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THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

on

BRITISH REGISTER

OF

LITERATURE, SCIENCES, AND THE BELLES-LETTRES.

New SeriesgP PRESEN oY

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JULY TO DECEMBER. —

VOL. XII.

LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY WHITTAKER, TREACHER, AND CO.,
AVE-MARIA-LANE.

1831,

wo “SATSaAS 3 e

LONDON:
HENRY BAYLIS, PRINTER, JOHNSON'S-COURT, FLEET-STREET-

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES. -
Vor. XII.] JULY, 1831. [ No. 67.

EUROPE AND THE ENGLISH PARLIAMENT.

Tue legislature which is to effect the great work of change has met
at last ; and its first operation is announced to be “ Reform.” We shall
not stigmatize the word’ by giving it the meaning which thousands and
tens of thousands of the most desperate and dark-minded rabble that’
ever tried the wisdom, or cried out for the downfal of a state, have
given. We shall listen to those graver casuists, who deny that it is
* Revolution ;” while they admit that it reaches to its verge. We,
shall, for the moment, range ourselves with the well-wishers to the
" measure, and ask in the most deliberate spirit, whether it tends to good
or evil. But first, of the King’s speech. On Tuesday, the 21st of
June, a day which will make itself long memorable, his Majesty delivered
the following sentiments :—

“ My Lords and Gentlemen.—I have availed myself of the earliest oppor-
tunity of resorting to your advice and assistance,-after the dissolution of the
late Parliament. Having had recourse to that measure for the purpose of.
ascertaining the sense of my people on the expediency of a reform in the
representation, I have now to recommend that important question to your
earliest and most attentive consideration, confident that in any measures you
may propose for its adjustment, you will carefully adhere to the acknowledged
principles -of the constitution, by which the prerogative of the crown, the
authority of both Houses of Parliament, and the rights and liberties of the
people, are equally secured. The assurances of a friendly disposition, which I
continue to receive from all foreign powers, encourage the hope that, notwith-
standing the civil commotions which have disturbed some parts of Europe, and
the contest now existing in Poland, the general peace will be maintained. To.
the preservation of this blessing, my most anxious care will be constantly di-
rected. The discussions which have taken place on the affairs of Belgium have
not yet been brought to a conclusion ; but the most complete agreement con-
tinues to subsist between the powers whose plenipotentiaries have been
engaged in the Conferences of London. The principle on which these con-
ferences has been conducted, has been that of not interfering with the rights
of the people of Belgium to regulate their. internal affairs, and to establish
their government according .to their own views of what may be most con=
ducive to their future welfare and independence, under the sole condition,
sanctioned by the practices of nations, and founded on the principles of
public law, that, in the exercise of that undoubted right, the security of
neighbouring states should not be endangered. A series of injuries and
insults, for which, notwithstanding repeated pines ewes all reparation

M.M. New Series. Vou. XII.—No. 67.

2 Europe, and the English Parliament. [Juny,

was withheld, compelled me at last to order a squadron of my fleet to appear
before Lisbon, with a peremptory demand of satisfaction. A prompt com-
pliance with that demand, prevented the necessity of further measures, but I
have not yet been enabled to re-establish my diplomatic relations with the
Portuguese government.”

The only facts to be gleaned from this part of the speech are, that
his Majesty hopes that general peace will be preserved, though universal
war is preparing, and that the continent will be undisturbed, though
every power is increasing its army, and though Russia and Poland
are tearing each other in pieces.

That his Majesty relies on the co-operation of the five great powers,
though Belgium is as disturbed as ever and much more intractable.

And that, though Portugal, by the presence of a fleet, has been
compelled to comply with the demands of satisfaction ; yet, that she is
stubborn as ever, and has made no advance to an intercourse with
England.

The paragraph addressed exclusively to the House of Commons,
merely recommends economy ; while the paragraph to the two Houses,
announces that new taxes will be necessary :—

“J trust that such additional means as may be required to supply a part
of the deficiency occasioned by these reductions, may be found without any
material abridgment of the comforts of my people. To assist the industry, to
improve the resources, and to maintain the credit of the country on sound
principles, and on a safe and lasting foundation, will be at all times the
object of my solicitude.”

On this point we must wait for the ministers’ explanation of that
phrase of many meanings, “ sound principles,’ before we can venture
to congratulate the country on the national credit. The matter is one
which least bears being tampered with of anything in the whole range
of ministerial responsibility ; and let what will come, we must protest
against the sponge.

But in touching on the affairs of Ireland, we have the open and
formidable admission, that the disturbances there are of a kind to
demand the full vigilance of the laws, nay of more, to demand a declara-
tion from the King, that if the punishments held out already by the
laws, are not sufficient to crush the spirit of insubordination, the Irish
shall have more laws, that is more punishments. Yet while the present
punishments are the dungeon, transportation, and hanging, we can
discover nothing beyond them, but, perhaps, the mitraillade and
massacre.

We are inclined to find no fault with this document. It has evidently
been framed to avoid all collision of opinion, and by adhering to a few
simple points, which nobody could contradict, and avoiding principles
which all men might dispute, pass over in tranquillity at least one
night of the session. Nor can we feel any hostility to the cabinet over
which Lord Grey presides. Whatever we may think of his rashness,
no man can charge him with dishonesty. His theories may be fantastic
but his hands are clean; and if the constitution is to be assailed, we
should rather see it assailed by the straight-forward and declared inno-
vation of Lord Grey, than defended by the hollow-heartedness, the
loathsome hypocrisy, the petty-larceny shifts and subtleties of the band
over whom he triumphed, after they themselves had exhausted the
patience, the feeling, and the force, all but the contempt, of Toryism. If
we must fall, let it be by some hand that dignifies our fall ; by the assault

1831.] Europe, and the English Parliament. 3

of some daring weapon not unworthy of the contest that decides the
fate of men of honour ; not by the poison administered by the hand of
a slave, not by the steel of the assassin, terrified at his own attempt, and
at last wound up to the deed for his hire. If we are to see the constitution
of the empire perish, let it be where champion smites champion through
the joints of his armour, not in the unsuspecting hour, and by an arrow
in the heel.

It is reported that there are to be large modifications -of the bill:
For those we must await the discussion in the House. One there must
be. If the qualification is not raised, the constitution will be not
changed, but extinguished ; the House of Commons, not the representa-
tives of the nation, nor even of the populace, but the tool of the rabble.
Before two parliaments had sat, the ten-pound electors would order the
House of Commons to register their will without the formality of a
debate ; and for the peerage and the throne there would be no alternative
but civil war. But as to the king’s speech we are quite of the Marquis of
Londonderry’s opinion :—“ He congratulated the government upon the
ingenuity they had displayed in the manufacture of the speech from the
throne. The only tangible point in it—the only point of importance,
was that about the cholera morbus; they were not threatened with the
reform bill—they were not threatened with foreign and domestic war—
they were only threatened with the cholera morbus. Never was there a
speech so satisfactorily framed to disarm opposition. There was nothing
in fact to be caught but—the cholera morbus.”

The duke of Norfolk moved the address in the Lords, but this new
acquisition to a protestant legislature, is not likely to tend in any remark-
able degree to the eloquence of the house; the principal part of his
speech being thus characterised by the newspapers :—‘“ We regret that
in consequence of the noble duke being inaudible below the bar during
almost the whole of his speech, we are prevented from giving the whole
of it, but we believe that the above are the principal points that the
noble duke addressed to the house.”

Lord Winchelsea delivered a manly and rational statement of the
views which actuated him as an independent Member of Parliament :—
« He had withdrawn that support which he desired to afford to his Ma-
jesty’s present administration. He would honestly and fairly say, that
he perceived, the differences said to have once existed between Whigs
and Tories were not wholly at an end. He would honestly say, that
after the passing of those two great measures, the repeal of the Test and
Corporation Acts and of the Roman Catholic disabilities, he had thought
that all distinctions of Whig and Tory ceased to exist.”

The plain fact is, that the divisions of Whig and Tory, instead of
being narrowed, are made wider than ever. The surrender of the Test
Act has done nothing. The Catholic Bill has done nothing. For now
an interest still more vital, if possible, is declared to be endangered, and
the old difference of principle is become still more distinctly one of self-
preservation :—“ He (Lord W.) found, however, that one party were now
advocating a measure which the other declared would, if conceded, end
in the subversion of the equilibrium of the three powers in that consti-
tution which was now the envy and admiration of surrounding nations.
This was one great distinction. The next was that the great body of
that party which was now in power had lost no opportunity of advocating
every measure which would have the effect of destroying the connection
between the church and the state—(loud cries of “ Hear’’)—a connec-

2

4 Europe, and the English Parliament. [Juny,

tion which, in his humble opinion, formed the ground of that great
superiority of moral character for which this country had been so long
distinguished.”’

Lord Grey was called up by those observations, and made, what he
seldom fails of doing, an eloquent and specious speech ; but to the main
point of Lord Winchelsea’s, his answer was sufficiently ominous :—
“ Now he (Lord Grey) was a Protestant, and a member of the Church
of England, which he believed to be the best church in the world ; but
when the noble Lord talked of the necessity of an intimate union be-
tween that country and the state, he (Lord Grey) was compelled to say
he recognised the necessity of no higher union than the protection which
was due to that church, to support its ministers in the proper discharge
of their duties.”

Yet, even this was not enough, end the premier, confident in his
strength, gradually spoke out with a plainness which it was impossible
to misunderstand :—“If the noble earl meant a political union, if he
meant to make the members of the Church of England parties to the
support of political power, he would tell him that the church had very
seldom exercised that power, with advantage to themselves, and often
with great detriment to the public. (Hear.) I trust, therefore, it is not
to me that the noble earl imputes hostility to the church. I wish for
Protestant ascendancy, but I wish it to be obtained by a conviction of
the superior truth of the doctrines of Protestantism, and to be upheld
by the exemplary conduct and piety of those who are to expound its
doctrines.”

We respect the privileges of the House too much, to venture to de-
scribe the meaning which those words bear in our eyes. But, we have
heard the same words so often from the regular assailants of the Church
of England, that we find it difficult to believe that they could have pro-
ceeded from a Protestant peer. On this point we shall say no more.
The wildest speculation of the present House of Commons will not go
the length of breaking down the Church, and thus there will be, at
least, some time interposed ; some senator, worthy of the name, may ex-
pose the fallacy of the republican dreams of purifying a Church, by
destroying its means of existence ; of reforming the manners of a clergy
by throwing them into the basenesses, popular compliances, and popular
corruptions of a perpetual canvass for bread ; or of purifying the habits
of the country, and strengthening the hands of the state, by virtually
compelling the clergy to become demagogues, to take an eager personal
interest in every party and public change, to be the perpetual advocates
for change, and to bring to their new alliance with the politics of the
mob, the passions of the enthusiast. Let a clergy be once salaried
by the state, and its dignity in the public eye perishes at once. On
the first real or fancied emergency in the state, its salary is curtailed ;
and this process goes on, until no salary at all is paid, and the clergy
are driven to subsist on the precarious bounty of the subscribers to
their chapels. The next consequence to which, must be, the shap-
ing of their doctrine and style to the doctrine and style of their
diversity of congregations ; in other words, the extinction of all national
regularity and decency in worship; the advocacy of every absurd mis-
conception of Christianity, in its turn; and a crop of Socinians, Deists,
and abettors of every new foolery of the populace, until the whole issued
in one common tide of infidelity.

But the bill is still sub judice. The debate will not take place till a

1831.] Europe, and the English Parliament. 5

period too late in the month for us to animadvert upon it, and we must
wait the lapse of time, and the recovered wisdom of Lord Grey. The
most remarkable speech of the night, however, was brought out not by
the ecclesiastical, but by the political, portion of the Premier’s
opinion :—

“The Duke of Cumberland said he should not have risen on the
present occasion, had not a pointed allusion been made to him by the
noble earl, who had chosen to prefer a serious charge against him, of
being always adverse to the liberties of the people of this country. He
would tell that noble earl, that on this subject he must be permitted to
express himself as warmly as he felt, and assert in his place that, if those
liberties were endangered, no man there or elsewhere should be found
more eager or willing to fight manfully in support of those liberties than
he himself—(Hear.) He would ask that noble earl in what public acts
of his parliamentary life, for above 30 years, since he had been a mem-~
ber of that house, did he find the proof of such an accusation? His
opinion was one which was not new, nor without high precedent—that
the safety of our constitution consisted in the just equipoise and balance
of the aristocracy, the King, and the Commons of Great Britain. As
to the bill proposed to the adoption of Parliament, on the subject of
reform in the House of Commons, he thought totally different with the
noble earl and his colleagues of its merits. Whenever the time should
arrive that the liberties of the people of this country might be attacked,
he would be found as eager as any man there to fight in their defence.”

From the unsettled and dubious state of British affairs, we turn to the
equally unsettled state of the Continent. The great source of diplomatic
trouble, at present, is Belgium. The declaration by France that she
will, under no circumstance, send troops to support the decision of the
“ five powers,” has completely nullified all their proceedings.

The most curious feature of the crisis is the offer of the crown to
princes of France and England successively. The Belgians desire a
republic, and there can be no doubt that a republican government might
be perfectly consistent with their prosperity. A large republic cannot
subsist in Europe, because a large one must have a great military force,
and the first war which raised up a successful general would raise this
general intoa dictator. But a republic of the restricted size of Belgium,
and protected less by its own force than the interests of its neighbours,
might flourish in the centre of empires. Holland had so existed ; Swit-
zerland has so existed for centuries, and may so exist for centuries to
come. But the monarchs are determined that no republic shall exist te
tempt the wayward wills of their subjects, and Belgium is sent to wander
to all courts fora king. France has refused the Duke of Nemours, a sage
of seventeen. England is now solicited for Prince Leopold, whose brow
seems made to have the chance of all the stray diadems, and yet to die
. erownless after all. But the prince is a philosopher, and he may calculate
that £60,000 a year, paid quarterly out of the British Treasury, is a
much more satisfactory provision than the civil list of Belgium, with the
certainty of having something to do for it. Whether the prince has re-
fused directly or not, the delay is a virtual negative. No man, who is
in earnest, hesitates when the offer is a diadem. We shall see Belgium
arepublic yet ; not perhaps in the furious form of the French of 1793 ;
but gradually assuming the shape of the American States, whose tran-
quillity, opulence, active vigour, and growing prosperity, form a tempt-
ing contrast to the anxieties of life and nations in the old world.

6 Europe, and the English Parliament. [Juny,

Prussia presents the phcenomenon of the most military government,
with the most democratic population of the continent. ‘The towns are
full of men, intelligent above their rank in life. Education has been
widely spread. Literature, though a tardy road to distinction, under a
government of epaulettes, is a favourite pursuit, and even the Prussian
army contains many individuals of considerable scholarship. Those men
cannot look upon the rapidly changing state of the continent, the in-
creased power of public opinion, the growing freedom of the tribunals,
the privileges of the press, without inquiring why Prussia is not to make
her advance like the rest. The promise of a constitution made at the
close of the late war is loudly demanded to be realized, and until it is
realised, we must expect to hear the demand persevered in.

We have at all times disclaimed, and with the utmost sincerity, all
regard for the pretensions of mere republicanism. We have uniformly
described the spirit of mere innovation, as one of the most fatal of all
public evils, as a monster insatiable of mischief, as fostering only the
fiercer passions of the furious, the ignorant, and the malignant, and
trampling down all the barriers and forms by which time and wisdom have
provided for the security of human peace, and the sustenance of human
virtue. But if we resist the explosion, which would involve the whole
ancient fabric of states in one wild and fiery overthrow, are we therefore
to regret that incumbrances should be cleared away, that the spots where
corruption and pestilence bred should be purified, that light should be
suffered to penetrate into the dungeon? To our conception, there is no
finer display in moral nature than this beneficent change, so gradual as
to produce no shock, and yet so complete as to leave nothing beyond the
limits of its illustration ; this general brightening of the moral land-
scape, not with that fierce and consuming burst of light which could only
dazzje and inflame, but with that serene and deliberate splendour which,
while it clears away the night, approaches in a magnificent regularity of
advance that turns its very mists and shades into colour and beauty.

