright-eyed Hope around thee smile,
Thy joys enhance, thy cares beguile ;
Whate'er thy lot in life may be,
Thou'It aye be dear, my Rose, to me.
Friendship's pure flame shall brightly burn
Till the cold earth this form inurn ;
And when my spirit shall buoyant rise
To meet its God in yonder skies,
In those blest realms, so rich, so rare,
'Twill be my joy to meet thee there.
The Vicar. The conclusion per-
haps is introducing sacred themes ra-
ther too lightly, and connecting them
too intimately with subjects of mere
badinage: seriously you might say,
What is this world ? It is a scene
Of trouble, toil, and care ;
A land of darkness, error, pride,
Oppression, and despair.
What is this world ? It is a state
Of anxious hopes and fears ;
Of various vicissitudes,
Of sighs and bitter tears.
i Vol VIII. No. XL I II.
What is this world ? It is a soil
Strewn with corruption's seed;
Where flowers, well-cultured, bloom, but
where
Spontaneous is the weed.
Then, world, if such thy evils are,
Let heaven our hearts possess ;
Assured there's nothing here to prize,
There's nothing here can bless.
Reginald. There's nothing in this
world, my dear sir, on which we
ought to set our regards too strongly
or value too highly; and there are
cares and fears, toils and troubles,
distress and misery enough in it, to
make us almost out of love with it
and its inhabitants. Yet / cannot
say it is such a very bad world either:
folks often make it worse than it is
by their own misanthropical specu-
lations and unmeaning repinings.
My motto is, always to look on the
bright side of the picture of life, for
there are plenty of " good-natured
friends" ready to point out to you
the dark hues. Up to the present
moment I have had reason to say,
I have been a favoured mortal; and
for the future*
Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright beams of the past which she caunot
destroy;
Which will come in the night-time of sorrow
and care,
To bring back the features that joy used to
wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories
fill'd,
Like the vase in which roses have once been
distill'd !
You may break, you may ruin the vase, if
you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it
still.
The Vicar. And if you can pass
through life with such feelings, such
sentiments, you will be a happy man.
Miss Primrose. And if be is not
happy, pray who is to be? Of a tem-
R R
293
INGENUITY OF THE BEAVER IN CONFINEMENT.
perament so volatile, that he can
frisk " from gay to grave, from lively
to severe," almost without effort; who
can make love to half-a-dozen ladies
at a time; and, I suppose, if he were
in a Mahometan country, would mar-
ry them all.
Reginald. O no: one wife at a
time is enough for any reasonable
man. Dearly as I love wotnen,! should
not like to encounter more than one
as a wife.
Miss Primrose. And in her you'd
expect, I suppose, more good quali-
ties than would be requisite to make
an angel: I know your notions both
of friendship and love are very sin-
gular.
Reginald. Why, perhaps they
may be so; but I shall nevertheless
adhere to them. Perhaps you would
wish to hear what I should like in
" a friend and a wife?"
Miss Primrose. Something extra-
vagant, no doubt; but let us hear.
Reginald :
A friend I like sincere anil true,
Candid and generous — just like you. :
Such friends 'tis rare indeed to meet j
They make life's happiness complete.
A wife I'd like good-humour'd, gay,
Whose smiles would cheer life's devious
way ;
Who'd to my faults be very blind,
And to my failings very kind ;
Who'd sooth me should distress assail,
And cheer me if false friends prevail ;
On whose pure truth I could rely—
With her I'd live, for her I'd die.
Miss Primrose. For myself, Re-
ginald, thanks for the compliment;
and when you meet with a lady cal-
culated to realize your ideas of a
wife, why let me be the bridemaid.
Reginald. Granted. And now, as
our books are all exhausted, as we
have passed sentence upon various
authors in the exercise of our criti-
cal sagacity — which that we possess,
who will dare to gainsay? — suppose
we adjourn to the next room, and
have a little music; and after that to
supper with what appetite we may.
The Vicar. A very sensible pro-
position; to which all you who are
of opinion it should be complied with,
say " Aye," those of a contrary opi-
nion, " No:" the " Ayes" have it.
Reginald Hildeijrand.
El.MWOOD-IiALL,
October 12, 1826.
INGENUITY OF THE BEAVER IN CONFINEMENT.
By M. Geoffroy de St. Hilaire.
A few years since there was in
the royal menagerie, in the Jar din
des Plantes, at Paris, a beaver, be-
longing to the family of the Rhone
beavers, which live solitary like the
water-rats. The observations on this
animal which I had occasion to make,
placed it beyond a doubt, that this
variety of the beaver species can,
upon emergency, exert their instinc-
tive sagacity as a resource against
unforeseen difficulties or mishaps.
As a protection from the rather
severe cold of winter, our beaver
was furnished with nothing but a
more abundant supply of straw.
The nights grew colder; and the
falling door of his cage had so many
chinks, that the animal was forced to
set about preparing a better defence
against the inclemency of the wea-
ther. It was usual to give him, as
well for food as for employment in
the night, a quantity of green boughs,
the bark of which was always found
gnawed oil' in the morning; and every
evening regularly, before his door
was closed, he received a certain al-
ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITKUAllY, AND l'EUSONAL.
299
lowance of other articles of food, con-
sisting of fruit and garden vegetables.
On one occasion, after it had been
snowing all day, a good deal of snow
had accumulated in a corner of his
cage.
Such were the materials which the
beaver had at his disposal, and which
he diverted from their proper desti-
nation, to employ them in the forma-
tion of a wall, which should defend
him from the external air and the
cold. With the boughs he inter-
laced the bars of his cage with as
much regularity as is displayed in
the work of a basket-maker. The
platted branches, however, were not
so close as not to leave open spaces,
for filling which the animal had re-
course to his other supplies. For
this purpose he employed the tur-
nips, apples, and straw; and the
former were gnawed or cut into
pieces suitable to the vacancies. Last-
ly, as though the animal was sensible
that he needed a still closer shelter,
he used the snow to plaster the
whole, and thus filled all the little
remaining interstices. The wall co-
vered two-thirds of the aperture of
the door, and all the provisions with
which the beaver had this time been
supplied, were expended in its con-
struction.
The next morning the door of the
cage was found by the keeper frozen
fast by the snow to the new wall. It
was not without some trouble that it
could be detached and opened, and
then the contrivance of the inhabit-
ant was exposed to view. The man
was so astonished at the work of the
beaver, that he left it untouched, and
called me to look at it.
Mk. HOGAN.
Mu. E Di to 11,
I am happy to inform your
readers, that, by the latest account
from Rome, Mr. Hogan is far ad-
vanced in the execution of the statue
of Eve, for which he had the honour
to receive a commission from that li-
beral patron of the arts, Lord de
Tabley. An undressed female figure
has been, at all times, considered the
most arduous test of a veteran sculp-
tor's skill. It is, therefore, an essay
which must excite no common sympa-
thy, when proceeding from the chisel
of a young self-taught sculptor in his
outset : nevertheless, I look forward
with anxious hope that this statue
will reflect honour on the taste of
the artist and noble spirit of his pa-
tron. I have reason to believe that
the figure will be finished early next
year.
John Fitzgerald, Esq. of Wher-
stead Lodge in Suffolk, has, since
my last communication on the sub-
ject, paid in ten pounds to the sub-
scription at Messrs. Hammersleys'
for Mr. Hogan.
vv. c.
Oct. 18, 1826.
ANECDOTES, &c.
HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
lucky exchange. month of June 1793, a consider-
DiriiiNG the war in La Vendee, able column of infantry and ca-
one tempestuous evening in the valry was marching by one of the
"R u 2
300 ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
several roads leading from St. Lau-
rent des Autels to La Renaudiere :
it was sent by the N ational Conven-
tion as a reinforcement to the repub-
lican army then commanded by Ge-
neral Westermann. The men were
ancle- deep in water ; they knew no-
thing of the country ; they were
equal strangers to the species of war-
fare carried on there, and in every
bush lurked an enemy. Their pa-
triotic songs were interrupted at
times by oaths and execrations, and
at others by bursts of laughter, when
some unlucky wight slipped down
in the mud, or was tripped up by
a stone. At length the fatigues of
the march became so intolerable
that their cheerfulness forsook them,
and nothing but murmuring was to
be heard. General Cherin, who,
mounted on a fine powerful horse,
headed the column, stopped and
endeavoured to raise the drooping
spirits of his followers. " By G— d,
general," said one of them, who was
rather bolder than his comrades,
" you may well think lightly of our
hardships : you have a good horse,
you are not tired, you don't stumble
about; while we poor devils have
been marching these eight hours with
empty stomachs. " Well, my friend,"
rejoined the general, " I'll dismount;
there's my place for you ; I will take
yours." The grenadier imagined that
his general was only in jest ; but the
latter repeated his offer to the man,
whose comrades joked him upon it :
he quickly mounted the horse, and
rode forward at the head of the co-
lumn. Scarcely, however, had he
advanced a hundred paces, when a
shot from a thicket by the road-side
extended him lifeless at the feet of
the general, who was thus saved by
this extraordinary change of place.
His horse stood still ; he took hold
of the bridle. " Citizens," said he,
between joke and earnest, " which
of you will now take my post ?" No
answer was returned. He again
mounted ; the march was continued,
and not the slightest murmur was
aoain heard in the lines.
SINGULAR MODE OF CONVERSATION.
A German writer named Spaun,
who died lately at Munich, was in
early life in the civil service of Au-
stria. In 1788, having been ap-
pointed assessor to the Imperial
Chamber at Wetzlar, he was just
setting out for his new destination,
when he was apprehended as the
author of a work which was consi-
dered dangerous to the monarchy,
and confined as a prisoner of state,
first at Mungatsch and afterwards at
Kufstein. Here he passed ten of the
best years of his life ; but as it rare-
ly happens that some advantage does
not accrue from misfortune, so Spaun,
in his solitary cell, where he was de-
barred from books and materials for
writing, became so profound a ma-
thematician, that even in advanced
age he was able to solve the most
difficult problems in his head. Dur-
ing his confinement a companion in
misfortune came to be his neighbour,
from whom, however, he was parted
by a thick wall, which rendered oral
communication totally impracticable.
In this situation, he hit upon the
happy thought of making himself
understood by knocking ; and to this
end invented a system which is ex-
tremely ingenious : but the most dif-
ficult point was to furnish his neigh-
bour, who might not even, perhaps,
understand the German language,
with a key to it. Spaun began by
giving twenty-four taps on the wall,
ANECDOTES, &C HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
301
and continued this manoeuvre till the
stranger at length perceived that
they indicated the letters of the al-
phabet, and repeated the taps as a
sign that he understood their mean-
ing. In a few weeks the prisoners
could converse fluently in this new
language, and communicate their mis-
fortunes to each other. In this way
Spaun was informed by his neigh-
bour of the origin and progress of
the French revolution, of which he
was of course previously ignorant.
This neighbour was Mr. M. after-
wards secretary of state in France,
and Duke of B.* who had the ge-
nerosity to think of his fellow-pri-
soner, and being set at liberty before
him, procured him a pension, which
Spaun enjoyed till his death. " It is
either Spaun or the devil !" exclaimed
the minister ten years latei*, when,
being at Munich, Spaun called to see
him, and began the old manoeuvre
on the door of his apartment.
EXTRAORDINARY PRESENTIMENT.
During the reign of terror in France,
Baron Marivet was continually tor-
mented with the apprehension that he
should die upon the scaffold. In
vain did his wife strive by all the
means in her power to remove his
fears. He sometimes indulged m the
hope that if his birthday passed
without his being arrested, he should
be relieved from the weight which
oppressed his heart, and that he
might perhaps be saved. On one
occasion he gazed with deep melan-
choly on his son, then about two
years old, and exclaimed, " I shall
never live to see this child out of
petticoats !" an observation which his
lady carefully treasured up in her
memory. The horrors of the revo-
* Probably Maret, Duke of Bassano.
• — Ediiou.
lution appeared at length to draw to
a close, and the baron's birthday
arrived. His wife provided for the
occasion a little treat, which she de-
ferred till the hour of supper. About
eleven o'clock, just as the dessert
was placed on the table, Madame de
Marivet, wishing to give her husband
an agreeable surprise, and to bely
his presentiments, left the room, and
returned in a few moments with her
child in her arms dressed in a jacket
and trowsers. She gave him to her
husband, whom she tenderly em-
braced, saying, " You now see your
son, my dear, out of petticoats, and
your birthday is past!"— "Not yet!"
was his reply : " the clock has not
struck twelve." His friends shud-
dered at the words, and anxiously
turned their eyes to a time-piece,
looking in silence at the hands as
they moved towards the wished-for
hour. It was on the point of twelve
when a thundering knock was heard
at the door. M. de Marivet turned
pale ; all present were struck dumb
with terror ; the door opened, and
admitted the emissaries of the revolu-
tionary committee, who had come to
seize him. M. de la C. whom in a
letter he had advised to emigrate,
had not taken the precaution to de-
stroy his papers. After his depar-
ture, they had been removed with
his other effects to the house of his
grandfather, M. de Piepape. The
latter had been imprisoned on suspi-
cion, and seals were placed upon the
property in his house. He died in
prison, and the agents of the com-
mittee who were present when the
seals were taken off, found in an
earthen pot, among some other pa-
pers destined to be burned, the letter
in question. On this ground M. de
Marivet was summoned before the
revolutionary tribunal, condemned to
502 ANECDOTES, &C HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
death, and lost his head on the scaf-
fold.
LEGISLATION OF BOURNOU.
In the central African kingdom of
Bournou, murder is punished with
death, the culprit, on conviction, be-
ing handed over to the relations of
the deceased, who revenge his death
with their clubs ; repeated thefts by
the loss of a hand, or by burying the
young Spartan, if a beginner, with
only his head above-ground, well
buttered or honeyed, and so expos-
ed him for twelve or eighteen hours to
the torture of a burning sun, and
to innumerable flies and mosquitoes,
which all feast on him undisturbed.
These punishments, however, are
often commuted for others of a more
lenient kind ; the judge himself having
a strong fellow-feeling for a culprit of
this description. Their laws relative
to debtor and creditor manifest a just
and merciful principle, which some
civilized nations might cultivate with
advantage. When a man who has
the means refuses to pay his debts,
on a creditor pushing his claims, the
cadi takes possession of the debtor's
property, pays the demand, and takes
a handsome per-centage for his trou-
ble. It is necessary, however, that
the debtor should give his consent :
but this is not long withheld, as he
is pinioned and laid on his back until
it is given ; for all which trouble and
restiveness he pays handsomely to
the cadi : and they seldom find that
a man gets into a scrape of this kind
twice. On the other hand, should a
man be in debt and unable to pay,
on clearly proving his poverty, he is
at liberty. The judge then says,
" God send you the means!" the by-
standers say " Amen !" and the in-
solvent has full liberty to trade where
he pleases. But if, at any future
time, his creditors catch him with
even two robes on, or a red cap, on
taking him before the cadi, all super-
fluous habiliments are stripped off
and given towards payment of his
debts.
FRENGH QUACKERY.
The ingenuity of English quack-
ery stares us in the face in every
newspaper, and is notorious to all
the world; but we doubt whether
our Continental neighbours are not
capable of giving useful lessons even
to our most skilful professors of the
art. All Paris is acquainted with
the anecdote of the present Baron
Portal, who, when the sphere of his
practice was very confined, hired men
to knock violently at the great hotels
in the Fauxbourg St. Germain and to
inquire if Dr. Portal did not live
there, as the Princess A or the
Countess B required his immediate
attendance. The inhabitants of the
great hotels, hearing so many in-
quiries for the doctor, conceived that
he must be the physician employed
by all the distinguished families of
the capital, and sent for him too. In
this manner the doctor got into ex-
tensive and excellent practice, and
became physician to the king and a
baron.
EXTRAORDINARY ANTIPATHY OF THE
OSTRICH.
Major Denham, in his recently
published Travels in the Interior of
Africa, informs us " that ostriches
have a most extraordinary aversion
from nature to a pregnant woman,
and a sensibility in discovering when
such a person is near them quite asto-
nishing : they will make directly to-
wards her, and with lifted feet and
ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL. 303
menaces oblige her to withdraw. I
have even known them single out a
woman so situated in the street, and
following her to her own door, beat
her with their long beaks, and the
whole time hissing with the greatest
agitation and anger."
OPINION OF THE PORTUGUESE ,. RE-
SPECTING DUKLL1NG.
" Duelling," say the Portuguese,
" is a detestable method of retriev-
ing one's honour; it is wilful preme-
ditated murder, which is adopted only
by the people of England, Germany,
and other savages in the north." In
Portugal, on the other hand, when a
man wishes to obtain satisfaction, it
is customary for him to lie in wait for
his foe, or to shoot or stab him as he
passes. " He ought to be on his
guard," say they; " it is not commit-
ting murder to kill one's enemy — it
is only revenging one's-self." Thus
does every nation strive to defend its
own customs, and employ for this
purpose the most wretched sophis-
tries.
LA FONTAINE'S FAELES.
Madame de Sevigne compared
La Fontaine's fables with a plate of
cherries : you begin with culling out
the finest, but do not cease eating
till you have cleared the plate of
them all.
J. J. ROUSSEAU.
While Rousseau was in England
Garrick, for his gratification, per-
formed two parts, Lusignan and Lord
Chalkstone. As it was known that
Jean Jacques would be present, the
house was crowded to suffocation.
Mrs. Garrick declared that she never
passed so disagreeable an even-
ing, for the philosopher, who pre-
tended to be so fond of solitude,
in his anxiety to shew himself, leaned
so far over the front of the box, that
she could not help laying hold of the
skirtof his coatfor fear he should tum-
ble into the pit. He afterwards told
Garrick, that he had done nothing
but cry during the whole of the tra-
gedy and laugh through the whole
farce, though he understood not a
word of the language.
Harris's iiermes.
A gentleman requested his friend
to lend him some interesting book,
on which he sent him that profound
philological work, Harris's Hermes.
The borrower supposed from the
title that it was a novel, but after
turning it over and over, without
knowing what to make of it, he re-
turned it with his thanks. When
his friend afterwards inquired how
he liked it, he replied, " Not much —
all these imitations of Sterne's Tris-
tram Shandy are far inferior to the
original."
GKNEALOGY OF LOUIS XV.
Louis XV. once proved to his cour-
tiers that he was descended from an
attorney named Griffet, who, being a
wealthy man, married a lady of for-
tune. Their daughter married the
Marquis de Cceuvres, who was father
of the fair Gabrielle, mistress of
Henry IV. Her son was the Duke
of Vendome, whose daughter mar-
ried the Duke of Nemours ; his
daughter gave her hand to the Duke
of Savoy, and his daughter, Ade-
laide of Savoy, was the mother of
Louis XV.
POPULATION OF PARIS.
In the year 1821 the population of
the French capital amounted to
304 ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL,
713,000 souls. From a census just
taken by order of the prefect of the
department, it is now 894,000, being
an increase in five years of 181,000.
The progression was most consider-
able in the last years ; in the quar-
ter called Poissonnicre the increase
amounts to 38 per cent.
J KAN HON HOMME.
About two years ago a poor Sa-
voyard at Paris took it into his head
to train an ape in such a manner as
to earn a living by him, without run-
ning the risk of being taken for a
beggar. The animal certaiidy con-
trives, by his good-natured, modest,
and intelligent look, to draw the
small coin out of the pockets of the
spectators. He has none of the
wildness and impetuosity of his spe-
cies, but looks kindly in your face, as
if to ask whether he may offer his
services. At the same time he is
very decently, nay elegantly dressed.
He begins by sweeping with his little
broom the spot where you are with
him. He looks at you to see if you
are pleased, and seems to beg a new
favour ; he then takes a shoe-brush
and brushes one shoe at least, if you
do not hold out both to him. With his
plaid dress he usually wears a hat
and feather ; he takes it off when
any one comes, puts it on while he is
at work, and again takes it off when
he has finished. When he afterwards
holds out his little bowl, and with his
penetrating but kind and familiar look
tells you to give him what you please,
you cannot find in your heart to re-
proach him with being a common
beggar. Such is the fame of Jean
Bonhomme, by which name the ani-
mal is universally known, that his
presence has been more than once
required at Court for the amusement
of the children of the Duchess of
Berry.
VOLTAIRE;
When Voltaire erected, in 1760,
the new church at Ferney with the
well-known inscription, " Deo erexit
Voltaire," there was no end to con-
jectures, criticisms, and satirical ob-
servations. One of his letters ac-
quaints us with the genuine motive
for an act which in him appeared so
extraordinary. He built the new
church that he might have the old
one pulled down, because it inter-
cepted a fine view, and prevented his
planting an avenue of trees as he
wished.
CHINESE FREE MASONS.
For the last fifty years there has
subsisted in China a society which has
a great resemblance to that of the
Freemasons, and is called Thian-
Thee-Ohe : this name literally sig-
nifies Union of Heaven and Earth ;
denoting that as heaven and earth
are one, and subject to the same
laws of nature, so mankind ought
also to be animated by one spirit, and
to serve and to succour one another.
The grand principles on which the
society is founded are, equality of all
mankind, and obligation of the rich
to share their superfluity with the
poor. The members have no su-
preme head, and they have signs by
which they recognise their brethren.
On the admission of a member, he
is required to stand under two swords
held crosswise over his head, and to
swear that he will rather die than
betray the laws of the order. A few
drops of blood are drawn from him,
as well as from the person who intro-
duces him ; the blood is caught in a
WEz^k
Promts
m *%^M,
LONDON FASHION?.
305
cup, and they both drink of it. The
members of this order knew one
another by the mode in which they
offer and accept tea and smoke to-
bacco. It is said to have been found-
ed at Canton by an inhabitant of
that city, and it is admitted that the
plan was originally brought from
Europe. All attempts to dissolve it
have proved ineffectual.
FASHIONS,
LONDON FASHIONS.
PROMENADE DUliSS.
Wadded pelisse of gros de Naples,
the colour of the blossoms of the
pomegranate, made quite plain and
to fit the shape, fastened down the
front, and ornamented on each side
with a row of leaves of an obovate
shape ; the ends point outwards ;
they are corded all round, and ar-
ranged one beneath the other, and
are smaller at the waist, where they
approximate, and over the bust, but
enlarge as they descend, turn off
circularly, and form a border to the
skirt, which is terminated by a wad-
ded hem. The sleeve is rather large
at the shoulder, but afterwards de-
creases to nearly the size of the arm,
and is finished with a cuff reaching
over the hand, and ornamented with
obovate leaves pointing upwards.
Circular gauze cape, hemmed and
edged with a narrow ruche of tulle.
Hat of azure gros de Naples,
trimmed profusely with blond artifi-
cial flowers and shaded ribbon ; les
brides, of shaded blue and gold-
colour ribbon, reach below the waist.
The hair is parted in front, and dis-
plays a narrow border of blond
lace; three or four large curls on
each side, with bows of blue and
gold-colour shaded ribbon. Long co-
ral ear-rings ; gold chain and cross,
Vol. VI II. No. XL VII.
and gold bracelets; yellow gloves
and bronze shoes.
EVENING DRESS.
Dress of white crdpe lisse over a
corn-flower blue satin slip ; the cor-
sage made very full and high in front,
with a straight cape, which is divid-
ed angularly on the shoulders, and
ornamented with a blue satin rou-
leau. Short and full sleeves beneath
the upper long ones, which are spa-
cious to the wrist, where they are
terminated with Vandyke cuffs, and
fastened with broad gold bracelets.
The skirt is trimmed with three deep
flounces of blond lace, set on very
full, and tastefully drawn up in fes-
toons, about half the depth of the
lace, by a blue satin rouleau, arranged
in a waving direction and confined
by buttons placed at regular dis-
tances: these flounces are headed
by a wreath of leaves a V antique ;
the hem of the slip appears below
the dress. Blue satin sash, a la
Francois, extending from the waist,
where it meets in a point, to the
shoulders diagonally ; it ties in front
in two short bows, the ends fringed
and reaching half-way down the
skirt : bows ornament the shoulder.
The head-dress is composed of bows
of blue Italian crape, and three very
S s
306
INTELLIGENCE, LI'JT.UARY, SCIENTIFIC, &C.
large bows of hair on each side of the |i shaped gold ear-rings; gold chain
crape bow in front; plaited bands twice round the neck, and an ena-
of hair are brought from the tern- J melled locket pendant in the centre ;
pies and intersect the bows. Pear- j| white kid gloves ; white satin shoes.
FASHIONABLE FURNITURE.
A SOFA.
The annexed plate represents a
sofa decorated in the Gothic style.
This piece of furniture is compara-
tively of modern date, and undoubt-
edly of Eastern origin ; but in adapt-
ing it to European customs, it has
been found necessary to vary the de-
coration in some degree from that of
the original model.
In the Oriental countries a sofa is
but little elevated from the floor, and
consists of soft cushions covered with
silk and other costly materials. Two
of these are generally piled upon one
another, and a third is placed against
the wall to recline upon. These
cushions are thus ranged round an
apartment, and the heat of the cli-
mate renders them indispensable,
either for public meetings or private
assemblies. They are also well cal-
culated for the sitting posture of the
Eastern nations, which requires an
easy couch. As none of these con-
veniences are adapted to the climate
and customs of Europeans, the art-
ist has been obliged to make some
change from the original ; so that
the modern sofa presents quite a dif-
ferent appearance from its Oriental
original : it nevertheless possesses a
comfort which entitles it to rank
among useful furniture. From its
flowing and easy form, it is more cal-
culated for the Italian than the Go-
thic style : the latter character has
nevertheless been attempted to be
given in the present design, which is
composed from the best authorities
in the florid style.
esBsecsBBaannm
INTELLIGENCE, LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, &c.
The new volume of the Forget Me
Not, announced in the Literary Intelli-
gence in our last Number, is now ready
for delivery. As by far the greater part
of the very large impression is already
disposed of, the publisher recommends
an immediate application to all who wish
to possess themselves of this favourite
Christmas and New-Year's present.
Our correspondent, Mr.W. C. Stafford
of York, is preparing for the press, A Se-
ries of Essays on Shakspearc's Eemale
Characters.
Messrs. Curry and Co. of Dublin,
have announced as being in preparation,
Sketches of Ireland, descriptiveofunnotic-
ed Districts; Ten Weeks in Munsier ;Three
Weeks in Donegal ; also The Irish Puljnt,
a Collection of Sermons by various Cler-
gymen of the Established Church.
Mr. Horace Smith has nearly ready
for publication a new novel, entitled The
Tor Hill. The story is laid in the time
of Henry the Eighth, and the scene is
chiefly in Glastonbury Abbey and the
Mendip Hills.
The Hon. George Keppel, son of the
Earl of Albemarle, is preparing for the
press, his Personal Narrative of a Jour-
ney from India to England, by Bassorah,
Bagdad, the ruins of Babylon, Curdistan,
Persia, and Russia, in 1 824.
INTELLIGENCE, LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, &C.
307
A second series of Tales of the O'Hara
Family may be expected forthwith.
Napoleon in the other World will be
published in a few days, in French and
English.
Another volume of Mr. Craddock's
Miscellaneous and Literary Memoirs is
preparing for the press.
A Treatise on the Steam-Engine, his-
torical, practical, and descriptive, by Mr.
John Farey, illustrated by numerous en-
gravings made by the late Mr. Lowry, is
announced to appear in December.
The Rev. Dr. Wilson is preparing Col-
lections towards a Parochial History of
London and its Liberties.
Mr. Williams of Shrewsbury has in
the press, a Memoir of Matthew Henry,
the Expositor of the Bible.
The Rev. L. Moyes will speedily pub-
lish, Remarks on the Principal Features of
the Foreign and Domestic Policy of Great
Britain since the year 1753.
Edward VI. and his Times, an histo-
rical work for the study of youth, is near-
ly ready.
Mr. Jolliffe, author of " Letters from
Palestine," is about to publish aTourfrom
Smyrna, through Albania, fyc. to Corfu.
In the press and nearly ready, in crown
8vo. The Poetical Souvenir, by Kennett
and George Read Dixon, Esqrs. con-
taining Gonzalo and Alcsea and other
Poems,embellished with numerous wood-
cuts.
Mr. E. A. Kendall has in the press,
an Essay, entitled Education, whether
liberal or ordinary, seriously defective,
without the Inculcation of the Art of
Drawing. The author considers the art
of drawing under a variety of moral,
philosophical, economical, and political
aspects, but especially as belonging to
the general cultivation of the human fa-
culties, and therefore to the general ad-
vancement both of the sciences and arts.
Mr. Pickering is collecting all the
works, dramatic and otherwise, of Christo-
pher Marlowe, the poet. Several of his
productions, scarcely known to be in ex-
istence, consisting of translations from
Ovid and Lucan, in the best style of
the author, have been brought to light
by the research of the publisher, and
will be included in this new edition.
The same publisher is also collecting
the works of Webster, one of the most
eminent dramatists of the age of Queen
Elizabeth, which have never been brought
together, and several of which are ex-
tremely scarce.
Mr. Wellbeloved has nearly ready,
London Lions for Country Cousins and
Friends about Town, with twenty-three
views.
Immediately on the meeting of Parlia-
ment will be commenced, a weekly pub-
lication, entitled The Parliamentary Re-
porter, or Debates in Parliament.
A novel work on the Passions of the
Horse, designed and executed in li-
thography by Mr. W. B. Chalon, is about
to appear, by subscription, in a series of
six drawings ; size twenty inches by six-
teen. The work is dedicated to his Ma-
jesty.
Specimens of Sacred and Serious Poe-
try, from Chaucer to the present day, with
Biographical Notices and Critical Re-
marks by Mr. J. Johnstone, will soon ap-
pear.
Sir Walter Scott's Life of Napoleon,
which will form six volumes, is expected
to appear within a few weeks of Christ-
mas.
