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Manufactures, 8$c. 


Vol. VIII. 

July 1, 1826. 



1. View of Norms, Isle of Wight, the Seat of Lord Henry Seymour 1 



3. Ladies' Walking Dress 

4. Evening L)ress 

5. Horizontal Grand Piano-Forte 
6'. Muslin Patters. 






Views or Country Seats. — Norris, Isle 
of Wight, the Seat of Lord Henry 

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 

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 


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 — 



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 



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 


London Fashions. — Ladies' Walking 

Dress 57 

Ladies' Evening Dress ....... 

Fashionable Fuiiniiuiie. — Horizontal 
Grand Piano-forte . • 




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. 






To whom Communications (pest-paid) are requested to be addressed. 

Printed by L. Harrison, 37% Strand. 


Publishers, Authors, Artists, and Musical Composers, are requested to transmit, 
on or before the 20th of the month, A?inouncevients 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 neiv Books, of a moderate length and of an 
interesting nature, suitable for our Selections, will be acceptable. 

We acknowledge the receipt of a packet from our obliging Correspondent at 
Nairn. The notice respecting the Northern Scientific Institution has been mislaid : 
can she favour us with another ? 


In the Memoir of Sir John Leicester, in our last Number, page 333, line 21, column 2, for 
" counteracting," read " countenancing ;" page 337, column 2, line 40, for " eighty," read 
" forty ;" page 339, column 1, line 11, for " Wood," read " Ward." 

The Inscription on the Plate opposite to page 312 should correspond with the Title of the 
Article on that page. 

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Manufactures, fyc. 


Vol. VIII. 

July 1, 1826. 




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- 

The principal building, or tower, 
Vol. VIII. No. XL1II. 


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- 


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. 



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, 



and an infant Hercules, with a few 
good pictures : 

Holy Family. — -Shidone. 

Cleopatra. — Murillo. 

Portrait of Sir R. Worsley. — Stroeh- 

Kemble as Coriolanus. — Lawrence. 

Descent from the Cross. — Daniel de 

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- 

Holy Family, small. — Albano. 

Venus and Cupid. — Correggio, 

Superb View in Italy. — Claude. 

Virgin and Infant, small. — Domini- 

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 

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. — 

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. — 

B 2 


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- 

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 



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. 


No. I. 


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- 



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- 


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 

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 



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 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- 



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 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. 


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 



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)ourpointerie s 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 



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 

'■ 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- 

" 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 

" 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 



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 



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- 

" Trustworthy hast thou ever been ; 
yea, thy prudence and valour have 
been the guardian angels of a reck- 



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- 

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 



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 



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 

(To be continued.) 


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. 



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- 


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- 


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 



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 



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- 


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." 


No. I. 


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 


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-^ 



vince during some centuries, is de- 
rived from the following romantic 

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 



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- 

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 




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 


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 



" 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- 

" 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- 

" 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 

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. 




" 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 



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 



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, 



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 

" 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- 



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- 

" 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- 



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.) 



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 



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 

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 




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 



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 

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 

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 

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- 

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 



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- 

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. 



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 

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- 

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 



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 

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- 

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 

In the damp dews indelible their tale 
Of torture; not a bed nor straw-laid pallet 
But bears th' impression of a wretch called 

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- 
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 

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." 



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- 

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' 
A strange, sweet movement of some hea- 
venly strain, 
Floating between the savage gusts of night 
That sweep the seas to foam ! Soon dark 



The hour — the scene— th' intensely present, 

Back on her spirit, and her large tears gush'd 
Like blood-drops from a victim, with swift 
Bathing the bosom where she lean'd that 

As if her life would melt into th' o'erswelling 

" But he whose arm sustain'd her! — oh! he 
'Twas vain, and yet he hoped! he fondly 
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 
Her smile was wont to glance, her step to 
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 
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 
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 

Waiting that look— sad eyes of troubled 

Alvar's, Theresa's! Did her childhood rise, 
With all its pure and home-affections 

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 

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- 
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 

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 

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* 




His touching lay of liberty and love 

To thousands, sings not to my ear. The 

Of earth and sky — the breeze, the flower, the 

brook — 
All sights and sounds delicious — cheering 

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 

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 

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 

That bids the day farewell : how seldom 

Through life's dull, dreary, heartless round, 

at night — 
Dear night! — to draw my curtain on the 

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 

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- 

Reginald Hildehhand. 

June 11, 1826. 

Vol. VIII. No. XLIII. 




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 



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 econom3 r , 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 

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. 