Austria has long exhibited the singular contrast of the most sluggish
government, with a cabinet keenly alive to every movement of Europe.
At home, all heavy, formal, and clinging to obsolete things ; abroad, all
eager subtlety and angry suspicion. The genius of the throne is a monk
in Austria, a monarch in Hungary, a dragoon in Italy, and a Jesuit
every where. Metternich, whose influence began in the famous armis-
tice of 1813, that armistice, which broke down the barrier between
Napoleon and the world in arms, is the soul of the cabinet; a man of
singular acuteness, energy, and knowledge of courts. In all the pro-
verbial uncertainty of favour under an arbitrary throne, he has retained
his position. He has undoubtedly justified his forturie by his ability.
No finesse of diplomacy has been too refined for his sagacity, no change
of affairs too unexpected for his vigilance. At a period when the whole
political world was charged with storm, he conducted Austria, shat-
tered as she was by the French war, through the danger unhurt, and
even raised her from decrepitude to exercise a most. powerful influence
upon the state of the European world. Metternich is now the acknow-
ledged master of European politicians. He is the head of a school in
which the first statesmen of his day are not ashamed to rank themselves
as his pupils. His system is the acknowledged code of royal policy ;
his will is the first consulted in all the meditated changes of nations. He
has made Vienna the point to which all the envoys of the continent
flock for. consultation. Without his confidence nothing is done ; with

1831.] Europe, and the Enghsh Parliament. ‘

it every thing is attempted. There are now but two powers, the
Revolutionary power, still loose, and without a leader—divided, but
armed with an irresistible and fiery determination ; and the Monarchical
power—vigorous, compact, but insecure of its ground, and ominously
conscious of the strength of its enemy. Metternich is the leader of
the “Conservative System,” and he at once lords it over Italy and
Germany ; keeps the half-republican cabinet of France in awe, and
influences the councils of England.

This is ambition. But we must own it to be a magnificent and lofty
ambition ; it dazzles and fills the mind. Whatever may be our dislike
of the principles of this pre-eminent statesman, we must allow that his
career has exhibited a singular display of the commanding qualities which
transmit a name proudly to posterity. Without holding up either his
personal virtues, or his political conduct, as a model to those who would
attain the noblest honours of national esteem, we yet cannot contemplate
the elevation to which such men have risen, and on which they have
sustained themselves in years pregnant with vicissitude, without feeling
a stronger consciousness of the vivid and vigorous faculties that may be
lodged in human nature.

Italy is still disturbed. She has often been compared to her own
Mediterranean, alternately the most placid and the most turbulent of
seas. But the Italian insurrections have all died away. They were not
founded in the feelings of the people; none of the great permanent po-
pular interests had been bruised ; the priesthood, the traders, the tillers
of the ground, had been untouched by Austria. Even the chief part of
the nobles, the most aggrieved class, had been either purchased by mili-
tary and civil office, or suffered to indulge in that indolent possession of
their opulence, which makes patriotism disappear from the mind. The
true depositories of manly thought, the scholars and writers of a nation,
are few in Italy, and the few are disunited by provincial prejudice, de-
‘pressed by want of public influence, or chained by pensions. In all
countries a pensioner is a slave. The last hope of Italian freedom lay in
the worst hands in which freedom ever took shelter ; the broken parti-
zans of French jacobinism, the remnant of the corrupt officials of the
Napoleon dynasty, the beggared courtiers of Murat, and the infidel dis-
ciples of Condorcet and Voltaire. Out of such elements no solid, peace-
ful constitution could ever grow. The original evil of its birth must have
envenomed and enfeebled every stage of its existence. A Jacobin Italian
Republic must have been attended by all the train of its terrible ancestor in
France ; it must have been followed by those horrid shapes of confiscation,
imprisonment, torture, and indiscriminate death ; that insolence to the
throne, and that spoliation of the temple, which to this hour throw their
shade over France, and make mankind distrust every movement of her
people, as if it were a coming subversion of her throne.

But the divisions of Italy, the inveterate mutual scorn of men sepa-
rated from each other but by a ridge of hills, or a river—by the differ-
ence of dialects, of name, of historical recollections—by the trivial injuries
of ages past, which, instead of fading away, have been only darkened by
time ; all the weak bitternesses of idle nations—exasperate Italian against
Italian, until the general enemy is received as a comparative friend,
fixes the fetter on the foolish combatants alike, and, while he indulges
in the full power of the tyrant, actually becomes the benefactor. '

[ 8 ] [Juny,

SPECIMENS OF CANT,

Prison-Rerorm.—Great things are to be done by sincerity and zeal
in most affairs of this world, and something is to be done by them even
in prisons, hulks, and transportation ; but we cannot endure the per-
petual meddling, bungling, and hustling of political friends of humanity ;
of bitter and persevering hunters after public influence, through those
calls on public feeling; of a little junto of republicans for power,
whether they call themselves Irvingites or Wilberforceites, political
economists or parliamentary evangelicals, saints of Balham-hill or
sinners of St. Giles’s. We see the worldly principle creeping out under
the piety; there is some little interest always to be insinuated in the
most unearthly smile; some dexterity in the softest squeeze of the
sanctified hand ; the lip sigheth not, without a meaning worthy of the
Stock Exchange ; and the eye turneth not upon Heaven, without 4
glance upon the things of this, “ alas! transitory existence,” worthy of
the chief of speculators in gunpowder, condemned musket-barrels,
aquafortis-gin, and East India-liberal-sacrosanct-freelabour-sugar. Non-
sense is of course the staple of those orations; and the ignorance,
contempt of history, and disregard of consequences, are too charac-
teristic to be ever forgotten in the “ingredients of their cauldron.”

Society for the Improvement of Prison Discipline—A meeting of this society
was held on Monday at Exeter Hall, Mr. F. Buxton, M.P., in the chair.
Among the speakers were Dr. Lushington, Sir G. Hanson, Mr. Hoare, and Mr.
J.J. Gurney. In the course of the conversation the unhealthy condition of
many of our prisons, the evil effects produced by the indiscriminate confine-
ment of juvenile offenders with those hardened in crime, the difficulty of
finding a secondary punishment consistent with their views, and the superior
management of convicts in the United States, were some of the principal
topics touched upon. It was also contended that the proper object of punish-
ment was the reformation of the offender as well as the prevention of crime,
and Dr. Lushington argued that capital punishments were a direct violation of
humanity, and repugnant to the Jaws of God. Resolutions passed in favour of
abolishing capital punishment, and to institute those which, while they in-
flicted pain on criminals, would, at the same time, be likely to advance their
temporal and spiritual welfare.

Passing over the worn out common-places of those harangues ; the
praise of American prison affairs, as if there could be any rational com~
parison between England, crowded as she is with temptations t» pilfering,
and loaded witha population of six millions of a mercantile and manufac-
turing race; and America, where there is nothing to steal but grass or
water ; where the spade is the only thing of value, and the land the only
thing out of which a man canlive; America, where every man must
be his own tailor, carpenter, lawyer, and rearer of cabbages ; where, if
a man devises the stealing of a pair of breeches, he must first slay and
strip the wearer, inasmuch as no man, from the president downwards,
has a second pair ; where the arts of life consist in planting maize and
potatoes, and the luxuries of life consist in boiling them into puddings ;
where there are more acres of land than knives and forks ; a looking-
glass is a shew that congregates the population of a province ; a picture
has never been seen; a saltspoon is a phenomenon which no American
traveller, who values his reputation for veracity in the States, has ever
ventured to announce ; and it is notorious, that a tea-service of French
plate accumulated the unpopularity of the Adamses to such a degree,

1831.] _. Specimens of Cant. 9

that it overthrew that ancient dynasty, and federalism along with it, for
ever.

But here we have Dr. Lushington, a civilian too, a judge moreover,
and a liberal, a saint and a spouter of the first dimensions openly declar-
ing in Exeter Change—the largest, the worst built, and, six times a week,
the worst filled hall in London—that capital punishments were “ repug-
nant to the laws of God.” Did the pious doctor ever look at a law-book,
called Deuteronomy ; is he cognizant of the existence of the Mosaic
code ; or has he ever been at church, and in some moment, undevoted to
Doctors’ Commons, ever by accident heard the Decalogue? We call
on the learned doctor to “ eat his words.”

Any man, but the learned doctor, might have recollected, that capital
punishment is ordained in the inspired code for almost every species of
crime, in its deeper grade ; and that it is even appointed for the dis-
obedience of a child to its parents, of course, under strong and defined
circumstances. Let the doctor then venture to say, if he will, that this
code was contrary to humanity, and that such punishments were re-
pugnant to the laws of Heaven. Judge, civilian, and saint as he is, he
is mistaken. We are by no means hostile to any effort to improve the
condition, the minds, or the morals of prisoners. But we are decidedly
hostile to the party-style of humanity, the politico-brewery-saccharine-
gunpowder-Mauritius molasses-humanity. Mrs. Fry circuits it no more.
The annual summer barouche excursions, “ with my brother, my tracts,
my tea-kettle, and my patterns for the new prison reforming-cap and
pinners,” are at an end. We will not charge the lady with any thing
beyond the rashness of attempting objects not merely beyond her means,
but which her exertions have in all probability made more remote than
ever. But we need not dissemble our delight at any circumstance
which might have put an end to her excursions, pleasant, picturesque,
and pathetic as they were. We mean no offence to the fair quaker, drab-
coloured and didactic as she was ; and still less, if possible, to that wiser,
more innocent, and lovelier portion of the sex, who, seeing that nature
dresses the fields and skies in beauty, that a star is as sparkling as a
diamond, and by parity of reason, that one is just as criminal as the
other, and who have never in the course of their travels, heard of a
drab-coloured rose, dress the beauty that nature gave them in the colours
that creation supplies: yet we avow our belief, that the ladies are not the
best propagators of parliamentary reform, prison regulations, evangelical
preaching, nor even of anti-slavery petitions. As this‘is the age of
“ codification,” we shall, at some time or other, publish our code, enacting
that no unmarried lady shall ever display herself in those meetings, but
under penalty of her being suspected of having past her five-and-
thirtieth year ; that a committee-woman shall be reputed an old maid ;
and that “ president or secretary” shall be equivalent to a declaration,
that she is hopeless of marriage, even with a half-pay lieutenant of the
local militia.

We give a specimen of the female-prison-reform accomplishments :—

Wants of a Newgate Nymph.—The following correspondence, dated
_“ Newgate, 10th of March,” was found on a prisoner who was apprehended.
on Wednesday :—“ Elizabeth Brookes,—This comes hoping to find you well.
I hear you are out, and am sorry to hear that Tim and you are parted. I hope |
you will do what you can for me among the chaps, for, when they were in,
they said if I could bring them some baccy they would do the same for me.
M.M. New Series—Vou. XII. No. 67.

10 Specimens of Cant. [Juxy,

They can have no excuse now, for they can send it by you, and you must come
in as my sister. I hope you will do your best endeavours for me ; the smallest
trifle in my present situation would be of service, now that I am lagged. I
hope I shall have one drunk in Newgate before I go ; I should like a pipe of
baccy, a pot of beer, and one quartern of gin, but I can’t get it.—So no more
at present from your's truly, “ Mary Harszour, a lag.”

We like sincerity even in a quaker, a lord, or a whig; but for our
souls we cannot comprehend the sorrows of men, of whatever softness,
in having obtained the situations for which they have been struggling
for weeks, months, or years. Here is Lord Milton, certainly a good-
humoured kind of personage as ever failed in York, and as certainly,
a thorough electioneerer as ever worked himself in for any place else,
deploring, in “ good round sentences,” his misfortune in having gained
the very thing he sought, and which (his antagonist says) he gained by
no means in the most courteous mode to that antagonist. Yet, after
standing the burden and heat of the day, spending, we may presume, more
money than it has cost his noble and very inhospitable mansion in dinners
since the hour of his birth, and making speeches with his prohibited
surtout off in all weathers; we have him lamenting the result in lan-
guage worthy of Charlotte and Werter. One of our contemporaries,
who actually believes him in earnest, such is the innocence of man in
this nineteenth age, weeps with the weeper. “The address,” says he,
“« of Lord Milton to the freeholders of Northamptonshire is, in some of
its allusions to the personal circumstances of the writer, a very affecting
production. His lordship, says one, ‘ whose bosom is a stranger to joy,’
has been dragged from that retirement which he had devoted to the
indulgence of melancholy feelings, or to the charge of domestic and
pious duties, and is clothed with a most conspicuous public trust, at a
time of fierce and political struggle, into the midst of which he will be
forced to plunge by the necessary effect of the obligations thus suddenly
cast upon him.” _ Would it be indecorous to ask his lordship, who drag-
ged him into this “conspicuous public trust ?” and what but his own
cravings laid those responsibilities on him. It will be a long time
before the public will receive an answer.

The Kirk is up in arms against Irving ; and, at a meeting the other
day, to scourge the heresies of this very well-whiskered divine, the
Scots anathematized the poor heretic in a style of that various eloquence,
which the orator himself has compared to the braying of dogs round a
lion of the wilderness. In this parson-hunt, the only doubtful point
was as to the intensity with which our unfortunate tall preacher, unde-
niably the tallest since St. Christopher of ocean-wading memory, was to
be run down. Dr. Forbes moved a resolution, the substance of which
was, to tie up Presbyteries from allowing Mr. Irving to exercise his
privilege of a Licentiate or Minister in any Church of Scotland till he
avowed or denied these doctrines. Dr. Mac Farlane opposed the motion,

on the ground that the Assembly ought not fo pass sentence against
~ that which was more like the raving of a maniac than a man of sound
sense. Mr. Geddes, of Paisley, regretted that they should ever have
ordained a man to insult and blaspheme the Saviour. The Dean of
Faculty opposed the motion, as calculated only to advertise such non-
sense into notice, which, if left to itself, would sink into insignificance
and contempt. The motion, however, was eventually carried by a
majority of 147 to 40.

1831.] Specimens of Cant. ll

The whole was a brutum fulmen after all. As much a failure as the
protocol of the five powers ;” Mr. Collins’s, of Sadler’s Wells, imita-
tion of Paganini; Lord Francis Gower’s copy of Canning; Lord
Burghersh’s Opera, or Lord Normanby’s theatricals. Irving laughs at
their anathema, and well he may. It “ prohibits him from preaching
in any church or chapel within the jurisdiction of the Assembly.” In
other words, it prohibits a loud-voiced man, with a huge chapel in Lon-
don, a rich congregation in London, and a thousand a-year in London,
from going back to live on barley-cakes and beer ; to walk the hill-side
for five miles in a storm through his ragged and growling flock ; to be
snubbed by the elders, and taken to task for every text by the old
women ; to preach three sermons a-day, and perform the whole for
three hundred a-year. Ergo. They may prohibit till doomsday ; and
the more they prohibit, the better for the whiskered heretic. They but
sound the trumpet of fame to him; they advertize him; they propa-
gate his name ; they spice and cook his follies with the provocations of
party spirit; they lift the blunderer into the martyr; beat the drum
for his recruits, and give him a commission in the local militia of pious
innovators. The man of whiskers would ask nothing better, he could
imagine nothing half so good; and if Irving, having succeeded in
bringing the breath of the Kirk Assembly to blow him out of their
jurisdiction, knows how to use this singular act of luck, he is sure to
make his fortune.

If our bile has ever been moved in our country walks, it is when we
have seen the inscriptions in the country churchyards. Before us has
been the luxuriance of the English landscape, the most perfectly beau-
tiful, the most touching to the heart, the softest to the eye, the most
tasteful, thought-creating, and spirit-solacing in the world. Above us
was spread a summer sky, in its diversity of cloud and colour, in its
various grandeur, and its rich repose, unequalled in any climate from
the Equator to the Pole. Yet at our feet, in the spot, of all others,
fitted for the creation of feelings, solemn, deep, and sacred, stares upon
us some gross burlesque of feeling, common sense, and common English.
Some—

“ Tho’ here you been,
I’m no more seen.”