The Governors of the British Institu-
tion have presented to the National Galle-
ry three very valuable pictures : the Vi-
sion of St. Jerome, by Parmegiano, bought
at Mr. Watson Taylor's sale for 3100
guineas; the Communion of St. Nicho-
las, by Paul Veronese, purchased by the
Directors at 1500 guineas; and West's
picture of Christ Healing the Sick, for
which they paid him 3000 guineas. The
national collection, writh this superb ac-
cession, will open for public inspection
on the first Monday in November.
Mr. I. Harrison Curtis, surgeon, an-
rist to the King, commenced his couroa
S s 2
308
VOr.TRY.
of Lectures on the Anatomy, Physiolo-
gy, and Pathology of the Ear, last month,
at the Royal Dispensary for Diseases
of the Ear, Dean-street, Soho-square.
The lecturer combated the unfortunate
prejudice respecting the incurability of
diseases of the ear, and proved by his
own extensive practice and experience,
as well as that of the celebrated profes-
sor, Lallemand of Montpellier, the mis-
chief that had arisen from this idea, in
consequence of neglected affections of
this organ, producing chronic diseases of
the brain, ending most unhappily, and
frequently from the inattention of patients
themselves. The lecturer supported
this fact by exhibiting a variety of ana-
tomical preparations, shewing the effects
and extent of neglected disease ; but he
came to this satisfactory conclusion, that
diseases of the ear, like diseases of other
organs, will yield to proper treatment.
trj><
THE FUNERAL KNELL.
There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end.
Montgomery.
Hark! 'tis the burial knell ! A solemn sound,
Though so familiar to the ear that we /
Remark it not I too have heard it oft,
And with indifference. But upon this day
A feeling of disconsolate wretchedness
Tervades my bosom, and each heavy toll
Strikes on my sinking heart as though 'twould
stop
The vital current circling in my veins.
It brings to recollection years long past,
Years spent in happiness and misery —
Of innocent, joyous youth, when yet no care
Depressed my buoyant spirit — and of grief
Deep-seated in the heart, which ne'er will
lose
The scorching influence it there has shed.
'Tis a once dear
Companion of my early youth who goes
To her last home. In days of infancy
We were as one — we had no separate wish,
No secret action. Time would have flown by
Unconsciously but that our forms were
changed,
And we had grown to womanhood — riper
years
Had ripened our affection — to look back
Upon that blissful period but augments
The anguish of my cold and cheerless heart
O happy days ! alas! to be contrasted
With years of misery ! Misery came too
soon !
Friendship, for long time,
Had reigned the sole possessor of my breast:
At length it owned a rival. Love had stolen
|nto my young and inexperienced heart.
The youth was one who dauntlessly had
fought
In king and country's right — not his the
tongue
In woman's facile ear to whisper love
His bosom felt not. And when we were wed-
ded
I left my home — I left too that dear friend,
The sweet companion of my infancy,
A prey to sorrow. Though my love had
thriven,
I was not happy.
After a brief year
My husband to a foreign clime was called,
Where war rag'd deadly, and I visited
My much- loved home: few months had fleeted
by,
Rut 'twas as if a lapse of years had wrought
Havoc upon my friend, whom I had left
So beautiful. Scarce could I recognise
Her altered countenance — her pallid face,
And sunken eye, and withered form, betrayed
A broken heart. Too late I learned the cause
Of this lamented change — that she, like me,
Had deeply loved, but not, like me, had won
The object of her soul's idolatry —
Of that I had bereft her. Fatal love !
We had been happy if we ne'er had loved !
But woman, feeble woman, cannot change
Nature's soft dictates.
Another keen, deep shaft,
Like lightning, sped. My husband in the
field
Had yielded up his life. No hallowed ground,
No native land, received his dear remains j
No relative hung sorrowing o'er his bier ;
No parent saw him in his dying hour:
Yet nobly he had died ! Peace was restored,
A glorious victory won ; the lighted streets
Were filled with crowds of a rejoicing people,
As if in mockery of my widowed heart.
rora'iiY.
309
My lot was truly wretched: one had thought
I had quaffed deeply of Affliction's cup,
But mine it was to drain it to the lees:
My early friend with wild delirium raved —
An agonizing gush of fitful passion
At times escaped her— and a frenzied laugh
Told of the fire in her bewildered brain :
And thus she lived for years — a torturing
sight
E'en to a flinty breast. Before she died
Reason returned, and 'tis her funeral
The bell is tolling for. In death I love her!
The broken heart can only find relief
In the cold grave. Oh ! would I too were laid
In my last resting-place ! F. S. jun.
A SKETCH.
lie walks among the crowd,
With thoughtful brow and eye,
Atlor'd by all the fair and proud,
In fond idolatry :
And yet his heart's beyond the ocean
In firm fidelity.
He treads the lofty hall,
Where peers and princes meet,
And threads the mazy ball
With footsteps light and fleet :
Yet, fair-ones, spare your fond devotion,
His heart is arm'd complete.
He lists to many a voice
Of music's sweetest sound ;
And yet he'll not rejoice
When song and glee go round :
There is a voice his ear will cherish,
Though wealth and joy surround.
He looks on many a face,
On many a radiant eye;
On forms of female grace
Amongst the rich and high :
Yet his fond faith can never perish —
He only looks to sigh.
'Midst courtly hall and dance
He thinks how light she mov'd ;
In beauty's softest glance
He thinks on her he lov'd:
And tho' perchance he'll meet her never,
His faith shall still be proVd.
He thinks how sweet her song
Flow'd like her native streams; 4
And how she mov'd along
In beauty's hallow'd beams:
And parted though, perhaps, for ever,
He meets her in his dreams.
I. L. D.
THE FIRST BROWN LEAF.
By J. M. Lacev.
The first brown leaf that I had seen,
Since summer hours were fled,
Had left its fellows gaily green
On many a branch, that smil'd serene,
Unheeding their first dead !
At least so seem'd to fancy's eye
This symptom of decay ;
A little while those leaves may sigh
To balmy zephyrs, ere they die,
And end their trivial day.
But latter autumn sure will come,
With all its stormy powers ;
Then will these green ones meet their doom,
And make the earth one leafy tomb,
Through all its gloomy bow'rs.
So in our lives, 'midst childhood's throng,
We heed not him who falls
The first among us ; still the song
Of youthful joy is blythe and strong,
Ere age and sickness calls.
But when we seek, in life's late years,
The group we knew in youth,
'Twill wake the callous bosom's fears,
And draw from Stoic eyes moist tears,
To learn the fatal truth:
We find, that like the leaves so brown
Which fall in autumn's gloom,
They've dropp'd around us, one by one,
Till all we lov'd in youth are gone
Before us to the tomb !
LINES
Written by a Lady on the Death of John Goi.l
Walton, Esq. who died the 20th of May,
1825, aged 21 years.
Has then that gentle spirit fled ?
Is Walton mingled with the silent dead ?
Could not his merits win him from the tomb,
And spare him full of life's fresh morning
bloom ?
A father's agony— a mother's tears —
And numerous friends pale with a thousand
fears,
Could they not snatch him from the arms of
Death,
And stay awhile the fluctuating breath ?
Ah ! no : — tho' every good to him was given,
And prayers unceasing reach'd the throne of
Heav'n,
'Twas His decree, who never judges wrong,
That Walton's pilgrimage should not be long:
He was but lent to shew in early youth,
The power of goodness, piety, and truth.
Then mourn no more, he dwells in realms
above,
Crown'd with the Father's all-approving love.
Heart-broken mother, let your grief be mild,
A heavenly angel is your darling child !
310
TOKTKY.
LINES
From the German of Schiller, on the Jour-
ney of the Hereditary Prince of Saxe-
Weimar to Paris, in 1802.
'Tis thelast glass, my friends, fill to the brim
To our loved wanderer's health— a health to
him
Who quits his native land, and thegreen vales
Which cradled him in childhood ! Nought
avails
The parent's close embrace, the warning sage
Of more experienced and more cautious age :
He breaks the spell, and seeks that haughty
state
By plunder rich, by unjust conquest great.
The thunder silenced, War close-fetter'd lies,
Discord expands her raven wings and flies.
The lava, o'er the crater thinly spread,
Yet glows and cracks beneath the traveller's
tread.
Oh ! may auspicious Destiny preside,
And through life's stormy passage ever guide
Thy steps, O princely youth ! for good and
pure
Hath Nature form'd thy heart: may it endure
The world's fierce test! Drink not from
Pleasure's am —
Reject the poison'd beverage. Youth, return
Such as thou goest hence — return again
To prove that Vice spreads snares for thee in
vain.
Thou wilt see countries wide despoil'd by
War,
And earth polluted by his blood-staiu'd car:
Yet o'er those fields where died the great and
brave,
In quick succession golden harvests wave.
Thou wilt behold the vast majestic Rhine,
And while it flows the glories of thy line
Shall be recorded in th« rolls of Time —
Ancestral glory, won by deeds sublime.
To these heroic shades do homage there:
Nor to the father Rhine just offerings spare;
The powerful guardian of our frontier line!
To him give tribute from his native vine.
Thy country's genius then shall lead thee
o'er
The feeble plank which lands thee on that
shore
Where Gallic arms and Gallic treachery,
Uncheck'd, still live, but German virtues die.
Vaj.erla.
SONG:
Adapted to Mozart's celebrated German Air,
" Frcuct euch des Lcbens."
0 faithless maid, adieu !
The dream of hope is o'er ;
Since Fiona proves untrue,
Life smiles no more.
Ah ! let me, let me fly the scene
Where Pleasure holds her giddy reign !
For easy hearts her bounties flow,
Free from the thorn of woe.
Farewell the witching smile,
That lured my fond heart;
No more shall it beguile
Sorrow's keen smart.
1 quit with willing feet the bower
Where gaily blooms each fragrant flower j
To distant climes I bend my way,
To end my lonely day.
Farewell the azure eye
That softly beam'd on me,
And cheek of roseate dye-
Farewell to thee !
Again I'll tempt the dangerous main,
Since Fiona I've loved in vain ;
Since faithless she has proved to me,
Her syren charms 1 flee.
Ah ! native plains, adieu,
Where oft at eve we stray'd,
When hours like moments flew
Adown the green glade !
Careless I pass the favourite bower j
Since Fiona, once its fairest flower,
Graces no more its soothing shade,
Its wonted beauties fade.
If on some foreign shore
Bright eyes on me should smile,
And in some dimpled cheek
Lurk the fond wile —
Then Fiona, though thou faithless be,
Still would I think alone of thee :
For never shall blooming fair
With thee, love, compare !
But, O sweet maid, adieu !
Since hope's gay dream is o'er,
Since thou hast proved untrue,
Life charms no more !
A. I.
Ipswich.
Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand.
■=3
■
THE
3Repofittorp
OF
ARTS, LITERATURE, FASHIONS,
Manufactures, §c»
THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII.
December 1, 1826. N°- XLVIII.
EMBELLISHMENTS. pag:;
1. Frontispiece.
2. View of Cobiiam-Hall, Kent, the Seat of the Earl of Darni.ey 311
Midgham-House, Berks, the Seat of W. S.Poyntz, Esq. M.P. 312
Ladies' Morning Dress ......... 362
Evening Dress ......... ib.
('). Gothic Chairs 363
7. Muslin Pattern.
CONTENTS:
MISCELLANIES. page
Views of Country Seats. — Cobham-
Hall, Kent, the Seat of the Earl of
Darn ley 311
Midgham-House, Berks, the Seat of Wil-
liam Stephen Poyntz, Esq. M. P. . 312
The Prisoners in the Caucasus. By
Count Xavierde Maistre. (Concluded) ib.
Popular Superstitions of the French
Provinces. — No. VI. — The Maid of
Provence 318
Maina and the Mainottes. From the
Journal of a recent Traveller. (Con-
cluded.) 323
The Great Tun of Grbningen. (Con-
cluded.) 326
The Isle of St. Bourondon (Concluded.) 331
The Literary Coterie. — No. XXII. —
Forget Me Not for 1827 — Roscoe's
German Tales — Fiiank's Memoirs of
Lindley Murray — Todd's Life of Mil-
ton— Mitford's Our Village — Tur-
ner's Reiyn of Henry VIII. . . . 336
Palace of the Grand-Duke Michael at
St. Petersburg 349
Some Account of Norwich 350
Anecdotes, &c. Historical, Literary, and
Personal. — Mary Queen of Scots and
her Admirer — Robertson of Stowan —
Buck-wheat — Millar's Popular Philo-
sophy — Perfection of the Natural
Senses in Calmucks — The Clerical
Dramatist — New Species of Silk
MUSICAL REVIEW
Simms1 Studies for the Piano-forte
Pleyel's " La Rose" . . .
353
350
357
358
361
ib.
PA<;e
Bruguier's Three Duets 357
Bochsa's Airs in " Le Bal Champetre" . ib.
Challenger's Quadrilles from Mayer's
Medea ib.
Vocal.
Jolly's Glees for Three and Four Voices
— Miles' " The bonny wee wife" —
Bailey's " May thy lot in life be
happy" — Stevenson's " The year
that's awa' " — Smith's " Deep in the
dusky lawn" — " Stay, my charmer"
— " While the breeze of morning'' —
" Of all the flowers, the fairest" . .
Harp, &.c.
Mayer's Air and Polonaise ....
Behtioli's Six French Romances . .
Saust's Arrangement of " La Dame
Blanche" for the Flute
FASHIONS.
London Fashions. — Ladies' Morning
Dress 362
Ladies' Evening Dress ib.
Fashionable Furniture. — Gothic Chairs 363
INTELLIGENCE,
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC
POETRY.
Cowslips. From Percy Roli.e's Poems. 365
The Ocean. From " The Exile, a Poem,"
by R. H. Rattray, Esq 366
Fifteen. On seeing the Portrait of a
beautiful Girl of that Age .... 367
To the Knights-Hospitallers of St. John.
From the German of Schiller . . . ib.
Index . 368
ib.
b.
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No. Page
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XL1II.
XLIV.
XLV.
View of Norris 1
. Appuldurcombe . . 2
Ladies' Walking Dress . . 57
Evening Dress . . ib.
HorizontalGrandPiano-forte 58
7. Muslin Pattern.
8. View of Wimbledon-House
— West Farm . . .
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
Ladies' Promenade Dress
■ Evening Dress .
Flower-Stands . .
Muslin Pattern.
View of Pentilly-Castle
Mitcham-Grove
Ladies' Carriage Costume
Evening Dress .
63
65
120
ib.
121
125
126
183
ib.
Candelabra 184
19. Muslin Pattern.
No. Pace
XLVI. 20. View of Maristow .... 187
21. Fnlford-House . . 188
22. Ladies' Head-Dresses . . 244
23. — — — Evening Dress . . ib.
24. Upright Piano-forte . . . 245
25. Muslin Pattern.
XLVII. 26. View ofOaklands . . .249
27. Crete-Hall ... 251
28. Ladies' Promenade Dress . 305
29. ' . ■ — Evening Dress . . ib.
30. A Sofa . 306
31. Muslin Pattern.
XLV1II.32. View of Cobham-Hall . .311
33. Midgham - House,
Berks 312
34. Ladies' Morning Dress . . 362
35. ■ Evening Dress ... ib
36. Gothic Chairs . . • . . 363
37. Muslin Pattern.
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THE THIRD SERIES.
Vol. VIII.
December 1, 1836. N°-XLV1II.
VIEWS OF COUNTRY SEATS.
COBIIAM-IIALL, KENT, THE SKA
This ancient mansion, situated
about live miles on the right of the
road from the city of Rochester, is
one of the most perfect specimens
of the talents of Inigo Jones, and
also remarkable as having been for
ages the principal abode of the Earls
of Cobham, who enjoyed the manor
since the reign of King John. It
consists of a centre and two wings,
and the interior contains a variety of
commodious apartments ; but the
principal attraction is the collection
of pictures, among which are many
exquisite specimens of Titian, Ru-
bens, Salvator Rosa, Guido, Cor-
regio, Vandyke, Sir Peter Lely, and
other eminent masters. The Young
Samuel, by Sir Joshua Reynolds;
the Dan'de, by Titian ; the Savage
Act of the Scythian Queen towards
the Remains of the unfortunate Cy-
rus ; the Fate of Regulus, by the
Vol. VIII. No.XLVIIL
T OF THE EAUL OF DAKNLEY.
sublime Salvator Rosa, cannot fail
to strike every beholder with admira-
tion and astonishment. In the sa-
loon, which is magnificently finished,
and is both spacious and lofty, a fine
statue of Aniirious and a bust of.
Ccesar are particularly deserving of
notice; and also an exceedingly fine
collection of marble columns, &c.
made by the Earl of Darnley, which
are placed in excellent order.
The beautiful and extensive park
and wood which surround this build-
ing possess innumerable charms, and
have been laid out with the greatest
taste ; trees of large growth, spread-
ing their magnificent and undulating
foliage, meet the eye in every point of
view; and an avenue of stately limes,
of nearly a mile in length, affords
an impenetrable shade from thehouse
to the village of Cobham. On an
elevated ground to the south-east
312
MIDGHAM-MOUSE, BERKS.
has been erected a mausoleum, from
which there is a fine view of the
river Medway and surrounding coun-
try.
The pleasure-grounds are planted
with much taste and judgment; and
there is an excellent variety of choice
flowers and shrubs, which adorn the
parterres. Adjoining this delightful
spot, there is also a menagerie, con-
taining many rare and beautiful birds,
and some animals of the kangaroo
species, &c.
On an eminence, called the Mount,
many fine picturesque views of the
park and distant country are obtain-
ed from a seat placed under a wal-
nut-tree, especially a panoramic view,
the effect of which is particulary im-
pressive. The house, with its tow-
ers partially hidden with trees, and
the mausoleum, rising above the
grove, dignify the woody boundary ;
and the dark and bold aspect of Box-
ley Hill forms a pleasing back-ground.
The noble proprietor, among other
acts of munificence, has kindly given
an annual afternoon's recreation to
the children who attend the reading-
schools of the neighbouring parishes;
parties drink tea on the lawn, and
bands of music are provided to en-
liven the rural festivity.
In the church are some curious
ancient brasses of the Earls of Cob-
ham; and near it is an ancient col-
lege, now converted into an abode
for the support of twenty poor per-
sons.
For the above account we are in-
debted to Mr. Thomas H. Shepherd.
MIDGHAM-HOUSE, BERKS,
THE SEAT OF WILLIAM STEPHEN POYNTZ, ESQ. M. V.
Midgham -House is an elegant
modern building, situated in a very
delightful and sporting part of the
county of Berks. It derives its name
from an ancient chapel or hamlet in
the parish of Thatcham, and is dis-
tant about three miles from New-
bury. This estate came into the
possession of the present proprietor
on the demise of his father, by whom
it was purchased, about the year
1738, of the Hillersdon family.
The parish of Thatcham is the
largest in the county, and contains
several valuable manors. Deniston-
House, which was considered one of
the most magnificent mansions in the
county, was pulled down a few years
since for the sake of the materials.
As the present owner of Midgham
has another seat near Petworth in
Sussex, he but seldom resides here.
In the church of Thatcham is an
ancient monument of Judge Dan-
vers ; but it has been most shamefully
mutilated.
In the village is a respectable cha-
rity-school, founded by Lady Winch-
comb, in which forty boys are clothed
and educated.
THE PRISONERS IN THE CAUCASUS.
(Concluded from p. 259.)
The inhabitants of the Caucasus,
who mostly lead a half-vagrant life,
and are often exposed to the incur-
sions of their neighbours, have al-
ways near their houses subterraneous
receptacles, in which they conceal
"J e
TI1R PRISON MRS IN THE CAUCASUS.
51.3
their provisions and other effects.
These places, in the form of a nar-
row well, are carefully covered with
a plank or a large stone, and that
again with mould ; and they are al-
ways dug in bare spots, lest the co-
lour of the grass should betray the
secret. Notwithstanding these pre-
cautions, they are frequently disco-
vered by the Russian soldiers, who
strike the ground with the butt-end
of their muskets in the beaten paths
and bare spots near the houses, and
the hollow sound betrays the exca-
vations of which they are in search.
Ivan discovered one in a shed con-
tiguous to the house. Here he found
some earthen pots, a quantity of
maize, a lump of rock salt, and se-
veral culinary utensils. He imme-
diately went in quest of water for
cooking, and set the quarter of mut-
ton and some potatoes which he had
brought with him, on the fire. While
the repast was preparing, Kascam-
bo roasted the maize; and a few nuts,
which they also found in the maga-
zine, served for a dessert. When
they had finished their meal,Ivan,hav-
ing now more leisure as well as means,
contrived to release his masterfrom his
fetters; and the latter, more comfort-
able and refreshed by what, under his
circumstances, was an excellent meal,
fell into a sound sleep, from which
he did not awake till about nine in the
evening. Notwithstanding this rest,
when he would have resumed his
route, his swollen limbs were so stiff,
that he could not stir a step without
the most acute pain. It was neces-
sary, however, to continue the jour-
ney. Supported by his dcnshik, he
moved sadly on, despairing that he
should ever reach the desired goal.
The exercise, and the warmth diffus-
ed by it, gradually abated his pains.
He travelled onihe whole night, fre-
quently halting for a short time, and
then pursuing his route. Sometimes
too, giving way to despondency, he
would throw himself on the ground,
and conjure Ivan to abandon him to
his fate. His undaunted companion
not only encouraged him by exhor-
tation and example, but had even
recourse almost to violence to drag
him forward. In their way they
came to a difficult and dangerous
pass, which they could not avoid.
To wait for daylight would have
caused an irreparable loss of time;
they therefore determined to pro-
ceed at all hazards: but before Ivan
would suffer his roaster to expose
himself to any danger, he insisted on
reconnoitring this pass alone. While
he was descending, Kascambo re-
mained on the brink of the precipice
in a state of anxiety that baffles de-
scription. The night was dark: he
heard below him the dull murmur of
a rapid river which flowed through
the valley ; the sound of the stones,
which, loosened by the tread of his
companion, rolled down into the wat-
er, indicated the great depth of the
precipice on the brink of which he
was. In this moment of anguish,
which might be the last of his life,
the recollection of his mother darted
across his mind. She had blessed
him most affectionately on his de-
parture from the Line. This idea
revived his courage: he felt a secret
presentiment that be should behold
her again. " O God !" he ejaculat-
ed, " let not her benediction prove
unavailing!" As he uttered this short
but fervent prayer, Ivan rejoined
him. The passage was not so diffi-
cult as they had supposed. After
descending for a few fathoms among
the rocks, they had to cross a nar-
T r ^5
314
THE PRISON MRS IN THE CAUCASUS.
row sloping ledge, covered with fro-
zen snow, beneath which was an ab-
rupt precipice. Ivan, with his hatch-
et, cut furrows in the snow to fa-
cilitate the passage. They both cross-
ed themselves. " Lead on!" said
Kascambo; " if I perish, it shall not
be at least for want of courage. I
will now go as far as God shall give
me strength." They cleared this
dangerous pass without accident, and
continued their route. The paths
began to be more beaten ; and they
now found no snow but in spots hav-
ing a north aspect, or in hollows
where it had drifted. They M-ere
lucky enough not to meet with any
person till daybreak, when the ap-
pearance of two men at a distance
obliged them to lie down on the
ground to escape their observation.
In these provinces, as soon as the
traveller has passed the mountains,
the woods cease; the country be-
comes absolutely bare, and he would
look in vain for a single tree, except
on the banks of large rivers, and
even there they are extremely rare,
which is a remarkable circumstance
considering the fertility of the soil.
The fugitives followed for some time
the course of the Sonja, which it
was necessary for them to ci'oss in
order to proceed to Mosdok, seeking
a place where the current, less rapid
than usual, would permit them to
ford it without much danger, when
they descried a person on horseback
coming straight towards them. The
country, being quite open, offered
neither tree nor bush, behind which
they might conceal themselves; they
cowered therefore under the bank of
the Sonja, close to the water's edge.
The traveller passed within a few
paces of their retreat. They de-
termined merely to defend them-
selves in case of attack. Ivan drew
I his poniard and gave the pistol to
J the major. Perceiving then that
| the rider was but a boy of twelve or
j thirteen, he rushed suddenly upon
him, seized him by the collar, and
threw him on the ground. The
youth made a show of resistance; but
seeing the major approach with the
pistol in his hand, he scampered off
as fast as his legs would carry him.
The horse had nothing about him
but a halter ; and the fugitives im-
mediately availed themselves of their
prize to cross the river. This was
a most fortunate circumstance; for
they soon found that it would have
been impossible for them to ford the
river on foot, as they intended. The
animal, though bearing the weight
of two men, was nearly carried away
by the rapidity of the current. They,
nevertheless, arrived safe and sound
at the opposite bank, which, unlucki-
ly, was too steep for the horse to as-
cend. They attempted to assist him;
and as Ivan was pulling him with all
his might to make him climb the
bank, the halter came off and was
left in his hands. The poor beast,
hurried away by the current, after
repeated struggles to get on shore,
was engulphed and drowned.
Deprived of this resource, but
henceforward less apprehensive of
pursuit, they directed their steps to
a hill covered with detached rocks,
which they saw at a distance, in-
tending to hide and rest themselves
there till night. Judging from the
space over which they had already
travelled, they concluded that they
could not be far from the settlements
of the peaceable Tchetchenges; but
nothing could be more perilous than
to put themselves into the power of
those people, whose probable treache-
ry might still involve them in de-
struction. Owing, however, to the
THE PUISONi'.ItS IN' Tllli CAUCASUS.
.315
weak state to which Kascambo was
reduced, he could scarcely be ex-
pected to reach the Terek without
assistance. Their provisions, were
by this time exhausted. They pass-
ed the rest of the day in silent de-
jection, neither daring to communi-
cate his fears to the other. Towards
evening the major saw his denshik
strike his forehead with his fist, and
at the same time he gave a deep sigh.
Astonished at this sudden despair,
which his intrepid companion had
not hitherto betrayed, he inquired
the cause. " Master," said Ivan,
" I have been guilty of one great
fault." — " God forgive it us!" ejacu-
lated Kascambo, crossing himself.
— " Yes," rejoined Ivan, " I forgot to
take that beautiful carbine which
was in the boy's room. It can't be
helped now — but I never thought of
it. You sobbed and groaned, and
made such an ado, that I clean for-
got it. Nay, don't laugh; it was the
best carbine in the whole village. I
could have made a present of it to
the first man we may meet, and thus
gained him over to befriend us; for
in the state in which you are, I am
not quite sure that we shall be able
to finish our journey.
The weather, which till then had
favoured them, changed during the
day. The keen wind of Russia blew
with violence, and drove the sleet in
their faces. They started again at
nightfall, uncertain whether to seek
some village or to avoid human ha-
bitations. A fresh misfortune, which
befel them towards morning, render-
ed it absolutely impossible for them
to perform the great distance which,
on the latter supposition, they had
yet to travel. As they were crossing
a small ravine on the remaining snow
that covered the bottom of it, the ice
broke under them, and they were
plunged up to the knees in water.
In Kascambo's struggles to extricate
himself, his clothes were completely
soaked. From the time of their de-
parture, the cold had never been so
piercing, and the whole country was
white with sleet. After walking on
about a quarter of an hour, he fell,
overpowered with cold, pain, and fa-
tigue, and peremptorily refused to
proceed a step further. Convinced
that it was impossible for him to
reach his journey's end, he consi-
dered it as a useless piece of cruelty
to detain his companion, who might
easily escape alone. " Ivan," said
he, " God is my witness that I have
till this moment done all that lay in
my power to profit by the assistance
which thou hast afforded me; but
thou must now see that it can no
longer save me, and that my fate is
decided. Go on then to the Line,
my dear Ivan; return to the regi-
ment: I enjoin thee to do so. Inform
my old friends and superiors that
thou hast left me here to feed the
ravens, and that I wish them a hap-
pier lot. But before thou leavest
me, remember the oath sworn by
thee over the blood of our gaolers —
the oath that the Tchetchenges
should never retake me alive: keep
thy word." As he thus spoke, he
extended himself at full length on
the ground, and covered himself all
over with his bourica, awaiting the
fatal blow. " We have still one re-
source left," replied Ivan; " that is,
to seek some habitation, and to gain
over the master by promises. Should
he betray us, we shall at least have
nothing wherewith to reproach our-
selves. Try to walk so far; or," ad/l-
ed he, as the major returned no an-
swer, " I will go alone, and make U\}Q
316
TAB PRISONERS IN TIIM CAUCASUS.
attempt. If I succeed, I will come
with the man, to fetch you; if I fail
and perish, and you find that I don't
return, here is the pistol for you."
Kascambo extended his hand from
beneath the bourka and took the
pistol.
Ivan covered him with dry grass
and bushes, lest he should be dis-
covered during his absence. He
was on the point of departing, when
his master called him. " Ivan," said
he, " listen to my last request. If
thou shouldst repass the Terek, and
see my mother again without me "
— " Master," exclaimed Ivan, inter-
rupting him, " I will be with you
again to-day. If you perish, neither
your mother nor mine shall ever see
me more!"
After an hour's walk, he descried
from a rising ground two villages,
at the distance of three or four wersts ;
but these were not what he was in
quest of: he wanted to find some lone
house, which he might enter unob-
served, that he might secretly gain
the assistance of its owner. The
distant smoke of a chimney led him
to the discovery of such a dwelling.
He made the best of his way thither,
and entered without hesitation. The
master of the house was seated on
the floor, mending one of his boots.