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, 


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 % 




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- 

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 
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. 

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. 


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- 


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 

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 

Miss Eliza Stephens, West Brixton, Sur- 
rey, for a copy in chalk of figures— silver 
his medal. 



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 

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- 

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. 
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 

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 

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- 

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. 



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. 


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. 


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 

Mr. J. H.West, Villiers-street, Strand, for 
models of the arch of Constantino at Rome, 
and the west front of Peterborough Cathe- 

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, 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 


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. 


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 

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. 




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, 


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. 


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, 



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- 


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. 


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." — 
surely have indulged yourself."— 
"What!" rejoined the king, looking 
stedfastly at him, " do you suppose I 
am paid by the state to do nothing?" 



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. 


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- 

" 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, f fai 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 


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. 


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- 



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!''' 


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. 


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 



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 



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- 
La Rosiere, a Divertimento for the 

Piano-forte, composed by J. F. 

Burrowes. Pr. 3s. — (Latour, 


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. 

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 

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 



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 

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. 


1. " Alas! he's gone," a Moral Song, com- 
posed by E Solis. Pr. Is. 6d.— (Horn, 


2. *' Oh! sweet ivas the. hour," a Canzonet, 
written, and adapted to a favourite Italian 
Air, by W. Ball. Pr. Is. 6d.— (Chappell, 

3. " 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- 

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 

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 



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 


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 — 

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 

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 

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- 



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. 

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- 




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." 


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 ; 


pale rose- colour parasol, with a white 


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. 




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 

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. 


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 . 



and Walnuts," is just ready for publica- 

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- 

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 

In the press, A Concise Historical 
View of Galvanism, with observations on 
its chemical properties, and medical 
efficacy in chronic diseases, by M. La 

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. 

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 % 



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 

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 


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 

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 

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 



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. 



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. 


Amanda, mark, where shrinking from the 
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. 



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?" 

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. 



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 

" A Bold Stroke for a Wife" brings " The 
Wedding-Day" near; 
If a " Clandestine Marriage," what then ? 
" Isabella," if willing, " The Stranger" will 
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. 



(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 ! 

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. 

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. 





Manufactures, 8$c. 


Vol. VIII. 

August 1, 1826. 



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 . . 


5. Flower-Stands 
6*. Muslin Pattern. 







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 


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 . . 


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 


London Fashions. — Ladies' Promenade 


Ladies' Evening Dress 

Fashionable Furniture. — Flower-Stands 




Maids and Men. Extracted from Field- 
Flowers. By H. Brandreth, juu. Esq. 

Glenallen: A Ballad 

The Poet's Wreath. By J.M. Lacby, Esq. 










To nlunn Communications (post-paid) are requested to be addressed. 

Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand. 


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. 

The communication of Gulielmus reached us too late for insertion in the present 
Number. We hope to hear further from him. 

The packet inquired after by our esteemed Correspondent at Nairn reached us 
safely; and we acknowledge the receipt of two others during the past month. 


In our last Number, in the head of the article commencing on p. 2. and in the inscription 
to the annexed plate, for " the Earl of Yarborough," read Lord Yarborough. 

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 
Post-Office, at No. 21, Sherborne-lane j 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 Messrs. Amjon and Krap, Rotterdam. 





Manufactures, §c. 


Vol. VIII. 

August 1, 1826. 

N° XL1V. 



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. 


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 




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- 

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- 

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. 





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- 


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 

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 


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 

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 

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 



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 

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 

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. 



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 

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. 


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, 



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. 


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, 



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 



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- 

" 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." 


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 



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 



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 

" 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. 


" 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 

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 



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, 



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 



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- 

(To be continued.) 


No. II. 


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? 


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 



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- 



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 



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 



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. 


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 

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- 



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, muddy x 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- 

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- 



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 

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. 



" 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- 

" ' 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 



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 

'"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 



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 

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- 



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. 


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 

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 



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 

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- 



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. 




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 



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 



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- 



■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 


Present, the Vicar, Miss and Miss Rosina 
drake, Counsellor Eitherside, Mr. Mathe 


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- 



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 

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? 



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- 

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. 



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 

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 

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 


« 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 % 



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 

True love strikes root in reason, passion's 

Virtue alone entenders us for life: 
I wrong her much — entenders us for ever. 
Of friendship'' s fairest fruits the fruit most 

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 

Glorious survivor of old Time and Death j 
From friendship thus, that flower of heavenly 

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 

So said or sung Campbell ; and his 



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 

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 


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 

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 — 


" 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- 



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 



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 

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, 

I I 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- 

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 



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- 



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 

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 

Reginald Hildehuand. 