The sublime of some poetic cobler, who is suffered, by the negligent
clergyman, to desecrate the grave with his atrocious doggerel. Yet
fulsome flattery is worse to our ears and eyes than bad verse ; and what
are we to think of the taste, or the sincerity, that produced the following
tribute to that very slippery personage, the late Mr. Huskisson. The
man’s death was undoubtedly a frightful one, and the mode of it to be
greatly regretted, on the mere ground of its being undergone by a
human creature; but “full pride of talents’—* perfection of useful-
ness” — illustrious statesman’”—“ most honoured representative,” and
such things, are extravagances, which should not be suffered to find
their place in the funeral inscription of such a man. What! old, sly
Huskisson! the hanger-on of every party which would employ him.
Is the history of his share in the free-trade system, or his last scene with
the Wellington cabinet forgotten? Let truth be told ; and then let any
man. of common understanding ask, what grounds are there for national
C 2

12 Specimens of Cant. [Juxy,

grief over the tomb of this personage. We wish her ladyship Joan Can-
ning, the clever, were applied to for notes on the panegyric :—

The Late Mr. Huskisson.—A tablet of white marble, bearing the following
inscription, has been erected at Park-side, near Newton:—‘“ This tablet, a
tribute of personal respect and affection, has been placed here to mark the
spot where, on the 15th of September, 1830, the day of the opening of this
railroad, the Right Honble. William Huskisson, M. P. (singled out by the
decree of an inscrutable Providence, from the midst of the distinguished mul-
titude that surrounded him) in the full pride of his talents and the perfection
of his usefulness, met with the accident that occasioned his death, which
deprived England of an illustrious statesman, and Liverpool of its most
honoured representative ; which changed a moment of the noblest exultation
and triumph that science and genius had ever achieved into one of desolation
and mourning ; and striking terror into the hearts of assembled thousands,
brought home to every bosom the forgotten truth that—‘ in the midst of life
we are in death.’”

MAXIMS BY A MIDDLE-AGED GENTLEMAN.

THERE are two ways of looking at anything remarkable in this remark-
able world: if you look at it with the left eye, it is one thing ; with the
right, it is another; with both, it is itself or more than itself. An
artist, looking even at-an old post by the highway side, will perceive in
it something picturesque—a plain man will see nothing more in it than
a piece of wood, misshapen and rotten. You may look at things serious
and turn them into humour; at things humourous, and they become
grave: in fact, there are two sides of everything ; but maximists gene-
rally have looked with their favourite eye only on the favourite side of
things, an economy of their visual organs which I disdain to imitate ; on
the contrary, I shall use all the eyes I have by nature, and shall look as
often at the reverse as the obverse of “ things in general. ”

Duxt Men.—Blessings be on dull men—I do not mean the dull men
who won't talk, but the dull men who will. They are sleep’s physicians
—her ministers, preaching peace and sound slumbers to all men. Take
an example.—One of this good sort of persons sups with you at eleven,
talks at you till one ; you in the mean time compose yourself in your
arm-chair, fit your elbows comfortably inthe corners, cross your legs, mix
your grog, light your cigar, and resign yourself, like a philsopher, to a
late lecture. At two you have perhaps had occasion to say “ Yes,” thrice,
« No sure?”’ twice or so; “ Indeed!’’ about the same number of times ;
and this is all it has cost you for a soporific, which, made up of medical
materials, would come to acrown, at least. From two till half-past two,
he is himself somewhat silent: his whiffs and his words come forth like
the companions of the ark, two and two; and you observe, without sur-
prise, that he is run down. Ina few minutes more, he looks at his
watch, and remarks that “ It is time to go”’—that is, he perceives that
you are supersaturated with sleep: you persuade the other glass; he
refuses it; then you yawn your widest, beg his pardon, and bid him
“Good night.”” He goes home, happy that he has been listened to with
so much of deferential silence: you stumble up to your chamber, with
such an entire resignation to the inevitable necessity of sleep, that
pulling off your clothes seems an absurd delay ; and you are off ina
minute to the district of dreams, and rise, next day, with no headache,

1831. ] Mawims by a Middle-aged Gentleman. 13

and with a serenity of mind which is unknown to the lovers of clubs and
such like noisy congregations of men. But for the senseless prejudices
of mankind, such a man as I have described would be “ taken” as wiil-
ingly as we take spring physic, and courted, not cut; fora

« Blessing goes with him wheresoe’er he goes,’—

—the blessing of sleep.

Curipren.—If you are a father, prevent, if possible, your daughters
from squinting or lisping, and your sons from growing up with caret
knees—thus 4—or legs like parentheses—thus ( )—for these defects, if
allowed to “ grow with their growth, and strengthen with their
strength,” are sure to infatuate them with the stage as a profession. I
have assisted, as|the French say, at some few private plays, and never
met with an amateur Romeo or Juliet but had one or other of these de-
fects in high perfection, if not some one more impossible and provoking.
As a general rule, keep your children’s legs straight, and learn them to
look right before them, and they may become useful members of society ;
reverse the rule, and you make them vagabonds.

Warrters.—I always endeavour to be liberal with waiters, and “ such
small deer,” and I reckon that I save ten pounds a year by so doing ; for
if you will not pay them, they will pay themselves. I get the freshest
chops, the best cigars, and a civil good night, with the use of an
umbrella when it rains, by this simple expedient: whereas I observe
that your niggardly rewarders are always “ to seek” for some one or
more of these comforts of life. It is the way of the world, from the peer
to the postboy: we serve those persons with most pleasure from whom
we derive most profit.

AutHors.— Young authors are a very sore race, if you touch one of
their faults, though with ever so tender a finger ; I know not wherefore.
If aman mount a pedestal to attract notice to himself, we should not
wonder if, having a hole or two in his hose, he is told of them by the
standers by.

Young authors are in general very gluttons of praise, and ostriches in °
the digestion of it: nothing sits uneasily on their stomachs but censure.
They will bolt any given quantity of praise you can bring them—“ the
total grain unsifted—husks and all.’ But if you adda morsel or so of
dry advice, or hint an amendment, phew! the entire gunpowder of their
genius is fired o’ the instant,-and beware of the explosion. Yet indis-
criminate praise is certainly the ruin of young ability. As there are
some men so cynical, that they will tell you only of your errors, so there
are others who will only flatter you for your merits, and conceal your
faults. This is like praising the cut of your coat, and winking at the
hole in the elbow.

Secrets.—The easiest way of keeping a secret is, to forget it as soon
as communicated. You may have a considerable reputation for confi-
dence in this matter, thus easily acquired. The only secret worth know-
ing in this life is, how one man contrives to be better than another ; all
the rest is mere alchemy.

Srerr-praise.—I never believe in the virtues of a man who makes an
inventory of them, and boasts of the items, for three reasons: the first
is, I can’t.

TABLE PROFESSIONS.—I make it a rule not to do more than politely

14 Maxims by a Middle-aged Gentleman. [Juy,

listen to second-bottle professions of friendship and proffers of service
*« to the last shilling.” It is true, I render myself liable to the suspicion
of doubting that the light of a Will o’ the Wisp is not so safe to steer by as
that of Eddystone, and that a shooting star is not so sure a guide as a
fixed one: but no matter: we are all, every Smith of us, heterodox in
some article or other: bottle-friendships and bottle-professions are those
in which I have not faith so large as a grain of mustard-seed. I leave
them both to the house-maid, to be carried away with the corks when
she clears the table, and to be let out at the window when she ventilates
the room next day.

BisuLous Aacquaintances.—Never proffer your services to see a
stranger home who is Bacchi plenus; for after pulling your shoulders
from their sockets, in efforts to support him, or rolling you in the mud
when he chooses to refresh therein himself, it is ten to one but he charges
you with picking his pocket of something he never held in fee in his life,
or else abuses you for refusing to see him to his door, though it is five
miles further out of your way, and you have convoyed him six. Above
all, if he looks married, never see him quite home. I need not explain
why.

COMPLAINTS OF LIFE.-—Those who most complain of life are those who
have made it disagreeable: Some men stuff their beds with the thorns of
remorse, instead of the down of repose, and when they lie on them, they
roar with the agony they have inflicted on themselves. As reasonably
might the ass complain of the thistles which wound his mouth when he
persists in chewing them. Those who most feel the load of life complain
the least of it.

Our sourest disappointments are made out of our sweetest hopes, as
the best vinegar is made from the best wine. It were happier if men
would hope less, that they might be less disappointed ; but who shall
set the mark, and who would keep within it if it were set ?

ConversaTion.—In conversation, eschew that poor penny-farthing
pedantry of suggesting etymologies, and being curious about the origin
of this or that expression. Words are the current coin of conversation ;
take them as they are told down to you, and pay them away as they are
demanded. It would be as rational for a man to be curious to know
through what hands every shilling in his purse had passed, as whence
this word is derived, and whence the other.

Avoid quotations, unless you are well studied in their import, and feel
their pertinence. My friend , the other day, looking at the skeleton
of an ass which had been dug out of a sandpit, and admiring and
wondering at the structure even of that despised animal, made a very
mal-adroit use of one. ‘“ Ah!” said he, with the deepest humility, and
a simplicity worthy of La Fontaine, “ we are fearfully and wonderfully
made.”

In argument, you need not trouble yourself to contradict a positive
man: let him alone, and he will very soon do it for himself.

Do not allow your friend, because he cannot convince you, and you
have convinced him against his will, to compress your nostrils, or kick
you out of his chambers, for if you once allow such liberties, there is no
knowing what next he may offer at. ee

1831. save [e, Jifadall

THE CALENDAR OF KINGS.

Tur changes in the various conditions of society have naturally been
the old theme of moralists and divines. But if the world goes on as it
has been going of late, all our maxims on the topic must be taken from
the highest rank alone. In what family, in what village, in what other
condition of life have there been so many reverses and changes as
among the rulers of nations during the last year, whether from the
throne to exile, or from the throne to the grave. Here is a list of one
single twelvemonth’s work of fortune and nature among the mightiest of
the mighty :—

See nt oes as) Charles XK... i va.sreus,e a0, Deposed,
Algiers ........+.---++ Mahmoud .............. Turned out.
TROHIC: (a 2 s\n = en y Sas Phas ViILD. sexa.e: sniste pci ..+- Dead.
Saxony ...........+++ Anthony.......+++++++++ Deposed.
Naples.......0+2e0-2++ Francis ..sseeeeeees eee Dead.
Belgium .....-+++-ee6- Willian. 2/1 0) .2)d.60) 6s) Deposed:
Sardinia ........ «sees» Charles Felix....... Jct.5'? Dead.
Brunswick ............ Duke Charles.,.......... Deposed.
Greece. .').2.....+.... Capo D’Istrias .......... Resigned.
PING oie wa ejoe 6 oes.) WOME COLO I... 5+ 22:0» ..--« Abdicated.

To which we must add, with more regret, George the Fourth, by whose
decease two crowns were vacated at once—England and Hanover.

In this list we have said nothing of Constantine the Beloved—“ our
eldest brother,” whom the Poles hunted out of the land with so strong
an inclination for catching him ; and whose moustaches are not yet safe
from the rebel-razor. In fact, the moustache cause is going downrapidly in
all quarters, and the time will soon come, when his Highness of Cum-
berland will be the only illustrious wearer of those wild-boarish orna-
ments in Europe. In the list we have also omitted the Illustrious of
the East, where, however, a throne is too like a pillory, or the top step
of the guillotine, to make us wonder at any thing, but that men with
heads on their shoulders will take the trouble of mounting it ;—a
sovereign a week being the average allowance among the turban-wearers
beyond the Indus.

‘A correspondent from the land of the sun thus describes the employ-
ment of one of the monarchs ;—“ His Majesty of Lucknow amuses his
leisure hours with flying kites ; and, in order that no mistake may be
made as to whose kite flies highest, or as to the fortunate wight who
leaves his competitors behind him, his Majesty has fixed upon scarlet as
the royal colour, and has issued a proclamation to his loving subjects,
forbidding them the use of scarlet kites!” The Indian wits say, that
his sport is of the most heroic description, and that European kings are,
three-fourths of their time, doing nothing but flying scarlet kites, or
raising the wind to fly them. The Great Mogul, whose lineaments grace
the envelop to every pack of cards, has been fleeced both of power
and dominions, and is a mere pensioner of our own government, subsisting
upon the grant of a considerable annual stipend ; his authority is vir~
tually confined to the control of his own domestic household, which
is extensive, and, doubtless, sufficiently unmanageable. From him we
hear at the utmost twice a year ; once, on the occasion of his paying

16 The Calendar of Kings. [ Jury,

a splendid visit to the shrine of a saint, a few miles from Delhi ; and
again, when he receives a visit of ceremony from our friend the British
resident. The once Lord of India is still better off, his Majesty having
nothing in the wide world to do, but to eat, drink, and sleep, to live on
a handsome pension, smoke his pipe, perfume his beard, flog his wives,
and let the rest of the world go its own way.

One fool there is, to the scandal of the “ magnificent,” the heaven-
born betel-chewers, the brothers of the sun and moon—the bustling king
of the Seiks, whom the deluded biographer thus describes :—

* Runjeet Sing, the only royal personage under the sky who is a king,
either in dignity or policy. He is one of those rare men, whose talents and
energies have raised them from the condition of a petty chieftain to the
exalted station of a sovereign over a wide and turbulent empire. Endued
with vigour of mind and body, possessed of restless ambition, and actuated
by unceasing activity, he has overcome all the neighbouring potentates one
after another, and reduced them to the condition of humble tributaries ;
whilst dissensions and anarchy in the state of Caubul have enabled him to
add a slice of that kingdom to his own. The primary object of his policy
appears to be, to keep at peace with our government; and this out of a keen
conviction of our skill, resources, and military prowess. Such, indeed, is his
respect for the latter, that he has endeavoured to introduce our tactics and
discipline amongst his own soldiery, and has enlisted a number of French
officers into his service, who not only drill, but command his troops, especially
on more distant and perilous expeditions.”

The king of the Seiks, we foresee, will get his throat cut. How infi-
nitely wiser he would have been in following the example of the king of
the cards—the Great Mogul! He will be shot in some skirmish; or,
if he escape that, be sent to the Houries in a cup of rice milk ; or, if he
refuse to drink, be smothered in the medicated smoke of his own
hookah ; or, if he be poison-proof, he will be strangled between two
Mahomedans, or two pillows. And to this comes his life of galloping,
sabreing, hungering, thirsting, brain-besieging, broken-heartedness,
beheading, blood-dabbling, and wearing bullet-proof waistcoats! It is
not worth the while.

Among the mortal memoranda of what we might call almost sove-
reigns, are the great generals of our day. Of all the leaders of the
battle of Waterloo, but one survives: Napoleon, Blucher, Bulow, and
Gneisenan are gone. Of the leaders of the allied armies, since the Mos-
cow retreat, all are dead: Kutuzoff, Schwartzenburg, Wrede, the
Emperor Alexander, Platoff, and a crowd of other thunderbolts of war.
The last memorable death is that of Diebitcsh, who, after rising to the
height of military fame by his boldness, vigour, and ability in the con-
quest of Turkey, died, a month since, of the cholera, or rather of vexa-
tion at the overthrow of his plans for the subjugation of Poland. He
was a man of great talent. But so perish the invader of an innocent and
unhappy country !

1831.] E. iad

FRENCH COOKERY.*

We have seldom seen a good article on cookery ; and we confess that
we undertake the task “ with fear and trembling.” Whether we shall
“< work out our salvation” or not, it must be the special province of the
reader to judge. In order to write on the pleasures of the table, a man
must be “ a diner-out of the first magnitude ;” and that in itself is an
acquisition of no mean moment: for be it understood that the dignity of
dining-out is conferred only on much the fewer number of those that
masticate.