" I am come," said Ivan, " to ask if
thou hast a mind to earn two hundred
rubles by the performance of a cer-
tain service. Thou hast no doubt
heard of Major Kascambo, who was
a prisoner to the mountaineers. Well,
I have assisted him to escape; he is
close by, ill and in thy power. If
thou choosest to deliver him up again
to his enemies, they will praise thee,
I dare say; but thou well knowest
tha t they will bestow on thee no
other reward. If, on the contrary,
thou wilt agree to save him, merely
by concealing him here for three
days, I will go to Mosdok, and bring
thee two hundred rubles in hard
cash for his ransom: but," continued
he, drawing his dagger, " if thou
darest but stir to give the alarm, and
cause me to be apprehended, thou
art a dead man. Thy word this in-
stant, as thou valuest thy life !"
The firmness of Ivan's tone per-
suaded, without intimidating, the
Tchetchenge. " Young man," said
he, coolly laying down his boot, % I
have a dagger too at my girdle, and
I am not affrighted by thine. Hadst
thou entered my house like a friend,
I would never have betrayed a man
who had crossed my threshold: as it
is, I promise thee nothing; sit down
there and tell me what thou wouldst
have." Ivan, perceiving what sort
of person he had to deal with, sheath-
ed his dagger, sat down, and repeat-
ed his proposal. " What assurance
canst thou give me," asked the Tchet-
chenge, " for the execution of thy
promise?" — " I shall leave the major
himself with thee," replied Ivan:
" dost thou suppose that, after fif-
teen months' sufferings, I should have
brought my master to thee for the
purpose of abandoning him ?"--" Well,
I am satisfied as to that; but two
hundred rubles wont do, I must have
four hundred." — " Why not demand
four thousand at once? it would be
just as easy: for my part, as I mean
to keep my word, I offer two hun-
dred, because I know where to get
them, and not a copeck more. Wouldst
thou require me to promise what I
might find it impossible to perform?"
— " Well! be it so! go and fetch the
two hundred rubles: and wilt thou
return alone and in three days?" —
" Yes, alone and in three days; I
TIIF. PRISONERS IN THE CAUCASUS.
.317
give thee my word: but hast thou i
given me thine? Is the major thy
guest?" — " He is my guest, and so j
art thou from this moment; I give '
thee my word." They shook hands,
and then hastened to the major,
whom they brought to the house
half dead with cold and hunger.
Instead of proceeding to Mosdok,
Ivan, on learning that he was nearer
to Tchervelianskaya-Stanitza, where
there was a considerable post of Cos-
sacks, immediately repaired thither.
He had no difficulty in collecting the
sum which he wanted. The brave
Cossacks, some of whom had been
engaged in the disastrous rencounter
which had cost the major his liberty,
cheerfully contributed their quotas
to complete the ransom. On the
appointed day, Ivan set out to effect
the final deliverance of his master:
but the colonel commanding the post,
apprehensive of some fresh treachery,
would not allow him to return alone;
and, in spite of the engagement made
with the Tchetchenge, ordered some
Cossacks to accompany the denshik.
This precaution had nearly proved
fatal to Kascambo. The moment
his host perceived at a distance the
lances of the Cossacks, he felt con-
vinced that he was betrayed; and,
with the courageous ferocity of his
nation, he took the major, who was
yet ill, to the roof of the house, bound
him to a stake, and posted himself
in front of him, with his carbine in
his hand. " If you advance," cried
he, when Ivan was within hearing,
at the same time clapping the muzzle
of his piece to the head of his pri-
soner; " if you advance another step,
I will blow out the major's brains,
and I have plenty of cartridges for
my enemies, and for the traitor who
has brought them."
" I have not betrayed thee," cried
the denshik, trembling for the life of
his master; " I was forced to come
back thus accompanied : but I have
brought the two hundred rubles, and
will keep my word." — " Let the Cos-
sacks retire then," rejoined the
Tchetchenge, or I will fire!" Kas-
cambo himself begged the officer to
retire. Ivan followed the detach-
ment for some time, and then return-
ed alone; but the suspicious Cauca-
sian would not permit him to ap-
proach. He made him count down
the rubles in the path, a hundred
paces from the house, and ordered
him to keep at a distance.
As soon as he had secured the
money, he returned to the major and
fell on his kness before him, begging
his pardon, and entreating him to
forgive the ill usage to which, for the
sake of his own safety, he had been
forced, he said, to have recourse.
" I shall only remember," answered
Kascambo, " that I have been thy
guest, and that thou hast kept thy
word; but before thou beggest my
pardon, release me from my bonds."
The Tchetchenge, seeing Ivan com-
ing back, made no reply, but sprang
from the roof and ran off like light-
ning.
The same day the brave Ivan had
the gratification and the glory to
conduct his master to his friends,
who had despaired of ever beholding
him again.
The person who collected these
particulars, passing some months af-
terwards at night by a small house
at Jegorievsky, of respectable ap-
pearance and well lighted, stepped
out of his lnbitlc*, and went up to a
* The ordinary travelling-carriage of
Russia, without wheels.
318
Tin; mahv of pjtovi'NrE.
window to enjoy the sight of a dance
on the ground-floor. A yOung sub-
altern was also watching very at-
tentively what was going forward
within. " Who gives this ball ?"
asked the traveller. — " It is the ma-
jor's wedding-day." — " And what is
the major's name?" — " His name is
Kascainbo." The traveller, who was
acquainted witli the remarkable his-
tory of this officer, was glad that he
had given way to his curiosity, and
inquired which was the bridegroom.
The young man pointed out the ma-
jor, whose eyes glistened with de-
light, and who had forgot at that
moment both the Tchetchenges and
their cruelty. " Have the goodness,"
resumed the stranger, " to tell me
also, which is the brave denshik who
saved his life." The subaltern, after
some hesitation, replied, " I am the
person." Doubly surprised at this
meeting, and still more to find that
he was so young, the traveller in-
quired his age. He had not yet
completed his twentieth year, and
had just been presented with a gra-
tuity and the rank of serjeant, as a
recompence for his courage and fi-
delity. This brave youth, after hav-
ing voluntarily shared the misfortunes
of his master, and restored him to
life and liberty, was now participating
in his happiness by looking through
the window at his nuptial festivities.
The stranger expressed his astonish-
ment that the faithful denshik was
not one of the party, and even charg-
ed his former master with ingrati-
tude in regard to him. Ivan cast a
sidelong glance at him, and went
into the house, whistling the tune of
Hai lulee, hailulee; and the inquisi-
tive stranger returned to his kibitk,
congratulating himself that he had
not got knocked on the head with a
hatchet.
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS of this FRENCH PROVINCES.
No. VI.
TIIK MAID OF
In the lovely country of Provence
are still to be seen the remains of a
building which does not appear to
have ever been remarkable for any
thing but its extraordinary solidity.
This building was, if tradition says
true, in former days an asylum for
destitute travellers. It was founded
in the eleventh century, by a daugh-
ter of one of the Counts of Provence,
in consequence of the circumstances
we are about to relate. Just before
the commencement of the first Cru-
sade, all France resounded with the
praises of the fair Gabrielle de Pro-
vence. Never, indeed, was there a
more complete union of the beauties
of mind and person than in tins lovely
PUOVENCF.
creature, the daughter of the Count
de Provence, and the blessing of his
age. The count was a wise and
good sovereign, a father to his sub-
jects, under whose just and benevo-
lent sway Provence had enjoyed a
long and happy peace.
Conformably to the usages of the
times, the count held frequent tour-
naments, where the most valliant
knights of France displayed their
skill in arms, and the fairest dames
of a province reno%vned for the love-
liness of its women graced the jousts
with their presence. Fairest where
all were fair, Gabrielle far outshone
her beauteous companions. At the
time of which wc speak she was just
THfi MAID OF PROVINCE.
319
rising into womanhood, but already
the fame of her beauty had brought
to the court of Provence many brave
and noble suitors for her hand: none
was, however, successful. She lis-
tened indifferently to their passionate
vows, and her father declared open-
ly that he would not constrain her
choice. Things were in this state
when a young unknown knight pre-
sented himself at one of the tourna-
ments given by the count. He was
attended only by a single squire, and
the. plainness of his equipments, as
well as the incognito which he pre-
served, seemed to say that he had
little to boast on the score of birth or
fortune ; but the dignity of his air
and the knightly courtesy of his
manners interested every heart in
his favour, and created in the minds
of the ladies at court a belief that
his birth was far above what his ap-
pearance indicated.
When he entei*ed the lists, every
noble dame present breathed vows
for his success ; nor were they
breathed in vain : he carried away all
the prizes, but in presenting himself
to receive them from the hand of
Gabrielle, it was evident to all the
spectators that he had found a con-
queror. Yes, the youthful hero who
had vanquished so many brave and
vigorous knights.trembled and turned
pale before the blushing girl, whose
timid glance he scarcely dared to
meet. That glance decided his fate.
He loved for the first time, and he
retii-ed with his mind filled with
the charming image of the princess.
The tournament lasted for eight
days, and during that time Albert, so
the young stranger called himself,
obtained the name of the invincible
knight. The bravest and most expe-
VoL VI IL No. XLVIII.
rienced chevaliers combated against
him in vain ; he was constantly suc-
cessful.
So much valour, joined to his no-
ble and modest bearing, won the re-
gard of the count, who distinguished
him by many marks of favour, and
expressed an intention of placing him
near his own person. Had Gabrielle
been less innocent, the joy which this
intimation gave her would have open-
ed her eyes to the nature of her senti-
ments for Albert : as yet, however, she
suspected not that the feelings which
she mistook for ad miration and esteem
were those of the tenderest love ;
but the moment soon came which un-
veiled to her the state of her heart.
The powerful eloquence of Peter
the Hermit drew the chivalry of
Europe to the standard of the cross.
The valiant Provencals were among
the first to take up arms for the re-
covery of Palestine. Albert was
obliged, at the order of a father
whom he at once loved and feared,
to hasten to the Holy Land. That or-
der, which a short time before would,
by leading him to glory, have crowned
his wishes and his hopes, was now
received as the death-blow to both ;
for it forced him to tear himself
from Gabrielle, and to leave her
without daring to reveal his passion.
Ah ! how badly had he calculated
its strength when he believed that
possible ! Chance procured him a
sight of the princess alone ; unable
to resist the temptation, he acknow-
ledged to her his love and its hope-
lessness. He was the son of Victor
of Champagne, her father's ancient
rival. Both had loved the same
lady, Victor had won her, and from
that moment the Count of Provence
had sworn eternal enmity to him.
U u
320
TIIF. MATB OF rilOVKNCrc.
The pang that rent the heart of
Gabrielle at the avowal of Albert re-
vealed to her the true state of her af-
fections. Her trouble, her confu-
sion revealed to the knight that he
was beloved. In the transport of
that moment he forgot every thing
but the adorable object before him,
and the unfortunate Gabrielle be-
came the victim of his rash passion
and her own weakness.
Recovering from the delirium of
the moment, the bitterest remorse
seized the unhappy girl : it was in
vain that Albert endeavoured to con-
sole her by the most solemn assur-
ances of eternal constancy ; in vain
he pledged himself to obtain the
consent of his father, and implored
her to fly with him. She positively
refused to leave her home, and they
separated, the most wretched of hu-
man beings. The following day the
knight was forced to quit the palace,
leaving Gabrielle in a state of misery
which she thought admitted of no in-
crease. Alas ! she soon found, that
great as was her wretchedness, it was
capable of aggravation : she found
herself pregnant. Ah! who can paint
the horror with which that discovery
overwhelmed her ? By the ancient
laws of Provence, any maid who
so transgressed was punished with
death ; and if she was of exalted
rank she died by fire. The count
had always shewn himself a zealous
enforcer of the laws, and so inflexi-
ble was his justice, that his daughter
dared not hope he would mitigate
them even for her preservation. She
had then no resource but in flight :
but whither could the unfortunate
fly ? She knew not where to seek
an asylum; all that she could resolve
upon was to search for one in ob-
scurity, and far from the dominions
of her father. While she hesitated
whither to direct her wandering steps,
a new pretender to her hand pre-
sented himself in the person of the
Count de St. Foix. Her father was
in favour of the knight, and for the
first time represented to Gabrielle
the necessity of marrying. This cir-
cumstance hastened the decision of
the princess; she eloped alone and
in disguise. She reached in safety a
wood at some distance from her fa-
ther's palace, where, overcome by
fatigue, she threw herself on the
turf to snatch a short repose. But
she sought it in vain ; in spite of
her fatigue, sleep refused to visit
her eyelids. A multitude of sad
thoughts drove it from her ; grief at
being forced to leave her father, the
shame of her flight, the uncertainty
of finding an asylum, and the fear
that constantly tormented her of her
lover's falling in battle, all joined to
overcome her spirits. A coldness
like that of death seized upon her
heart, and believing her last hour
approaching, she threw herself upon
her knees, and besought Heaven
to pardon her sins. While she
prayed, she heard a clear and
sweet voice, which sounded close to
her, exclaim, " Gabrielle, put thy
trust in him who bought with his
blood the pardon of sinners, and he
will not forsake thee." She looked
around to see whence the voice pro-
ceeded; she saw nothing, but she
heard the same words three times re-
peated.
Reassured and comforted by this
extraordinary incident, the princess
composed herself to sleep. -She had
not long enjoyed its reft-eshing in-
fluence when she found herself a
prisoner. Brought back to the pa-
lace of her father, and about to be
XHli MAID OF l'ROViiNCK.
m
Led into bis presence, shame and ter-
ror overpowered her. She fell into
fainting fits, and in that state her
fatal secret was discovered.
Reason nearly forsook the un-
happy father when he learned that
the daughter, whom he loved almost
to idolatry, had tarnished the honour
of his illustrious house. He refused
to see her, ordered her to be con-
ducted to prison, and declared that
she should suffer the sentence of the
law in its utmost severity. No sooner
was the doom of the princess known,
than all Provence was in consterna-
tion, so universally was she beloved.
Still, however, a hope of saving her
remained ; for, according to the laws,
she could not be condemned till after
she had been publicly accused ; and
the people comforted themselves with
the belief that no accuser would ap-
pear against her. Perhaps this hope
sustained also the spirits of her
wretched father ; but it was a vain
one. The Count de St. Foix, mad-
dened by disappointment, gave loose
to his naturally cruel and vindictive
spirit. He presented himself as the
accuser of the unfortunate Gabrielle,
and her father was obliged to pro-
nounce the sentence which consigned
her to the most dreadful of deaths.
None who saw him in that terrible
moment believed that nature would
support him under the effort; but
recalling his firmness by an almost
supernatural exertion, he pronounced
aloud the doom of his wretched
daughter.
A groan of grief and horror
escaped the assembly, but none pre-
sumed to speak, till an old knight,
equally renowned for his wisdom and
his valour, rose and claimed for the
princess the remission of her sen-
tence, provided that within seven
days before that fixed upon for her
death, her seducer, or any other
knight in his name, should appear in
mortal combat against her accuser,
and should prove victorious. The
count consented to a demand which
was in conformity to the laws, but
despair was in his heart; for the
princess, though she had carefully
concealed the name of her lover,
had avowed that he was in the Holy
Land, and the Count de Provence well
knew that no other knight would tar-
nish his glory by upholding the cause
of a dishonoured maiden. Such
was also the thought of Gabrielle ;
she believed death inevitable, and.
she prepared herself for it. with a
firmness and patience which inspired
pity and admiration in every heart,
save that of her relentless and imp
placable persecutor. Many brave
knights deplored the hard necessity
which prevented their staking their
lives in her defence, but no one dared
to raise his arm for a woman who
had lost the brightest ornament of
her sex.
During seven days the lists were
opened, and heralds at arms sum-
moned each morning the accuser of
the princess and her champion to
appear. Alas ! the former alone
obeyed the summons ! On the se-
venth morning the funeral pile was
prepared, the heralds opened the
lists, and the assembled spectators
heard with grief and horror, that if
no knight appeared for the princess
when the horn had sounded three
times, she was to be thrown alive in-
to the blazing pile.
Twice had the horn sounded, and
yet no knight appeared. Ah ! how
many prayers were sent up to Hea-
ven for the unfortunate, whose crime
was about to be so dreadfully expi-
U u %
32;
THE MAID OF PROVENCE.
ated ! Already had the herald seized
his horn, and was about to sound it
for the third time, when, to the equal
astonishment and joy of the specta-
tors, a knight was seen galloping up
to the lists. His armour and plume
were black, his scarf and sword _of
the same mournful hue, and he bore
a shield without device. He saluted
the princess in silence, and turning
towards her accuser, the battle began
with fury.
Loud prayers for the success of
the stranger-knight burst from the
spectators, and soon were these
prayers answered ; for, in spite of
the valour and the strength of St.
Fois, he rolled a corse at the feet of
his adversary. Godfrey of St. Foix
rushed forward to avenge the death
of his brother. " Tempt not thy
fate," said the stranger-knight ; " I
am not sent to combat against thee."
" Coward, come on ! that subter-
fuge shall not save thee."
" I have proved that Victor of
Champagne is not a coward."
" Victor of Champagne ! what im-
pious mockery ! Darest thou bor-
row the name of that brave knight
who was one of the first to fall in
Palestine ? Noble Count de Pro-
vence, I do adjure thee by thy known
love of justice, do me right on this
impostor !"
" Chevalier," cried the count,
** why hast thou stooped to tarnish
thy glory with a falsehood ? Victor
of Champagne thou canst not be ;
declare then thy name, or raise thy
vizor instantly, I command thee : if
thou wilt not willingly obey, force
shall"
" I could brave thy threats, for I
am beyond all human power. But
thou wouldst see my face — look -on it,
$hen !" and slowly raising his vizor,
he presented to the crowd the coun-
tenance of a spectre. Horror seized
on all present ; none dared to speak,
but stood as root-bound to the spot,
till the phantom, after a moment's
silence, slowly uttered the following
words :
" Inhabitants of Provence, I was
one of the first who fell on entering
the Holy Land. My son, who fought
by my side, owned to me in my dying
hour his love and his fault ; and with
my last breath I gave him my bless-
ing and my forgiveness. While I
lived, his happiness was my sole
earthly care. Heaven has permitted
me to come from the tomb to save
the life of her whose death would
render him the most wretched of
mortals, and to punish her accuser.
Remember that he who has given me
that power has said, ' Let him that
is without sin throw the first stone.'
The repentance of the princess has
expiated her crime in the eyes of the
Eternal. Dare you, then, be more
inflexible than he is ?"
In finishing these words the spec-
tre disappeared, and cries of pardon
for the princess resounded through
the crowd. The count, with trans-
port, yielded to the visible interposi-
tion of Heaven, and the princess
was brought back to the palace.
While these things were passing
in Provence, Peter the Hermit en-
tered one morning the tent of the
youthful Albert : the holy man had
been informed in a dream of the suf-
ferings of Gabrielle, and ordered to
conduct Albert to Provence to claim
her hand. They reached its fertile
plains in safety, and the count giving
way to the entreaties of the venera-
ble Peter, forgot his ancient enmity,
and united the lovers, whose nuptials
were celebrated with great pomp.
MAINA AND Tllli MAINOTTMS.
ns
The first act of the young Coun-
tess tie Champagne was to found a
monastery on the spot where the
spectre-knight had appeared in her
defence. In an hospital attached to
this monastery, and attended by its
inmates, the sick, the maimed, and
the wounded were received, without
distinction of sex, age, or religion ;
their sufferings were alleviated by
the kindest treatment, and the most
efficacious refmedies administered not
unfrequently by the fair hands of
Gabrielle herself, who, during her
long and happy life, strove to shew
her gratitude to Heaven for her ex-
traordinary preservation by acts of
piety and benevolence to her fellow-
creatures. She was worthily second-
ed by her noble spouse, and when
both sank in extreme age into the
tomb, they were followed to it by
the tears and the prayers of their
numerous dependents.
MAINA AND THE MAINOTTES.
From the Journal of a recent Traveller.
(Concluded from p. 275.)
The tower of Myla, which we vi-
sited, has its name from the salt-
streams in the vicinity of Abia. The
capitano, who received us, invited us
into his house to a repast of which
he partook himself — the usual token
of hospitality, and at the same time
a pledge of safety. He assured us
that we might pursue our journey
without molestation. His own pos-
sessions, like the number of his ad-
herents, were not great ; but his
house was neat and well furnished.
After our meal, he accompanied us
on foot and with a considerable reti-
nue to Abia, the ruins of which are
situated on the beach, about a mile
from the salt-springs. An old circu-
lar wall, and the relics of a mosaic
pavement in the floor of a Greek
church, are the only vestiges of an-
tiquity that mark the spot where
Abia once stood.
From Myla the Taygetus rises into
lofty ridges to the east, and declines
in rocky precipices towards the sea.
The country is barren, and the soil
beyond conception hard and com-
pact; but that which is washed down
by rain and the mountain -torrents
from the higher parts is formed into
terraces by the industrious inhabit-
ants, and covered with corn, maize,
mulberry and olive trees. Such
was the country through which we
passed to the little hamlet of Kitrees,
composed of eight cottages, built
round a species of fort, the residence
of the former bey, Zanetatschi-Ku-
tuphari, and his niece Helen, to whom
the property belongs. The mansion
consists of two stone towers ; a suite
of apartments for business, lodgings
for servants, stables and open sheds,
inclose a court-yard, which is entered
by an arched and well-secured gate-
way. Oil our arrival, an armed ser-
vant of the family came and spoke
with our escort. He then went back
to the castle and apprized the chief,
who hastened to the gate to meet
and welcome us. He was surround-
ed by a swarm of gaping attendants,
who were lost in amaze at sight of
the strangers. We were received very
cordially, and conducted to a com-
modious and well-furnished apart-
ment, on the principal floor of that
tower which is inhabited by him-
self and family. The other is op-
3U
MA1NA AND TUK MAIN0TTE5.
cupicd by the capitanessa, as she is
styled.
Zanetatschi-Kutuphari was a ve-
nerable figure, though not then fifty-
six. His family consisted of a wife
and four daughters, the two young-
est of whom were but children. They
resided in the apartments above ours,
and were introduced to us on our
arrival. The old man, who had al-
ready dined, sat down again to table
with us, while his wife and the two
youngest children, in spite of all our
remonstrances,waited upon us, agree-
ably to the custom of the country,
by way of welcome. Presently, how-
ever, they retired, leaving a female
servant to attend us. At night mat-
ti'esses and beds were spread on the
floor, and pillows and bed-clothes,
made of broad stripes of muslin and
variegated silk, were brought in.
These things are usually made by
the female part of the family.
The Mainotte women are very
handsome, and as the proximity to
the sea renders neither the summer
too hot, nor the winter too cold, they
have all a fair and delicate complex-
ion; a phenomenon which is likewise
observed in the islands ; while the con-
trary is the case under the same degree
of latitude on the Continent. The men
are an active race, not above the mid-
dle stature, well made, lean, but ner-
vous and muscular. The bey's dress
consisted of a close vest with open
sleeves, embroidered with gold, and a
short mantle of black velvet, bordered
with sable. A red and yellow shawl
formed a girdle, in which were stuck
his pistols and dagger. His light-blue
breeches were tied at the knee, and
the legs were covered with close gai-
ters of blue cloth embroidered with
gold, and provided with silver bosses
to defend the ancles. When he
went out of his house he threw over
all a cloth mantle with wide sleeves,
blue without and red within, and the
sleeves and front of which were very
richly embroidered with gold. Hia
turban was green and gold colour,
and his gray hair hung, contrary to
the Turkish custom, from beneath it.
The costume of the lower classes
is the same, only of coarser stuff
and without such costly decorations.
This dress is very different from that
of the Turks. The shoes are either
of yellow leather or untanned hide,
and fit tightly to the foot.
From this place we made excur-
sions to some neighbouring villages,
and as it was just Easter, we found
the inhabitants every where danc-
ing and amusing themselves out of
doors. Our host, Zanetatschi, was
very well acquainted with the ancient
and modern state of Maina : he as-
sured us, that in case of need there
might be from twelve to fifteen thou-
sand men under arms. All the Mai-
nottes learn from their childhood the
management of the musket, and when
grown up, they never appear abroad
without it : the same may be said
of the sabre. Near every village,
there are fields where boys practise
throwing at a mark: even women
and children join in these exercises.
Little villages with their churches lie
scattered in the valleys and on the
sides of the hills, and the country
around them is cultivated like a gar-
den. We passed through many sucU
small hamlets, the inhabitants of
which gazed at us with great curio-
sity. Our attendants begged us with
the utmost good-nature to halt till
they had apprized their friends of
our arrival, for most of them had
never yet seen any foreigner. No
sooner had we signified our assent
MAIN A AND THE MAINOTTES.
325
than they ran off, and as the news
spread shots were heard and an-
swered, the people quitted their
work, and men, women, and children
flew to meet our approach. The men
cordially shook hands with us, bidding
us welcome to their country, and
whole troops followed us on our way.
Cardamyla is a small village, with
four towers, belonging to chiefs who
have possessions in the vicinity.
There is scarcely an inhabitant who
is not related to one or other of the
chiefs, because families rarely emi-
grate from these districts,and the vari-
ous branches continue to be united
with the principal stock. Behind the
village is a rocky eminence, on which
are still to be seen some traces of the
ancient Acropolis of Cardamyla, and
at its foot are several caverns and
relics of ancient tombs. We were
present at the exercises of the boys
in the use of fire-arms, and found to
our surprise that they are trained to
it at so early an age as eight or ten
years. At another place in the vil-
lage, a group of women and girls
were throwing at a mark with stones
and bullets. They appeared to be
very expert at it; and the chief as-
sured us that in their petty wars
they had more than once accompa-
nied their fathers and brothers in the
field, and the men were the more
anxious to distinguish themselves in
their presence.
. We next visited the little hamlet
of Leuctra, close to the beach, where
I again found my old friend Krespa-
puolo (the captain of the vessel which
brought us to Greece), in the circle
of his family. He would not rest
till we had taken up our quarters
with him. He had relinquished the
seafaring life, and resolved to pass
the remainder of his days in repose.
For us, however, repose was totally
out of the question, either on this or
the succeeding day, as there was no
end to the troops of curious country-
people who were solicitous to obtain
a sight of the strangers. The Capi-
tano Christeia was the owner of a
tower near the rock of Paphnos, and
and possessed considerable influence.
Marathonisi was now the residence
of the bey. It consists of a single
street along the beach. The bey,
named Zanet, had a large and strong-
castle half a mile from the place.
He received us, however, at his house
in the town, where he then resided,
with great civility.
Krespapuolo's eldest son, who had
succeeded to his father's business, and
was about to sail on commercial af-
fairs for the Isle of Andros, offered
either himself to carry to Corinth the
effects which we had left behind at
Makronisi, or to take care that they
should be conveyed thither. We
were thus dispensed from the trouble
of returning to the latter place, and
at liberty to pursue our route by land
to Corinth, and proceed over the
isthmus to Bceotia. A boat carried
us to the mouth of the Eurotas,which
here flows through swamps, bordered
by a rich and fertile plain, which for-
merly belonged to the unfortunate
Helots, whose name it still bears,
being called Helios.
We had entered Maina on the side
towards Calamata, and quitted it by
the valley of Eurotas, traversing a
tract over which the Turks have but
little authority, yet where we could
no longer benefit by the protection
of the Mainottes. As far as Misis-
tra the country was in the hands of
the Barduniotes, a clan of lawless
vagabonds, who are often, though er-
roneously, considered as belonging to
326
THE Git I? AT 'iUN OF GUONINGTCN.
the Mainottcs. We travelled through
their villages, and owed our safety
solely to the strength of our escort.
The valleys of the Eurotas are beau-
tiful and richly diversified : in some
parts they are broad, in others so
small as to resemble passes, but every
where rude and uncultivated, with a
few exceptions in the neighbourhood
of the villages, which are inhabited
by expatriated Albanian peasants,
who are dangerous to travellers, as
every crime committed by them passes
unpunished.
With the return to Corinth termi-
nated our tour of the Morea, which
for the space of three months we
had been traversing in all directions.
THE GREAT TUN OF GRONINGEN.
(Concluded from p.2G8.)
B 7ol
t bo
Reuter was obliged to give up
his trade and to devote himself to
farming, that he might qualify him-
self to manage at some future time
the fine estate of his father-in-law.
With this new profession he quickly
became familiar, for he took delight
in it, and being habituated to in-
dustry, his diligence and zeal enabled
him to make such rapid progress in
agricultural knowledge as highly asto-
nished his father-in-law, who now re-
joiced in this alliance. The old man's
satisfaction was greatly enhanced in
witnessing how happily his children
lived together.
Reuter soon found the knowledge
of husbandry which he had acquired
of essential service ; for Maria's fa-
ther died the year following, and, her
mother having been long since de-
ceased, all his property devolved to
her. She had fondly loved her fa-
ther, and deplored his loss with tears
of unfeigned sorrow ; but her grief
was not lasting, being soon dispelled
by the gratifying reflection that she
was mistress of so large a fortune,
and the plans founded upon it, which
spontaneously presented themselves
to her mind.
Reuter mourned his loss as sin-
cerely as Maria; but, notwithstanding
his natural levity of disposition, his
grief was more intense and of longer
duration. He was therefore not a
little surprised — and this was the
first time that he perceived some-
thing to find fault with in the con-
duct of his beloved Maria — that in
a few weeks she ceased to make men-
tion of her father, and talked of
scarcely any thing but alterations
and improvements which she intend-
ed to make in her house. Consi-
dering the heavy expense that would
necessarily be incurred in the execu-
tion of these designs as useless, he
sought to defer the matter, hoping"
that Maria would change her mind.
The house was in fact not only very
commodious, but fitted up and fur-
nished handsomely enough for per-
sons in their condition of life. The
style indeed was rather old-fashioned ;
and this Maria disliked. Her va-
nity too aspired to something supe-
rior. She was incessantly recurring
to the subject. Reuter at length
ventured upon gentle remonstrances.
Maria grew angry, and declared that
his refusal to allow her this gratifi-
cation was an unequivocal sign of
diminished fondness. This argument
was irresistible : the work was com-
menced, and as Maria was continually
striking out new ideas, it cost twice
as much as had been estimated.