July 11, 1826. 


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 

" 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 



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 w r ere 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. 



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- 


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- 

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 



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- 

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 
" Sea 1 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 



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- 

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 

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 



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. 


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 



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- 

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. 


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- 



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- 

"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 

" 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 

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- 



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. 



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. 



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. 


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- 

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- 


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. 


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 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- 




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 : 

* * * * 


* * * 

* * * 

* * * 


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 : 

* * » * 

* * * * 

* * * * 

* * * * 


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 



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- 

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. 


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- 

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. 

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 



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 



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 

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- 

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. 


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- 

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- 

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- 



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- 

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- 



gance of the whole, is extremely 

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. 


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 

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: 



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. 




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, 


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. 


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- 




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. 



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- 


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. 


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 



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 

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 

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. 


The plan for the foundation of a Lon- 


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 









(Extracted from Field- Flowers. By He sky 
Brandreth, jun. Esq. Author of " -OtZes," 
" Portland Isle," %c.) 


" 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 

" 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 ; 



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." 


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. 


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. 





Manufactures , §c, 


Vol. VIII. 

September 1, 182(3. 

N° XLV. 


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. 



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 . 


Pixis' " Les Charities de Vienne" . . . 

Turvey's Practice of the Scales . 

Macdonald's Notation of Music Simpli- 

Arrangements, Variations, &c. 

Burrowes' Airs of Meyer's Medea — 
Crouch's Select Italian Airs — Calkin's 





V Effort sans Effort — RAwtiNcs'Diver- 
tisement —'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 


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 


London Fashions. — Ladies' Carriage 
Costume 183 

Ladies' Evening Dress ib. 

Fashionable Furniture. — Candelabra . 184 




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. 


To whom Communications (jiost-paid) are requested to be addressed. 

Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand. 


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 
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This Work may also be had of 3Iessrs. Akijon and Kkat, Rotterdam. 





Manufactures, 8$c. 


Vol. VIII. September 1, 1826. 

N°- XLV. 



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. 


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 



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. 



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. 



" 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 

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 



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 

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 



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- 



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. 


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 

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 



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 

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 

" But that is only a part of the 

" 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 



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 

" 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. 



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 

" 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. 


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. 



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 



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." 


T 2 



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 

" 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. 



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 

" 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- 

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 



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 

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 

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 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. 



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 

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 

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- 



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 

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, 



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 



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- 



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- 

" ' 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- 

" 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 



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- 



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 

" ' 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 



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 



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 



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. 



" 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 



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- 

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- 

" 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 



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, 



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 



would take up his lute, and, in an- 
swer to a lay of Elizabeth's, chant 
the following: 

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- 


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 



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. 


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 



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 

" 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 

" 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 

" 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 



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 

" 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 



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 

" 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 


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. 


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 


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- 



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 



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 

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 ; 



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 



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 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- 



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- 

" 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 



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.) 

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. W T hy, 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. 



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- 



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 



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- 

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 



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 

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 

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 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. 



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 



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 

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. 



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- 

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 

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 

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 I 7 rcnch- 



man, whilst a shot was left in the 

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 

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 

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 



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 


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. 

Anyust 10, 1826. 





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 


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 


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- 


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. 



(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. 


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- 

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 



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- 

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 



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 


Bass 1 . . 


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 ! 


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. 



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 

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- 



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. 


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 



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 

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, b3 r 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 

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 



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- 


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 - 





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. 


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 




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. 


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 

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 


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 

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- 


- • .:■_ 



ciety of London — by the Rev. Alexander I 

[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. 



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 



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 

Still may thy heart " Forget-me-not." 

July 22, 1826. E.S.C***r. 

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. 


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 

To the mad dance of wild voluptuous plea- 

Back to the shepherd lawns — there may thy 

The heart of rustic innocence rejoice ! 

Beneath these planes, protected from SoPs 

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 

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 

That with Love's fires inflamed shall ever 



Piinted by L. Harrison, 37^, Strand. 






Manufactures, §c. 


Vol. VIII. 

October 1, 1826. 



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. 





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 










— 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 


Neate's La Grazia 

Rimbault' Airs from Winter's Opera, 
The Interrupted Sacrifice 

The Beauties of Winter's Interrupted 

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. 


London Fashions. — Ladies' Head- 
Dresses 244 

Ladies' Evening Dress ib. 