Various, indeed, are the acquirements, and happy must be the tem-
perament, of that man who is formed to be the idol of all good society.
In order to be a receiver of dinner himself, it is needful that he should
be a giver of dinners to others ; and this imparteth ease, comfort, and
all the accessoires which rank, money, and an acquaintance with the
best society, can confer and communicate. But, independently of these
adventitious aids of fortune, he who wishes to be a choice “ Amphy-
trion,”” must be most bounteously endowed, both by art znd nature.
From art he may teach the theory and practice of procuring and serving
a good dinner ; but he must “ snatch a grace beyond the reach of art,”
and comport himself with ease, affability, and good-breeding.

To the science of a Beauvilliers, he must add the graces of a Greve,
the wit of a Sheridan, and the careless but playful levity of a Hamilton
or a Killigrew. Nor is this enough. With the gay he must be thought-
less, and with the grave severe. To the one he must needs urge, with
all the weight and gravity of argument, the pleasures and advantages of
a “ piece de resistance ;” while to the other he is bound to enumerate
the more ephemeral and spirituel beauties of a vol au vent, or a paté de
Greves.

In the canons of cookery, “ one false step” (like the first error of
woman) “ entirely damns” one’s “ fame ;” and he who takes salt with
his soup, eats with his knife, or “ discusses” the leg of a woodcock,
must thereafter be prepared to be excluded from all civilized society,
in consequence of such capital atrocities against the code gourmand “ in
that case made and provided.” ;

Hence the difficulties and dangers with which critics in cookery are
beset. It isno easy matter, as our publisher knows, to get “ gentlemen
at ease” into harness ; and it is still more difficult to enlist those “ sol-
dats du table,’ who seldom or ever become “ soldats de plume”’—com-
monly called story-tellers, sometimes led-captains, gentlemen en-tout,

and anon jack-puddings.

Of a truth, your fellows who “ set the table in a roar” are a most lazy
tribe. They live no doubt on the “ fat of the land,” and, like Savage,
they think they are not born for the ignoble purpose of ministering to
their own necessities. Write they will not, because it is a labour—to
ae awd are ashamed ; but they are resolved at all hazards to eat and

ink.

Of what purpose to society, however, are their feastings and junket-

* Code Gourmand ; Paris, 1628 and 1829.— Physiologie du Gofit; Paris, 1829
and 1830.—Cusinier Royale; Paris, 1829.—Cuisine Bourgeoise ; Paris, 1809 ; and
24th edition, 1830.

M.M. New Sertes—Vou. XII. No. 67. D

18 French Cookery. [Juny,

tings, unless they “ unfold the tale” with which practice has made them
perfect, and disclose those secrets of the dinner-table whose mental taste
is accompanied by present pleasure, though it may be too frequently
followed by pain.

The reader will possibly conclude, from these observations, that
there are but two sets of persons qualified to be critics in cookery—
namely, those who give dinners, and those who partake of them; but
of the two, the latter are by far the most useless members of society.

He who gives dinners is a benefactor of his race. He is the friend of
the butcher, the baker, the wine-merchant, and the green-grocer.
The productive powers of mankind are tributary to him; and the
animal and vegetable kingdoms are ransacked to grace his board. Sel-
dom, however, does the host become the historian of his own exploits,
unless in the “ Morning Post ;” and then the tale is told in half-a-dozen
lines, full of “sound,” it is true, but “ signifying nothing.” It is
merely stated that Mr. Such-a-one, or Lord So-and-so, gave a grand
dinner to half-a-dozen persons of distinction—that it consisted of all the
delicacies of the season—but what these delicacies were, and in what
order they were served, the record is altogether silent. Often, indeed,
in England does the butler, or the steward, or the groom of the cham-
ber, become the chronicler of the feast in some of the “ broad sheets”
with which the metropolis abounds; but he giveth but a “ brief ab-
stract” of the fare on which his betters fatten ; and should Ude himself
take pen in hand, it is not to be expected that he shall make the
unitiated as wise and all-learned as his savoury self.

The desideratum, then, is, that some of those who have a thirty-
conversation power—whose wit sparkles with the champagne—and
whose conversation is as creamy and as current as the best Mousseux
d’ Ai—the desideratum is, that some of these persons should put pen to
paper. But, alas! with this tribe the great business of the morning is
preparing for the dinner of the day. Besides, the gems of the table are
as “rare” as they are “rich ;” for, in the course of our lives, we have
met but with four such men.

Alas! poor Tom Aikin! with all the gay vivacity of George Selwyn
—with all the point and polish of Tickell—with much of the wit of
Sheridan, and all his ready change of small-talk, why is it that you
have retired from your thousand-and-one feasts, without letting forth
freely that accumulative current of cookery, which, like the Prepontic,
might flow on, and on, “ nor feel retiring ebb?” In ¢hy silence, what a
loss has society sustained! ‘Thy lessons might have been directed to all
ages and to all nations; for cookery is alike essential to republics and
monarchies, to democracies and oligarchies. Cosmopolite she is by
nature ; and whether she exercise her powers at Persia or at Paris, she
is worshipped by an always grateful and sometimes a wondering
world.

Yet we are not sure that the rich fruit of thy experience would not
require codification and arrangement. To doubt thy knowledge were
worse than heresy, but men sometimes become “ fat-witted with drinking
‘of old sack ;’ and if this be sin, all we say is, with good Sir John,
« Heaven help the wicked.” But a truce with both episode and apos-
trophe !

To cookery, be it said, arrangement is as necessary as to any other of
the sciences. We have in our almanacks—in which, by the by, we are

1831.] French Cookery. 19

glad to notice recent improvements—kalendars of the stars and of the
seasons, but there is not a gastronomic kalendar of the edible produc-
tions of our “ sea-girt” isle among them all. “They order these matters
better in France ;” and in that land, according to the words of the
song :—
“* Vant mieux étre ici bas,
Gastronome,
Qu’ astronome.”

It will doubtless be concluded, from all that we have been saying,
that we deem the subject of cookery a most scientific and difficult one ;
it is even so; and we are more induced to take it up from the failures
of others than from any certainty of succeeding ourselves. ‘Two requi-
sites we have, however, for the self-imposed task, which are by no
means unimportant. In the first place, we love good cheer most
heartily ; and, secondly, it has been our good fortune often to have
enjoyed it in establishments not to be despised, not only in France and
in England, but in most European capitals. Nor have we been so sen-
sual as to have been insensible to all, save the mere animal enjoyment.
On the contrary, we have sought in dining the theory of dinner-giving,
and all that pertains to those pleasures of the palate, which may be
enjoyed without fatigue, and repeated often, not only to the exhilara-
tion of the system, but to the prolongation of existence. In order to
the giving of a dinner, it is necessary that the Amphytrion should be
cognizant of the fishes, meat, poultry, game, and vegetables, which are
in season during each month, and on this head the Code Gourmand is
full and instructive.

January (says the editor) is perhaps one of the most favourable
junctures in the year for repasts. In Paris, during this month, beef,
veal, mutton, wild-boar, roebuck, hare, grey partridge, woodcock, snipe,
red partridge (bartavelle), and black game, are in the greatest abun-
dance; and in the vegetable market you find cauliflowers, rich and
succulent celery, and the truffle in all its meridian glory. In February,
as in January, the beef is fat and tender, the veal pure and white, and
the mutton (/e veritable prés salé) full of rich moisture. Though game
is not so plenty as in January, yet the scarcity is atoned for in an abun-
dance of poultry. March is the month, both in Paris and London, when
fish is best, and most abundant ; and when the oyster comes into sea-
son. April is only distinguished by its vegetable products, but the
young peas and fresh asparagus repair the miseries of thirty days of
sterility. May is distinguished, or rather degraded, by that worst of
fish, mackerel, and the insipid pigeon ; while June may boast of that
best of young birds, a young turkey, French beans, cucumbers, Brus-
sels sprouts, &c. Among river fish—always inferior to that of the sea—
we may eat, in June, carp, trout, and perch.

In the French capital, during the month of July, the veal of Pen-
toise is most in use ; quail also is common. ‘To give a good dinner in
this month requires the most elaborate invention ; and success in this
regard would obtain the host a higher reputation than that of a Lou-
vois, a Colbert, or a Condorcet. August is the season of young hares,
rabbits, and sucking pigs.

In the month of September game begins again to appear, but the
birds have not acquired that degree of succulence which, a little later,
makes their perfume preferable to that of the rose. In September

D 2

20: French Cookery. [Juxy,

chestnuts form a culinary resource ; and also those willing artichokes,
which, in lending themselves to the caprices of the artiste, now sport
it, as a hors-d’euvre ; now shine, as an entremet ; and sometimes (per-
haps too often) run a race of glory even with an entrée itself.

In October culinary prospects begin to brighten. The sea, in recover-
ing from the lassitude occasioned by the heat of summer, flings on its
surface the shame-faced and modest whiting, whose début is crowned
with an honourable and encouraging success. Beef, too, begins to
acquire a respectable and continued rotundity ; and mutton and veal
obtain that conscientious appreciation, which, when good, they unques-
tionably deserve.

In November, fresh herrings first make their appearance; but it
grieveth us to think they are not held in just appreciation by the great
and little vulgar. Endowed with the most edifying modesty, the her-
ring does not glorify himself; but, like the violet, he hides his head,
and is only betrayed by his perfume. In this month turkeys arrive at
“men’s estate,”’ and may be, therefore, eaten “ at discretion.” ;

In December, butchers’ meat, game, poultry, and vegetables, are all
excellent. The golden plover and the lapwing again appear, “ pleins
de suc et de saveur.’ Thus is Christmas ushered in with circumstances
the most favourable—“ aux plaisirs de la bonne chére.”

Thus have we gone the round of the whole year, and pointed out the
products of the months of which it is composed. The most important
task, however, yet remains to us. We have spoken merely of the “ raw
material” of “edibles ;” but we have said little or nothing regarding
them in the “manufactured” state. It first behoves us, however, to
define what'a dinner is. A dinner, then, is composed ef four courses,
or, as a Frenchman would say, “de quatre services.” The first course
ought to present a solid and obstinate resistance ; because it is sup-
posed to be assailed by hungering jaws and a virgin appetite. This
course consists of relevés and entrées. The roasts are escorted by sal-
lads, as a kind of household troop ; and some complimentary vegetables
give us their presence as a kind of honorary body-guard to the second
service. The entremets, which grace the third course, appear with an
aérial agility, attaining the eminence of the salle d manger, as it
were, in a bound, range themselves round some grave and imposing
dish, with a courteous acquiescence, and a deep sense of profound vene-
ration. After this comes the dessert, “to greet the eyes and glad the
heart” of jessamy men and languishing women. It should be observed,
however, that the “ hors-d’cuvre” remain on the table till the third
course. They are the culinary stone on which the appetite is whetted.
Nor must the attendants forget, that at each act of the nutritive drama,
the table, like the stage, should be entirely denuded ; but the pause, as
Hamlet says, should be “exceeding brief.’ The servants retire after
the entremets. At the dessert, each guest serves himself according to
his taste ; and those whose views extend beyond their reach, pray their
neighbours to lend a helping hand.

This is the definition, and these are the maxims in whose spirit
it should be demolished. It is needful, however, that we should
speak. of the manner in which the matériel should be dressed, and
served—that we should say what soups are most sanative—what rotis
the most renowned, and what salmis the most seductive ; but previously
a grave question arises—should oysters be eaten before soup? The

1831.] French Cookery. 21

customs of St. Petersburgh, Vienna, and Paris speak in favour of this
practice ; but our own opinion is, that when one is really sure of a good
dinner, the eating of oysters is a fraud on the appetite. At all events
these light troops should only be allowed to skirmish in the stomach in
small numbers, and their impetuosity should be restrained by a quantum
sufficit of vin de Grave Montrachet or vin de Pouilly—or better still by a
glass of dry Madeira, Johanisberg or Hockheimer. As to the Chablis—
which is drank in France with oysters, for our own parts we have always
thought it a petty-larceny liquor.

To soup let all honour and glory be due. It is liquid meat ; and if
good of its kind would create a soul under the ribs of death. Of soups,
according to the best authorities (including Bouillons, Purées, and Potages)
there are 127 in the Cuisine Francaise. Of these, however, the best
are as follows: Puré des Carottes au Ris, une bisque d’ecrivisses, une
potage a la reine, une julienne, aux pointes d’asperges, and un consommé de
volaille. Mock-turtle, ox-tail, and hare soup one can have in France,
but, with the exception of the latter, they are rarely suitable to our
English taste.

It has long been a question with us, whether the French or English
soups claim the pre-eminence ; and even as yet we are unable to come to
a decision ; but theré can be no doubt that the French must bear away
the palm on the score of variety, if they do not obtain it on that of ex-
cellence. Though it must be admitted that a good.ox-tail is a strong, full
bodied, mellow soup, yet it will also be conceded that it is often in Eng-
land too highly seasoned, and fitted only for the palates of those
whose lives have been gently soddened under a tropical sun. A mock~
turtle soup, when well made, is better, to our taste at least, than a real
turtle—and this is a dish which is rarely, if ever seen, in a genuine French
house. Mock-turtle may, however, be obtained at Paris, at Mountain’s,
an English pastrycook in the Rue Mont Tabor ; and also at Ibbotson’s,
a Scotchman’s in the Rue Castiglione. Hare soup is a dish worthy Diana
herself. We have eaten it in a rough and home-spun state in Scotland,
and found it marvellously recruiting: but we have never found it palmy
and perfect except at Paris. There only have we discovered the alembi-
cated essence of hares, who had the good fortune to be took on the
sunny banks of Valromey, or the heights and fastnesses of Dauphiné ; of
hares who, even when grated in the pipkin, gently simmered forth,
for “ even in our ashes live our wanted fires,” the satisfaction which they
felt at the noble uses to which they were turned. -When, however,
we have enumerated the three last-named soups as the products of
England, we fear that our “ occupation” is wholly “ gone.” True, one
hears of gravy soup and mutton broth, but these are in general so exe-
crably bad, unless at the first private houses, that they may be very fitly,
and not at all too severely, denominated hog’s-wash. There is another
soup (pea), which we hope may last as long as the wooden walls of Old
England ; but that is only to be had good on ship-board, and we would
almost undergo a tossing in the Bay of Biscay, to obtain such a plate of
it as we have had the honour of eating off Douglas, Isle of Man, on
board his majesty’s yacht the Royal Charlotte.

The soups of France, though not so strong and seasoned, or spicy as
those of England, are infinitely more various, light and succulent ; if
we except an English white soup made by a first-rate artiste. The
French bouillon, too, is generally better, and contains the very soul and

22 French Cookery. [Juy,

quintessence of the meat in which the casserole has carefully and cau-
tiously performed its duty. All the vegetable kingdom, moreover, is
put into play; and turnips, carrots, celery, asparagus, onions, cloves,
tomata, cucumbers, lentils, chicorée, chestnuts, and (save the mark !)
cabbage, gently meander through and mix with the soups, into which
the taste or the caprice of the chef shall fling them.

Among the best, if not the best of French soups, we reckon the puré
des carottes au ris—so rich, so red, and so racy. How gently does the
carrot appear to have insinuated itself into the bouillon, “ incarnadining,”
the multitudinous broth, and making the brown “ one red”—orient as
the first tint of “ russet-clad morn,” or as the first glow of the gently
expanding rose. Ever dear and honoured Laiter, it was at thy restaurant,
at the corner of the Rue -Castiglione, that we last indulged ourselves,
even to a gentle satiety, (which cheered but did not pall) in a carrot soup.
Here is a soupe a la reine not at all to be despised, resembling our white
soup in colour, and in a great proportion of the materials it may fairly
rival it, if made by a good cook. To those who rejoice in crotiles, we
may remark that they are always better managed in France than in
England, and that they never in the former country give to the soup, in
technical phrase, a colour “ trop ombré.” A purée de gibier is fit for
the “ private eating” of any lad among them all; but in order to make
it as it should be made, you must put down three pounds of sliced lean
beef, four partridges, two pounds of veal, two pounds of sliced ham, a
pheasant or éwo, carrots, onions, four heads of celery, three cloves and
a small nosegay of fennel. With such materials, it must be your own
fault if you have not a good soup.