THE GREAT TUN OF GIIONINGEN.
327
Reuter submitted the bills to Ma-
ria, conceiving that the magnitude of
the sum would strike her, and make
her more cautious for the future;
but she scarcely noticed it. " What
is money for but to spend?" said
she; and away she went laughing.
No sooner were the apartments
finished than Maria discovered that
the old furniture must be exchanged
for new; and the reformation extend-
ed to the plate, apparel, and jewels.
Reuter had several times seriously
opposed these innovations ; for in all
these things Maria went to an ex-
pense that was far beyond her cir-
cumstances, so that he had already
been obliged to draw two sums placed
out at interest in order to keep pace
with her profusion. She, on her
part, had always succeeded in soften-
ing him into compliance either by
her tears or by pouting, which he
could not bear. She now purposed
buying a diamond ring, which was to
cost several hundred dollars. Reuter
peremptorily declared that he never
would consent to this whim, and that
she must cease to squander the mo-
ney in that manner. She tauntingly
told him that he was nothing but a
poor bricklayer, that she had made
a man of him, that the property was
hers, and she should lay it out as
she pleased in spite of his teeth.
She could scarcely have said any
thing more aggravating. He per-
sisted the more firmly in his opposi-
tion, for anger gave him courage.
She bounced away in the most ve-
hement passion, and banged the door
after her till the windows clattered
again.
Reuter's eyes were now opened.
His wife's disposition became mani-
fest to him, and he was astonished
that he could so long have been blind
Vol. VIII. No. XL VIII.
to all that which was now so clearly
exposed to his view. Maria sulked
for weeks together, and in vain did
her husband strive to bring her back
to a better spirit. A feeling of bitter
enmity took possession of her soul,
and far from subsiding, it was con-
firmed and strengthened on every
new occasion, which, unfortunately,
occurred but too often.
Maria now began to neglect her
household affairs as if to defy or spite
her husband. The more assiduously
he attended to the out-door concerns,
the less she cared about those within;
and she gradually acquired more
and more fondness for this indolent
life. She lay in bed till ten in the
morning, spent whole hours at her
toilet, took a nap after dinner, and
then went out visiting or had com-
pany at home. The servants mean-
while were at liberty to do what they
pleased ; and under such circum-
stances what will they not do? Not
only was the most essential work of
the house left undone, but the cattle
shared the general neglect, the do-
mestic stores were speedily exhaust-
ed, and Reuter was obliged to pro-
vide more.
Reuter tried all possible means to
bring Maria to reason. He employ-
ed entreaties and threats, motives of
prudence and of religion. " Con-
sider," said he one day, " that if
Heaven has bestowed on us these
temporal blessings, we shall some time
be called to account for our steward-
ship. You felt happy — did you not? —
when your father left you such a fine
property. Shall our children then
be reduced to beggary, and have to
deplore our improvidence, and stand
forth as our accusers on the great
day of judgment?"
These arguments made some im-
X x
TUB GTIF.AT TUN OV GUONINGEX.
pression upon her, and she solemnly
promised amendment. This, how-
ever, lasted but a few days, at the
end of which matters returned into 'j
their former train. Reuter's oft-re- 1
peated remonstrances to the like ef- !
feet were attended with no better
success.
At length he was forced to relin-
quish all hope. He was incessantly
involved in broils and quarrels with
Maria, while his circumstances kept
growing worse and worse. This
state of things, which it was not in
his power to alter, rilled him with
vexation, and plunged him into a
species of despair. To drown trou-
ble and cheer his spirits he had re-
course to the most deplorable of all
expedients — he gave himself up to
drinking. He ordered one cask of
wine after another, each larger than
its predecessor, and yet more speedily
emptied ; for not only did his own
. fondness for the bottle increase, but
also the number of those whom he
invited to share it with him. The
more noisy these parties were the
more he felt relieved from the cares j
which preyed upon his mind, and i
the better he liked them. His neigh-
bours and acquaintance were very
ready to profit by his hospitality, or
rather to abuse his indiscretion. Ma-
ria gave herself no concern about it,
but pursued her own pleasures and
amusements.
The result could not be either
doubtful or distant. Extravagance
and total neglect of the household
concerns could not fail to involve him
in speedy ruin. One field was sold,
and one sum of money borrowed after
another, and at higher and higher
interest, as is always the case in sink-
ing credit. A Jew who had advanc-
ed him considerable loans, and could
not obtain the promised interest when
it was due, commenced proceedings
against him, for he was apprehensive
lest in the end he might lose the
whole of his money. This was the
signal for all his creditors to assail
him. Renter, having no resource,
was driven from house and home.
All that was still left scarcely sufficed
to discharge his debts, so that he
was left without a guilder.
Maria, dissolved in tears, perse-
cuted Reuter with the keenest re-
proaches. He retorted as sharply,
and threw the entire blame on her-
self, who had been the cause of all
his misfortunes. The most rancorous
hatred was the consequence.
In the first days Reuter was as if
annihilated. To that volatile dispo-
sition alone with which nature had
endowed him did he owe his gradual
recovery from his stupor. It was
requisite too that something should
be done; for he had not so much as
a morsel of dry bread, and he would
have been ashamed on thO one hand
to accept relief, which on the other
he might have solicited in vain. His
real friends had long turned their
backs on him, disgusted by the haugh-
ty behaviour of his wife and latterly
by his own misconduct, and he had
been deserted by his boon compa-
nions at the moment of his fall. He
resolved, therefore, to return to his
old trade, that of a bricklayer.
It is true he no longer liked this em-
ployment; but he might have become
used to it again in time, and then
have lived more happily perhaps than
in the possession of his lost wealth.
Such an idea too, a recollection of
his joyous youth, did dart across his
soul ; but Maria ruined all. She
never ceased her reproaches, and
everv hour of the day she overwhelm-
THE (..HOT TUN OF GKoNINGliN.
cd him with abuse ; every trifle fur-
nished occasion for fresh quarrels
and vituperation. In particular when
Renter had been from home the whole
day, she seemed to have reserved all
her spleen to pour it on his unfortu-
nate head on his return in the even-
ing from his labour.
Renter at length found it impos-
sible to endure this treatment. He
stayed away therefore in the evening
and frequently all night, spending in
public-houses what lie had earned in
the day.
At the bottom, however, heheartily
disliked this kind of life. One even-
ing, after he had been engaged on a
much more profitable job than usual,
he resolved to make a last attempt
to bring Maria to reason. He ad-
dressed her kindly as he entered the
room, and handed to her the money
that he had earned. She snatched
it up, threw it in his face, called him
a drunken vagabond, and concluded
a volley of abuse by bidding him go
to the devil, to whom he belonged.
And to the devil he accordingly went.
Kxasperated at this treatment,
which was not less unexpected than
outrageous and imprudent, herushed
out of the house. But whither was
he to go? Not to the tavern — for
he had not a heller in his pocket,
neither could he have borrowed one;
and he had not a single friend to
whom he might have recourse. The
tumult in his soul had excited his
passion for drink. At this crisis the
little gray man in the bishop's cellar
unluckily occurred to him.
With burning impatience heawait-
ed the hour of midnight. He then
knocked at the cellar-door in the
manner that he had been directed.
The door softly opened. He entered .
" Art thou come at last?" said the
little gray man in a tone of extreme
kindness after the door had shut as
softly as it had opened. " I have
waited a long time for thee."
" Then give me something to
drink. I must slake my thirst up
yonder."
" Here is plenty. Ten pipes were
filled yesterday with wine of the best
quality."
He began to draw some.
" But beware ! When the mid-
night hour is past, I cannot open the
door."
Reuter tippled to his heart's con-
tent. His thirst increased with every
bowl, and the more he drank the
less he thought of the progress of
time. Muddled and insensible, he
lay stretched on the floor when the
j clock struck one, and the little gray
! man disappeared.
Unfortunately for him, the butler
was in the same predicament. Un-
I able to withstand the temptation to
| try the newly arrived vintage, he had
j in the evening shut himself up in
i the cellar for that purpose, and re-
j peated the experiment so often that
| he sunk senseless on the spot. He
i awoke, and heard his companion
I snoring. He shuddered. That he
; had not brought any one into the
j cellar with him he was quite sure.
j There must be some infernal agency"
in the case, that was evident. Hastily
: gathering himself up, he groped about
for the door, slipped out quietly, and
carefully locked it again.
The terrors which had oppressed
him gradually subsided ; he even be-
gan to think it possible that the
snoring, by which he had been so
much alarmed, might be a perfectly
natural phenomenon, and resolved to
take Ills measures accordingly.
Early in the morning he collected
X x 2
330
THIS GIMtAT TUN f>F GlloNlNGEN.
people, and easily devised a pretext
for taking them with him to the cel-
lar. On the one hand, he was not
wholly free from a sort of apprehen-
sion as to what he might find; and, on
the other, he had reasons to wish for
witnesses if it should prove to be an
unbidden visitor composed of flesh
and blood.
They entered the cellar and found
— nothing. The butler desired the
people to search every corner, say-
ing he had the preceding day dropped
a piece of gold in the cellar. They
looked and looked, but to no pur-
pose. Reuter, roused by the rattling
of the door after he had come to him-
self, climbed to the top of the great
tun and lay down. There he escaped
observation, and he would probably
have remained undiscovered, had he
not imprudently taken it into his
head, while the butler and his com-
panions were at the farther end of
the cellar, to leap down from the
front of the tun, in the hope of escap-
ing at the door. He broke one of
his legs in the attempt.
The cry of pain which he uttered
brought forward the butler with his
people. That it was precisely Reu-
ter whom he had caught served to
lessen his astonishment ; for he re-
collected his former mysterious ad-
venture— but so much the greater
was his joy at the discovery. He
had made several attempts to ingra-
tiate himself with the charming Ma-
ria, and been kicked out of the house
by Reuter as soon as he was acquaint-
ed with the object of his visits. He
was glad that he had now an oppor-
tunity of revenging this affront. It
was moreover a great satisfaction to
him to have a scape-goat to which he
could transfer his own guilt. Con-
siderable deficiencies had taken place
in the cellar; these he now officiously
enumerated to his master, at the
same time begging his pardon for not
having perceived them sooner ; and
excusing himself by the observation,
that he could not have suspected it
to be in the power of any one to in-
troduce himself clandestinely into a
cellar which was so well secured.
Neither could this be done by fair
means ; and he was therefore com-
pelled, for his own justification, to in-
sist on a strict investigation of the
matter.
Reuter was committed to prison as
a thief. The bishop gave orders for
his trial, and in case of need the ap-
plication of the torture, for which,
however, there was no occasion. Reu-
ter, weary of his life, confessed every
thing in his first examination, and
related all the circumstances that led
to his transgression and his connec-
tion with the little gray man.
He was in consequence declared
guilty of witchcraft and sentenced to
die. The dreadful mandate was not
executed. A violent fever, induced
by exposure to the cold air of the
cellar and the fracture of his leg, to-
gether with anxiety, horror, and de-
spair, had broken his strength and
spirits. The priest, appointed to
prepare him for the final catastrophe,
found him extended lifeless in the
prison. His distorted features afford-
ed evidence of the agonies in which,
cut off from all human aid and the
soothing attentions of friends or kin-
dred, the unfortunate prisoner had
expired.
10
331
THE ISLE OF ST. BOURONDON.
(Concluded from p. 282.;
The narrative continued as follows :
" More to fill up the tedious hours
than to amass property, I examined
the contents of the freshest chests
that strewed the shores. Royal, my
able coadjutor on all occasions, wil-
lingly submitted his neck to a harness
made of cordage, and drew my se-
lected stores to a cavern in the pro-
montory. His services were emu-
lated by two fine young stags, that
from the commencement of our ac-
quaintance shewed a disposition to
familiarity. The process of forcing
locks and bursting open the lids of
boxes secured by long nails was my
department of the work, and it was
a slow and discouraging labour while
proper tools were wanting. Caskets
of jewels, ingots of the precious me-
tals, and utensils of the same costly
materials, heaps of coins, bales of
silk, of fine linen and woollen stuffs;
in short, all that Venetian commerce
distributed to the great and wealthy
of Europe was mine ; but the trea-
sures were to me tasteless and of no
utility. The discovery of a chest
containing carpenter's tools and a
chest of manuscripts afforded me real
pleasure; and, with holy transport, I
found among a large collection of
monkish legends, a Greek New Tes-
tament, beautifully written upon vel-
lum, with the margin superbly illu-
minated. In the same parcel there
had been a letter from the Patriarch
of Byzantium, addressed to Hugh
Balsham, the founder of Peterhouse-
College, Cambridge. The envelope
of the letter, and which also inclosed
the Greek Testament, was damaged ;
but the sacred scripture remained
uninjured, and I hailed the roll as
my guide and consoler. Assisted
by the carpenter's tools, I speedily
made myself master of valuable pos-
sessions, and I stored the grain of dif-
ferent countries and the planks of
timber as provision for food and fuel
in the wintry season. I had no idea
of a climate where perpetual summer
and exemption from rain rendered
the open air by day and night per-
fectly agreeable, and produced a con-
stant succession of fruits and spon-
taneous corn. A quantity of wine in
jars was my latest acquisition. I re-
garded this as a snare, and bound
myself by vows to reserve the liquor
as a cordial for sickness and old age.
I faithfully adhered to this engage-
ment. Indeed my spirit was so im-
pressed and regulated by religious
contemplation, that I seemed to feel
the present Deity : yet my abiding
aspirations for devout communion
with the all-perfect being never de-
viated from that humble reverence
due from a fallible creature to the
most holy Lord God. The senseless
raptures of the Popish ascetics, which
were described in some of the monk-
ish writings, effectually guarded me
against the presumptuous self-decep-
tions of enthusiasm. John Wickliffe
declaimed against the sinful folly of
imagining we honour and obey the
great Parent of all mankind by desert-
ing the secular duties, that the very
constitution of our nature should
teach us we are bound reciprocally to
perform. My isolated condition came
from the immediate dispensation of
Providence ; and I was free from
the guilt of abandoning my post in
the world. I gradually became tfe-
conciled to the prospect of passing
332
THIS ISLIi OF ST. BOMIONDON.
from time to eternity dissevered from
all I held dear; and when thoughts
of my Emma grew too intense for
my tranquillity, I betook myself to
active occupation by day, and in the
night I sought refuge in prayer.
" I divided my hours for various
employment ; but when dejection
stole upon me, I left my sedentary
pursuit and found my mind exhila-
rated by activity. About the same
period I discovered some chests under
sand-hillocks as I was levelling a road
to bring to my cave what remained
of the treasures I had placed in tem-
porary shelters at the farthest end of
the isle. To my great joy, two of
the chests contained parchment and
writing implements. I had often wish-
ed to make records of all I knew of
the useful arts, that the information
might be serviceable, perhaps, to some
unfortunate man like myself cut off
from human society; and I regretted
my sad deficiencies in the theory or
practice of mechanics. So far as
I could, I detailed the business of
artisans — the smith, the carpenter,
mason, &c. &c. and after writing my
own history, I amused myself in com-
mitting to MS. many poems of the
joculators, or king's minstrels; two
poems of the philosopher Du Thou
upon animals; a considerable portion
of Geoffryof Monmouth's BritishHis-
tory ; and many ditties composed by
Chaucer, our modern bard. All these
my labours have proved beneficial
to my children ; and since I have dis-
covered the juice of a plant which
renders parchment imperishable, I
hope the writings will descend from
generation to generation.
" It is now for me to explain how
my name is transmitted to posterity.
My inseparable attendant, Royal, and
several stags followed me in ail my
walks, and lay beside me when I
went to rest, Royal always maintain-
ing his right of keeping nearest; and
as I observed he looked disappointed
and mortified if I spoke less to him
than to my other companions, I ad-
dressed myself to him most frequent-
Iy ; and to retain the faculty of speech,
I daily exercised it.
" The second year of my seclusion
was nearly finished. I had hung out
the garments which I found in chests
under the sand-hills. These dresses
were some of the Eastern fashion,
and others of southern Europe. They
must have been intended for com-
merce, as they partly consisted of
female wearing apparel. I aired
them on the branches of trees that
formed a grove around my cave.
The day had been unusually hot,
the evening sultry, and the setting
sun was encircled by a hazy red cloud.
I had worked hard ; for my quadru-
ped assistants were of no use in sus-
pending my wardrobe on the long
arans of the oak, plane, walnut, and
hiccory. I was glad when all had
been collected, folded, and laid up
in due order, and eagerly sought my
couch. I was awoke by the feather-
ed tenants of the grove fluttering
their wings, and uttering screams of
terror as they took shelter in the cave.
I soon perceived that a fierce hurri-
cane had levelled many lofty trees to
the ground, and shaken down the
birds' nests from such as stood against
the storm. Royal was absent: I
found him gathering my flock of
goats into a cave nearer than that
where they commonly reposed. I re-
garded this as an intimation that they
ought to be fed; and during every
abatement of the tempest, I brought
tender shoots of the fallen trees to
subsist them. I passed a dreary day,
THE ISI.K OF ST. HOUXIONDON.
333
and underwent much fatigue in cut-
ting and carrying branches to my
■Hock. Again my couch was thrice
welcome, amUmy eyes were not un-
sealed until Royal, licking my hand
and dragging at my garments, gave
warning that my presence was need-
ful elsewhere. I snatched a spear,
a bow, and a quiver full of arrows,
expecting to encounter a foe. Royal,
with marked impatience, conducted
me to the beach under the promon-
tory. The faintest light of opening
clay hardly sufficed to reveal a human
figure, clad as a sailor, stretched mo-
tionless, and though still warm, with-
out a sign of life. What language
can express my anxiety to prolong
the life of a rational associate, while
I bore the youth to my cave, and
hastened to remove his wet apparel!
or who can imagine the emotions of
alarm, joy, and astonishment that qui-
vered through my frame, when, un-
clasping his vest, I beheld the ring
with which I wedded my own Emma,
suspended by a gold chain, which,
as a pledge of love and fidelity, I
gave her on the day of our betroth-
ment! Could this be Emma, or
could she give my token of true af-
fection to another? This last thought
was but momentary — I spurned it
with disdain; but grief unutterable
succeeded. My Emma must be no
more; she would have parted with
the ring and chain only in death,
and the state of my patient would
not allow a remission of endeavours
to restore animation. She breathed,
and a long struggle of nature ensued,
mingled with sighs and groans and
other piteous symptoms of severe
distress. The healing art was includ-
ed among warlike studies for sea or
land ; and I succeeded in assuaging
the pain and sickness that threatened
the life of my charge. She
I examined the weather-beaten coun-
tenance, and recognised with certain-
ty the features engraven upon my
heart. Many days and nights were
spent in watching every alteration
upon that pale, emaciated visage; and
I mourned the afflicting destiny which
restored to me a beloved spouse only
to witness her expiring agonies.
"When her stomach could retain a
little nourishment, and her voice
blessed my ear with articulate sounds,
it seemed as a reprieve from death
for myself, though her words were
i incoherent; and when she raised her
I swollen eyelids, it was evident she
j could not see distinctly. However,
j her most alarming ailments had dis-
I appeared, and I hoped for her per-
j feet convalescence. To save her
j from the danger of sudden ecstasy,
| if in her weak state she should dis-
cover the Percy of whom in the rav-
ing of fever she spoke most fondly, I
assumed female attire ; and to a bene-
factress of her own sex, as she suppos-
ed, my Emma accounted for her dis-
guise. Her father was slain in retaliat-
ing upon the Northumbrians the evils
he alleged they inflicted upon his peo-
ple, when they stormed his castle to
liberate the bride of Henry, the son
of their lord. An affecting call from
her father to receive his last bene-
diction, induced her to surrender her-
self to a herald and a proper escort
of the Mortimers. A band of North-
umbrians wished to attend as a guard ;
but, afraid of sanguinary contention
between tribes so long inimical, she
refused the protection of the Percics,
and had bitter cause to rue her con-
fidence in the Mortimers. She found
her father defunct, and in violation
of all promises her aunt kept her a
close prisoner. Liberty, magnifl-
.534
THE ISLE OF ST. BOUHONDON.
cence, and power were offered, on
condition of giving her hand to Sir
Furnival Audley, a valiant favourite
of Lancaster, the usurper of King
Richard's throne. Audley was young,
handsome, opulent in merit as in
wealth, but Emma remained faithful
to Henry; and resolved to die rather
than to break the marriage-vows that
bound her heart with ties dear as
sacred. The old lady had informa-
tion that the Northumbrians were
preparing to rescue the affianced
bride of Lord Henry, and designed
to force her on shipboard, to convey
her southward. The chief mate of
the ship engaged for this nefarious
purpose happened to be nephew to
Emma's nurse, and imparted to her
the plot. He furnished Emma and
her nurse with sailors' habits, and they
escaped and fled across the country.
They were soon intercepted by a
party of seamen, who, armed with
authority from the government, seiz-
ed all strangers that could not pro-
duce satisfactory vouchers for their
character and the intention of their
journey. Such vagrants were con-
strained to enter the sea-service; and
to this doom was subjected my best
beloved, in whose veins ran a tide of
far-derived and noble blood, and who
by marriage was allied to the most
illustrious princes of Europe. De-
licate in constitution, reared with the
most tender indulgence, and refined
in disposition, habits, and manners,
my Emma had no alternative but to
reveal her condition, and throw her-
self under the merciless controul of
her aunt, or to share the most labo-
rious duties with the rudest of men.
The intolerable hardships she expe-
rienced at sea could not have been
sustained, and a religious horror
against suicide might not have been
sufficient, in her distraction, to with-
hold her from plunging into the deep,
if her nurse, a person of undaunted
resolution and prudence, had not
comforted and admonished her.
When the vessel sprung a leak and
was dashed against the rocks, the
despair of the crew was to her a fund
of hope in the immediate prospect of
deliverance from evils more dreadful
than the loss of life.
" The recital of her miseries threw
me into paroxysms of alternate rage
and sorrow. This excess of sympa-
thy from a stranger surprised my
Emma, while those signs of gene-
rous friendship enhanced her grati-
tude for my efforts to prolong her
days. She declared, that since she
gave a long farewell to her most dear
Percy, no object had ever warmed
her heart with affections of intensity
comparable to the attachment and
esteem with which she regarded me;
and she confessed she was neverthe-
less unhappy, since she must be con-
scious that the cheerfulness and en-
joyment conferred by my presence
were incompatible with the ever-en-
during sorrow with which she ought
to lament a separation from her
Henry, f Alas! I am born to be
wretched ! ' she continued ; ' my
feelings and my duty are for ever at
variance, and my heart must break
either way. Let me at least testify
my sense of obligation to you by at-
tempting to leave my bed, that I may
work for your bounty.'
" I could no longer contain my
emotion. ' My dear Emma,' I re-
plied, ' wipe away those tears, and
in less than ten minutes your Percy
will appear to assert his own rights.
I have delayed the glad tidings only
till you had strength to bear them.'
Emma attempted to rise, but sunk
THE 'ISLE OF ST. NOUItONDON.
335
down. I made myself known, and in
a few days we afforded to each other
the most perfect felicity ; and our
island, as one vast garden, spontane-
ously yielded all we required for
comfort or accommodation. Conve-
nience and ornament were superadd-
ed by the judgment, taste, and acti-
vity of my fair companion. Her ge-
nius and industry adorned our dwell-
ing ; she arranged the stores I had
accumulated, and converted to use-
ful purposes much that to me had
been a dead stock or incumbrance.
She improved my wardrobe, and with
elegant simplicity arrayed her lovely
form to enchant me. Accident dis-
covered to us the properties of that
valuable tree from whose bark we
prepare the most gorgeous article of
our dress. Many experiments taught
us that no other process was neces-
sary but to soak the bark in water,
and to draw it out to any fineness of
texture suitable for the use to which
it was to be applied. This work,
our chief occupation, we owe to my
Emma's discernment. Our only de-
ficiency in the means of happiness
arose from want of employment. In
England, I have pitied the labourer
who must earn a livelihood by diur-
nal toils ; I now perceived that to be
wholly without an engagement to fill
up time, was a lot more liable to dis-
contents. While our children were
young, we had always a resource in
tending and instructing their helpless
years ; but as they grew up, we all
found that to be idle is to be the
prey of self-created uneasinesses.
Sorrow or sickness were to us un-
known : we grieved, indeed, for the
decease of Royal. I have tried to
record his services to me, and those
services endeared him to my Emma ;
Vol VIU. No. XL VI U.
my children loved him as the guard-
ian of their infancy : yet his extreme
suffering through the concluding
weeks of his life made us less reluc-
tant to part with him for ever, and a
severe calamity banished him from
our recollection. My eldest twin sons
and my eldest girl, with several har-
nessed stags, went to take bark from
the aperal-tree, as we named it.
They purposed going to a distance
of sevei'al miles, and we could not
expect their return sooner than about
sunset. Though they did not then
appear, I should not have been
alarmed had not two of the oldest
domesticated stags come where I was
teaching my youngest boy to ascend
a tree with agility and take fruit from
the higher boughs. The stags were
half loaded, and they galloped as
though flying from an enemy. A
sight so unusual filled me with alarm :
I sent the child with a message to his
mother, which occasioned her to go
in a direction away from the cave,
and seizing my arms, I made the
stags understand they must return to
the west. They shook their heads
and butted with their antlers, but I
cheered them, and we set off toge-
ther. Many tracks of blood were
near the place where aperal-trees
had been recently stripped of their
rind. I shouted aloud, and after
some time my daughter came weep-
ing and tearing her hair. I besought
her to tell me the cause, and she at
length was able to say, that her eld-
est brother, Algernon, sent Henry
farther into the forest to get bark for
completing their loads, while he piled
what they had got and fixed it to the
stags' harness. She went to help
Henry, and when they came back
Algernon could not be found. Henry
V Y
33(j
THE LITEUARY COTEHIIv.
comforted her with the expectation
that their brother might be far in the
wood, and she had climbed a great
tree to look for them both, as Henry
went off* in quest of Algernon ; but,
dreadful to relate, she saw from the
tree what she supposed must be one
of the ships I had portrayed to her,
and she believed Algernon was there,
holding out his arms to her, and ter-
rible dark-visaged men dragged him
away. They must have killed the
stags, taken away the rolls I had
lately appended to some trees, and,
worse than all, they had carried off
dear, dear Algernon. My very soul
was wounded hy this recital, but I
tried to speak comfort to my daugh-
ter. Henry came to share our grief,
and as we returned homeward, I met
my Emma and all our children. My
absence at an hour so late, and some
indistinct mention by the child of the
returning stags, gave her a presenti-
ment of disaster, and she feared we
were ali taken from her. With her
accustomed right feeling, she thanked
God that her bereavement was not
so overwhelming as she anticipated.
Above all, she thanked God that her
Henry, the spouse of her youth, the
father of her children, was safe. ' The
God of mercies will preserve our son
— oh I he will live — to be a slave !'
14 My Emma wrung her hands, and
wept the tears of a mother for her
first-born. I reminded her that the
danger was not past — the spoiler
would return — we might be torn from
each other.
" We watch in turns for the sails of
an invader ; we cannot repel force,
but we can hide ourselves from ag-
gression. The Percy skulking in
caves and woods to shun an enemy !
Thus is he degraded by the usurper
of Richard's throne. Duty to his
wife and family must be preferred to
individual pride. Copies of this ma-
nuscript were appended to manyape-
ral-trees. The spoiler may convey
them to Algernon, and with them
goes the blessing of his fond pa-
rents."
The other roll obtained by Major
Napier gives the adventures of Al-
gernon. We have but to add, that
harnessed stags are not mere ro-
mance. A northern duke had a light
carriage drawn by stags not forty
years since.
B.G.
THE LITERARY COTERIE.
No. XXII.
Present, the Vicar, Mrs. Primrose, Miss Pit
Mr. Apathy, Counsellor Eithei
Reginald. ***** But there's
the Forget Me Not,
Appealing, by the magic of its name,
To gentle feelings and affections, kept
Within the heart like gold.
The title alone is worth the volume;
and the beautiful inscription-page,
where the donor may write the name
of the favoured mortal for whom he
designs this elegant Christmas and
mrose, Miss Rosina Primrose, Mr. Mathews,
side, and Reginald Hildebuand.
New-Year's present, is unique. I
admire the spirit in which The Amulet
is got up ; Friendship's Offering has
claims to my regard as the result of
the conjoined labours of a clever
editor (T. K. Hervey) and no less
clever contributors ; and The Litera-
ry Souvenir by my friend Alaric
Watts is rich in literary merit and
graphic excellence, the effusions of
Till* LITERARY C'OTi.RSE.
5;>7
bis own Muse being among the best
specimens of the former: but still I
cling to my first favourite. This year's
volume of Mr. Ackermann's elegant
annual can boast of a much longer
list of eminent names than any of the
preceding, and the editor's remarks
respecting the talent displayed in it
seem to be fully justified. He says,
" Many of the compositions are of so
high an order, that a miscellany pos-
sessing in so small a compass equal
claims to public favour has rarely is-
sued from the press." Where so much
is excellent, it might be invidious
to particularize ; but by way of spe-
cimen, take a passage from a spirited
and energetic tale called " Lacy de
Vere," to which no name is attached,
although the language is not unwor-
thy of the mighty wizard of the North.