Fashionable Furniture. — Upright Pia- 
no-forte, Music-Stand, and Chair . 245 







To whom Communications (post-paid) are requested to be addressed. 

Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand. 


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. 





Manufactures, fyc. 

T H 


Vol. VIIT. 

October 1, 1826. 




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. 


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 



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 



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- 


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 



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- 

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 



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 



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- 

" I know that she is good and 
beautiful, for I have seen her." 

" Where?" 

At the 


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 



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 

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- 

" 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 " 



** 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 

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. 


(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 


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 


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 



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 



soon afterwards retired with his pro- 

" 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- 



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 



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. 


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. 




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 



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 



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 

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 



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 

"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- 



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. 


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- 

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 

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. 



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- 

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- 

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 

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 



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 
K a ecambo 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 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 

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. 



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 

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. 



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 

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- 



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 

(To be continued.) 


" 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 

" 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 



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, 



I heard tlie plaints of suffering hu- 
manity, and guided by the sounds, 
discovered you among fragments of 

" 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 


c 211 

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 



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. 


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 



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 

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, 



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 


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- 

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 

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- 



less impatience Theresa pursued her 

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 | 

" 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 

" 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 



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 

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. 



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 

Of threefold magic in the Briton's home! 
By heroes bought, from Freedom's hand it 

Fast clinging to his heart ; and though he 

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 

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- 
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 

Listens, in vain, to hear the skylark's strains, 

Nor feels that brisk invigorating wind, 
Which blows across the land his footsteps left 

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 

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 

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 

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- 
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 

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- 

The Vicar. That is indeed a pa- 
triot's song; ,and coming from so 



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 

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 

The tribute of the nations on thy shores ; 
Whose is the human heart, not curs'd and 

That sees thy chartered millions, brave and 

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 


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 



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 

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 

Crash'd horrible, convulsing heaven and 


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 : 

Sweet blue-eyed cherub ! in my prayers for 
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 


And give thee virtue and a prudent mind ; 

Long may thy cheek the rose and dimple 


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 

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- 

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 



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 

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 



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 

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 

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 



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 

r m 


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 

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. 



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 



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- 



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 

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 

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- 

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 



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 

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- 

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- 

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 


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 

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 



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. 

September 10, 1826. 


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 

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 



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. 


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 


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- 



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 

><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- 



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 

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- 



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." 


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 



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- 

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. 





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 ? 


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 




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. 

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. 


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 

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. 


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. 


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 


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 


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. 


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." 


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 ! 




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, 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 


" 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 

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. 


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. 



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 

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- 

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. W r hy 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 



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 

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 



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 

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 


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, 


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 



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 ! 




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. 


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. 


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 




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. 



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 

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 at M uuwiim m • 


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 % 



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 

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 



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." 


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. 



{( 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' 

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 



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 
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. 










Manufactures, §c. 


Vol. VIII. 

November 1, 1826. N° XLVII. 


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. 



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 



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 


London Fashions. — Ladies' Promenade 

Dresses 305 

Ladies' Evening Dress ib. 

Fashionable Furniture. — A Sofa . . 306 




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. 


To whom Communications (j>ost-paid) are requested to be addressed. 

Printed by L. Harrison, 373, Strand. 


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 
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Vol. VIII. November 1, 1826. N°- XLVII. 



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 

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 



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, 



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. 



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 


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 



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. 



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 



them to forget their plot against 
Ivan, who followed them in their re- 

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 



than to exterminate the whole tribe, 
as well as the Russian battalion 
which covered the erection of the 

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 

" 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. 



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 : 


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 ! 


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 ? 


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. 


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. 


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 ? 


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 

r im 


/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 

" 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 : 


c i~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 



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, 



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.) 




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 



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 



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 

" 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- 

" 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. 


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- 

" 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 

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 

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. 



" 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. 



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. 


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 

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. 



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 

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 

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 



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 

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 


" 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 

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 

" 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 

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 

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- 

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- 



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 



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 

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.) 


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 


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 

" 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 

" 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 

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, 



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 

" 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 



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. 


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, 



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- 

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 

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 -■ 


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 



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- 



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 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 


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, 



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 



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- 

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 



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- 



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 



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 

"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 




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 

( To be concluded in our next.) 

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 


ivselima - world since our 



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 

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. 



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 % 



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 

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- 



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- 

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 
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, 



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- 



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 

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 



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 

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 

Mr. Mathews, How do the women 
spend their time ? 


Reginald. Our author shall tell 

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 

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- 

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 



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 



»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 ar