In the matter of fish and in the preparing of it, as well as the dress-
ing, the French are inferior to the Dutch and English. Much, but not
all of this, is owing to our proximity to the sea; to the number of our
sea-ports ; to the fearlessness of our fishermen ; and to the rapidity with
which we convey the fish to market. Some of it also is due to our
cleanliness, and to the art of crimping, which we owe to Holland. All
the larger fish, be it observed, are best when simply boiled. This holds
good of turbot, salmon, haddock, plaice, and John Dory. In dressing
these one has only to follow nature; no scope whatever is given to the
faney or imagination of the cook. Hence the success of the English
and the Dutch. The way is plain and straightforward, and lo! they
walk in it d@ merveille. Not so, however, with frying: this requires
taste and judgment, and accordingly, though the fish be on all hands
admitted to be inferior to the English, you eat your whiting and your
sole with more satisfaction at Paris, than you do in London. And
wherefore? Because your sole frite is more crust, and crisp, and curdy ;
more mellow, tender, and full of juice. In truth, it appears ripe, and
wears the light brown, autumnal tint of dropping fruit :—

“ the embrowning of the fruit (7ead fish), which tells
How rich, within, the soul (read sole) of sweetness dwells.”

Yet we have never eaten a turbot, even at the Rocher lancale, with the
same gusto as in London. The fish in Paris comes a long way by land-
carriage ; and land-carriage is “a whoreson destroyer” of your fish.
The native of the deep becomes soft and flabby, and a mere starveling
to what he was in the sea; and besides a turbot in Gaul is like good
words sung to a “ filthy tune.” They give you the fish, which is the

1831.] French Cookery. 23

words, but to the tune of shrimps, and a plague of such sauce say we.
In this our land, the custom is different. As the “ sound should be an
echo to the sense,” so should the sauce be worthy of the fish, and
accordingly, instead of a “ withered apple John” sort of sauce, such as
shrimps are, we have the rich and unctuous lobster variegated with a
vein of coral. _

Haddock we have never eaten good in Paris: neither have we found
it in London comparable to that which we have had in Ireland and
Scotland. The sauce for boiled haddock, according to us, is parsley
and butter ; and we make the avowal even at the risk of being deemed
vulgar. The Rocher luncale is certainly the best sauce for fish at Paris,
but all its fish is inferior to (excepting the fried), and dearer than that of
London. The larder, however, is excellent, and the wines choice and of
a rich bouquet. Itis “ not for nothing,’ however, that we drive down
towards the Rue Montmartre, and when the reckoning is paid, it is
indeed a “ swingeing sum.”

On the subject of fish, then, let us admit that in the quality and in
the boiling of it, as well as in the adjunct of sauce, the English are
immeasurably superior to the French.

We come now to the Entrées, and here the call is reversed ; for the
French are immeasurably superior to the English in all the nic-nacs
of life. At an ordinary dinner in France, they give you sixteen entrées,
in which are comprised a great variety of petils patés, and in which you
often find that exquisite dish the fricassée de poulet a la belle vue; the
filets de volaille aux truffes, and the filets de faisans a license. Nothing
in this nether world can be better than the filets de volailles aux truffes.
This precious turbercle, whose unctuous perfume enriches the “ lean
earth” in whose bosom it is found (and with which the font becomes
saturated), warms the stomach, gives tone to the wearied appetite, and
facilitates digestion. The mind itself feels its inspiriting influence.
To the pig—which, Cobbett says, has a “ nose as keen as a parson” —are
we indebted for this pearl above all price in the culinary art. Columbus
himself must give place to the Cochon—for what was the discovery of
America, in comparison to the discovery of the truffle? For one single
truffle any king of taste would lose America, and be content to lose it.
Notwithstanding all that has been said in praise of the pig, he is.a selfish
and sensual animal, and a gourmand of the first magnitude. It‘is for
himself he scents this pink of perigord, and not for mankind. As civi-
lization extends, however, humanity gains the “’vantage ground,” and
now we employ truffle hcunds, who on the umbrageous banks of limpid
rivers, or in the sweet seclusion of woods, through which brooks mur-
muringly meander — snatch the odorous esculent, all sacred to the genius
of a spot diversified by the presence of the towering oak—the ever-
moving aspen—the sentimental weeping-willow—the white virgin birch,
and the tall, stately, and sombre poplar.

Entremets are divided into great and small. In the former consist
such abominations as a gentle sucking pig, or the glories of a dindonneau
or perdraux piqués ; and in the latter are comprised the various kinds
of sallads, jellies, vegetables—the petits gateaux turcs, or ceufs poché au
jus. '

In London, some years ago, there was a man who went about in his
carriage, dressing salads, for which the charge was half-a-guinea: but
all the world can dress sallad in France, and the species are more various,

24 French Cookery. [Juny,

and better dressed too, than in England. You have a green salad—a
sallad of cucumber—a sallad of beet-root with celery, and a salade de
chicorée. All these are mollified under the hands of an ingenious and
judicious artist by the force of one sage maxim—ZI/ faué avoir la salade
bien fatigué. What a word is faligué! How perfectly pure, idiomatic,
and untranslateable! How difficult to pay such a ‘coinage of the
brain” in hard specie !

Vegetables come in under the head, entremets ; and here, too, French
superiority is great. The chour-fleurs au jus and the culs d’artichaux a
l'allemande, are significantly tender and nutritive ; but it is in spinach that
French science more broadly glares out. The management of spinach is,
indeed, a primary test of a scientific artiste, and under the hands of so
dear and valued a person, we could dine on spinach any day for a month
to come. Of the dessert we shall say nothing, but in the compottes
and bons-bons, the Gauls beat us hollow.

Among the vegetables we had well nigh forgotten mushrooms—the
delightful champignons au sauce blanche, iphich Nero called the flesh of
the gods. How smooth and easily do they glide “in tartareo specu!”
their transit is soft and velvety to the palate, and the sensation may be
compared to treading on a bed of odorous flowers.

But we have detained the reader too long from the works under
review.

The first of these, the Physiologie du Gotit, is the production of
Brillat Savarin, and had at Paris a remarkable success. The style
is often quaint and humorous; and now and again full of learned
conceits. It is a mesne between the manner of our Sterne and Mon-
taigne.

It is, however, more a theoretical than a practical work. It treats
of the senses, of taste, of appetite, of the nutritive qualities of viands,
and their chemical effects; of sleep, of diet, &c. Interspersed are
various elucidatory anecdotes, and separate chapters are accorded to
fish, game, truffles, wines, coffee, chocolate, &c. In such a work of
course there must be a deal of surplusage, but we have found in it
much that is new: and whith might be profitably introduced into our
cookery books, whose barbarous simplicity—for instance, “‘ Take a
hare,” “ take a leg of mutton,’—is still persevered in, to the shame of
well instructed natives, and to the wonder of all foreigners.

The Code Gourmand is a vif and pleasant little work, and may be
pronounced perfect in its kind. It treats of every thing concerning
the “ Re cebaria,’ and of many other things to boot. We have a
chapter on invitations, on the manner of serving, on the guests, on
toasts, on table songs (des Chansons de Table), on awkwardness, on
story tellers, &c., on the manner of behaving to the persons next you,
&c., and there are three long chapters on breakfast, dinner, and supper.

Le Cuisinier Royale, is a most useful and practical work, adapted to
all ranks. It contains 1,100 receipts, all excellent in their way, and
prefixed are nine plates, with designs, to facilitate to the tyro the serving
of a dinner of from twelve to sixty couverts. Le Cuisinier Royale is a
work which should be in every family.

There remains but La Cuisiniére de la Campagne et de la Ville, which
should be the manual of good managers. This work contains the
practice of carving, simplified by excellent plates. In it may also be
found directions for arranging and building a cellar, and rules for

1831.) French Cookery. 25

distinguishing those swindling pseudo mushrooms from the glorious
vegetable whose name they assume unlawfully, and without licence
of the herald’s college of cookery— from the genuine champignon, our
first love in youth and our comfort in old age.
- We have now gone through the four works, whose titles are appended
to this article. There are many others of a similar kind as excellent in
their way, which, at present, we have not leisure to notice. France
has always been prolific in such works, while England, on the contrary,
ean boast of few. This may be oné reason of the supericrity of the
French cuisine, for superior it certainly is. Another reason is, that
the French are a nation of diners-out, while we call ourselves a fire-
side people, and, as such, only excel in plain roasts or boils. French-
men and French women of rank, at Paris, will not scruple to enter the
Café de Paris or Laiter’s, while a gentleman in England scarcely
ever comes within the walls of a tavern. Hence your British rump
steaks, veal cutlets, pork chops, stewed steaks, and other barbarisms,
congenial alike to cossack and cockney taste. We are free to admit that
among the nobility and gentry in England—among the classes who can
afford to give from £100. to £500. a~year to a cook, we meet with all
that is “ brightest and best” in cookery; and that sometimes a decent
dinner may be had at some clubs; but for the man who wishes for
every-day enjoyment—for the rational and tasteful eater, without an
over-grown fortune—and who has unfortunately for himself learned the
art to live well, and “ cleanly’—for such a man, without a perfect
establishment, and for all such reasoning and right royal animals—
Paris is the place to have your “local habitation” —and Laiter’s,
Very’s, or the Café de Paris, the houses to dine.

We had intended to say somewhat on French wines, but the con-

sideration of that important subject must be reserved for a separate
article.

MIRANDA D’ARAGON ; A TALE OF THE INQUISITION.

“ ComE, some more wine,” said Miranda. “ Let us drink to-night—
to-morrow we may sleep the long sleep.”

“ Let us rather to rest,” said Henrico St. Lorent, “ and gather
strength for to-morrow’s work. Have you no accounts to settle with
conscience, Miranda ?”

« Accounts ?—yes ; and that is precisely the reason why I would
drink and forget.”

’T was the eve of the battle of Blenheim: the mind of Miranda was
overwhelmed by an extraordinary incident. For some days previous, a
gipsy woman had pitched her tent amongst the troops, and, in her
double capacity of suttler and fortune-teller, had conveyed something to
Miranda’s ear which depressed him more than the circumstance of an
approaching battle was in itself likely to do. A friendship had been
cultivated between Miranda and St. Lorent of no ordinary growth. The
former, therefore, after some hesitation, consented to unburthen his
mind to his comrade. ;

“Tam not your countryman, St. Lorent, nor has my name always
been Miranda d’Aragon. I am by birth a Spaniard. I will say little
of my wild, passionate youth, but come at once to the subject on which
I would unburthen my heart, and claim of your friendship the last

M.M. New Serics.—Vou. X11. No. 67. y

26 Miranda @’ Aragon ; [JuLy

request I have to make. To fulfil a mother's wishes, I was about to
adopt a monastic life, when I accidentally became acquainted with a
young lady, who was also to take the veil. The similarity of our fate,
the repugnance we both felt at our destined mode of life, drew our
hearts together by ties to which persecution but gave strength. By the
assistance of a female companion, who beheld with sacred sympathy her
mistress’s affection, I contrived to effect her escape, though the poor and
faithful girl was left behind. We fled to a solitary valley in the moun-
tains of the Lower Pyrenees. I had carefully guarded against any trace
of discovery, and heard nothing of pursuit. We lived in this retreat in
a happiness known only to those who love, to the forgetfulness of an
exterior world.

«« But my restless mind was not to be satisfied for ever in seclusion.
By degrees I ventured from our asylum to partake of the pleasures of
the chase. My imprudence shewed my pursuers the way to our abode.
I was watched and discovered. Returning one day across the moun-
tains, I looked down from the heights, and beheld with horror our little
hut surrounded by soldiers. Isabella was carried off by an escort of
troops, whilst others guarded the passes of the valley to secure me. My
courage failed. The knowledge of the punishment that awaited the
crime of having carried off a noviciate from a convent, rendered it
impossible for me to advance. Like a recreant I fled, leaving my poor
Isabella to her fate. I proceeded to a frontier town of France, where I
met a recruiting party, and enlisted as a common soldier. My know-,
ledge of the French language, and numerous acquirements, gained me
favour and distinction. I was rapidly promoted ; and, after ten years’
service, obtained the rank of captain; and should have, perhaps, con-
tinued to advance, had not an extraordinary circumstance happened,
which overthrew my schemes of ambition, by holding out to me again the
phantasm of love—a feeling to which my heart still clung.

“ In a skirmish with a squadron of the enemy, I was dangerously
wounded, and left behind at an obscure village till I recovered. As I
lay helpless in inexpressible torments on my bed, I prayed Heaven to
give me relief, or instant death. A gipsy woman, named Zagurina—the
lame hag who sells provisions in our camp—inhabited a shed of the
house in which I lived. She had with her a remarkably fine, half-grown
girl, who to me appeared an angel. She seemed to attach herself to me,
and I felt such an interest in her, that her presence alone contributed to
my convalescence. An indescribable sensation of delight took possession
of my soul whenever she was near me. The old woman appeared to
regard my attachment towards my young nurse with pleasure, though
she always kept at a distance herself. Scarcely, however, was I restored
to health, when she came one morning into my room, and said she
was obliged to take her leave of me! I heard these words with grief
and dismay ; for I could no longer live without the child, and, intreat-
ing her to leave her with me, I threw down a purse of gold.

*«* No, Sir,” said she, looking kindly at me, ‘I do not sell my child;
but, on condition you will behave to her like a father, she may remain
with you. In the course of time, I will return to claim her.’

« Ashamed of my offer, I put away my gold; gladly promised every
thing that the old woman required, who then left us. At first, the girl’
was in great distress at finding herself thus forsaken by her mother ; but
my caresses tranquillized her, and she became glad.of my affection. She

1831.] A Tale of the Inquisition. 27

filled up the dreadful chasm in my heart, left by Isabella, whom I some-
times thought of with the utmost anguish. I had no other idea than that
of always keeping the girl with me, and contemplated with trembling
the moment of the gipsy’s return. This made me form the resolution to
make her irrevocably mine, and to hide her from the world till a fit
period should arrive. In a retired spot I have brought her up, where
the heart I have moulded is now being cultivated, and in which I yet
hope to find that peace and happiness which is the principal object of
my life.”

Xe And yet you have a second time left all that is dear to you,’
Henrico, “to follow the-tumults of a noisy camp !”

«« The love of glory, I confess, has again roused my dormant passion for
a soldier’s life. I cannot lose the opportunity of acquiring fame. She
whom I adore will not regret to see me return covered with honours. I
will then make her mine for ever, and to peace and tranquillity conse-
crate the remainder of my days. Could I but destroy the recollection
of the past, my happiness would be without alloy; but the gipsy who
infests our camp has got possession of a secret of mine. She comes from
Spain to be a spy upon my actions, and she will cause my ruin; but the
spectre shall be driven away before my nuptials.”

Henrico promised to see the gipsy, and to endeavour to make her
give an account of herself.

“Good,” said Miranda, “ but to my purpose, and I shall go into battle
with a lighter heart. You are rich and independent, and will most
likely, when the war is over, retire from the service ; promise me then, by
the friendship you bear me, at the conclusion of the campaign, to en-
deavour to find out Isabella, and to make my peace with her. I can
never return to Spain more!—promise me this, and you will restore
peace tomy mind. Take this ring the gipsy gave me—it was once
Isabella’s ; wear it on your finger, ’twill remind you of your promise.
And now touch cups, comrade ; here’s to a happy meeting after the vic-
tory !””

Henrico slowly placed Isabella’s ring on his finger. At this moment
the gipsy peeped through the curtains of the tent.

« Welcome! hag,” cried Miranda, “ you come in right time!” The
tent was quickly opened, and the gipsy dragged in.

«“ Now,” cried Miranda, “ I will penetrate the inmost recesses of your
heart, or tear your secret from your bosom !”

“ That would help you little,” replied the old woman, “ but what do
you wish to know from me?”

“Where got you the ring you slipped on my finger yesterday, and
wherefore pronounced ye a certain name so earnestly ?”

« Sir!” replied she, “ I stole neither ; they were, however, lost, and
I think that I have brought both jewels back to the right master.”