Lacy de Vere, " the last of a lordly
race," returns from the battle of Tow-
ton to his long-deserted home, where
he finds all devastated and laid waste :
Lacy de Vere walked round the re-
mains of this, the last hold of his race ;
and, in the anguish of a noble spirit
brought low by self-reproach, he rejoiced
that his father and brothers were in the
grave. But when he reached a spot which
had once been a little herb-garden care-
fully walled round, now open on all sides,
and choked with the drifted sea-sand,
rage and grief overcame him — he could
no longer refrain from the expression of
his inward emotions. " Yes," said he,
with a bitter smile ; " yes, an enemy hath
done this : but no enemy of King Henry
and his cause ; it was no Robin of Reds-
dale with his marauders ; no vindictive
Warwick ; no savage borderers : it was
my enemy, the enemy of my house — Lionel
Wethamstede, thou dost this evil ! As-
sassin serpent, twice I spared thee in bat-
tle, and twice didst thou ride off, bidding
me seek my flourishing home and fair
sister! — Blind, blind fool, to cherish a.
tiger till it longed for its keeper's blood !
Lionel, Lionel Wethamstede," continued
the speaker more vehemently, wlbile his
whole frame was tremulous with passion,
w didst thou slaughter the lamb in the
fold ? was the bird crashed with the nest ?
O Lionel, if thou didst spare Blanche
in the day of destruction, ail, ail, were
thy sins thousand- fold, shall be for-
given!— if Blanche lives — if thou hast
spared her — I, even I, thine enemy, will
bless thee V*
Lacy was too much engrossed by his
own emotions to be aware that lie was
watched, or even observed, by a boy
couched amongst the rubbish. At the
first glance the intruder appeared no-
thing more than a young peasant, worn
with fright and famine ; but npon a se-
cond view, his attire, coarse as it was,
could not disguise the natural grace of
the wearer ; nor even the dark cloth
bonnet, though of the kind only worn by
menials, give a sordid expression to the
noble countenance which it shaded. Hi-
therto he had remained perfectly quiet,
eyeing Lacy with mingled anxiety and
interest ; but when the last words of the
young knight's passionate invocation died
upon the air, he rose from his hiding-
place with a slow and stately step, and
addressed him in a tone that struck like
the east wind to the listener's heart — a
tone of reproach, if aught so sweet could
be said to convey reproach, of affection
and deep sorrow. " And where wert
thou, Lacy de Vere, when the spoiler
stole upon thy heritage ? Where was thy
care when she for whom thou mournest
prayed thee, by that mystery of \o\e
which unites those born in the same
hour, to stay and shield her from trea-
chery and violence ? And didst thou
spare Lionel Wethamstede? — Look to
it ; for, of a truth, in the day of his
power not so will he spare thee .- look to
it, for he hath vowed vengeance against
all who bear thy name and all who call
thee master ; but few, few are those. He
hath begun his work- well ; think ye not
3.38
THE UTHRARY COTElttE.
he will finish ? When thou wert young
thou hatedst him ; for the lying lip and
craven spirit are hateful to the brave and
true. But he saw it — he withered in the
scornful glances of thy dark eye — and
he swore to have vengeance — slow, se-
cret, but sure vengeance, on thee and
thine \"
" He hath it, he hath it !" groaned
Lacy ; "he hath it to the last drop of
bitterness."
" He hath it not," resumed the boy,
solemnly. " Dost not thou, the offender,
live ? and she who spurned him as a rep-
tile when he proffered her safety — and
his hand f — Look to it, last of a lordly
race ; spare him not the third time. He
hath laid thy dwelling in the dust ; those
who were hirelings he corrupted ; those
who were faithful he slew ; and she who
was born to mate with princes fled for
her life to the dark and noisome cavern
of the rock. Yet is the work of ven-
geance incomplete. — Weep on, Lacy de
Vere," continued the mysterious speaker,
after a pause, only interrupted by the ba-
ron's convulsive sobs ; " though thou art
a warrior, weep on — what knowestthou of
grief ? — It hath come to thee in its royal
robes, amid sounding trumpets and gor-
geous banners, and the shout of victory,
and the presence of mighty warriors : —
but grief hath come to me in lowlier
guise — in darkness, and cold, and neg-
lect, and hunger, and sickness of heart,
and loneliness as of the grave ; and I shall
weep no more, unless perchance for thee !"
" Curse, curse me, Blanche !" said La-
cy, vehemently : for his heart told him
that she herself was by his side. " I can
bear all things now I have found thee;"
and saying this, he drew her to his bosom,
and wept over her like a child.
Miss Primrose. And what say you
of the poetry, your favourite depart-
ment, Reginald ?
Reginald. Of the poetry there is
a great variety, many of the shorter
pieces of which possess great sweet-
ness and simplicity. Of the longer
poems, I would recommend to your
notice, " First Love," a Dramatic
Scene ; " The Gamester," by Mrs.
Wilson ; " The Bridal Eve," by Miss
Mitford ; and " Gildeluec ha Guilla-
dun," a beautiful ballad by Delta, the
author of " The Legend of Gene-
vieve."
The Vicar. To the poetical de-
partment I observe that the Rev.
Mr. Croly has been a liberal contri-
butor, and I think several of his
pieces, especially the " Dirge," are
in his best style.
A DIRGE.
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"
Here the evil and the just,
Here the youthful and the old,
Here the fearful and the bold,
Here the matron and the maid,
In one silent bed are laid ;
Here the vassal and the king
Side by side lie withering;
Here the sword and sceptre rust —
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"
Age on age shall roll along
O'er this pale and mighty throng ;
Those that wept them, those that weep,
All shall with these sleepers sleep.
Brothers, sisters of the worm,
Summer's sun or winter's storm,
Song of peace or battle's roar
Ne'er shall break their slumbers more.
Death shall keep his sullen trust —
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust !"
But a day is coming fast,
Earth, thy mightiest and thy last !
It shall come in fear and wonder,
Heralded by trump and thunder ;
It shall come in strife and toil,
It shall come in blood and spoil,
It shall come in empires' groans,
Burning temples, trampled thrones:
Then, Ambition, rue thy lust!
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"
Then shall come the judgment-sign, •
In the East the King shall shine;
Flashing from Heaven's golden gate,
Thousand thousands round his state,
Spirits with the crown and plume:
Tremble, then, thou sullen tomb !
THE MTfcllAHY COTERIE.
Heaven shall open on our sight,
Earth be turn'd to living light,
Kingdom of the ransom'd Just—
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"
Then thy mount, Jerusalem,
Shall be gorgeous as a gem;
Then shall in the desert rise
Fruits of more than Paradise;
Earth by angel feet be trod,
One great garden of her God !
Till are dried the martyrs' tears
Through a thousand glorious years !
Now, in hope of Him we trust
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"
Mrs. Primrose. Mrs. Hemans, I
see, lias illustrated the View of Dover
with some spirited lines, entitled
THE CLIFFS OF DOVER.
Rocks of my country ! let the cloud
Your crested heights array;
And rise ye, like a fortress proud,
Above the surge and spray !
My spirit greets you as ye stand
Breasting the billows' foam ;
Oh! thus for ever guard the land,
The sever'd land of home !
I have left sunny skies behind,
Lighting up classic shrines,
And music on the southern wind,
And sunshine on the vines.
The breathings of the myrtle-flowers
Have floated o'er my way,
The pilgrim's voice at vesper hours
Hath sooth'd me with its lay.
The isles of Greece, the hills of Spain,
The purple heavens of Rome —
Yes, all are glorious — yet, again
I bless thee, land of home.
For thine the Sabbath peace, my land,
And thine the guarded hearth ;
And thine the dead, the noble band,
That make thee holy earth.
Their voices meet me in thy breeze,
Their steps are on thy plains,
Their names by old majestic trees
Are whisper'd round thy fanes:
Their blood hath mingled with the tide
Of thine exulting sea — ■
O be it still a joy, a pride,
To live and die for thee !
Miss Primrose. Here is a very
pretty simple song by Kenney, the
dramatist ; at least it took my fancy.
When Zephyr comes frcsh'ning the broad
summer glare,
And fans thee, and toys with thy bright raven
hair;
When thy lips, with a smile gently parting,
reveal
The pearls they repose on, but will not con-
ceal ;
When thy cheek and thy bosom have each its
fresh rose,
And the tide of thy joy in sweet melody flows:
Be thus, I exclaim, ever simple and free,
Rejoicing in nature, and nature in thee '.
When the full rising moon, with its bright
golden beam,
Breaks faintly, and gleams on the slumbering
stream ;
When like gems in its lustre the tears fondly
start,
As the song of the nightingale steals to thy
heart,
And the charm to a gentle confession gives
birth
Of that love which is all I am proud of on
earth :
'Tis thus, I exclaim, thou art dearest to me,
Enamour'd of nature, and nature of thee.
I think the plates in this volume
are on the whole superior to those
in any former one. " The Mother's
Grave," by E. Finden, from a design
by Westall, is an affecting picture :
the two little innocents standing hand
in hand at the spot which contains
the remains of their departed parent
have the very form and semblance
of reality.
Reginald. " The Stag," by E. Fin-
den, from a design of Hills', though
not exactly in keeping with the illus-
trative verses of Miss Landon, is a
spirited engraving. The noble ani-
mal, standing on the brow of the hill,
seems rather to have reached a place
of refuge and of safety, whence, with
renovated strength, he could dart de-
fiance on his pursuers, than to meet
.540
Tllfc L1TKRAKY COTEUtli.
the ideas conveyed in these beautiful
lines :
Wearily the brave stag drew
His deep breath, as on he flewj
Heavily his glazed eye
Seems to seek somewhere to die;
AH his failing strength is spent —
Now to gain one steep ascent !
Up he toils — the height is won —
'Tis the sea he looks npon.
Yet upon the breeze are borne
Coming sounds of shout and horn ;
The hunters gain the rock's steep crest-
Starts he from his moment's rest,
Proudly shakes his antler'd head,
As though his defiance said,
" Come ! but your triumph shall be vain !"
, The proud stag plunges in the main —
Seeks and finds beneath the wave
Safety, freedom, and a grave !
The female face in " Sir Roger de
Coverley in love" is a model of fe-
minine beauty; " Dover," from Ow-
en's picture, and the " Place of St.
Mark," are fine engravings: so is
" First Love."
Mr. Mathews. I do not like this
plate (the " Escape of Mary Queen
of Scots from Lochleven-Castle") ;
the design is not good ; and the face
of Mary is nothing like the portraits
of the beautiful Queen of Scots, Mr.
Westall would have done better had
he copied one of those.
Reginald. These are minor faults,
which do not detract from the gene-
ral excellence of the volume.
Mr. Mathews. Certainly not ; and
if we had no higher obligations to
German literature, I should hold that
we were highly indebted to it for
being the source whence the idea of
these beautiful annuals was derived.
The German Literary Pocket-Books
were the forerunners of the Forget
Me Not; as that has been the parent
of a numerous progeny, all emulative
of the fame which has been awarded
to their progenitor.
The Vicar. Speaking of German
literature reminds me of the collec-
tion of German Tales, by Mr. Ros-
coe; it forms a companion to his
Italian Tales, and is a source of
great amusement, as well as of inte-
rest : in the popular traditions and
national tales much may be learned of
the manners and customs of nations.
Counsellor Either side. I am afraid
we shall be surfeited now with Ger-
man literature. Mr. Soane has given
us translations of German tales ; so
has Mr. Roscoe : Mr. Gillies is about
to publish three volumes from the
same source of diablerie and mysti-
cism ; and there are besides innu-
merable brochures of a minor de-
scription before the public : the pe-
riodicals, too, are falling into the same
track; and, instead of ridiculing Ger-
man horrors, and laughing at Ger-
man sentiment, as has been the fashion
since the days of the Anti-Jacobin,
German tales and German philosophy
seem to be the universal order of the
day.
Reginald. German literature has
been decried most by people who
understood it least ; and we ought to
be obliged to those who take the
trouble to put within our reach ma-
terials by which we can judge of the
real merits of the writers of that
country. Their critics and historians
are perhaps the most laborious of
those of any age or country ; whilst
the wild and romantic genius of their
writers of fiction, though it frequently
betrays them into extravagance, also
enables them to rise far above the
vulgar herd of scribblers, whose pro-
ductions are only fit to pass into the
hands of pastry-cooks and trunk-
makers. Mr. Soane arid Mr. Roscoe
have both laboured in an almost in-
exhaustible field — I do not think with
the same success. " The Patrician,'*
THE LITERARY COTKRIK.
341
which occupies Mr. Soane's first vo-
lume, is an admirable tale, full of
fire and energy, descriptive of the
manners of the turbulent period in
which the scene was laid, and of the
people amongst whom the actors
" lived, and moved, and had their
being." " The Master Flea," on
the other hand, is one of those tales
of German mysticism which can never
be understood or appreciated by the
English reader. The others are of
only second-rate merit; and cer-
tainly not calculated to excite a love
of German literature where it does
not exist, or to strengthen it where
it does. But Mr. Roscoe's collection,
as it takes in a wider scope, so it is
more judiciously made, and is every
way calculated to answer the pur-
pose for which it was intended.
The Vicar. Mr. Roscoe's volumes
embrace specimens of the old na-
tional tales of the Germans, as ex-
emplified in the History of Reynard
the Fox, in the Adventures of Howie-
glass, and in the wild and tragical
tale of Faustus. In the second vo-
lume, we have a variety of popular
traditions from the collections of
Otmar, Gottschalck, Eberhardt,
Bi'isching, the brothers Grimm, Lo-
thar, and La Motte Fouque ; and in
the third and fourth volumes, we have
the modern German novels of Mu-
sasus, Schiller, Tieck, Langbein, and
Engel. Perhaps a better selection
mighthave been made ; but we should
remember it is easier to criticize than
to select.
Mr. Apathy. In the popular tra-
ditions many of our own nursery tales
may be recognised ; and others are
of Eastern origin. The devil is a
prime agent in most of them; but
we have traditions of the prowess of
the Father of Evil, and of his wiles
and tricks to beguile poor weak mor-
tals, which will match any of the sto-
ries of German diablerie. In the
east -riding of Yorkshire, for in-
stance, there is a church erected on
a hill at some distance from any town :
the tradition is, that it was originally
begun to be built in the valley ; but
every night the devil pulled down
what was erected, and carried the
materials to the top of this hill. Find-
ing it in vain to attempt erecting it
on the original site, the architect
placed it on the hill, where it has
ever since stood and braved the thun-
der and the rain, and weathered the
pelting of many a pitiless storm.
Reginald. The origin of one of
Washington Irving's most pleasing
tales ( Rip van Winchell) may be
found in one of these traditions —
" Peter Klaus." Poor Peter, an
honest goatherd, residing in the vil-
lage of Sittendorf, one day followed
a goat into a cavern, where he fell
asleep ; and when he awoke, after
a lapse of twenty years, he found
himself a stranger in his " father-
land."
Mr. Apathy. An amusing tale in
the fourth volume is called " Toby
Witt." It is one of Engel's; and is
of a different cast from the majority
of German tales, they being most of
them founded on horrors, whilst this
is purely a comic one.
One of the chief ornaments of a little
provincial town, his native place, flourish-
ed Mr. Toby Witt. At no period had
he evinced a desire to travel, and never,
on any occasion, exceeded his prescribed
limits round the adjacent hamlets. In
spite of diis, however, he knew more of
the world than many who had travelled
a good deal farther, and some who had
expended the best part of their fortune
on a fashionable trip to Paris or Italy.
.m
THE LlTEUAttY COTEItlE.
He was possessed of a rich fund of little
anecdotes of the most useful class, which
he had obtained by observation, and re-
tailed for his own and his friends' edifi-
cation; and though these shewed no great
stretch of genius or invention, they pos-
sessed considerable practical merit, and
were, for the most part, remarkable for
coming before company, coupled toge-
ther, always two and two.
This citizen once received a visit
from a young merchant named Flau,
who came to consult with him, and
to lament his losses and crosses. Old
Witt advised him to be on the look-
out, and only to have a care how he
carried his head.
" How I carry my head !" repeated
Mr. Flau ; " what do you mean, Mr.Witt,
by that?"
" Only what I say ; you must have a
care how you carry your head, and the
rest will follow of course. Let me ex-
plain how : When my left-hand neigh-
bour was employed in building his new
house, the whole street was paved with
bricks and beams and rubbish, not very
pleasant to pass over. Now, one day,
who should happen to be going that way
but our worthy mayor, Mr. Trick, then
a young fashionable alderman. He al-
ways carried his head high, and thus he
came skipping along, with his arms dan-
gling by his side, and his nose elevated
towards the clouds : yet the next moment
he found himself sprawling upon the
ground ; he had contrived to trip up his
own heels, to break one of his own legs,
and obtain the advantage of limping to
the end of his days, as you may often
see. Do you take ? do you comprehend
me, Mr. Flau r"
" Perhaps you allude to the old pro-
verb, ' Take heed and noj carry your
head too high ?' "
" To be sure ; but you must likewise
contrive and not carry it too low ; faults
on both sides ! If vou have borne it too
high, don't bear it too low : you compre-
hend me ? and you will do yet.
" Not long afterwards Mr. Schale, the
poet, was passing the same dangerous
way, Mr. Flau. He was perhaps spout-
ing verses, or brooding over his res an-
gustw domi, I know not which ; but he
came jogging forward with a woeful as-
pect, • eyes bent on earth/ and a stoop-
ing slouching gait, as if he would be glad
to lower himself into the ground, sir.
Well ! he walked over one of the ropes ;
smack it went, and one of the great beams
came tumbling about his ears from the
scaffolding above. But he was too miser-
able a dog to be killed ; he unluckily es-
caped, but was so terrified and nervous
with the shock, poor devil, that he fainted
away, fell sick, and was confined to his
garret for several weeks.
" Do you comprehend my meaning
yet, Mr. Flau ?"
" I ! I would keep it in just equilibrium,
to be sure."
" True ; we must not cast our eye too
ambitiously towards the clouds, nor fix
it too demurely upon the ground. Whe-
ther we look above, around, or before us,
Mr. Flau, let us do it in a calm, becom-
ing sort of manner, and then we shall get
on in the world, and no accidents will be
likely to befal us. Let us preserve an
equanimity — you comprehend me ? Good
morning, Mr. Flau !"
Thus the old gentleman applied
his anecdotes to practical uses ; and
very well applied they were too.
Reginald. Langbein's " Marianne
Richards" is the best tale in the fourth
volume, I think ; those by Tieck are
all too wild and fanciful: yet they are
full of genius, and are characteristic
of that portion of German literature,
as well as of their author. On the
whole I have been much pleased with
Mr. Roscoe's work : there are some
faults in the translation, which hy-
jpercritieisrn might delect: but I
THli LITERARY COTEUIU.
34.1
shall leave that ungracious task for
others.
Miss Rosina Primrose. Now then
if you have done with German lite-
rature, let us hear something about
our own.
Reginald. Our own is in a much
better state than it was, and is im-
proving; several works in history and
biography have recently appeared,
and more are announced.
The Vicar. What do you think of
the Memoirs of Lindley Murray,
the grammarian ?
Mr. Apathy. Why they are of that
anomalous description of literature,
which, if it does not offend, does not
please in any eminent degree. All
that relates to Lindley Murray's life
might have been compressed into
half-a-dozen pages ; but, by the aid
of the art of saying a great deal
about nothing, a respectably sized
octavo volume has been formed, which
will be bought by " the Friends ;"
but I suspect will make its way into
few libraries except those belonging
to that class of Christians of which
the deceased was a worthy mem-
ber.
Reginald. You say his biography
might be compressed into half-a-
dozen pages ; give us a specimen of
your skill at compression, and relate
Lindley Murray's history.
Mr. Apathy. Lindley Murray was
born at Swetara, in Pennsylvania, in
the year 1745, and was the eldest of
twelve children. His father, a wealthy
miller at the time of his birth, im-
proved in his circumstances, and be-
came a respectable trader. Lindley
was, according to his own account,
" an active, but a mischievous child,"
who " played many tricks which did
not denote the best disposition, and
Vol. VIII. No. XL VIII.
which gave a wrong bias to his vi-
vacity." He received his education
partly in Philadelphia, and partly in
New-York, whither his father re-
moved. Previously to this removal,
however, Lindley had, at the insti-
gation of his father, who wished to
bring him up to mercantile pursuits,
commenced dealer, at the early age
of fourteen, with a stock of silver
watches, which his father imported
from England. Probably he might
have gone on in this course, as he
had begun to have a relish for the
profits of business ; but, having ven-
tured to spend an evening with an
uncle, without first obtaining his fa-
ther's permission (who was absent
from home), he was, the next morn-
ing, reprimanded and chastised ; on
which he " left his father's home,"
and packing up his property, he re-
tired to a town in the interior of the
country, where there was an excel-
lent seminary, and resided there for
some time ; but being encountered
by a gentleman who was not aware
of his having absconded, and who
intrusted him with a letter to deliver
personally in New- York, whither his
friends had in the interim removed,
he was, shortly after his arrival, re-
cognised by his uncle, and a recon-
ciliation with his friends followed.
Reginald. And then what became
of the youth ?
Mr. Apathy. He was, at his own
request, articled to an attorney at
New- York, and at the age of twenty
being called to the bar, he soon ap-
peared to be in the high-road to for-
tune and to fame. The revolution,
however, broke out, and put a stop
to his career ; and during the first
three or four years of the disastrous
warfare between the mother country
Z z
344
THB MTEItAKY COTKIUB.
and her colonies, he resided on Long
Island, carefully avoiding mixinghim-
self up with the affairs of either
party. At the end of that period
he repaired to New- York, then un-
der British dominion ; and, engaging
in mercantile pursuits, he acquired,
in a short time, a moderate compe-
tency. This accomplished, he re-
tired from business, resolving to spend
the remainder of his life in literary
pursuits. Ill health shortly after
obliged him to visit England ; he
left his native country in 1784, and
on his arrival here, settled at the very
pleasant village of Holdgate, near
York. Here his debility increased ;
and though at first able to walk in
the garden, this soon became painful
to him ; and he was under the neces-
sity, when he rose, of being carried to
a seat, where he remained till the
hour of retirement again arrived.
Here he lived till the dayof hisdeath.
His life presented a uniform tenor
of listless inaction, as far as his bodily
powers were concerned : but die fa-
culties of his mind were in full activi-
ty; for here he composed his various
woi'ks, which have had so much in-
fluence in forming the minds of youth,
and iu facilitating the study of our
language ; and by which the name
of Lindley Murray will be known as
long as our literature exists.
The Vicar. And his first produc-
tion was one which shewed, that, in
his affliction, he had flown to the only
source from which consolation can
be derived. His Power of Religion
on the Mind was printed for private
circulation only in 1787; it was sub-
sequently published in London, and
has always enjoyed a good reputa-
tion.
Mr. Apathy. His father died in
178t); but the remaining branches of
the family kept up a constant inter-
course with the recluse at Holdgate;
and also managed his property, which
was sufficient to maintain him in the
situation of a gentleman, and the
proceeds of his literary works were
all devoted to charitable purposes.
Mr. Murray died on the loth of Fe-
bruary, in the present year, after hav-
ing endured his long affliction with
the resignation of a Christian.
Reginald. You have said nothing
of Mrs. Murray.
Mr. Apathy. I forgot that he mar-
ried at the time he embarked in pub-
lic life as a lawyer: Mrs. Murray
survives him ; and she is a most amia-
ble and exemplary woman. These
really are all the incidents in the
life of Lindley Murray, as far as I am
aware, that are worthy of record or
interesting to the public.
The Vicar. What! is the princi-
pal event of his life, the publication
of his Grammar, not worthy even of
mention?
Mr. Apathy. I again plead guilty
to an omission ; but I thought I had
mentioned it. His Grammar was
first published in 1795. Mrs. Franks,
the lady who has compiled these
Memoirs (which are brought down
in letters written by Mr. Murray him-
self to the year 1809, and since that
period continued from her pen), thus
accounts for the origin of the Gram-
mar:
Some of his friends established at
York a school for the guarded education
of young females, which was continued
for several years. Mr. Murray strongly
recommended, that the study of the Eng-
lish language should form a prominent
part of instruction. The young persons
employed as the first teachers not being
sufficiently qualified in this respect, he
kindlv undertook to instruct them, at his
THE MTKKAUY COTEKIJt.
345
own house ; and, for their use, he made
some extracts from Blair, Campbell, and
other writers, which afterwards formed
the basis of the appendix to his English
Grummar. By these young teachers he
was much importuned to write an Eng-
lish Grammar for the benefit of their pu-
pils, on the same plan of simplicity, clear-
ness, and regular gradation, which he
had pursued in his verbal instructions.
Their requests were sanctioned and en-
forced by the superintendents of the
school and by some of his other friends :
he was, at length, induced to comply.
In preparing the work, and consenting
to its publication, he had no expectation
that it would be used, except by the
school for which it was designed, and
two or three other schools, conducted by
persons who were also his friends.
Mr. Murray says himself, that, hav-
ing turned his attention to the work,
on being much pressed to undertake
it,
I conceived that a Grammar, containing
a careful selection of the most useful
matter, and an adaptation of it to the
understanding and the gradual progress
of learners, with a special regard to the
propriety and purity of all, the examples i
and illustrations would be some improve- I
ment on the English Grammars which
had fallen under my notice. With this
impression I ventured to produce the first
edition of a work on this subject. It
appeared in the spring of the year 1 795.
I will not assert that I have accomplished
all I have purposed; but the approba-
tion and the sale which the book obtain-
ed have given me some reason to believe,
that I have not altogether failed in my en-
deavours to elucidate the subject, and to
facilitate the labours of both teachers
and learners of English Grammar.
In a short time after the appearance
of the work, a second edition was called
for. This unexpected demand induced
me to revise and enlarge the book. It
soon obtained an extensive circulation;
and the repeated editions through which
it passed in a few years, encouraged me,
at length, to improve and extend it still
further; and, in particular, to support
by some critical discussions the princi-
ples upon which many of its positions are
founded.
Mr. Murray published several other
works; viz. a volume of Exercises
and a Key — for the copyrightof these
two works and the Grammar he re-
ceived 700/. ; The English Reader,
the copyright of which produced
350/. ; Le Lecteur Francois and an
Introduction, for which the booksel-
lers gave 700/.,- A Spelling-Book
and First Book for Children pro-
duced 500/.,- and a Selection from
Home's Commentary on the Psalms,
100/. The copyright of his latest
publication, On the Duty and Be-
nefit of Reading the Scriptures, and
of his earliest, The Power of Reli-
gion on the Mind, he presented to
the booksellers; and the enlarge-
ments and improvements in his Gram-
mar were always gratuitous on his
part.
The Vicar. I think his Grammar
has run through nearly forty editions.
Mr. Apathy. There have been for-
ty editionsof the large copy, and nine-
ty-two of the abridgment. All his
other works have also gone through
numerous editions, and those not of
small numbers. For many years past
each edition of the Grammar, Ex-
ercises, Spelling-Book, First Book
\for Children, English Reader, and
! the Introduction to the English
! Reader, have cunsisted of ten thou-
i sand copies ; the Abridgment of the
\ Grammar, twelve thousand; the Key
\ to the Exercises and the Sequel to
the English Reader, six thousand ;
and the Lecteur Francois and its In-
troduction, three thousand copies of
j each. Miss Franks remarks,
Z z 2
o46
T1IK LIT» RAUV COTKIME.
That one author should ■ have supplied
SO many works on education, each of
which is so extensively circulated and so
highly approved, is, I believe, unprece-
dented in the annals of literature.
Miss Primrose. Has Mr. Murray
left any family ?
Mr. Apathy. No. Mrs. Murray
survives him ; and, after the death of
his wife and the payment of all his
bequests, the residue of his property
is to be transferred to New- York and
vested in trustees there, so as to form
a permanent fund, the yearly income
or produce of which is to be appro-
priated " in liberating black people
who may be held in slavery, assist-
ing them when freed, and giving
their descendants, or the descendants
of other black persons, suitable edu-
cation ; in promoting the civilization
and instruction of the Indians of
North America ; in the purchase and
distribution of books tending to pro-
mote piety and virtue, and the truth
of Christianity ; and it is his wish,
that The Power of Religion on the
Mind in Retirement, Affliction, and
at the Approach of Death, with the
author'^ latest corrections and im-
provements, may form a considerable
part of those books; and in assisting
and relieving the poor of any de-
scription, in any manner that may be
judged proper, especially to those
who are sober, industrious, and of
good character."
The Vicar. The benevolence of
his disposition shines forth brightly
in this disposition of his worldly
wealth. Lindley Murray was a truly
benevolent man. His piety was with-
out hypocrisy — his charity without
ostentation : for nearly forty years
he was deprived of the use of his
limbs, and remained on the sofa,
where he was placed after being
dressed ; and spent the day engaged
in literary pursuits, of which, how-
ever, he never made any parade, or
in cheerful converse with his few and
select visitors. Though occupying
no very prominent place in society,
the share which his works have in
forming the minds of our youth
caused his influence and his name to
be widely extended : yet thousands
of those who were profiting by his
labours knew nothing of the man ;
and I often passed and repassed his
pleasant mansion at Holdgate before
I knew it was the residence of Lind-
ley Murray.
Mr. Montague. Have you been
reading any other work since our last
meeting?
The Vicar. Yes. I have lately
perused my friend Mr. Todd's Ac-
count of the Life and Writings of
Milton: he has thrown light upon
several incidents in this poet's history
which have hitherto been involved in
obscurity ; and given a fresh excite-
ment to the interest with which every
lover of literature has always re-
garded the name of Milton.
Mr. Apathy. I am happy to find
that Mr. Todd, though a Tory, has
done ample justice to the stern re-
publican : no longer will Dr. John-
son's unjust stigma upon his character
and his principles be adopted and
believed by one-half, or more, of the
reading world ; no longer will his po-
litical conduct be branded as spring-
ing from "a native violence of temper,
and a hatred of all whom he was re-
quired to obey :" but we shall be wil-
ling to admit, that he was an honest
— even if we deem him a mistaken —
man, and join in the character which
he has already given of himself; and
which appears to have been, as one
of our able monthly critics has al-
THE LITERARY CoTfcRIfi.
347
ready observed, " an anticipation of
that justice, which the universal con-
sent of mankind would eventually
bestow upon the sacred poet of Eng-
land." " I am among the free and
ingenuous sort of such," says Milton
in his Areopagetica, " as evidently
were born for study, and love learn-
ing for itself, not for lucre, or any
other end but the service of God and
truth, and perhaps that lasting fame
and perpetuity of praise, which God
and good men have consented shall
be the reward of those whose pub-
lished labours advance the good of
mankind."
Reginald. Have you read the do-
cuments connected with Mrs. Pow-
ell's case, Mr. Apathy ?
Mr. Apathy. Yes.
Reginald. And do you think they
bear you out in this high estimate of
Milton's character ? Do you think
it was kind, honourable, or benevo-
lent in the poet, after he had been
allowed to compound for his father-
in-law's estate, after his death — Mr.
Powell having been a royalist, and
unfortunately indebted to Milton in
the sum of 300/. — that he should re-
fuse to pay Mrs. Powell her thirds ;
although, in her petition to the se-
questrators, she affirmed that the pal-
try pittance due to her, 2GI. los. 4d.
per annum, was all she could look to
" to preserve her and her children
from starving?"
Mr. Apathy. Now, Reginald, you
think you have me on the hip; but
whilst I shall neither justify nor ex-
tenuate Milton's conduct in this par-
ticular, I certainly cannot let a solitary
act of this kind be considered as af-
fixing an indelible blot upon his cha-
racter.
Reginald. That " solitary act"
seems completely indicative of his
character. Have you forgotten, that
a contemporary has said, in a note
on the petition of Mrs. Powell, which
is yet preserved in the State-Paper-
Office, and is now published by Mr.
Todd, that, " by the law, she might
recover her thirds, without doubt; but
she is so extreme poor, she hath not
wherewithal to prosecute; and be-
sides, Mr. Milton is a harsh and cho-
leric man, and married Mrs. Powell's
daughter, who would be undone, if
any such course were taken against
him by Mrs. Powell; he having turn-
ed away his wife heretofore for a long
space, upon some other occasion."
Mr. Apathy. No, I have not for-
gotten it ; but we know not what
cause he might have had for his con-
duct— what provocation—
The Vicar. Fie, friend Apathy!
What provocation, what cause can
excuse a breach of charity ? What
provocation can be a justification of
a man who left his mother-in-law and
her children to pine in want, whilst
he was in affluence ; and was, too,
enjoying what ought to have been
hers ? The less that is said about
this incident in the life of our poet
the better; it can never be made to
tell to his honour.
Reginald. Milton's is a mighty
name ; and the effusions of his " muse
of fire"will ever be amongst the proud-
est monuments of England's literary
glory. I admire Milton as enthu-
siastically as an epic poet, as I do
Shakspeare as a dramatist, or Sir
Walter Scott as a novelist ; but I con-
fess, as a man, and as a politician, I
am not among the number of those
who deem him without spot or ble-
mish. As the former, he appears to
have been harsh and unbending; stern
and resolute — with few of the mild,
benevolent, and social qualities which
343
THE LlTKltAtlY COTIUUK.
so delightfully temper the storms of
life, and smooth our passage to the
grave. As a politician, I can never
contemplate the colleague of those
men, who murdered their king, over-
threw the church, and basely plun-
dered the people — and not merely
the colleague, but the hired defender
of their acts, and the regular retain-
ed answerer of all their opponents —
1 say, I can never contemplate Milton
in this light, without wishing that
every memorial of his political life,
and many of his private life, had been
buried " certain fathoms in the earth,"
or sunk in the abyss of the ocean,
" deeper than ever plummet sounds."
The Vicar. We frequently lament
that so few of the incidents which
mark the lives of literary men are
known to us. Perhaps, in many cases,
were we acquainted with the general
conduct and history of those whom
we so admire, like Milton, they would
suffer by our knowledge ; and we
should lament that the veil was torn
asunder which hid their private life
from the rude gaze of a too curious
multitude.
Mr. Apathy. Milton has, in my I
opinion, suffered little from the dis- j
closures which have been made con- j
cerning him. If he was a republican
in politics, he was at least sincere ; if
he was the retained agent of the go-
vernment during the commonwealth,
to answer the numerous libellers who
assailed their conduct and maligned
their characters, he was not the feed
and mercenary advocate ; for we find
no grant of money for his services in
this way, though the thanks of the
council are several times recorded.
If he was stern, harsh, and unbend-
ing in his private character, he was
honest and incorruptible ; and pro-
bably his harshness arose from a de-
sire to see all men as good, as pious,
as upright as himself.
Reginald. As Shakspeare says,
After my death I wish no other herald,
No other speaker of my living actions,
But such an honest chronicler as Apathy.
You have defended your favourite
nobly; and though my opinion re-
mains unchanged, I will not vex you
by pertinaciously urging it.
Mr. Mathews. It is a question,
like many others, on which honest
men may conscientiously differ. For
my part, I confess I incline to Regi-
nald's view of Milton's character.
But peace to his manes ! he has long
passed " that bourne from whence
no traveller returns ;" and let us not
trouble his spirit by sitting in judg-
ment upon his conduct at this late
period, and perhaps, after all, only
with partial information.
Reginald. There have been seve-
ral other works of interest published
since we met. Sharon Turner's His-
tory of the Reign of Henry the
Eighth is one of them. Mr. Turner
is a laborious and not an inelegant
writer : he takes nothing for granted,
but traces all the main facts in our
histoi'y to their fountain-head. In
the present volume he has maintained
his previous reputation. The events
of the period are given in a lucid
narrative, and the characters of the
principal actors are drawn with the
hand of a master. The History of
the Inquisition in Spain, abridged
and translated from the original
work of D. J. A. Llorente, is also a
valuable addition to our historical li-
braries. Llorente was, there is little
doubt, an accurate, but too volumi-
nous a writer ; and this volume con-
denses every material particular in
his more extensive work on the same
subject. Jt will serve, with Mr. Tur-
PALACB OF THE GRAND-DUKE MICHAEL.
349
ncr's History of Henry the Eighth,
and Sismondi's History of the Cru-
sades against the Albigenses, to form
a manual for Protestants, in which
they may learn, not only the true his-
tory of the Reformation in England,
but the true nature of the bigotry
and superstition from which that
event delivered us.
Mr. Mathews. Miss Mitford has
published another volume of Our
Village, light airy sketches, in the
execution of which she is equalled by
few writers, either male or female, of
the present day. She has been ac-
cused of being indebted to Washing-
ton Irving ; but as far as the simi-
larity extends between them, it might
be traced between every two writers
who ever wrote on the same subject.
At all events, she is not at all inferior
to the American : Geoffrey Crayon
himself never drew a more pleasing
portrait than that of " My God-
father."
He was that beautiful thing, a healthy
and happy old man. Shakspeare, the
master-painter, has partly described him
for me, in the words of old Adam :
Therefore my a^e is as a lusty winter,
Frosty but kindly.
Never was wintry day, with the sun
smiling upon the icicles, so bright or so
keen- At eighty-four, he had an unbent
vigorous person, a fresh colour, long,
curling, milk-white hair, and regular
features, lighted up by eyes as brilliant
and as piercing as those of a hawk; his-
foot was as light, his voice as clear, and
lu's speech as joyous as at twenty. He
had a life of mind, an alertness of spirit,
a brilliant and unfading hilarity, which
were to him like the quick blood of
youth. Time had been rather his friend
than his foe ; had stolen nothing as far as
I could discern ; and had given such a
license to his jokes and his humour, that
he was, when I knew him, as privileged
a person as a court-jester in days of yore.
Perhaps he was always so; for, inde-
pendently of fortune and station, high
animal spirits, invincible good-humour,
and a certain bustling officiousness, are
pretty sure to make their way in the
world, especially when they seek only for
petty distinctions. He was always the
first personage of his small circle; presi-
dent of half the clubs in the neighbour-
hood, steward to the races, chairman of
the bench, father of the corporation, and
would undoubtedly have been member
for the town, if that ancient borough had
not had the ill-luck to be disfranchised
in some stormy period of our national
history.
Thus she goes on, admirably
throwing in the lights and shadows
on her canvas ; and in this instance,
as well as in those of the " Touchy
Lady," the " Old House at Aber-
leigh," the " Inquisitive Gentleman,"
and several others, the fair author
has given us finished portraits.
A summons to the supper-table
here put an abrupt conclusion to our
literary chit-chat for the evening.
Rkgi\ali> Hildeuuand.
Elmwood-Halt.,
Nov. 11, 1826.
PALACE OF THE GRAND -DUKE MICHAEL AT
ST. PETERSBURG.
This magnificent structure, which
has been completed little more than
twelve months, is one of the greatest
architectural embellishments of the
northern capital of Russia, and may
deservedly be reckoned one of the
noblest palaces in Europe, both from
the imposing grandeur of its exterior,
550
SOME ACCOUNT OP NORWICH.
and the splendour and refined taste
displayed in the numerous apart-
ments. M. Rossi, the architect, has
here given a further proof of his ta-
lents, previously displayed in many
line edifices, and left an incontestible
monument of his ability ; as have
likewise many of the other artists
employed in the decoration of the
interior.
In front of the edifice is an ex-
ceedingly rich palisade, every way
suitable to the splendour of the fa-
cade. On ascending the magnificent
flight of steps leading to the portico,
and entering the vestibule, the eye is
instantly struck by two remarkably
fine statues of Hector and Achilles,
which do honour to the ability of their
respectiva artists, Krilof and Gol-
berg, both of whom are Russians.
Round the upper part of this hall is
an elegant colonnade, and a lofty cu-
pola admits the light from above.
Such in fact are the beauty and rich*
ness of the architecture, that the
spectator involuntarily stops as he
ascends the stairs to contemplate the
magic power of art. On entering
the principal apartments, the visitor
is lost in admiration of all that the
most luxuriant imagination, the most
refined taste could devise, which here
conspire to enchant him. Here the
eye wanders through spacious sa-
loons, the walls of which are formed
of highly polished white or varie-
gated marble ; while mirrors of truly
astonishing dimensions reflect the
numerous paintings and bronzes with
which they are decorated. The
doors of the various rooms are of
different costly and beautiful kinds
of wood, highly lacquered, and orna-
mented with carving and. gilding.
One saloon, which has columns of
white marble, contains a series of
historical subjects : Hector and An-
dromache, Ulysses and Penelope,
Paris and Helen, Achilles at the
Court of Lycomedes, &c. Another
apartment is tastefully adorned in a
novel style : a profusion of flowers,
painted in the most accurate manner,
cast every variety of hue over the
snow-white walls ; while on the ceil-
ing are seen groups of genii and
nymphs floating in the air, in the
most natural and graceful manner
that it is possible to conceive. Hang-
ings of the most brilliant hues and
richest texture ; floors inlaid with
rose-wood, ebony, and mahogany,
and partly covered with carpets of
the most costly manufacture ; sump-
tuous furniture, rich cornices, gilding,
and, in short, every ornament that
fancy can invent or wealth supply,
combine to render this palace one
of the most splendid residences in
the world, where Asiatic pomp and
European refinement united charm
the imagination and gratify the senses.
SOME ACCOUNT OF NORWICH.
TO THE EDITOR, Sfc.
B. having left me to write letters, u was represented a little chubby boy
I take up my pen, as the old episto-
lars have it, to give you my promised
account of Norwich. Formerly, you
know, the old Magazines used to
present us with a beautiful view of
the capital of a county, over which
with a scroll, flying through the
clouds ; on which scroll or label was
inscribed the name of the city which
the artist intended to depict, the
steeples and spires of which, num-
bered with a reference below, gave
SDMI' ACCOUNT OF MdfUffclf.
%M
us a correct but very unpicturesque
specimen of topographical accuracy.
Houses and churches were mixed
together, and were viewed in the dis-
tance by represented ladies and gen-
tlemen, who bowed and courtesied in
the fore-groundin cocked hats and in-
approachable hoop-petticoats; while
some animal, as much like a rat as a
dog, was seen frolicking before them.
Norwich has nothing in it particu-
larly to strike a stranger; for the
houses are huddled together in such
a manner as to give you an idea that
they had dropped from the clouds,
and when there occurs a fine church
it is so built about that you cannot
see it. Yet the minute antiquary will
find some interesting bits of build-
ing ; that is, if he be pleased with
such modern architecture as is fur-
nished by the Elizabethan era : if
this suit him not, here are still re-
mains that Gongh and Blore might
revel in. The castle is of Saxon
origin, and one of the finest speci-
mens of its kind, but has had a nar-
row chance of demolition. A certain
magistrate, frightened at the'expense
of keeping it in repair, proposed that
it should be demolished : luckily this
motion was overruled ; not but its
strength would have opposed the
strongest measures for that purpose;
a quality, I suspect, that has pre-
served many a relic of olden time
and defeated the ends of road-re-
pairers. I wish, however, that I
knew the name of this unholy alder-
man, that I might hand it down with
his of Ephesian notoriety. To the
credit of Norwich, other feelings
have succeeded, and instead of let-
ting forth the destroyer, they have
called in the restorer, and Bigod's
Tower is now a monument of the in-
Vol. VIII. No. XL VI IT.
genuity as well as the liberality of
this city.
The cathedral is peculiarly inter-
esting from the different slyles of
architecture which it exhibits ; but
its interior is meagre for want of or-
naments: these were severely injured
by the Goths and Vandals, the Puri-
tan reformers of the seventeenth cen-
tury. In this cathedral I met with a
curious fact illustrative of human na-
ture, and you shall have it. B. took
me one day to this building to hear a
new chant. I confess to you that
the novelty of attending a cathedral
on a week-day fills my mind with un-
usual devotion ; there is no crowd,
no bustle of people going in and re-
tiring. A few clergymen with their
white surplices stream along the al-
leys, followed by rosy choristers ; a
solemn silence reigned, while mute
expectation waited for the organ's
first peal. Into a pew before me
crawled some poor old wretches, who
might literally be said to drag a lin-
gering existence, and with one I be-
came particularly interested. His
well-mended coat exhibited decency
of attire, and his pallid looks and
placid appearance seemed to declare
that he was waiting patiently until
called to his last account : he whis-
pered a prayer into an old wea-
ther-beaten hat, and while he care-
fully deposited his crutch-stick in a
corner, resignation seemed to have
thoroughly calmed every violent pas-
sion. Here can be no display, no
worldly feelings, thought I ; this
man must be in earnest. His evi-
dently low situation in life cannot en-
courage in him any feelings of ambi-
tion ; he can only be content to find
his road to heaven. Alas ! I was
mistaken. A miserable wretch > scarce.
3 A.
352
SOME ACCOUNT Ol' NORWICH.
ly a shade more wretched in appear-
ance than himself, essayed to enter
the same pew ; the lump of dying
mortality was shocked at such an at-
tack on his aristocratic feelings :
" You have no business here," he
uttered, endeavouring, unchecked by
a smothered cough, to thrust out the
intruder : " that is your place," con-
tinued he, pointing to a form in the
nave. — " But I widl come in," said
the opposed wretch, pushing in re-
turn, and dragging in a lifeless leg
after him. He was too strong for
my friend, and he wrung himself into
the pew. The sparks of ambition
vanished in the wiping of a one-eyed
pair of spectales and the unfolding
of a well-thumbed prayer-book.
The chant and the sanctus were
delightful ; you are a musician, and
none but a musician can appreciate
the talents of the Norwich organist.
Whither shall I take you now? for
I have seen no other buildings worth
observation ; it is true Norwich is
threatened with a new Corn-Ex-
change : but I have forgotten, you must
walk with me to St. Andrew's- Hal],
a room of fine proportions and of the
period of Henry V. Here are held
the mayor's dinners and the grand
triennal music-meeting, both, I am
told, excellent in their way. This
hall is hung with pictures, mostly por-
traits of their mayors, in all the va-
riety of portrait-attitude, from the
tea-pot to the breast and ruffle. Not-
withstanding this, there are some fine
specimens by Opie, Hoppner, and
Lawrence. Gainsborough has Sir
Harbor d Harbor d in green and gold ;
Beechy has a. Lord Nelson; Haydon,
the painter of the Judgment of So-
lomon, has a whole-length, as fine as
a portrait can be, by an artist who
ought to confine himself to the great
style of history. It is grand in parts,
with vast breadth and strength of
colouring ; but it is caviar to the
multitude. Phillips has a charming
portrait of the Chamberlain of Nor-
wich, and in a style better understood
by the generality : but coats, waist-
coats, and breeches are sad things
for men of genius.
Norwich, I assure you, has artists
of her own : but what is a prophet
in his own city? Claver has con-
siderable merit; and where this is the
case, why not embellish local places
with local talent? We have here
Cotman, whose architectural draw-
ings so much delighted us, if you re-
member, at Sir 's. He is the
first architectural draughtsman in
England. I say not this myself, but
have high authority for my assertion.
Stannan is the Vandevelde, and his
wife the Baptiste, if you like, of Nor-
wich : the former has presented me
with a sweet bit of his own etching.
Besides these are Sillet, Stark, and
many others.
The sister art of music flourishes
in no common degree; and here
Crotch, the infant prodigy of his
day, was born. Here is also a Mu-
seum of Natural History, which only
wants the patronage of the rich to
make it worthy of this flourishing
city. Strange that men, to whom a
guinea is but as a drop of water in
the sea, should withhold that patron-
age which is given by the poor, but
well -dispose^ ! The libraries are
good ; and here is a theatre, news-
paper-room, &c.
The journals, as is not uncommon,
oppose each other in politics: each
has its merits. Of the state of so-
ciety, I have not been here long
enough to decide ; a succession of
dinings-out have informed me that
ANiSt'DOTSS, &C. HlSTOHK.'AIi, MTflRAllY, AND PERSONAL. 3&*>
the good things of this world are not
wanting. Their Band-street is called
the Gentleman's-walks; but here you
are shouldered by dirty weavers and
other plebeians. But B. is ready to
put his letters into the post-office,
and mine goes with them; so no more
at present from
Yours, &c.
A. B.
ANECDOTES, &c.
HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL.
mahy qui-: en of scots and her
ADMIRER,
Castijlard was a young man of
family and talents, who embarked in
the suite of the young widowed
Queen of France, when she returned
to her native land. He composed se-
veral gallant encomiums upon the
royal voyager ; and even ventured a
remonstrance to the Fates concern-
ing her isolated condition, which has
been translated and versified by an
old author as follows :
What boots it to possess a royal state,
To view fair princely towns from subject
towers,
With mask and song to sport in gilded bow'rs,
Or watch with wisdom o'er a nation's fate,
If the heart throb not to a tender mate ;
If doom'd j when feasts are o'er, and midnight
hours
Cousign the mourner to a lonely bed,
To waste in chill regret surpassing powers?
Happier the rustic maid by fondness led
To meet the vows of her enamoured swain,
Than she, the object of a people's care,
Rever'd by all — yet finds no heart to share,
And pines, too high for love, in splendid pain.
Mary amused the tedious days on
shipboard by smiling upon the pro-
ductions of the young Frenchman ;
she even deigned a reply to them,
and encouraged his adulation. This
enchanting familiarity overpowered
the judgment of Castelard. His pas-
sion flamed to the most dangerous
intensity, and fn agonies of despair
he tore himself from the infatuating
scenes of the Scottish court.
The civil war broke out soon after ;
in France ; and Castelard, who was
a Protestant, eagerly availed himself
of that pretence to revisit Scotland,
and again to behold the object who
had bewitched his senses. Mary wel-
comed him with great condescension,
and he so far abused her affability as
to act upon the most audacious hopes.
The queen's attendants found him
one night concealed under her bed.
Mary, considering that she was in
some degree blameable for the en-
couragement she had given him, in-
flicted no punishment, except a stern
reprimand. He repeated his offence,
and was given up to the court of jus-
tice, which passed on him the sen-
tence of death.
At the block his behaviour was
romantic in the extreme. He rejected
spiritual aid or consolation, but read
with profound devotion Ronsard's
Hymn on Death. Then turning
towards the queen's apartments, he
exclaimed, "Farewell, princess! the
fairest, the most cruel in the world."
Having . thus spoken, he submitted
to the axe with the heroic courage
of an Olindo or Rinaldo.
ROBERTSON OF STROWAy.
This chieftain of the southern
Highlands was present at the battle
of Prestonpans and fought manfully,
being then in his 8«Sd year. Sir John
Cope's carriage formed part of the
booty he obtained. The spoil was
valuable ; and among other articles
were found rolls of $. brown colour,
T A «
• )D4 ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSON AL.
supposed to be an efficacious salve
for wounds, since a soldier had them
in his carriage. They were sold, at
a high price, under the name of
H, Johnny Cope's salve," until some
French officers recognised them to
be chocolate — so little were then
known the luxuries now abounding
in the Highlands. The Robertson
chief drove his prize in triumph
homeward so far as the roads allow-
ed, and then summoned his vassals
to' bear it on their shoulders over the
hills of Rannoch, in Perthshire.
buck-wheat.
The mellifluent property of buck-
wheat should be extensively known.
Mr. Wolridge, in his Mysteries of
Husbandry, says, " He saw forty great
beehives filled with honey, to the
amount of seventy pounds weight in
each, by removing them, after swarm-
ing, close to a field of buck-wheat in
flower."
MILLAR'S POPULAR PHILOSOPHY.
The excellent editor and publisher
of Popular Philosophy, or the Book
of Nature laid open upon Christian
Principles, has provided an invalu-
able companion to the Mechanics'
Magazine. Mr. Millar's work is
eminently calculated for leading the
humble readers of scientific produc-
tions to discern and revere the su-
preme wisdom and goodness, not only
in the phenomena of nature, but in
the labours of art. The same crea-
tive hand which clothes the trees with
foliage, blossoms, and fruits, hath
bestowed upon man the faculties that
enable him to fabricate the manual
works of inventive genius. Many
facts worthy of notice are brought
before the public eye by the Popu-
lar Philosophy, and much useful in-
formation collected into one practical
view, for the benefit of those who
cannot afford extensive libraries, or
who, possessing means to purchase
books, are limited in time for their
perusal. Professional gentlemen will
find amusement and information; and
ladies may become acquainted with
the arcana of nature without labo-
rious study ; while .the knowledge
they acquire will be imparted to their
children, attended by the happy in-
fluences of maternal endearment.
Wisdom so communicated must pro-
duce salutary and durable impres-
sions.
PERFECTION OP THE NATURAL SENSES
IN CALMUCKS.
A happy organization of corporeal
frame, and the constant exertion made
by the Calmucks to discern objects
across the Steppes, convert their eyes
into natural telescopes. They can
see at the distance of twenty versts ;
they hear a sound even more remote ;
they smell the smoke of a watch-fire
before the blaze is discernible ; and
many among the Calmucks are able
in the darkest nights to ascertain at
what part of the Steppes they are
travelling by the smell of the herbs
they tread upon. Almost every Cal-
muck has learned to read and write ;
and they have sennachies, or bards,
to recite tales in prose and verse, like
the ancient Gael. Horse-flesh is their
favourite food, and they are great
consumers of tea, which, like Boni-
face's ale, is " meat and drink" to
them. It is of the coarsest sort,
brought from China in large tablets
composed of the leaves and stalks of
the tea-plant. The decoction is mixed
with milk and salt butter. This pre-
paration requires time, care, and skill ;
so the tea-cook is an important do-
mestic in the train of a wealthy Cal-
muck.
THE CLERICAL DRAMATIST.
O'Keefe in his Recollections tells
ANECDOTES, &C. HISTORICAL, LITK11AKY, AND PERSONAL. 355
the following whimsical story of a re- 1
verend doctor, who, in 1784, brought
with him from Ireland, his native
country, five tragedies and five come-
dies, all to be acted at Drury-lane
and Covent-garden. " He plagued
me much," says the veteran dramatist,
"tobringhimtoMr.HarrisatKnights-
bridge; but before I could do so, the
doctor found means to slip through
Hyde- Park turnpike. The circum-
stances of their interview I had from
Mr. Harris himself, who humorous-
ly hit upon an effectual method to get
rid of him and his ten plays. One
of his tragedies was called Lord Rus-
sell, and one of his comedies Draw
the Long Bow. Mr. Harris received
him at his house with his usual po-
liteness, and sat with great patience
and much pain listening to the doc-
tor reading one of his plays to him.
When he had got to the fourth act,
Mr. Harris remarked that it was very
fine indeed — excellent; adding, 'But,
sir, don't you think it time for your
hero to make his appearance V —
' Hero, sir! what hero?' — ' Your
principal character, Lord Russell.
You are in your fourth act, and Lord
Russell has not been on yet.' — ' Lord
Russell, sir !' exclaimed the doctor ;
' why, sir, I have been reading to
you my comedy of Draw the Long
Bow.' — ' Indeed ! I beg you a thou-
sand pardons for my dulness ; but I
thought it was your tragedy of Lord
Russell you had been reading to me.'
The angry author started from his
chair, thrust his manuscript into his
pocket, and ran down stairs out of
the house. When I again met the
doctor, he gave a most terrible ac-
count of the deplorable state of the
British stage,when aLondon manager
did not know a tragedy from a co-
medy. I laughed at his chagrin so
whimsically detailed to Hie, and he
was all astonishment and anger at my
ill-timed mirth. This reverend gen-
tleman (his dramatic mania excepted)
was a man of piety and learning ; and
I believe Mr. Harris's witty expedient
effectually cured him of profane play-
writing, and changed a mad scholar
into an edifying divine."
NEW SPECIES OF SILK.
The Literary Gazette has given,
on the authority of some Continental
publication, we presume, the follow-
ing account of a new and curious
manufacture : M. Hebenstreit of Mu-
nich, formerly a military officer, by
patiently directing the labour of ca-
terpillars within a limited space, has
succeeded in producing an entirely
new and very extraordinary kind of
fabric. The caterpillars employed
are the larva of a butterfly, the^-
nea punctata, or, according to other
naturalists, finea imdella. Instinct
causes them to construct above them-
selves an awning of extreme delicacy ;
but nevertheless so compact as to
be impervious to air, and which awn-
ing can be easily detached from them-
selves. The inventor makes these
insects work on a suspended paper
model, to which he gives any form
and size he pleases. In this manner
he has produced, among other arti-
cles, shawls an ell square, others two
ells in length and one wide, an air-
balloon four feet high and two in ho-
rizontal diameter, a lady's entire dress
j with sleeves,but without seam. When
i he wishes to give any particular shape
i to an article, all that need be done
is, to touch the limits which ought
not to be passed with oil, to which
the caterpillars have so strong a dis-
like that they will not touch it. Two
caterpillars are sufficient to produce
an inch square of this stuff, which,
though of good consistence, is lighter
356
MUMCAt KITIfiW.
than the finest cambric. The balloon
mentioned above weighs less than
five grains; the warmth of the hand
is sufficient to inflate it; and the
flame of a single match held under
it for a few seconds is enough to
raise it to a considerable height, and
to keep it up for half an hour. A
shawl of the size of a square ell, when
stretched, may be blown into the air
by means of a small pair of bellows,
and then resembles a light smoke,
which is affected by the slightest
agitation of the air. Mr. Heben-
streit offered to give such a shawl to
a gentleman who visited him if he
could make it alight on his head ;
but this was found to be impractica-
ble, for the exhalation of animal
heat always caused it on its approach
to rise hastily again. The dress al-
luded to was presented by M. He-
benstreit to the Queen of Bavaria,
who had it mounted on another
dress, and has worn it on several
great occasions. The texture of this
singular stuff has no resemblance to
that of silk, the threads of which are
interwoven : whereas those of this new
fabric are placed one above another,
and glued together as they were pro-
duced by the caterpillar. The manu-
facturer may, however, give any requi-
site degree of thickness to his stuff
by causing his caterpillars to work
repeatedly over the same surface.
The process is not so tedious as
might be supposed, for the price of
a shawl of a square ell is equivalent
to no more than eight francs, or six
shillings and eight-pence English
money.
MUSICAL
Thirty-three Studies or Short Intro-
ductions for the Piano-forte, in
the Principal Major and Minor
Keys, composed, by E. Simms,
jun. Pr. 5s. — (Goulding and Co.)
These studies deserve the at-
tention of the amateur ; they dis-
play a considerable fund of melo-
dic invention, good taste, and an
obvious aptitude in select harmonic
combination. They have given us
great satisfaction, and, as they are
nowhere deformed by attempts at
the eccentric, the pupil is likely to
derive gratification from the per-
formance. It will afford him excel-
lent matter for occasional practice,
and impart a proper tact and facility
in the art of preluding, in which very
good players are often extremely de-
ficient, and indeed rarely attain any
REVIEW.*
degree of perfection until they have
made some progress in harmonic
science.
Divertimento for the Pianoforte
and Violoncello, composed by
F. W. Crouch. Pr. 5s.— (Chap-
pell and Co.)
The violoncello not only is essen-
tial in this composition, but for the
most part acts as principal, and has
been so fully provided for by Mr. C.
as to render a player of respectable
proficiency more or less requisite.
With such aid, the divertimento will
be found very pleasing. Melody is
not neglected, and the author's ideas
blend neatness with a certain attrac-
tive propriety of conception. He
proceeds steadily, rather in a style to
which our youthful days paid ho-
mage, but always so as to give satis-
* Owing to the Reviewer's absence from England, he has to apologize, both for
the interruption in his functions last month, and for the delay which some of the
communications made to him have experienced.
MUSICAL RliVIKW.
357
faction even to a modem ear, if it
is not spoiled. Of the four move-
ments constituting the divertimento
(all in D major except the third),
the second and principal one is at
the same time the most interesting.
The piano-forte part, even where it
takes the lead, is quite easy.
" La Rose" Prelude, Romance and
Waltz, for the Piano-forte, by
Camilla Pleyel. Pr. 2s.— (Cocks
and Co.)