“ I want not your presents,” said Miranda, “ but do not drive me to
extremities ; tell me who you are, and what you know of me?”

* We will exchange inquiries,” said Zagurina, “confess to me, and I
will then answer you. What have you done with my daughter ?”

“ Juggler, she is nothing more to you,—she is mine! nor shall you
ever initiate her into your scandalous profession |”

That is no business of yours,” said the old woman, “I earnestly
request you will deliver to me my daughter.—I, her mother, reclaim
her from you.”

?

said

E 2

28 Miranda @’ Aragon ; [JuLy,

. Miranda laughed with bitterness. “No! we will not push matters so
far ; the girl is mine, and no power on earth shall take her from me !”’

« Give her to me!” said the gipsy, “ and I will permit you once more
to contemplate this eye,’’ drawing a morocco case from her bosom, and
presenting it to him open.

Miranda snatched the picture from her hand, stared wildly at it, and
the name of Isabella escaped his lips; but he threw the miniature from
him with horror, and seizing Zagurina, he exclaimed, “ Confess, sorceress,
where didst thou learn my fatal history ?”

« Sir, you are mortal,” said she, with great earnestness, “ your lips
may to-morrow be closed by the seal of death, I therefore here first re-
quire of you intelligence of my child ; if you refuse it, I will go hence
and seek other interference. The whole camp shall know who the fugi-
tive Miranda d’ Aragon is.”

“No! I will free myself from your clutches !’? Upon this, Miranda
drew his sword, and in his rage would have pierced the gipsy to the
heart, had not his arm been withheld by Henrico.

At this moment an orderly entered the tent to summon all the officers
to head quarters, to receive their final instructions for the battle. Za-
gurina recovered herself, and said .to Henrico, “I thank you, Sir; he
would not have killed me! He only thinks I wish to deprive him of
my daughter, but he does not deserve the child, and is a stranger either
to love or fidelity. I have, besides, a sacred right to inquire what is
become of her. You are the friend of this arrogant, haughty man; I
entreat you to procure me news of my child; the peace of many hearts
depends upon it, and I do fear a something dreadful to think of !”

Henrico was somewhat revolted at the violent conduct of Miranda,
but the orders to assemble at head quarters caused the party to sepa-
rate.

The battle commenced on the following morning, along the whole
line. It proved a most destructive day; victory deserted the French
banner, and many a gallant Frenchman’s breast was trodden on by the
mettlesome hoof of the war-horse. As Henrico rode hastily across the
field, he observed at a distance a woman kneeling beside a wounded man,
and recognised him to be his friend Miranda bathed in blood: near him
was the ‘gipsy tearing her hair. On discovering Henrico, she stretched
out her hands and called to him, imploring his assistance, but he durst
not remain—he was obliged to push forward, and was denied the satis-
faction of closing the eyes of his dying friend.

The obstinacy of the battle had cost the French many lives, the army
required recruiting ; officers were’ consequently despatched into the in-
terior of France to procure recruits: Henrico was amongst the num-
ber. In this pursuit he entered a small town, situated on a chain of
wooded mountains near Bagneres. Here a fine young man he had en-
listed made his escape: -. He employed every means to discover the de-
serter, and went himself, with a party of his men, into the mountains in
search of him. Every spot, every ravine, every hut was examined,
and on perceiving a neat little cottage in a distant valley, he proceeded
towards it with the same intention. Two females dressed in eagenning
sat under the shade of a large chestnut tree before the door ; they
peared much perplexed as Henrico approached, and whilst “the elder
seemed to be remonstrating with the younger, the latter advanced to the
officer and asked him with an air of inquietude what his wishes were?

1831.] a Tale of the Inquisition. 29.

« Do not be uneasy, young lady,” said Henrico, “ we will not be very
troublesome to you, our visit is but short; we are only in quest of a de-
serter, and must beg permission to search your house.”

‘«« That is what I suspected,” said the young lady, “ and precisely on
that account I wish to speak a few words to you alone !—I will spare you
the trouble of search,’’ said she, tremblingly, “ and frankly confess to
you the young man is concealed in this house, but you will not easily
discover his place of concealment !”’

Henrico misunderstood the girl, and answered quickly, “he did not
wish to withhold the reward”

The young girl looked at him earnestly, her cheeks reddened with a
deep blush; then, after a pause, she continued, “I hold you to your
word, and though you have misunderstood me, I require a-high price.”

«© Well, and what is it 2”

« The freedom of the youth !”

«“ Oh!” said Henrico smiling, “that is going too far, my lovely girl !
Your lover must come forth, otherwise I shall begin the search, and
may probably in the end carry off his sweetheart too !”

The girl stepped proudly back, and said, with warmth, “I have no
connection with the fugitive; if I have built too rashly on your gene-
rosity, ‘tis owing to what he related of your humanity.”

* That is well! but in this affair, I may not act according to the dic-
tates of my heart, but for the good of my country |”

“ Good,” said the girl ; “if you have that in view, I will soon convince
you that the country is as much in want of good citizens as of good sol-
diers!’”’ She then related how the young man had brought upon himself
the hatred of one of the magistrates whose oppression he had en-
deavoured to resist: how he and his family had, in consequence, been
reduced to poverty: how two brothers had been already sent to the
army, and he, the last-and only support of his aged parents, just on the
point of presenting them a daughter-in-law, was almost torn from the
altar to be given up as a recruit, merely to gratify the spirit of revenge.
She described with tears in her eyes the wretchedness of the parents,
and the forsaken bride ; and concluded with the assurance that had he
not accidently come to the cottage, she would have sought him, to im-
plore the freedom of the youth.

Henrico listened with attention, then walked hastily up and down.
“ You may be in the right, dear girl, at last,” said he, “ but the man has
been publicly delivered to me, and I cannot be privy to his escape.”

_ © I know how tomanage that also,”’ said the girl ; “suppose he could
find two substitutes ; he has assured me he knows many who would wil-
lingly be soldiers if they could get a good bounty.’

“ Yes, if he can substitute two fine young men for himself I will dis-
charge him. But, as he is poor, how will he procure the bounty ?—I
suppose from his lovely mediator !’’

«“ No,” said the girl, and her eyes filled with tears, <I cannot help
him ! I am even poorer than he, yet I once conceived the idea that he
might procure it from you.”

« From me?’’ cried Henrico, astonished. “ The money I have with
me belongs to the king, I cannot dispose of it according to my own
ancy.”

“ It was not on that fund I depended!” she timidly replied; “ I was

30 Miranda d’ Aragon ; [Juy,

told you were rich and benevolent ; to those who have heart and means,
I think we may apply with confidence.”

Henrico looked at her, surprised, and asked with earnestness ; “* Who
will guarantee, should I give the money, that the man will not run off
with it, and then laugh at me?”

“1!” answered the girl; “I have confided in you, do I require too
much that you should confide in me? Agree!” said she, holding out
her beautiful hand.

Henrico took it in token of consent, looked long with emotion at her
dark eyes, and said, “I trust in you! Here is my purse, give it the
young man, and conduct him to me—but I will not hear a word from.
him about it.”

Henrico took leave, and begged to be allowed permission to revisit
the tranquil abode of this lovely girl, whose eyes were filled with tears
of gratitude. She held out her hand to him in silence.

St. Lorent did not long absent himself, he hastened again to the solitary
cottage, and was kindly received. The day was sultry, and feeling
fatigued by his long ride, he begged a draught of wine. The young
girl looked with embarrassment at the old woman, who shrugged up her
shoulders, and went covered with blushes into the house. When she
was gone, the old woman began to speak: “ The poor child,” says she,
“‘ feels herself much perplexed that she has no wine to offer you, as we
gave our last bottles to your soldiers the other day. You doubtless, Sir,
find every thing here elegantly arranged, but we have lost our bene-
factor from whom all this proceeds, and I must confess to you that we
are now living in a degree of poverty, to which we have not been ac~
customed.” :

At this moment the girl returned, bringing a glass of milk. ‘ This is
our wine !’’ said she, smiling as she offered it; “ this will also refresh

ou!”

Henrico drank the milk with avidity, assuring her it was more deli-
cious than wine! She now related that the young man had kept his
word, and had sent the two recruits. The whole occurrence was again
talked over, and thus the hours passed lightly away till evening came,
like an unwelcome guest. Mira, which was the name of the young girl,
went in to fetch some fruits for supper, at which time the old woman
took the opportunity to repeat her distressed situation; upon which
Henrico had the courage to force her acceptance of a purse of money.
She took it, but as she said, only as a loan, and invited the donor to
dine with them the next day, promising to prepare him a more comfort-
able repast. When Mira returned, the old woman told her of having
invited Henrico for the next day. She gently shook her head ; “ we
ought in truth not to invite you, unless you can be content with very
frugal entertainment??? Henrico declared there was a sufficiency of
every thing. “ Leave me alone, child,” said the old woman, trium-
phantly, “I will take care that nothing is wanting !””

Henrico often repeated his visits, and soon found out he was only
happy when hastening over the mountain path to the abode of Mira.
The beautiful garden which surrounded it, and the appropriate arrange-
ment of the interior, rendered it a most delightful residence, and shewed
the taste of the possessor. The present indigence of the two females
appeared to be only of recent date. Henrico, in his intercourse with the

- 1831.] a Tale of the Inquisition. 31

inhabitants of the cottage, became astonished at the strength and polish
of Mira’s mind. United to a purity and simplicity of manner, she pos-
sessed an extensive knowledge of the different branches of the sciences.
He expressed his surprise, upon which Mira began to speak with
enthusiasm of her benefactor. “ Alas!” said she, “no one is rendered so
poor as I by this frightful war, for it has thrown me at once forlorn and
helpless upon this wide world !””

But Henrico swore secretly she should not be forsaken, for in this
solitary valley he first felt the sensation of love! The time of his stay
had nearly expired, he daily expected orders for his return ; pecuniary
assistance he could not leave behind, for even the old woman would not
accept of any more, and the timid Henrico yet dared scarcely to con-
fess to himself, much more to the girl, the attachment he had conceived
for her.

Thus glided away two golden months, during which he saw Mira
every day. His recal to the army at length arrived, he had Jong ex-
pected it, yet it came upon him like a thunderbolt! After making the
necessary preparations for his departure, he went early on the following
morning to Mira. “ Oh, you are very good to come so early!” said she,
running to meet him ; “you are come to stay the whole day with us, are
you not?”

«< Yes,” answered Henrico, “ but it is also the last !”’ he then told her
of his recal to the army. Mira burst into tears, confessed with candour
that she was forced to weep, as she felt it was her fate to be separated
from every one that was dear to her. Henrico extended his arm towards
the girl ; drew her to his bosom, and confessed a mutual affection. He
explained his independent situation, promised soon to resign his rank in
the army, and painted a happy future in glowing colours. Mira said,
«willingly believe you, I am not insensible that you love me for myself,
for you have never asked me who, or whatlam? Oh! that I were a child of
this valley! butI know not to what country I belong, and the dark mystery
of my birth stands like a spectre by my side!” Henrico tranquillized her,
and said; ‘I hold thee in my arms, thou precious pearl, and ask not
what sea produced thee !””

« Well, said Mira, “ you must at least see the features of the person
who protected me when a poor child, educated me, and formed me to be
worthy of your affection.” She took him by the hand, led him into a
room he had not yet seen, and shewed him a full length picture.

« My God!’ said Henrico, shuddering, and covering his eyes with
his hands. “ That is Miranda d’Aragon!” It was now clear to him he
was standing in the sanctuary of his friend, and that he had won a heart
which could scarcely yet have forgotten the lost lover ; in the agony of
his feelings, it appeared to him an artful, deep-laid plan, that Mira in
speaking of this man who had expressed so much love for her, had
always spoken of him as a father, and had never betrayed the slightest
hint of any warmer feeling. She was just rejoicing that he knew her
benefactor, when she saw him rush from her as though horror-struck !
She entreated him to explain the reason of his grief? When he looked
at her lovely ingenuous countenance, every suspicion vanished. He
related, without reserve, his connection with Miranda, and what the latter
had confessed to him concerning his sentiments for Mira! « No!”
cried she, after some silence, “I have only loved him as a grateful

32 Miranda @’ Aragon ; [J ULY,

child! Icould never have become his wife, and perhaps it is well that
such delusive hopes should end.’

Mira now cast her thoughts sorrowfully backward ; the image of her
benefactor, which had hitherto held a place in her grateful heart, like
that of a father in the affections of his family, now appeared strange
to her, his features repulsive. While Henrico contemplated her, the
sweet thought again took possession of his soul, that this girl had no
earlier illusion to forget. The old woman indulged herself in invectives
against Miranda; she said “he had observed a deep silence in all his
affairs, and though he had in his life-time provided them with every
luxury and comfort, he had now left them solely helpless in the world.”

Mira begged her to be silent, saying he was a worthy man, and that
his memory would always be dear to her. ‘ You may be in the right,”
said the old woman, “ you owe him your education, but you must not
forget that he stole you from your mother !”

“ No!” cried Mira, “ I was confided to his care, and often has he
assured me he has vainly employed every means to obtain intelligence
of my parent.”

“ He has deceived you!” said the old woman. “ I know that he has
taken care to remain untraced, and purchased this cottage to conceal
himself from the world till you became his wife !”’

* Oh! my poor mother !” said Mira, sorrowfully. “ Where will you
not have sought your child?” Henrico no longer doubted that he had
seen in the gipsy, Mira’s mother, and related what he knew of her, but
without touching on Miranda’s former history. Mira was delighted,
for she now hoped she should behold her mother again, and related her
own life. Her native country, she thought, was most probably Spain.
She remembered having been brought up in a great city, and to have
gone often with her mother to a convent, where she was always most
affectionately received by one of the nuns. The convent was still
so fresh in her memory, that she was convinced she should know it again.
When she was about six years of age, her mother began to travel with
her ; it was then she first saw her in the dress of a gipsy, she was also
then dressed ina similar manner. After a restless wandering of many
years, they had remained longer than usual at a small town in France.
Here, in the house in which they last lodged, Miranda lay ill of his
wound ; and as he appeared lonely and forsaken, her mother had, pos-
sibly out of pity, undertaken to nurse him, in which occupation she had
assisted: and when her mother, from some ‘inexplicable cause secretly
forsook her, she clung to him as her only protector.’’ i

As Mira finished the relation, the increasing shadows of the mountain
reminded Henrico that he must depart. He promised to quit the
service the first opportunity ; to live only for her; and took his leave
with the assurance of being beloved.

St. Lorent returned to the army, and begged his dismissal ; it was
’ given to him with regret. He immediately flew from the tumults of
war, to the solitary valley, the abode of Mira.

At the time of his return, the old woman, the companion of Mira,
laid on her death-bed. What delight thrilled through the girl’s brain,
when she beheld her lover so unexpectedly soon before her, saying he
was come to make her his for ever !

The first pleasures of meeting over, the lovers resolved to celebrate

1831.] a Tale of the Inquisition. Jigs ae

their marriage without delay, to quit this solitude, and repair immedi-
ately to Henrico’s estate. During the preparation for the nuptials,
Henrico took up his abode in a neighbouring village, in the cabin of the
young man, by whose means he had become acquainted with Mira, and
who was now a happy husband and a father. The old woman died.
Mira shed tears of sorrow over her grave. A few days after, a priest
pronounced the marriage rites, which bound the two lovers ; and Mira
presented the cottage, and all that belonged to it, to the poor, but happy
couple, whose hut had afforded a temporary shelter to Henrico. They
then left the valley, taking with them Miranda’s picture alone.