Both the romance and waltz are
composed of light materials ; but
there is a melodious sweetness about
the former, and a prettiness in the
latter, and all is so perfectly easy
that we can answer for " La Rose"
being taken into liking by the young
practitioner. In the trio of the waltz
a superscription directs the applica-
tion of the " Jeu celeste" no doubt
the name of some stop on foreign pia-
no-fortes— Celestina-stop, probably.
Three Duets for two Performers on
the Piano-forte, founded on fa-
vourite Airs, written in a familiar
style, by D. Bruguier. Pr. 4s.—
(Chappell and Co.)
A posthumous work of poor Mr.
Bruguier's, consisting of a few well-
known and universally popular Eng-
lish airs, cast into the form of short
duets, under an arrangement so per-
fectly easy that even the junior classes
may be trusted with the execution,
if they are in the least steady as to
time ; and the nature of the tunes is
sure to render the performance pleas-
ing to both parties.
The favourite Airs in the Ballet of
" Le Bal Champetre" composed
and arranged for the Piano-forte
by N. C. Bochsa. Pr.7s.— (Boch-
sa, Golden-square.)
The music of the ballet, " Le
Bal Champetre," has found many ad-
mirers at the King's Theatre. Its
principal recommendation is a certain
lightsome gracefulness and pretti-
ness, much in the French style.
There is great variety in the charac-
ter of the successive pieces; and this,
with their pleasing import and the
general ease with which they are
written and arranged for the piano-
forte, renders Mr. B.'s book a desira-
ble acquisition for the student of mo-
derate advancement : he will find,
throughout, agreeable melodies of
great diversity, calculated to improve
his taste and practice, while at the
same time his labour will be reward-
ed with much entertainment.
Challenger s Second Set of Qua-
drilles, the Subjects from Mayers
Opera of " Medea," arranged for
the Pianoforte. Pr. 3s. — (Chap-
pell and Co.)
A few years ago, we should have
thought it would almost require the
magic wand and the spells of Medea
herself to conjure quadrilles from
Mayer's serious opera. But to the
musical ingenuity of the present age,
nothing is impossible in the way of
adaptation. Quadrilles from Han-
del's oratorios, from the " Stabat
Mater" of Pergolesi, and the " Mi-
serere" of Allegri, would cause us no
surprise. The concoctions and trans-
formations to which an opera is sub-
jected as soon as it comes out are
wonderful. Not to mention instan-
taneous direct arrangements for pia-
no-forte, for harp, for flute, guitar, &c.
made-dishes are next prepared from
it, some as divertimentos, some as
fantasias, some as capriccios, some as
melanges, some as familiar rondos,
some as themes with variations, &c.
Then come the poets, and English
words are provided for the " most
favourite" airs ; sometimes lively bal-
lads for the serious strains, and
mournful elegies for the brisk tunes,
358
MUSICAL UKV1KW.
no matter how : even sacred texts for
public worship are profaned under
opera staves, while the most impas-
sioned and sublime emanations are
trodden under foot at the arbitrary
dictate of Mons. Musard, of quadrille
celebrity. Adaptation, transforma-
tion, is the order of the day.
" In nova fert animus mntatas vertere formas
corpora."
But enough ! for fear the concoctor
or vender of these Medean quadrilles
think us to be in a passion ; and all
our fair friends, whose pretty ancles
have so often profaned Mayer, and
Mozart, and Winter, and Rossini,
look upon the reviewer in Acker-
mann's Magazine as being no better
than a spiteful Goth, who rails at the
manufacture, as at short whist, be-
cause he cannot enjoy the sport.
We shall say no more ; such aber-
rations " a. droite et a. gauche," and
digressive "queues de chat," are not
proper, we are aware, in our Miscel-
lany, and foreign to our functions,
whose plain office it is to describe
the nature and merits of musical pub-
lications. The " Medean" quadrilles,
then, are, in the first place, infinitely
more lively than we could have ima-
gined, the author having, with allow-
able licence, occasionally seasoned
his subjects by the intermixture of
legitimate quadrillisms : hence the
tunes are as " parfaitement dansea-
bles" as could be desired, and likely,
without any recommendation on our
part, to delight as many toes as the
most sprightly of the Rossinian com-
pounds of this class.
Neiv Carabineer Quadrilles, com-
posed by C. H. Pr. 2s. 6d.—
(Alexander Robertson, Princess-
street, Edinburgh.)
While on the subject of quadrilles,
we mav as well allot a line to the
" Carabineers." Of the fair author
of them we shall have to say more in
our vocal article ; for which reason,
and as compositorial qualifications
are not to be judged by a quadrille
standard, we dismiss the " Carabi-
neers" with few words. They are
imagined in a good dancing style,
and although not entirely consisting
of original matter, furnish evidence
of good musical tact and taste. As
an instance, among others, we may
quote the finale in E minor, which,
in a musical point of view, deserves
especial notice.
VOCAL.
1. Glees for three and four Voices, composed
by J. Jolly. Pr. 12s. — (Chappell, New
Bond-street.)
2. ' ' The bonny wee wife," the Words by Burns,
composed by Mrs. Miles. Pr. 2s. — (Willis
and Co. St. James's-street.)
3. " May thy lot in life be happy," a Ballad,
composed by T. H. Bailey, Esq. Pr. 2s. —
(Willis and Co.)
4. " The year that's awa,3" a Ballad, com-
posed by Sir J. Stevenson, Mus. Doe. Pr. 2s.
—(Willis and Co.;
5. " Deep in the dusky lawn," or " Lira la,"
a Duct from the Opera of " The Minstrel,"
the Music composed by J. Smith. Pr. 3s. —
(Willis and Co.)
6. " Stay, my charmer," a favourite Ballad,
composed and arranged, with an Accompa-
niment for the Piano -for te , by C.H — (Wood
and Co. Waterloo-place, Edinburgh.)
7. " While the breeze of morning," a favour-
ite Ballad, the Music by C.H.— (Wood &. Co.)
8. " Of all the flowers, the f.irest," a fa-
vourite Ballad, composed, and arranged with
an Accompaniment for the Piano-forte, by
C. H.— (Wood and Co.)
1. The volume of Mr. Jolly's glees
is a work of some extent and conse-
quence, and proves his skill as a har-
monist, as well as his taste and feel-
ing in melodic conception, and exhi-
bits, we may safely add, a high de-
gree of judgment and careful atten-
tion to every thing that could tend to
render his labour worthy of the pub-
lic patronage. His rfeward. in the
MUSICAL KKVIKW.
latter respect, may be inferred from
the numerous subscribers whose
names are prefixed to the book,
among whom we find many in whose
approbation Mr. J. has just reason to
pride himself.
The work contains seven pieces ;
viz. five glees for four voices, tre-
ble, counter-tenor, tenor, and bass;
one glee for three voices, and one
canon. As the text of these is of
very varied import, Mr. J. has had
an opportunity of displaying inven-
tive talents correspondingly diversi-
fied. The first glee, " Loud howls
the wind," affords a fair and very
favourable specimen of Mr. J.'s pa-
thetic style ; while the melody of the
last, " Come, fill the goblet," pos-
sesses a sparkling Anacreontic ex-
pression. The canon is for three
voices, counter-tenor and bass in uni-
son, and tenor in the dominant;
it exhibits the skill and artifice which
are requisite in things of this sort,
and which at one time constituted
the primary qualifications of a master
in composition.
2. Mrs. Miles's ballad, "The bon-
ny wee wife," has met with sufficient
success to render a second edition de-
sirable. The music proceeds in an en-
gaging vein of cheerful naivete, the pe-
riods are in proper symmetric keep-
ing, and there is a due degree of va-
riety both as to melodic expression
and harmonic progress. With regard
to the manner of accompaniment,
an occasional deviation from the
constant beats of eight quavers in a
bar would have been advantageous ;
but in this respect Mrs. M. has in
her favour the practice of a very po-
pular composer to one of our winter
theatres, with whom the like system
of accompaniment is a great fa-
vourite.
Vol VilL No. XL VIII.
S. Both the text and the melody
of the ballad under this number are
by Mr. Bailey, whose name as a lyric
poet no doubt is familiar to our read-
ers. The accompaniment has been
added by Mr. Horn. This song has
made its way, no doubt, from the un-
affected good musical feeling which
it breathes, from its regularity in
point of construction, and from the
small demands which it makes, not
only on the extent of compass, but
on vocal skill. With all its facility,
however, the melody requires feeling
and sympathy in the singer, just such
as we might expect from the late
Miss M. Tree, whose performance of
this ballad must have greatly contri-
buted to its success.
4. Sir John Stevenson's song on
the " Year that's awa' " is very much
in the common style of ballad-com-
positions; respectable and proper, no
doubt, but without any marked fea-
ture to create strong emotion or ex-
cite particular attention. The mo-
dulation through the chord of the
second and fourth, in the very first
bar of the symphony, is rather pre-
mature. The key should be strongly
impressed on the ear before we enter
upon modulatory digression.
5. Mr. Smith's " Deep in the dusky
lawn" is a sprightly, melodious, and
altogether pleasing duet, well calcu-
lated, from its construction, to ensure
applause to singers of even limited
proficiency. The accompaniment is
active and diversified ; but the cir-
cumstance of its dwelling generally
in upper notes, above the highest of
the two voices, is disadvantageous,
however common such a practice may
be. To our ears such accompani-
ments, if pursued to any length,
sound somewhat trifling ; an effect
which generally 'attends notes in the
8 B
360
MUSICAL IIEVIHW.
higher scales. But in regard to ac-
companiments, their inexpediency
when totally thrown above the voice,
seems to be owing not only to the
circumstance of the acute sounds
creating a predominant impression i]
over the graver notes of the voice, !
but also to the fact of the harmony
being changed, in position at least, ||
by such a proceeding. Suppose the
voice has E, and the accompaniment
C below it; this will be the harmony of
a third. But if we allot to the same
E the c above it, we have a sixth.
This illustration is of the most simple
kind; there are numerous other cases
in which the difference is of much
greater consequence.
6.7.8. The author of these songs
we find to be a young lady of Edin-
burgh, whose probable motive for
concealing her name is creditable to
her modesty; but such a reserve, with
such qualifications, is perfectly unne-
cessary. Scrupulous as we always
are in scrutinizing the value of first
essays, especially from a young pen,
we can safely aver that, making al-
lowance for some inconsiderable re-
miniscences, we do not, in all our
critical experience, recollect to have
met with tokens of greater promise
in every respect ; whether in regard
to melody, harmony, or rhythmical
regularity ; and we will add, that, for
a young composer, the imperfections
are so few and inconsiderable, that
it is scarcely worth while to say any
thing about them. The foregoing
expression of our opinion we give
the more pointedly and readily, as in
another notice of these songs, which
accidentally met our eye, sufficient
justice has not, we think, been done
to their merits. But leaving general
declarations, we proceed to the songs
themselves.
The first of the three, " Stay, my
charmer," we own is a favourite. The
melody, before we had seen the ad-
dition of a Spanish text at the end,
had struck us as strongly partaking
of the Spanish vocal style. Be this
as it may, it breathes throughout
placid sweetness, and the division
into periods, as well as the musical
metre and expression assigned to the
text, are excellent. Nothing can
run smoother than the whole of the
first strain in A major, and the tran-
sient modulation through C&, 7;
F.*8; D«, 5, 6 ; E, 3 at " Well you
know," is quite in its place, and highly
effective. The second strain, setting
out in A minor, affords another spe-
cimen of Miss C.'s cultivated taste*
and no mean proof of harmonic ta-
lents is given in the fourth line ; the
modulation from " By the faith" is
ably conducted, the minor ninth in
the voice at " plighted" is well put
in, and the subsequent march of the
harmony, again through C%, F&,
&c, is bold and interesting ; nor can
we omit noticing the very impressive,
and yet delicate, manner in which
the words, " Do not, do not leave me
so," are portrayed. Indeed the text,
whoever may have furnished it, and
whatever be its absolute poetic value,
is truly lyric. Lfs simplicity, rhyth-
mic and metric propriety, eminently
fitted it for composition. The sym-
phonies also are in good style. If
the music of this ballad is entirely of
Miss C.'s devising — for the title is
perhaps a little ambiguous — she has
reason to be thankful for the talents
with which nature has favoured her.
It would be difficult, and indeed not
desirable, to attempt more in five
short lines of melody.
Of the second song, " While the
breeze of the morning," we are equal-
MUSICAL RHVIfcw*.
561
ly justified in speaking with very high
commendation ; but our space does
not admit a detailed analysis. The
expediency, judiciously felt, of split-
ting the long lines of the poetry into
two musical phrases, lias obviously
caused some gene here and there.
Such long-winded lines are mostly
unsuitable for music, and the text al-
together says a great deal more than
music is willing to express. The
ideas are too many, often too fine
and too complex. Simplicity, simpli-
city, is the primary demand in lyric
poetry, which, if it lacks that requi-
site, had better be read than sung.
The same rule holds good in melody
and harmony ; and, in this latter re-
spect, we are inclined to think the
present song is liable to a remark.
The first four lines proceed quite to
our mind ; the key is C, and the de-
viations from it are natural and in
near alliance ; but, in the remainder
of the song, the various modulations,
good in themselves and well managed,
keep the key out of sight — out of
mind we should perhaps rather say —
until the very conclusion, when it is
brought in, cleverly enough, but cer-
tainly too late ; or at least we have
too little of it. We would also ob-
serve, that, in songs intended for ge-
neral circulation, care should be taken
not to urge the voice beyond the or-
dinary compass. The melody in the
present ballad is rather high in se-
veral instances; and the A in 1.3, p. &,
will require an effort out of the reach
of many vocalists.
No. 8. « Of all the flow'rs the fair-
est," is a song of very pleasing and
ingenuous melody. The motivo is
well spread over the whole compo-
sition, and, together with subsequent
thoughts, seasonably and tastefully
amplified, so as to afford scope for a
certain degree of vocal proficiency.
The modulations in lines 3 and 4,
p. 3, claim favourable notice; and the
piece altogether, although more sim-
ple in harmonic construction than
those we have previously commented
upon, is distinguished by tasteful
neatness and great regularity of
rhythmical plan and keeping.
i-iakp, &c.
Air and Polonaise for the Harp,
cotnposed by F. C. Meyer. Pr.3s.
— (Chappell, New Bond-street.)
The air in F possesses a smooth
melodious cantilena, merges in the
relative minor, is followed by a short
recitative, and closes with a variation
carrying the melody in the bass. The
Polonaise is very graceful, and spirit-
ed at the same time, and has given
rise to various digressions, including
new ideas of much interest, conceived
in the best style, both generally
speaking, and with reference to the
character of the instrument. Al-
though this composition cannot ab-
II solutelybe termed difficult, its value
I will only be fully understood under
I the hands of a player of a certain
j degree of experience.
j Six French Romances, with an Ac-
companiment for the iSjjanfsh
Guitar, arranged by A. Bertioli.
Pr. 3s. — (Chappell, New Bond-
street.)
The airs in this book are more or
j less familiar to most lovers of French
I songs'; the selection is good, and they
are suited to moderate vocal abilities
and to a limited range of voice. The
accompaniments are set with pro-
priety and with an attention to exe-
cutive facility, so that a guitarist of
no great advancement in his art may
play them with satisfaction.
Boieldieu s " La Dame Blanche"
set with Embellishments for the
362
LONDON FASHIONS.
Flute, by Charles Saust. Pr. 3s. 6d.
— (Cocks and Co.)
As Mr. Saust is truly indefatigable
in making pretty little books of all
the pretty novelties of the day, no
wonder that " La Dame Blanche,"
the wonder of the day in France,
should have become the object of
his industrious attention. The mu-
sic is pretty, certainly ; and we can
easily account for the favourable im-
pression it caused in France, where
musical food must not be of German
solidity, and where fashion bears such
paramount sway in all things. In an
extract for the flute, but a very small
portion of the features of an opera
can be conveyed : perhaps more, bow-
ever, of a French musical drama, than
of those of German and Italian ori-
gin, clearness of melody being par-
ticularly aimed at by French com-
posers. Mr. Saust's White Lady,
therefore, although not in full cos-
tume, presents in her plain neglige
sufficient features to be recognised,
and to interest the lips of the ama-
teur on the flute; especially as Mr.
S. has had the judgment and deli-
cacy to add a little lace and " garni-
ture," where the singleness of gar-
ment might have proved too light
and defective.
FASHIONS.
MORNING DRESS.
Dress of pale green due ape ; the
corsage full, and ornamented round
the bust with three rows of deep
Vandykes of the same material as the
dress, headed by a satin rouleau of
the same colour ; gigot sleeve of ja-
conot muslin, with four bands of
green ducape equidistant round the
lower part of the arm, and confined
at the wrist by a gold clasp. The
skirt has three deep flounces com-
posed of triangular pieces of ducape,
with a plait in each : as they extend
partly one over the other, they form
a very neat and pretty trimming ;
each row is headed by an indented
imbricated satin rouleau. Tucker of
tulle, drawn at the top. Cap of tulle;
border of scolloped blond lace ar-
ranged in the form of two crescents,
crossing in front, and continued ex-
tremely full in zig-zags on the sides.
A garland of leaves is placed above,
surrounding the crown, which is
LONDON FASHIONS.
full, and ornamented with scolloped
blond lace. Ear-rings and necklace
of embossed gold ; yellow gloves and
shoes.
EVENING DRESS.
Crimson velvet dress; the corsage
made plain and rather high, being
half a finger's length on the shoulder;
seven folded bands of velvet are
placed perpendicularly, and form a
stomacher reaching below the waist,
the centre band forming the point,
the others gradually shortening, and
the outer band on each side extend-
ing over the shoulders and ornament-
ing the back. The sleeves are short
and slashed, admitting very full puf-
fings of white satin ; broad velvet
band round the arm. The border
of the skirt is composed of two rows,
of a Gothic pattern, of white crepe
lisse, very full, and edged with a cord-
ed satin. Crimson satin sash beneath
the stomacher, and tied behind in
ii>^-
M
■
/"'■;; -h
rfmm
MOf .:■■ e s s
VE : E s s
" 1
FASHIONABLE rUHNIiUKK.
iS63
short bows with long ends. The
hair is in large curls, and the head-
dress composed of blond, arranged
en serpentant, and artificial flowers.
The necklace of gold, with pen-
dant ornaments of different-coloured
stones; bracelets and ear-rings en
suite; Cashmere shawl, white kid
gloves, and white satin shoes.
The above elegant costume is from
Miss Bayley.
FASHIONABLE FURNITURE.
GOTHIC CHAIRS.
There is no piece of furniture
which is in more constant use than
a chair: comfort ought therefore to
be the principal consideration, at the
same time blending so much elegance
in its design as to render it a pleasing
object in an apartment. The de-
coration of a chair ought undoubt-
edly to correspond with that of the
situation in which it is placed: hence,
those for a hall, dining-parlour, or
drawing-room, should possess a to-
tally different character: the first,
that of simplicity ; the second,a certain
solidity, ornamented with appropriate
decorations; and the third should
combine elegance with lightness. The
Gothic style will fully admit of these
variations, and in the annexed plate
a design for each has been given.
There are but few specimens of the
furniture of the sixteenth century
remaining; those which once be-
longed to Cardinal Wolsey and a few
others, now in the possession of his
Majesty, are the only ones known
to be extant ; and even these are far
from being pure in their details.
They are executed in ebony, with
ivory occasionally introduced in the
heads of the figures, animals, &c.
They are totally unfit for imitation,
being clumsy in their design and very
heavy. The use of chairs was hard-
ly known to our ancestors, stools
and benches being generally substi-
tuted in their place: so that in design-
ing them for modern use, we must
greatly deviate from their original
character.
INTELLIGENCE, LITERARY, SCIENTIFIC, &c.
Mr. William Carey has nearly ready
for publication, Some Memoirs of the
Progress and Patronage of the Fine Arts
in England and Ireland, in the reigns of
George II. George III. and his present
Majesty; with anecdotes of Lord de
Tabley and other Patrons of the British
School, including critical remarks on the
style of many eminent artists.
The first part of a series of one hun-
dred and ten engravings in line, from
drawings by Baron Taylor, of Views
in Spain, Portugal, and on the Coast of
sifrka,from Tangiers to Tetuan, will ap-
pear in December, and be continued re-
gularly every two months. Besides a
letter -press description to accompany
each plate, the Tour, in the order of the
author's journey, commencing at the Py-
renees, will be inserted in the last two
numbers. The engravings are by G.
Cooke, Goodall, Le Keux, John Pye,
Robert Wallis, and others. The size of
the work is arranged so as to class with
Captain Batty 's works of " Scenery in
Hanover and Saxony," and on the
" Rhine."
The second part of Captain Batty's
MA
liVTKLLKikNtVK, IflTKRA'KY, SUKNTiVIU, ; &C.
Hanoverian and Saxon Scenery will be
ready in January next ; and arrangements
have been made to secure the punctual
appearance of the subsequent parts every
two months till completed.
A second edition of Mr. Johnson's
Sketches of Indian Field-Sports is pre-
paring for the press, with very considera-
ble additions, containing a description of
hunting the wild boar, as followed by
Europeans and native Indians.
Early in December will be published,
A Letter on the Medical Employment of
While Mustard-Seed.
Mr. J. Isreel is preparing EzekieVs
Temple, being an attempt to delineate
the structure of the holy edifice, its
courts, gates, &c. &c. as described in
the last nine chapters of the book of
Ezekiel, illustrated with plates.
The author of " The English in Italy,"
who still resides abroad, has transmitted
for the press, a new work, entitled His-
torietles, or Tales of Continental Life.
The author of " Waverley" has made
considerable progress with a new novel,
by the title of The Chronicles of the
Canon gate.
The Wolfe of Badenoch, a novel, by
the author of " Lochandhu," who is said
to be a Scotch baronet, will soon appear
at Edinburgh.
Almack's, a novel, which is announced
as the production of a lady of high rank
and fashion, is nearly ready for publica-
tion.
Mr. D'Israeli will shortly publish, The
Private Life of Charles I. the design of
which is to develope the genius,character,
and principles of the times, and to form
a supplement to the popular histories of
Tories and Whigs, Republicans and
Cromwellians,
The Rev. Henry Thompson, assistant
minister of St. George's, Camberwell, is
preparing for publication, a volume of
Practical Sermons on the Life and Cha-
racter of David, King of Israel.
Mr. Faraday has in the press an 8vo.
volume, to be entitled Chemical Manipu-
aiions, combining instructions to stu-
dents in chemistry, relative to the me-
thods of performing experiments with
accuracy and success. It will be illus-
trated with numerous wood-engravings.
On the 1st of December will appear,
the first part of a new monthly work, il-
lustrative of London and its Vicinity, to
the extent of about twenty miles. This
work is intended to embrace every inter-
esting feature of the metropolis and its
surrounding towns and villages, in a series
of plates, to be engraved by Mr. George
Cooke, from entirely new drawings by
artists of the highest talent. Each part
will contain four plates, printed on impe-
rial 8vo. and 4-to.
On the ]st of January, 1827, will ap-
pear, Sams Annual Peerage of the British
Empire, in 2 vols. 12m0.
The fifth volume of Br it ton's Architec-
tural Antiquities, just completed, forms
a separate and complete work in itself,
being a chronological illustration, &c of
Christian architecture in England. It
contains a copious history and description
of this class of architecture, with eighty-
six engravings.
The Illustrations of the Public Build-
ings of London has advanced to the 1 7th
number, which contains seven engravings
and accompanying letter-press.
The second part of Mr. Baker's valu-
abls History of Northamptonshire is ready
for delivery.
TheChronicles of London Bridge, which
have been so long in preparation, are
now announced to be published in the
course of next month. This work will
comprise a complete history of that an-
cient edifice, from its earliest mention in
the English annals down to the com-
mencement of the new structure in 1825 ;
of the laying the first stone of which, the
only circumstantial and accurate account
will be subjoined ; and its illustrations
will consist of fifty-five highly finished
engravings on wood, by the first artists.
M. la Beaume has in readiness, a
work on Galvanism, with observations on
its chemical properties and medical effi-
cacy in chronic diseases, with practical
INTELLKJKNC "K, M3UIUJVY, SCIENTIFIC, &e.
301
illustrations ; also remarks on some aux-
iliary remedies, with plates,
Infant Melodies, or First Songs for
Children, by Eliz. Est. Hamond, are
just ready for publication. It is intend-
ed by the author of this little work to
render the studies of music and poetry
interesting to children, from their earliest
attempts at reading and playing, by com-
bining them in the form of songs ; and
the great delight which it has afforded to
children of three and four years old, en-
courages the author to hope that it may
answer the purpose for which it is intend-
ed, by opening new sources of pleasure
and instruction to the infant mind, and
by impressing early and strongly on their
young and innocent hearts the love of
virtue and good feeling. The author
proposes, if the work should be approv-
ed, to continue it progressively, in num-
bers, adapted to every age of childhood.
TAX ON LITERATURE.
Among the serious inconveniences, in-
deed losses, which the public sustain from
the present oppressive and injudicious
enactment, requiring the presentation of
eleven copies of all published books to
certain public and private libraries, we
have to notice two works, which consist
only of engravings, without any letter-
press, and which are thus published to
evade this literary tax. One, Illustrations
of the Pavilion at Brighton, is an expen-
sive production of several prints, beauti-
fully drawn, engraved, and coloured, but
without a line of historical or descriptive
information to accompany them. Thus
the stranger and foreigner, when viewing
these prints, may fancy them the chimeras
of the architect's and painter's fancy ; he
cannot believe them to be representations
of a building in England— the country pa-
lace of its monarch— an edifice adapted for
the accommodation of a king and his
court. Should he be told that this is the
fact — that it has been crowded with prin-
ces, lords, and ladies — that it has cost
many thousand pounds of the public
money, and h now deserted.- he will bt
more than commonly inquisitive to learn
something of its history ; when, and by
whom, it was designed, built, and fitted
up ; what artists had been employed to
adorn its walls ; why, and for what pur-
pose or reason, it was made to emulate a
Chinese pagoda, a Turkish seraglio, a
Moorish mosque, &c. &c On these, and
on all other points, he is left to ruminate,
and probably draw erroneous conclusions,
for no information is afforded. On inqui-
ry, we are credibly informed that the
King's Architect, who has published these
prints, has purposely avoided giving any
letter-press, to save himself from the se-
vere tax of eleven copies of a twenty-gui-
nea volume.
The other publication we allude to is,
Robson's Picturesque Views of all the
English Cities, one number of which has
made its appearance, and from which
specimen we anticipate a very interesting
and beautiful series of engravings. In
the accompanying prospectus, the editor,
who has been a staunch and zealous de-
fender of the rights of literature, says,
" The reader will see that it is not proposed
to give letter-press with these plates, but
historical and descriptive accounts of all
the cities, treated and illustrated in a
novel style, will be published. This,
however, will form a separate and dis-
tinct work, in order to obviate the very
unjust, oppressive, and vexatious tax of
giving eleven copies of an expensive se-
ries of illustrations to public and wealthy
institutions, which ought to encourage
art as well as literature, and not extort
their productions from the meritorious
and often ill-requited artists and authors."
GERMAN SPA, BRIGHTON.
In a former volume of our Miscellany
we mentioned the foundation of this esta-
blishment for the administration of Dr.
Struve's artificial mineral waters, pos-
sessing the properties of the most cele-
brated of the German Spas. The Pump-
Room closed on the 11th of November,
having had during the season 333 sub-
scttbert!, amoncj whoki facte many of
36G
I'OKTKY.
distinguished rank and consequence. With
this number, though not large, the pro-
prietors profess themselves to be satisfied;
and indeed, considering the various ob-
stacles to the rapid progress of this en-
terprise— such as physicians being little
acquainted with the effects of the Ger-
man mineral waters, and the common
practitioner being injured by the recom-
mendation of them— greater success could
scarcely be expected. Nothing but prac-
tical observation of the good effects of
these waters can confirm the reputation
of the establishment and remove the ex-
isting prejudices, which are indeed giving
way to the light of experience ; for we
understand that Dr. King of Brighton
has, after a scientific examination of the
merits of this system, written a work
highly recommendatory of the waters.
poetry.
COWSLIPS.
(From " The Heart, and other Poems," by
Percy Rolle.)
Favourites of my early hours,
Still I love your golden flowers!
Not the way-side primrose pale,
Shivering in the wintry gale;
Not the daisy ; no, nor yet
The sweet-scented violet,
Though I love them each, can be
Ever half so dear to me.
Talcs of olden time, ye tell
Of the sweet-toned Sabbath bell,
Heard, as through the mead we trod
To the distant house of God ;
Of the brook in verdure lost;
Of the rustic bridge we crost ;
Golden pathway — golden hours,
Then my very thoughts were flowers !
I remember when the day
Morning's dew had dried away,
I, one of an infant band,
With an eager eye and hand,
Sought and plucked your clustered bells
In the shady woods and dells,
Nor forgot that should be mine
Fragrant tea and future wine.
Days of infancy, alas !
Why do ye so quickly pass ?
What would I relinquish now
For that sunny eye and brow —
For that meek and unwarped will —
For that ignorance of ill,
Which were mine at five years old,
Ere life's dark page was unrolled !
Since I follow weightier things,
Vanished are my spirit's wings;
Cloudless is my heart no more,
But with care all shadow'd o'er;
Never may it know again
The pure joy that warmed it then,
When its highest hopes were crowned-
Hopes, a cowslip-field could bound !
THE OCEAN.
(From " The Exile," a Poem, by Robert
Haldane Rattray, Esq.)
Ocean! thou world of wonders ! who shall
dare
Th' attempt to tell thy glories ; or declare
The terrors of thy frown, when storms o'er-
cast
Thy sleeping strength and rouse thee ? — Oh !
thou vast,
Thou awful, mighty one! whose arms embrace
The earth within their clasp, as deeming space
Thine own — thy right, alone, to occupy
Its wide extremes with thine immensity !