While Henrico lived with his young wife in tranquillity and happiness,
in a beautiful retirement, and forgot the world around him in the felicity,
he enjoyed, peace dawned over Europe. Amongst those who hastened
to the friends and homes they so long pined after, was Miranda d’ Aragon.
He had been left severely wounded on the field of battle, and had fallen
into the hands of the enemy, who, considering him a distinguished
officer, had removed him to a very remote place of security. Full of
ardent passion for the lovely being he had himself nurtured, he now
hastened in joyful expectation to the valley where he had left her.
But who can describe his feelings, when he saw strange people come out
to meet him from that dwelling to which he had hoped to have been
welcomed by a friendly eye ; and when he heard that the eldest of the
late inhabitants was dead, and that the youngest was married to Henrico
de St. Lorent, and gone with him, no one knew where! Pale and
horror-stricken, Miranda slunk away like a repulsed beggar, and threw
himself down under a tree onthe mountain, from whence he could oyver-
look the valley beneath. Here, feeling himself irredeemably lost in
wretchedness, he seized his dagger to end at once all further illusions,
But the thirst of vengeance quickly arose in his wild and fiery soul, and
inspired him with a wish to live.

“ No!” cried he, “ perfidious wretch, thou shalt not carry away, like
flimsy booty, the happiness I had amassed with so much pain; thou
shalt not, with impunity, violate the sanctuary of my home, and trample
on my best hopes! I will find thee out, and, like the angel of vengeance,
hold judgment upon thee!” He raised himself up, and took the road
to a neighbouring town, where he had_ placed his property in the hands
of a commercial house. He there purchased arms, and hastened back
to the valley with the determination to get possession of his estranged
property, either by money or by force! He represented himself to the
present inhabitants of the cottage as a stranger so.enchanted with the
solitude and beauty of the spot, as to be extremely anxious to purchase
it, and offered a sum so much beyond its real worth, that he found
force unnecessary to obtain it. The money was paid down on con-
dition the house should be immediately vacated, leaving every thing
within which formerly belonged to it. :

He walked from room to room in the deserted mansion, and entered
the chamber, where once, now no longer, hung his portrait ; here the
anguish of his feelings, overpowered his mind, and he sank down
sobbing loudly, on the spot where his Mira had bloomed in all the
delusion of innocence. Roused at last, by despair and revenge, he
started up quickly, seized a sharp axe, and rushed out to commence
the work of destruction. With violent rage he levelled every thing
to the earth; the fine fruit-trees fell, the flowers were crushed, the

M.M. New Serics.—Vou. XII. No. 67. F

34 Miranda d’ Aragon ; [ Jury,

bowers torn down, and having raged about the whole day like a
maniac, he found himself, at eve, at the solitary spot where Mira’s aged
companion lay buried. Here he exclaimed, in a sepulchral voice,
«* Old woman, arise, and tell me where I shall find the traitor! Open
once more thy putrid and corrupted lips—and then may’st thou for
ever be silent!” He tore up the green sod of the grave, and raved
anew—but no one heard his lamentations. <A flight of rooks alone gave
answer, as they croaked above his head, hastening, at the approach of
night, to their wooded home. Miranda now shuddered, as struck by
some dark presentiment, and hastened back to the house. He here
piled up every combustible and set it in flames. “ Here shall no
swallow more build her nest!’ cried he, “ henceforth accursed be this
spot!’ The thick dense smoke rolled through the apartments, and
the flames bursting through the falling roof, spread a fearful gleam
over the still darkness of night ; the inhabitants of the neighbouring
villages were roused, and came to render assistance. But, like a’
fiend, Miranda ran round the burning building, driving every one
back with his naked sword, thus protecting the flames in their frightful
ravages. Day at length dawned on the smoking pile of ashes, when he
quitted the spot and set out in the disguise of a peasant, his mind bent
on revenge, to the paternal estate of St. Lorent, which was well known
to him, and where he expected with certainty to meet the young couple.
But the present possessor could give no information where they were.
Revenge drove the unhappy Miranda from place to place, till the thought
struck him, that they had possibly gone to Spain. He determined,
therefore, to bend his steps that way, and thus once more entered his
native land after an absence of twenty years; he passed the threshold
of his birth-place, but, alas, no one knew him ; new buildings were
erected on the spot where once stood his father’s house ; strange and
unknown faces passed by him in the old and familiar streets. Exhausted
he sat down on a stone in the market-place, and big, heavy, tear-
drops rolled down his cheeks. The church-door of the Dominican
convent, where he was first educated, was open; he entered it, and
compared the days he had passed here, with those spent in the wide
world ; he felt also the influence of the heavenly peace which reigned
around, and which seemed to beckon and invite him to adore it. His
rage gave place to a déep sentiment of melancholy: he knelt down
before the altar, laid his burning forehead on the step, and wept
bitterly.

In this state the sacristan reminded him that it was time to quit the
church. Alas! the prayer hung on Miranda’s lips, rather to shew him
a quiet cell in this peaceful cloister! but he had not power to utter it,
and went away. The more forcibly did the remembrance of the wild
career of his youth take possession of his mind, the more rapidly did
the frightful storm of passion subside, which had driven him above the
world and kept his mind in constant agitation. The next day he
walked back to the convent church, he entered just as they were
reading masses for the dead, and heard the priest utter the names of
his parents. He saw their menacing spirits pass by him. He thought
their curses pursued him, and determined on leading a life of penitence.
He hastened to the abbot of the convent, made known who he was, and
gave himself up as a criminal and a repentant child to punishment.
He obtained pardon, and after a short noviciate, at his own request, was

1831.] a Tale of the Inquisition. 35

admitted into the order and received the tonsure. The example of a
sinner voluntarily quitting the world to return to the bosom of the
church, and bestow on it his property, was too flattering not to be
welcomed with exultation instead of punishment.

Scarce a year had elapsed ere the monotony of a convent life palled
upon Miranda, and he secretly wished himself in some active employ.
It chanced that the convent had business of importance to transact in
the capital. The choice fell on Miranda; they were aware of his
experience and talent—he, therefore, set out for Madrid, furnished with
the necessary commission. Every eye was fixed on the prudent and
energetic monk, and the convent was congratulated on having so
discreet and useful a member amongst their number. In the mean
time Miranda formed an acquaintance with the Grand Inquisitor, who
soon conceived such a high opinion of him, that he offered him a
situation at the tribunal of the Inquisition. Since love had vanished
from Miranda’s breast, he appeared as though created for a cold-hearted
cruel judge, who could weigh and condemn, not according to the
actions of man, but from the innermost thoughts of the soul. The
immense power over the lives and happiness of his fellow-creatures,
now placed in his hands, excited his haughty spirit. He obtained the
consent of his convent, and became a member of the dreadful tribunal.
The work of horror and misery he was now engaged in, shed a kind of
savage joy over his heart, which was filled with hatred against all
mankind—so that the inquisitor had rarely to boast of so stern and heart-
less a coadjutor.

Henrico de St. Lorent had now lived several years in tranquillity
with his Mira. They were little aware of the evil spirit which wandered
about to seek them out, and effect theirruin. They thought Miranda
long since mouldered in the dust, or they would not have given way
to the irresistible desire which possessed them of visiting Spain, to
which Mira was prompted by the desire of finding out her mother ;
and Henrico by his promise of seeking out Isabella, and delivering the
ring of one who was now laid low in the grave. They arrived at
Madrid, determined to remain there some time to prosecute: their
mutual researches. One day as they were passing by the Convent of
the Sisters of Mercy, Mira stood as though rooted to the portal, and
assured her husband that this, and no other, must be the convent to
which she had been so often conducted when a child. They entered
the church, and had not been there long, ere Henrico felt some one
touch his hand. On looking round he observed it was a lay-sister of
the convent, he looked at her first with astonishment, but when she
called him familiarly by his name, he recognised, by her voice, Mira’s
mother. Mira remembered her the moment she spoke, flew into her
arms, and called her by the tender name of mother! But Zagurina led
her hastily out of the church, where she, in her turn, gave way to the
delight which overcame her. “I praise God that I see you again,”
said she, “ but leave me, my children! I have sacred duties to perform
on which depends your future felicity. Tell me where you live ; early
to-morrow I will be with you!” She dismissed them hastily, entreating
them to remain tranquil till she saw them again.

The woof of fate was now being fast spun out: it so happened that
a few minutes after they separated, Miranda came out of the Palace of
the Inquisition, and recognised the well-known forms before him.

F 2

36 Miranda d’ Aragon ; LJ ULY,

The terrific man stood pale and trembling, fixing his basilisk eyes upon
them both; Mira’s excessive beauty, and the cheerful countenance of
her husband, shewed him what he had lost; his newly awakened
passion roused him to the most dreadful resolution. ‘ There they are !”
fell from his pale lips, “ but they are now in my power!”

Miranda made a sign which his people understood ; ere they could
regain their dwelling they were seized on by the minions of the inqui-
sition, and before they had time to conceive what was required of them,
the iron doors of separate dungeons had closed behind them.

In the full sense of his tremendous power, Miranda swore their per-
dition! The love he had felt was not to be rendered an illusion to him
with impunity—no one should rob him of his happiness unrevenged !
The two innocent beings were given up to the judgment of the inqui-
sition. Miranda himself urged the accusation against them. The
principal crime of which Mira was accused, was her being the daughter
of an infamous gipsy, and of her having induced Henrico to marry her,
and his initiation into her blasphemous ways. As they could not deny
they had seen Zagurina, principally under the disguise of a gipsy, little
other proof was wanting. They were pronounced guilty, and placed
amongst the number of those condemned to death.

Miranda feasted on the despair of his victims. The unfortunate pair
were doomed to know by whose hand they died; they were to know
the avenger who had risen, like a spectre from the grave, to destroy
their bliss.

As Henrico and Mira were conducted, after their last examination,
to their dungeons, Miranda ordered them to be first led to his apart-
ment. They entered at separate doors, and, on seeing each other,
rushed forward with open arms ; but he sprang furiously between them,
exclaiming, “Do you know me ?”

They recognized Miranda, but felt no fear, as, in their innocence,
they rather hoped that their newly-found friend would be their deli-
verer. They cried out, in an imploring tone, “ Father, save your chil-
dren!” The name of father, formerly so delightful to his ear, now
only fanned his rage afresh ; he dashed Mira from him, loaded her with
curses and reproaches, and assured her, that it was his powerful hand
alone that had devoted her to death! He then quitted the unhappy
victims, who were conducted back to their gloomy dungeons. As
Henrico sat on his damp straw in deep thought, and vainly endeavoured
to console himself, the gaoler entered with a light and some provisions.
As he set them down before Henrico, he recognized the son of his old
master, who had protected him under circumstances of deep suspicion
against his character, and had subsequently saved him from being exe-
cuted as a spy. “ Sir,” said he, “I will now discharge part of the
debt of gratitude I owe you, in aiding your flight from the dreadful
hands into which you have fallen. The road from this prison leads but
to death!” Henrico rejoiced to find a friend in his distress, but how
could he leave Mira behind? The grateful gaoler convinced him they
could only be saved one at atime, and solemnly promised to venture
every thing for Mira’s liberty, if he would but comply with his plan
for enforcing the belief that he had committed suicide, which, after
a great many struggles, was acceded to. The plot succeeded; and
St. Lorent was enabled to gain the frontiers, where it was promised his
wife should join him. Por

1831.] a Tale of the Inquisition. 37

In the mean time, Henrico and Mira were condemned to death ; the
auto-de-fé was fixed, when their lives were to become a prey to the
flames. Miranda was impatient for the day of execution. Since the
sentence of death had been pronounced, and that it was supposed Hen-
rico had destroyed himself, sleep had forsaken his pillow ; he desired the
arrival of that moment when he could fully glut his revenge! Miranda
had arisen very early the morning of this last day, when a lay-sister of
a nunnery requested to speak with him; and upon being admitted,
delivered a verbal request from the abbess, begging him to repair to her
immediately, as she had something of great consequence to impart
to him. Miranda instantly followed her. She conducted him to the
convent of the Sisters of Mercy, and shewed him into the parlour, say-
ing, she would go fetch the abbess. Finding himself alone, he cast his
eyes on a portrait on the wall, representing a beautiful woman in the
habit of anun. As he continued observing it, his heart beat quickly,
for he recognized the features ; and it appeared to him as though the
lovely lips would open, and call him by his name. As he stood doubt-
ing, not knowing to decide whether he saw Mira’s picture, or whether
he saw a form out of past time before him, some one touched him on
the shoulder, saying, ‘“‘ How does this picture please you?” Miranda
started, for behind him stood the gipsy Zagurina.

“ Stand off, sorceress!” cried he, in a rage; “I have nothing more
to do with thee. I came here to speak to the abbess of the convent ;
how darest thou penetrate this sanctuary ?”

“ Sir,” said Zagurina, “the abbess has just sent me to you, for you
have much to explain to meere she can see you! Sir,” continued
she, “by all that is sacred, tell me the truth; do you know aught of
Mira and her husband? I found her like an apparition, but lost her
again; and after having sought her every where with inexpressible
anxiety, the idea at last struck me, and I fear it is not without founda-
tion, that they have fallen into the hands of your dreadful tribunal.”

Miranda looked at her with an infernal smile, and said—“ Yes! to
you they are now lost! my powerful hand has at last reached the infa-
mous wretches, and will also annihilate you !/”

« Sir,” said Zagurina, in a supplicating tone, “ by the remembrance of
yonder picture, I implore you to tell me what crime my poor children
have committed ?”

« And canst thou still ask me that, thou gipsy hag?” cried Miranda.
“ They have robbed me of all my happiness, I will therefore crush them.
Listen! thy daughter was once dearer to me than aught on earth, she
was the angel I worshipped ; but the perfidious St. Lorent, the only
one to whom I was weak enough to entrust my secret, broke, like a
robber, into my house, during my unfortunate imprisonment, and stole
the affections of my destined bride; she followed him, and left me in
beggary to hunt her up and down the world, and bury the best affec-
tions of my heart beneath a monkish cowl.”

© And is this her only crime?” asked Zagurina.

“ It is a crime which calls for vengeance!” said Miranda: “ but the
tribunal of the Inquisition has condemned them to death, because they
are thy children, thou heretical sinner !—The cowardly St. Lorent has
already destroyed himself, and to-morrow thy daughter shall meet her
doom !””

“ Merciful God !” cried a voice behind the grating, and Miranda be-

38 Miranda d’ Aragon ; [Juny,

held the abbess, who had sunk on her knees, extending her arms to
him in a posture of entreaty. Zagurina drew him towards the grating,
saying, “ dost thou know that woman?” He looked, and saw the origi-
nal of the picture; the veil of time gone by was lifted up. Striking
his forehead, he exclaimed, “ Isabella!”

« Do you know me again?” said she, mildly ; “ have you not forgotten
the faithful, forsaken Isabella ?—she who now throws herself at thy feet
to implore thee to spare the life of our child?”

« All gracious God of Heaven !—be silent!” cried Miranda, as he
started back, shuddering ; “ be silent !—what hath thy lips uttered ?”

«The dearest,—the most sacred secret of my life!—Mira is our
child !—”

Miranda, at these words, sunk on the ground, as if annihilated.

«* When they forced me away,” continued Isabella, “ from our retreat
in the mountains, I was conveyed as a punishment to this convent.
Here your daughter was born in secret, and here I was forced to take
the veil. I confided our child to my faithful Clarita. She brought it
up with a mother’s care. Ina gipsy’s disguise she took it with her,
and endeavoured to find you out, to learn if you were worthy of your
daughter, and to resign it to your care. After many years’ long and
fruitless search, you were discovered in a miserable hut, in France,
where Mira became your nurse. Your heart clung with a fatherly affec-
tion to the girl, who was imprudently left in your hands till I was con-
sulted on what further steps should be.pursued. During that time, your
frightful passions turned to madness,—you stole away your own daugh-
ter |”

« Oh! heavens! why did you conceal from me she was my daugh-
ter ?’? exclaimed Miranda, in an agony of grief.

The gipsy during this time had thrown off her disguise: she now en-
tered in the dress of a lay-sister:—“‘ Do you remember,’’ said she, to
Miranda, “ how I placed Isabella's ring upon your finger? do you re-
member how I implored you, when I conceived you were in your last
moments, to confess to me the abode of my child, and how I endeavoured
to awaken in you old recollections >—But you dashed Isabella's picture
to the earth,—you wanted to murder me! I then prayed to God he
might terminate your existence on the field of battle !—Heaven seemed
to have heard me; I saw you fall !—No danger withheld me from seek-
ing you amidst the ranks of death, to explain the secret of the birth of
your child, and to request from you the avowal of her residence. But
you were already senseless, and the enemy tore you from me. I myself
remained a prisoner, until the peace ; I then hastened back to Spain,
and to my astonishment found you here beneath the habit of a monk.
All might have been happily explained, as fate had also conducted your
child hither: Alas! at the very moment I thought of bringing you to-
gether, you were sitting in judgment on your children !”