If, as 'tis said, within thy rocky cells,
Reyond the ken of man, a Spirit dwells —
Far, faraway — beneath th' Atlantic's zone —
To whom the secrets of thy depths are known;
Oh ! bid that Spirit rise ! and here attend,
Reveal thy hidden wonders, and befriend
The daring hand now trembling on the string ;
And aid the stifled voice, that pants to sing
Of thee — as there invisible thou art—
A world within a world — thy waters fraught
With life and monstrous animation — where
Leviathans and mighty creatures steer,
With frightful speed, their bulk to middle
earth,
And thence pursue ("rolling in hideous mirth
Their giant forms, while o'er them kingdoms
quake,
And heaving navies to the tumult shake,)
Their unchecked course to those far distant
seas
Whose race before were their antipodes !
And I would know, through that drear cavity,
What strange and unimagined objects lie,
Cj
1(3
ay
A-
ay
&
ktf
^£
*'
r0J
o o
o>-
te
ay
0>-
m
ay
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.0
o O
O O
o o
rY)
Oy
ay
POETfcY.
307
Buried for ever — in eternal night—
Unless, perchance, yielding themselves that
light
Denied by heaven, and forming there a day
Bright as above our sunny skies display.
And, turning thence, I'd view the mournful
bed
Where silently repose the victim-dead —
Unearth'd as, wearied in their worldly race,
They sought beneath thy waves a resting-
place.
Ah! what wild thoughts arise! what fearful
dreams
Rush on the brain! — Perhaps — oh, no! — it
seems
As impious thus to think those eyes' soft ray
Would tune e'en monsters from the spoil
away !
O Heaven ! and did I bid thee, Spirit, come
To tell of this ? Hence ! fly ! and let the gloom
Of ignorance live — and mercifully hide
The scene of horror shrouded in thy tide.
FIFTEEN.
Occasioned by seeing the Portrait of a bent-
tiful Girl of that Age.
'Tis sweet to mark the Spring's first smile,
Which brightens Nature's bower ;
'Tis sweet to see the infant bud
Expanding in a flower.
And, oh ! in life's more varied stage,
No lovelier period's seen,
Than that, when time has brought to bloom
The year of sweet fifteen.
Then all is bright—and childhood's tears
Are dried by Summer's sun ;
Then, oh ! how beauteous seems the path
Existence has to run !
Hope smileth then, and all that's gay
Appears to our pursuit ;
We gather blossoms, nor can tell
How bitter is the fruit.
Life then doth seem a thornless path,
An ever-varying scene;
The loveliest flow'rs in woman's wreath
Bloom in the year fifteen.
Love, too, is seen (at distance tho')
With bright and dazzling wing ;
But inexperiene'd, why, we think
His roses have no stiug !
At such an age we cannot tell
How falte-named friends deceive;
Vol. Vlll. No.XLVIU.
The world looks lovely, and its tale
Of flattery we believe.
It is in later life we find
That world is false and fair ;
That love and friendship can deceive,
And hope become despair.
The heart no longer boasts the calm
It knew in earlier years;
The sun which rose at morn in smiles,
Ere noontide sets in tears.
'Tis wisely order'd flowers should deck
Life's unpolluted scene;
And still may brightest roses grace
The age of sweet fifteen !
And it in earlier life we give
The heart to wise pursuits,
We then shall find the blossom fair
Can yield us healing fruits.
The tree we plant in life's young morn
In after years may bloom ;
And flowers by Virtue wreath'd may shed
A fragrance on the tomb.
D.L.J.
ADDRESS TO THE KNIGHTS-HOSPITAL-
LERS OF ST. JOHN.
From the German of Schiller.
Splendid and dread, ye Knights, your armour
shines,
The armour of the Cross! in serried lines,
Ye lions of the fight, your shields extend,
Beleaguer'd Rhodes and Acre to defend.
Majestic are ye, when through burning sands
Of Syrian deserts leading pilgrim-bands;
Or like the cherubim your swords you wave,
A glorious phalanx, round the Saviour's
grave.
But yet more glorious, more decorous far,
Ye seem divested of the signs of war.
Clothed as meek servitors in simple garb,
Your charitable hands extract the barb
From mental or corporeal wounds — 'tis then
That, minist'ring as men to fellow men,
Ye are most graceful ; when the patient ear
Inclines attentive o'er the sufferer's bier;
When, nobly, royally-descended Knights,
Ye deign perform such humble lowly rites,
Thus, Soldiers of the Faith, do ye fulfil
In every point your Leader's holy will.
Religion of the Cross! 'tis only thine
Humility and valour to combine:
By saintly meekness won, and pure renown,
The palm-branch only weaves th' immortal
crown !
Vatffiia.
c
368
INDEX.
Aeen Hamet, the last of the Abenceragcs, 103
Ackermann, G. his Views of Mexico an-
novinced, 184
Adventure at Venice, 105
Africa, possibility of fertilizing the deserts
of, 239
Alchemy, 238
Alia Giornata, or To the Day,remarks on and
extract from, 100
Alniack's, a novel, announced, 364
Anderson, G.his services to the Northern In-
stitution of Science, &c. 122
Anecdotes, 8cc. historical, literary, and per-
sonal, 47, 1 1 1, 174, 237, 299, 353
Anna, lines to, 62
Ape of Paris, account of, 304
Aphorisms, reflections, &c. 108
Appuldurcombe, Isle of Wight, view of, 2
Arthur, J. review of his Modern Art of Flute-
Playing, 182
Arts, society of, annual meeting for the dis-
tribution of the prizes of, 43
Avdall, J. his translation of Chamich's His-
tory of Armenia announced, 122
B.
Bailey, T. H. review of his " May thy lot in
life be happy," 358
Baker's History of Northamptonshire, notice
respecting it, 364
Ball, W. review of his " Oh! sweet was the
hour," 54 — his "O beauteous river," ib. —
his " Rising in her holiest lustre," 54 — his
The light Quadrille, 180
Barnett, J. review of his " The home of my
fathers," 180 — his monody on Weber, 243
Batty, Capt.his Hanoverian and Saxon Sce-
nery announced, 363
Beauties of Winter's" Interrupted Sacrifice"
reviewed, 242
Beaver in confinement, ingenuity of, 298
Bertioli, A. review of his French romauces,
361
Betham's Irish Antiquarian Researches, ex-
tract from, 226
Bishop, H. R. review of his Selection of Na-
tional Airs, 117
Blewitt, J. review of his " Lovely Rosa," 243
Bochsa, N. C. review of his second Petit Me-
lange, 55 — his Dramatic Scenes from Ita-
lian operas, ib — his Three National Polo-
naises, 119 — his arrangement of Pleycll's
Introduction and Rondo, ib. — his '.' Are
you angry, mother?" ib. — his " Petite
Pastorale," ib — his arrangement of the
Overture to " La Dame Blanche," 181 — his
Airs in " Otello," ib. — his Two Airs from
Spohr's " Faustus," ib. — his Airs in " Le
Bal Champetre," 357
Bournou, legislation of, 302
Bowles, Rev. W. L. extract from his Little
Villager's Verse-Book, 41
Brandreth, H. extract from his Field-Flowers,
123
Brighton, German Spa at, 365
Britton, Mr. his Chronological History, &c.
of Christian Architecture announced, 185
— his Architectural Antiquities, notice re-
specting, 364
Broekedon, W. his Illustrations of the Passes
of the Alps announced, 121
Bruguier, D. review of his Three Duets, 357
Buck-wheat, valuable property of, 354
Bureau de Mariage, 188
Burnett, J. his Principles of Light and Sha-
dow announced, 59
Burrowes, J.F. review of his Companion to
the Piano-Forte Primer, 51 — hisi-a Rosicre,
53 — his " Le Pas de Pologne," 115 — his
Arrangement of Airs from Aladdin, 115 —
his Airs of Mayer's Medea, 178
Butterfly, address to the, 62
C.
Cagot of the Pyrenees, 136
Calkin, J. review of his V Effort sans Effort,
178
Calmucks, perfection of their natural senses,
354
Campbell, James, extract from his Poems, 62
Candelabra, description of, 184
Candler, Mrs. poetry by, 61
Captive, the, 295
Carabineer Quadrilles, review of, 358
Cards, exchange of, 109
Carey, W. his Memoirs of the Fine Arts an-
nounced, 363
Carnaby, Dr review of his Parade March, 115
Carringtun's Dartmoor, remarks on and ex-
tract from, 40 — poetry from Death's Do-
ings, by, 293
Carvill's Annual Register announced, 122
Cassan, Rev. S. H. his Lives of the Bishops
of Winchester announced, 247
Cassandra, the modern, 158, 193
Castelard, anecdotes of, 353
Caucasus, the prisoners in the, 202, 252, 312
Chairs, Gothic, 363
Challenger's Quadrilles from " Medea" re-
viewed, 357
Chalon, W. B. his work on the Passions of
the Horse announced, 307
Champion, the, 295
Chasse, C. M. his Little World of Knowledge
announced, 59
Chateaubriand's Aben Hamet, extract from,
103
Chinese Freemasons, 304
Chivalry, ancient, the friendship of,9,72, 138
Chronicles of Canongate, by the author of
Waverley, announced, 364
Clavigero's History of Ancient Mexico, trans-
lation of, announced, 58
Clerical dramatist, the, 354
Cobham-hall, Kent, view of, 311
Coggins, J. his Selection of Sacred Harmony
announced, 59
Confessions of a criminal, 16
Conjugal rebellion, 238
Continental Adventures, extract from, 91
Conversation, singular mode of, 300
IN DFX.
:m
Cory ton, J. T. view of his seat, 125
Coterie, the literary, 32, 94, 1G1, 217, 282,
236
Countess's tower, the, 20
Country seats, views of, 1, 63, 125, 187, '219,
311
Cowslips, 366
Cox, Rev. Mt. his History, &c. of the Right
Hon. H. Pelbam announced, 184
Craddock's Miscellaneous and Literary Me-
moirs announced, 307
Crazed Maid of Venice, remarks on and ex-
tracts from, 171
Crete-hall, Kent, view of, 251
Cricketer, the, 294
Cries of London, on the whimsicalities and
peculiarities of, 83
Criminal, confessions of a, 16
Croly, Rev. G. dirge by, 338
Crouch, C. A. his Illustrations of Conchology
announced, 59
Crouch, F. W. review of his " Cupid's Visit,"
1 17— his Select Italian Airs, 17S— his Di-
vertimento for the Piano-Forte, 356
Cures, remarkable, 237
Curry, Messrs. works announced by, 306
Curtis, J. 11. his Lectures on the Ear, notice
respecting, 307
D.
Dagley, R his Death's Doings announced,
122 — remarks on and extracts from, 293,
294, 295
Damiens, historical fact relative to the exe-
cution of, 47
Dancing dress at the court of Louis XIV. 49
Damley, Earl of, view of his seat, 311
Davis, R. B. his Plates of the Royal Stag-
Hunt announced, 184
Dedication of the Temple, 169
Denham's Travels in Africa, extract from, 302
Denon's curiosities, 113
Departed, the, 292
Devil's barn, 65
Devil's chateau, 259
Devil's riddle, 130
D'Israeli, Mr. his Private Life of Charles I.
announced, 364
Dixon, Messrs. their Poetical Souvenir an-
nounced, 307
Dobberan, relics in the church at, 48
Dormouse, lines on the death of a, 61
Dressier, R. review of his Selection of Me-
lodies, 119— his Arrangement of Mayse-
der's " La Scntincllc," 182
Duelling, opinion of the Portuguese respect-
ing, 303
E
Eavestaff.W. review of his Selection of French
Melodies, 117
Edward VI. and his Times announced, 307
Elliotson, Dr. his translation of Blumen-
bach's Institutes of Physiology announc-
ed, 59
Elliott, Capt. remarks on the Nun, by, 295—
extracts from, 296
Exchanging cards, 109
Exhibition— the Panorama of Madrid, 247
Explication de la Revolution, remarks on and
extract from, 282
Extraordinary presentiment, 301
F.
Facts and Fancies announced, IS i
Fanaticism, 239
Farey's Treatise on the Steam-Engine an-
nounced, 307
Faraday, Mr. his Chemical Manipulations
announced, 364
Fashions for ladies, 57, 120, 188, 241, 305,
362
Fifteen, 367
First brown leaf, 309
Fleet, E. E. review of her " Fut round the
bright wine," 243
Flower-stands, description of, 121
Forget Me Not for 1827 announced, 245, 306
— remarks on, 336 — extracts from, 337,
338, 339, 340
Four Years in France announced, CO— ex-
tract from, 224
Frederic the great, anecdotes of, 48, 176
French provinces, popular superstitions of
the, 20, 65, 130, 199, 259, 318
French quackery, 302
Friendship of ancient chivalry, 9, 72, 138
Friendship's Offering announced, 246
Fulford-house, Devon, the seat of Colonel
Fulford, View of, 188
Funeral knell, the, 308
Funeral of a wig, 47
Furniture, fashionable, description of, 58,
121, 184, 245, 306, 363
G.
George II. and the Pretender, anecdotes of,
175
German popular superstitions, illustrations
of, ';52
German Spa, Brighton, particulars concern-
ing, 365
Gigantic remains, 237
Gifts, notion respecting certain kinds of, 47
Glenallen, a ballad, 124
Glendower, a ballad, 247
Great Britain in Miniature announced, 58
Groningen, the great tun of, 263, 326
Gurney's new locomotive engine, notice re-
specting, 60
H.
HaIlam,Mr. his English History announced,
247
Halliday's Annals of the House of Hanover,
extracts from, 172, 173
Hatuond, E. E. her Infant Melodies announc-
ed, 365
Harding and Lane's Specimens of the British
School of Painting announced, 60
Harris, Mr. the late, anecdote of, 355
Harris's Hermes, anecdote respecting, 303
Hatfield, Miss, remarks on her Wanderer of
Scandinavia, 169 — extracts from, 170
Hawkesworth, Mr his History of France an-
nounced, 246
Hazlitt's Plain Speaker, remarks on and ex-
tracts from, 96
Head's Journey across the Pampas, remarks
on, 286— extracts from, 287, 288, 289, 290,
291
Hebenstreit, Mr. bis manufacture of a new
species of silk, 355
Hemans, Mrs. remarks on and extract from
her Forest Sanctuary, 39— the Cliffs of
Dover, by, 339
Henderson's Biblical Tour in Russia, extract
from, 285
Herder, translations from the German of, 186
3 C &
370
INDEX.
Hermit of Lago Maggiore, 231
Heroism of love, 199
Historiettes,or Tales of Centinental Life, an-
nounced, 364
Hoare, H. Esq. view of his seat, 126
Hodsoll's Collection of Duets reviewed, 53,
115
Hofland, Mrs. Reflection, a tale, by, an-
nounced, 59
Hogan, J. notice respecting, 299
Holaj Rev. R. notice respecting, 8
Hoist, M review of his Rode's Air, 179
Hot springs, origin of the, 186
Howell, T. review of his Six Quartetts, 55
Hummel, J. H review of his Grand Sonata, 1 11
Hussar's saddle, the, 212
Hymen, direct road to the temple of, 42
I.
Illustrations of popular German supersti-
tions, 152
Illustrious prisoner, the, 148
Indian superstitions, 208
Infant daughter, lines to, 220
Ingenuity of the beaver in confinement, 298
Intelligence, literary and scientific, 58, 121,
184, 245, 306, 363
Isle of St. Bourondon, 274, 331
Isreel, J. his Ezckiel's Temple announced,
3G4
J.
James's Naval History, remarks on and ex-
tract from, 165
Jardine's and Selby's Illustrations of Orni-
thology announced, 246
Jean Bonhomme, an ape at Paris, 304
Jew and the travelling tinker, 268
Johnson, Mr. second edition of his Indian
Field-Sports announced, 364
Johnstone, J. his Specimens of Poetry an-
nounced, 307
Joliffe, T. R. his Excursion from Corfu to
Smyrna announced, 246, 307
Jolly's Glees reviewed, 358
K.
Kalkbrenner, F. review of his Grand Sonaie,
52
Kendall, E. A. his Essay on Education an-
nounced, 307
Kenney, J. song by, 339
Keppel, Hon. G. his Journey from India an-
nounced, 306
Kiallmark, G. review of his " Oh ! merry
row the bonnie bark," 53
Klose, F.J. review of his Study for the Pi-
ano-forte, 52 — his Selection of Airs from
" II Crociato in Eyitto," 53—" The Tear,"
117
Knight, E. review of his Arrangement of
" Are you angry, mother ?" 115
Koecker, Dr. his Principles of Dental Sur-
gery announced, 246
Kotzebue, Capt. Narrative of his Voyage
round the World, 59
L.
La Beaume, M. his Historical View of Gal-
vauism announced, 59,364
Lacey, J. M. poetry by, 61, 62, 124, 186, 309
— on the whimsicalities and peculiarities
of the London cries, 83
Ladies, London fashions for, 57, 120, 183,
' 2U, 30-5, 362
La Fontaine's fables, 303
'Lago Maggiore, the hermit of, 231
Landon, Miss L. E. her Golden Violet an-
nounced, 59— poetry by, 340
Legislation of Bournou, 302
Letter on the Medical Employment of Mus-
tard-Seed announced, 364
Lewis, M. G. his Life announced, 122
Liesli, a tale, announced, 247
Lines on the Prince of Saxe-Weimar, 310
Lines to a lady with the " Forget Me Not,"
186
Literary coterie, 32, 94, 164, 217, 282, 336
Literature, tax on, 365
London Bridge, Chronicles of, announced, 364
London cries, on the whimsicalities and pecu-
liarities of, 83
London fashions for ladies, 57, 120, 183, 244,
305, 362
London Hermit's Tour to the York Festival,
extract from, 22L)
London, Illustrations of its Public Buildings,
notice respecting, 364
Loudon and its Vicinity, Illustrations of, an-
nounced, 364
London University, notice respecting, 122
Lopes, Sir M. view of his seat, 187
Louis XIV. dancing dress at the court of, 49
Louis XV. anecdote respecting, 48 — genea-
logy of, 303
Love at first sight, lines on, 62
Love, the heroism of, 199
Low, A. his History of Scotland announced,
184
Lucky exchange, 298
Ludicrous mistake, 49
M.
Macdonald, A. review of his Notation of Mu-
sic Simplified, 177
M'Murdie, J. review of his M In yonder grave
a Druid lies," 180
Maid of Provence, 318
Maids and men, 123
Maina and the Mainottes,273, 323
.Maistre, Count Xavier de, the prisoners in
the Caucasus, by, 202
Maitland's Narrative of the Surrender of
Buonaparte, remarks on, 100
Maristow, Devon, view of, 187
Marryat, Mrs. view of her seat, 63
Martyr student, the, 293
Mary Queen of Scots and Castelard, 353
Mathisson, lines from the German of, 62
Matrimonial lottery, 113
Mazzinghi, J review of his First Duet, 55
Meed of virtue, 61
Memoirs of a French Serjeant, remarks on
and extracts from, 165, 166
Memoirs of the Cour£ of Queen Anne an-
nounced, 246
Messiah weeping over Jerusalem, 168
Meyer, F. C. review of his Air and Polonaise
for the Harp, 361
Meyer, J. P. review of his Sixth Diverti-
mento, 181
Michael, Grand-Duke, his palace at St. Pe-
tersburg, 349
Midgham-house, Berks, view of, 312
Miers' Travels in Chili, remarks on, 225—?
extracts from, 226
Miles, Mrs. review of her Introduction and
March, 178— her " The bonny wee wife,"358
IN'DI X.
.371
Millar'sPopiilarPhilosophy, character of, 354
Millbouse, R. remarks on his Songs of the
Patriot, 217— extracts from, 218, 219, 220
Millman's Anna Boleyn, remarks on and ex-
tract from, 38
Mills, Miss, extract from her Sibyl's Leaves,
170
Miteham-grove, Surrey, view of, 126
Mitford, Miss, Our Village by, aunounced,
247 — extract from, 349
Mitford, Rev. J. his Sacred Specimens an-
nounced, 247
Modern Cassandra, the, 158, 193
Moore, G. extract from the Minstrel's Tale,
by, 292
More Odd Moments, extract from, 284
Mother, the, 295
Moves, Rev. L. on the Policy of Great Bri-
tain announced, 307
Murray, Lindley, Memoirs of, remarks on,
343 — extracts from, 344, 345
Musard, P. review of his Forty-second Set
of Quadrilles, 179
Music-stand and chair, description of, 245
Musical review, 51, 1 14, 176, 240, 336
N.
Napoleon in the other World announced, 307
Narrow escapes, 238
National Gallery, pictures presented to, 307
Nature's universal theme, 61
Neate, C. review of his *' La Grazia," 240
Nicholas, Mr. his history of the Battle of
Agincourt announced, 121
Nichols, Messrs. their Historical, &c. Account
of Westminster announced, 59
Norris, Isle of Wight, view of, 1
Northern institution of science and litera-
ture, notice respecting, 122
Norwich, some account of, 350
Notes and Reflections during a Ramble
through Germany announced, 247
Niiske, J. A. a review of his Fantasia, 55
O.
Oaklands, Devon, view of, 249
Ocean, the, 366
Odd Volume, extract from the, 212
" Of all the flowers, the fairest," a ballad,
review of, 358
O'Keefe's Recollections, extract from, 354
Ostrich, extraordinary antipathy of, 302
Outlaw, the, 127
P.
Palace of the Grand-Duke Michael at St.
Petersburg, 349
Panorama of Madrid, notice respecting the
exhibition of, 247
Paris, population of, 303
Parliamentary Reporter announced, 307
Parr, Dr. Extracts from his Works an-
nounced, 184
Parry, Capt. remarks on his Third Voyage
to the North Pole, 220 — extracts from, 223
Paul and Virginia, 175
Pavilion, Brighton, remarks on Nash's Illus-
trations of, 365
Pentilly castle, Cornwall, 125
Percival, Mr. his History of France an-
nounced, 122
Perez, S. review of his ** Alelillo," 115
Peter Paragraph, 5
Petersburg, palace of Duke Michael at, 3J9
Piano-forte, description of a horizontal
grand one, 58 — an upright one, 245
Pickering, Mr. his Collection of Marlowe's
and Webster's Works announced, 307
Piety, genuine, the cheerfulness of, 240
Pixis, J. P. review of his " Lcs Charmes dc
Vienne," 176
Pleyel, C. review of his Arrangements of
" Una voce poco /a" and *' Ecco ridente il
cielo," 115 — his Melange, 243— his " La
Rose," 357
Poetry, 38, 39, 40, 41, 61, 98, 99, 100, 123,
152, 168, 169, 170, 171, 185, 2lN, 219, 220,
247, 255, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 308,
338, 339, 340, 366
Poet's Wreath, the, 124
Poisoned traveller, the, 91
Poole, S. review of his Waltz, 1 15 — his New-
Year's-Day, ib
Popular German superstitions, illustrations
of, 152
Popular superstitions of the French pro-
vinces, 20, 65, 130, 199, 259, 318
Popular superstitions of the Swedes, 235
Population of Paris, 303
Porter, Misses, some account of, 33 — re-
marks on and extracts from their Tales
round a Winter's Hearth, 33
Portuguese, opinion of, respecting duelling,
303
Powell, T. review of his three Fantasias 115
Poyntz, W. S. Esq. view of his seat, 312
Precieuses of the Hotel Rambouillet, 271
Presentiment, extraordinary, 301
Prior, W. H. his Lectures on Astronomy au-
nounced, 59
Prisoner, the illustrious, 148
Prisoners of the Caucasus, 202, 252, 312
Protestant Union announced, 246
Provence, the maid of, 318
Purkis, J. review of his Airs from II Crociato
in Egitto, 53
Pyrenees, the Casrot of the, 136
Q.
Quackery in France, 302
R.
Radcliffe, Mrs. remarks on her Gaston de
Blondeville, 36 — extract from St. Alban's
Abbey, 37
Rambles of Redbury Rook, extract from, 228
Ramsgate, lines found on the seashore at,
123
Rat, extraordinary attachment of a, 230
Rattray, R. H. extract from his Exile, a
poem, 366
Rawlings, T. A. review of his Divertisement,
178 — his Arrangement of " Shepherds, I
have lost my love," 243
Relics in the church at Dobberan, 48
Remarkable cures, 237
Remonstrance of age to beauty, 186
Review, musical, 51, 1 14, 176, 240, 356
Reynolds's Memoirs, extracts from, 49, 50,
109
Richardson, W. G. F. his translation of the
Life of Korner announced, 59
Rimbault, S. F. review of his Petit Rondo, 53
— his Adaptation of Mozart's Grand Sym-
phony, 53 — his Arrangement of Weber's
Jubilee Overture, 178 — his Arrangement
of Airs from Winter's " Interrupted Sacri-
fice," 211
57£
INDI X.
Robertson of Stowan, anecdotes of, 353
Robinson, P. F. his New Vitruvius Britanni-
cns announced, 59
Robson's Picturesque Views of English Ci-
ties, remarks on, 365
Rogers, H. extracts from his poems, 108, 169
Rolle, P. extract from his poems, 365
Roscoe, T. his Memoirs of the Court of Queen
Anne announced, 184 — remarks on his
German Tales, 340 — extracts from, 341,
342
Rosher, J. Esq. view of his seat, 251
Ross, Rev. J. A. his translation of Kersch's
Self-Examinations in Algebra announced,
246
Rousseau, anecdote of, 303
S.
Sacchini, L. review of his Airs, 115
St. Bourondon, the isle of, 275, 331
St. Hilaire, G. de, on the ingenuity of the
beaver, 298
St. John, Hampstead, History of the Parish
of, announced, 60
St. John, address to the Knights-Hospitallers
of, 367
Salad-maker, the fashionable, 112
Samouelle, G. his Directions for preserving
Exotic Insects announced, 122
Sams' Annual Peerage of the British Empire
announced, 364
Sass, Mr. his History of Painting and Sculp-
ture in England announced, 59
Saust, C. review of his Sacred Melodies, 1 19
—his Airs from Winter's " Le Sacrifice in-
terrompu," 182 — his Arrangement of " La
Dame Blanche," for the flute, 361
Saville, A. Esq. view of his seat, 249
Schaumburg-Lippe, count, eccentricity of,
174
Schiller, lines from the German of,61, 310, 367
Scott, Sir W. his Life of Buonaparte an-
nounced, 185, 307
Secret Memoirs of the Royal Family of
France during the Revolution, remarks on,
and extracts from, 101
Serenader, the, 295
Seymour, Lord Henry, view of his seat, 1
Sheffield Anti-Slavery Album announced, 59
Shepherd's pipe, lines on, 186
Silk, new species of, 355
Simms, E. his Studies for the Piano-forte re-
viewed, 356
Singular merchandise, 238
Sketch, a, 308
Sketches and characters, 5, 78
Smith, H. his Tor Hill announced, 306
Smith, J. review of his " Deep in the dusky
lawn," 358
Soames, Mr. his History of the Reformation
announced, 185
Society of Arts, annual meeting for the dis-
tribution of the prizes of, 43
Sofa, description of, 306
Soirees Dramatiques reviewed, 55
Sola, C. M. review of his Six Spanish Airs,
180
Solis, E review of his " Alas ! he's gone," j4
—his " Say what can hapless woman do,"
117
Songs, 310, 339
Spix and Martins, Drs. their Travels in
Brazil announced, 58
Stafford, Mr. C. his Essays on Shakspeare's
Female Characters announced, 306
Stanzas to Amanda, 61
"Stay, my charmer," a ballad, review of, 358
Steam-navigation, invention of, 111
Stevenson, Sir J. review of his " The year
that's awa'," 358
String of plays entitled Matrimony, 62
Summer Excursion, 133
Superstition in India, 208
Superstitions, popular, of the French pro-
vinces, 20, 65, 130, 199, 259, 318
Superstitions, popular, of the Swedes, 235
Swedes, popular superstitions of the, 235
T.
Taciturnity, the advantages of, 239
Tales of the O'Hara Family announced, 307
Taylor, J. his Poems announced, 185
Taylor, Baron, his Views in Spain, Portugal,
and Africa announced, 363
Thompson, Rev. H. his Sermons on the Life
of King David announced, 364
Tieck's Stembald, translation of, announced,
122
Todd's I ife of Milton, remarks on, 346
Traveller, tale of a, 50
Tun, the great, of Grbningen, 263, 326
Turner, S his History of the Reign of Henry
VIII announced, 246
Turvey, T. review of his Practice of the
Scales, 176
Tycho Brahe, the astronomer, 240
V.
Venice, an adventure at, 105
Views of country seats, 1, 63, 125, 187, 249,
311
Voltaire, anecdote of, 304
W.
Walton, J. G. lines on the death of, 309
Weber's Arrangement of Mehul's Romance
reviewed, 242
Weird Beauty, the, 26, 85
Wellbeloved, Mr. his London Lions an-
nounced, 307
Wesley, S. review of his Voluntary, 115
West- Farm, Herts, view of, 64
What is life ? 78
" Wtiile the breeze of morning," a ballad,
review of, 358
Whimsicalities and peculiarities of the Lon-
don cries, 83
Wig, funeral of a, 47
Williams Mr. his Memoir of Matthew Henry
announced, 307
Williams's Select Views in Greece an-
nounced, 59
Wilson, Dr. his Collections towards a History
of Loudon and its Liberties announced,
307
Wimbledon-House, Surrey, view of, 64
Wolfe, General, Letters, Memoirs, &c. of,
announced, 247
Wolfe of Badenoch announced, 364
World in Miniature, new portion of, an-
nounced, 58
Y.
Yarborough, Lord, view of bis scat, 2
END OF THE EIGHTH VOLUME.
Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand.
4