«Qh! my poor innocent children !’’ cried Miranda, in despair: “ yes,
I loved the child to distraction, though I did not understand the source
of the affection,—I see it now ; I beheld in her the youthful image of
Isabella !””

Isabella implored of Miranda the life of her child, but he sat with
clenched hands ; his head sunk on his breast :—he sobbed bitterly. Isa-
bella begged him even to hazard his own life to save their child. His
faculties at last seemed to resume their energy; he exclaimed “I will

1831.] a Tale of the Inquisition. 39

_ save her, or perish with her!” Without another word he hastened from

.

the convent to the palace of the Inquisition.

Pale and haggard he entered the chamber of the grand inquisitor, to
which he had always free access, and begged a private audience. The
inquisitor complied with his request, astonished to see him, so uniformly
cold-hearted and taciturn, in such violent agitation of mind. Since the
feelings of a father had taken possession of his breast, and that he la-
boured to save the life of a child, he was animated amidst his despair
with the purest feeling. He related to the grand inquisitor the princi-
pal circumstances of his life, without the least disguise ; and accused
himself with a soul-harrowing frankness, of being the only criminal.
When he had finished his story, the old inquisitor held out his hand to
him, and said, “ Unhappy father ! thy child is nevertheless lost !””

Miranda clasped his knees, and implored him in deep groans to save
his child!—but the judge remained inexorable. “ The sentence once
pronounced by our tribunal, cannot be revoked !’ said he, loosing him-
self from the grasp of Miranda. “ You have yourself accused your
daughter to us: acknowledge therein the wise dispensation of Heaven.
Her death must be the atonement for your and Isabella’s sins.”

“ Venerable father !” cried Miranda, distracted, “ if a victim must
be sacrificed, let me die.”

“ No! thy trials are not yet at an end. _The more pure and innocent
thy child is, the more tranquilly shouldst thou view her career finish.
I once myself considered death a punishment, but now see that it is only
the road out of darkness into light—only the sun’s ray, in which the
ripe fruit falls.”

Miranda saw that it was impossible to save his child. The grief which
had overwhelmed him gave place to the most furious rage. He drewa
dagger from beneath his cloak, and swore he would deal death and
destruction around, ere his child should perish by the hand of the execu-
tioner. The grand inquisitor left him with severe threats, and desired his
people to keep an eye upon him, and not to permit his entrance to the
palace of the inquisition till the auto-de-fé of the morrow was over.

In the agony of Miranda’s grief at not being able to save his daugh-
ter, nor make himself known to her, he went to the confessor appointed
to attend her, intrusted him with the secret of her history, implored
him to relate it to his daughter, and reconcile her to her unhappy
father. The priest promised, and kept his word.

At length the morning dawned which was to witness the appalling
scene of death. The Spanish court in full state, and the greater part
of the population of Madrid, were assembled in the Plaza de la Inqui-
sicione, to witness the tragedy. The stern Judges of the Inquisition
were in their places, and even Miranda did not fail to be present. The
old grand inquisitor fancied that the father had, by a severe struggle
with himself, at last conquered his feelings, and smiled graciously upon
him ; but he could not help shuddering at the dreadful look Miranda
returned. At last the procession approached under a strong military
escort ; in the centre were the condemned, who advanced in mournful
silence ; quite the last was a female, too weak to support herself, con-
ducted by the officers of justice. It was Mira. But scarcely had she
reached Miranda ere he rushed among the guards, like a lion deter.
mined to defend his young; dashed the officers aside, seized his child
in his arms, pressed forward with her towards the crowd, calling out to

40 Miranda d’ Aragon ; a Tale of the Inquisition. (Jury,

them to save her from the hands of the executioner! But the timid
populace remained quiet. Inthe mean time, prompted by the grand
Inquisitor, the guards sprang forward and attempted to separate the
father and daughter. But her tender hands were riveted round his
neck. In a fainting voice she cried—< Kill me! ah! kill me, my
father!’ Miranda imprinted on her pale forehead his first—his last
paternal kiss, and drawing forth his dagger pierced the trembling vic-~
tim to the heart! She sank on the ground !—From her bleeding corse
was torn another victim, who, despairing of her release, had, on resoly-
ing to perish with her, arrived but in time to witness the sad catastrophe
of a daughter imploring death as a boon from the hand of him who
gave her life! S. B.

ON THE POPULAR LITERATURE OF FRANCE.

Ir is a common-place remark, that revolutions in literature are no
less frequent than those in politics, and that it is not less subjected to
the capricious dictates of fashion than painting, music, all the imita-
tive arts, even dress, whose strange and ephemeral changes bafile all
attempt at analysis. This proposition, as applied to the history of
France, appears completely established by the facts and writings, from
the origin of the fabliaux and the Romande la Rose, to those later days,
when the despotism and literature of the empire fell with its glory. It
was then that the symbols of unity, the dogmata of passive obedience
and adulation, reflected from the political on the moral world, gave
way to that burst of frantic independence which English writers have
qualified as intellectual eccentricity.

It is not here our object to seek to appreciate this change by the merit
of its productions. We have only to draw from it, as from those which
have preceded it, this deduction, that old age affects books even more
rapidly than men. With a few exceptions, easily enumerated, there are,
in fact, but few writers who do not survive their works. Twenty-five
years is the utmost mean of immortality they can promise themselves.
The most successful then obtain an honourable place in libraries, where
they are treated like those gothic pieces of furniture which the beauty
of their workmanship preserves from destruction, and which are col-
lected and preserved, unused, by the curious.

Are all the productions of the press inevitably subjected to these
vicissitudes? Do the lower classes of them take part in this progres-
sive movement? Does what may strictly be called national literature
take its colour from popular literature? The impartial examination of
the strange productions, a selection from which we shall present to the
reader, will answer these questions by proving the immense -difference
which exists between these two species of literature. No one in France
has hitherto bestowed any attention on the bibliography of the lower
classes, which, however, is deficient neither in interest or importance,
since the aphorism—* Tell me what you eat and I'll tell you what you
are,” might be applied with much more propriety to the reading than
to the food of the people. No researches, not the slightest notice has
been made on this subject, which appears to have been thought unwor-
thy the attention of the busy idleness of the academies. From Sorel to
La Harpe, all the critics have affected not to be aware that their porter _
could read, and that their cook sought news of missing forks and strayed ~

1831.] The Popular Literature of France. 4]

lovers from the cabalistic pages of the Grand Albert. The example,
however, of foreign literati was not wanting to induce them to tread
in a new path, and to rouse them from their indifference. In Germany,
a grave bibliographer has made the popular literature of his country the
subject of profound researches.* The north has distinguished itself for
its zeal in discovering those literary monuments of former ages, which
exist only in the tradition of the writer’s fire-side, and in the memory
of the villager and peasant. And very lately, an English author has
published a most curious dissertation on the Nursery Rhymes, with
which, from time immemorial, nurses have soothed the cradled infant to
sleep.

These works, which would be sufficient to establish the importance
of the plebeian muse, might naturally excite astonishment at the dis-
regard shewn to it in France. And, on the other hand, if the number
of initiated were sufficient to establish the merit and importance of a
class, if the principle of majorities could be applied in appreciating it,
_if a writer's first object should be the number of his readers, there can
be no doubt that this disregard will meet its full condemnation from
a consideration of the facts which we shall now attempt to describe.

If we considered only the number of works, the names of which
appear during the last fifteen years in the Journal de la Librarie, and
which, from their price, and the subjects to which they relate, appear
doomed to be inaccessible to the common people, we should be tempted
to draw perfectly opposite conclusions from these premises. The fol-
lowing are the numbers :—

BONG C22, petal los. cedueaadvecetsst. 3,357
ISG Soesbi. te Teoest Poot O58 3,763
Llivmetee preety iO PA Bal ane 4,937
Ch Sey BAM RR OB ani ul ey ot . 4,837
MAD, 2508. Fas le eegeel ty Re aan . 4,568
OG. Sear id ss FLA oS a. a eGGeee 4,881
RDI 32 Shea a5 gait O64: Ke AS .. 5,499
so EEE ScGuy Pi HE SOR 5,823
Ween rae Taree. eek ei ee. veeeee 5,893
Moe yey, 222,22 Susser P, S240, 6,974
BOG ch sha. JARS Su: 3 , boyes 7,605
ee ee SP ne sr, § asd 2, O273
DT Paes Lye Meleealdyg Sree) 19 8,198
BOM, 2P3 SEA hae PPro. Bee. 13a. bs F616
RTT pe ot en Mele as sagas

1830 @eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeteeereeeeeene 6,739

96,086

Of these 96,086 works, one-fifth are in one volume, two-fifths in two
volumes, one-fifth in three or four volumes, and the remaining fifth is
composed of reprints, containing from fifty to eighty volumes, of which
5,000 copies were printed.

* The popular works of Germany, or exact appreciation of the small works on
history, medicine, and meteorology, which chance has preserved among the people
to the present time, by J. J. Geerres, Heidelberg, 1807, One volume 12mo., con-
taining the analyses of forty-eight popular works.

M.M. New Series. Vou. XII.—No. 67. G

42 The Popular Literature of France. [Juny,

It will be inquired how these productions of human thought are distri-
buted ; still bewildered by those who three times a-year talk pathetically
of the progress of science and the diffusion of knowledge, we naturally
expected to see those beneficent works, whose pure morality secures for
their authors medals and crowns of virtue, penetrate into the inmost re-
cesses of the remotest hamlet of the kingdom! Alas, we are thunderstruck
on seeing within how small a circle is circumscribed the influence of those
works, which were intended to regulate the heart and mind of all the tax-
payers of the eighty-seven departments. The common people, and more
particularly those residing in the country, are in general slaves to an
instinct of routine, which is carried to a point of invincible obstinacy.
They are doggedly attached to what is old, and reject without discrimi-
nation, without even examination, every thing which wears the least
appearance of innovation. To read any other book than that which
from their infancy they have seen tossing about in the dust among
the consecrated palm-branches and rusty firelocks, would be an achieve-
ment far eclipsing those of Cook, Magellan, or Columbus. So in other
provinces, variable as is the taste in dress in France, the peasants’ hair has
hardly yet abandoned the costume of the good old days of Louis XIV.
This will enable us to judge what progress can have been made by the
multitude in an art, the first effect of which is to cause a reaction in
domestic life, by the improvements which it reveals and teaches us to
introduce there. Philanthropic societies have thought to remedy these
inconveniences, by voting books calculated by their form and price for
popular circulation. These books had two great faults. They were
rational, and were distributed gratis. Now the honourable class of
readers of which we are now treating, will almost always say—“ I
choose to be deceived,” as the wife of Iganarelle said—“I choose to be
beaten.” Whether the year be good or bad, it must always have its
quota of trifles and prophecies, which it would look for in vain in the
works so lavishly distributed, with a zeal laudable indeed, but quite
inexperienced. Hence, during the administration of M. Decazes, alma-
nacks, published by government at 33d., and which, in order to secure
the circulation, were even delivered to the public at 23d., were scouted
with unanimity by the catechumens of the Messager Boiteux. The
Société Elementaire failed in a similar manner in 1827. They could not
persuade any one to take their almanacks. The common multitude
look with distrust on these publications, simply because they are given
away ; they are filled with some vague idea, that the real spring of this
bounty must be some dangerous spirit of proselytism. It is a repetition
of the story of the fellahs of Central Africa, who, not conceiving the
possibility of the mere love of science inducing men to expose them-
selves to the dangers of long voyages, saw in the emulators of Mungo
Park, Laing, and Clapperton, only magicians or treasure-hunters. The
French peasant, in fact, only values what he has paid for; and in
this respect they imitate the politician, who willingly makes a sacrifice
to subscribe to works which interest him, and does not even deign to
cast his eyes on those with which an obsequious perseverance is con-
tinually loading his table gratuitously. In England this mistrust would
be in some degree justified by certain precedents, which prove that
almanacks were often employed as the medium for opposing or propa-
gating such principles as appeared to be hostile or favourable to the
existing powers. James I., for instance, paid marked attention to these

1831.] The Popular Literature of France. 43

works, and even deigned himself to revise the manuscript of the Merli-
nus Anglicus, and to promise to his loyal subjects a prosperity which,
were it but for his credit’s sake as an astrologer, he ought at least to
have realized. His successor, affecting an implicit belief in the same
speculations, prompted, but, alas ! in vain, the voice of the same oracles.
Thanks to the Company of Stationers, who had obtained from the uni-
versity the monopoly of this branch of industry. The usurpation of
Cromwell was by no means deficient in that devotion to the moon and
stars which had characterized the preceding reigns of legitimacy. These
heavenly bodies enjoyed in peace their full moral and political influence,
until the beginning of the eighteenth century, when a terrible annihi-
lator of magicians arose in Swift. His efforts, however, were fruitless
when opposed by ignorance and routine. John Bull did not lose his
confidence in the almanack ; and during the wars of the republic and
the empire, Napoleon was regularly killed every year by Poor Robin.
About the same period the French government included the almanacks
in its solicitude for the productions of the press; and every one knows
the story of the luckless editor, who, by order of the Directeur de la
Librarie, was compelled to transfer to St. Petersburgh the plague which
he had unthinkingly predicted to the territories of the ro: de Rome.
The Restoration left the almanacks in peace, subject only to the general
formality of the depét ; and it was not until 1830 that the Double
Liegeois, printed at Paris, by M. Stahl, was seized on account of the
following passage :—

“Those most disposed to indulgence will be compelled to admit the
conviction, that nothing can go on in a system in which words and
deeds are in direct opposition to each other.”

The date of this prediction renders it remarkable. It was fixed for
the 25th July.

Doubtless this is a formidable argument in favour of the infallibility
of the Double Liegeois, but it must be admitted, that almost as much
magic science was required to foresee and punish the offence by antici-
pation, as to commit it. It, however, is not less true, that if the uneasi-
ness which a publication may occasion to those in power, be in proportion
to its influence and the number of its readers, no work ought to occupy
the attention of government more seriously than the almanack.

The almanack is the basis of the popular literature of France. In
some departments they form the whole library of seven-eighths of the
population. And what almanacks! Barbarous imitations of the sooth-
sayer of Basle, with his Oriental fatalisms, his absurd prognostications,
and his meteorological calculations, in which, as in the time of Dubartas,
the sun is designated as le duc des chandelles. Then come the medical
prescriptions, in virtue of which, doses sufficient to kill a squadron of
cuirassiers, horses and men, on the spot, are administered to the most
debilitated patient.

It would be almost impossible to ascertain the number of the alma-
nacks with which France is annually inundated, by the speculators
particularly devoted to this branch of commerce. This impossibility
arises from the extent and irregularity of their production, and more es-
pecially from the profusion of spurious editions. We can therefore only
assume, as the foundation of an approximate calculation, the result of
the operations of the great centres of production. Thus, Troyes, Rouen,
Paris, Beauvais, Lille, Montbelliard, Epinal, Nantes, and Limoges sup-

G 2

44 The Popular Literature of France. [Juuy,

ply a mass of Matthiew Lansberg, which may be estimated at nearly
three million copies. Troyes alone supplies one-sixth of this number ;
and the beginning of this fecundity is lost in the remote obscurity of the
history of almanacks. Its existence may be explained by the cheapness
both of labour and materials, two conditions indispensable to the success
of speculations which depend on so small a profit. In this respect, Paris
would appear to be in a less favourable position ; yet it furnishes a sup-
ply nearly equal to that of the second capital of Champagne. The
average yearly sale of the Double Liegeois of Stahl, is from one hundred
and thirty to one hundred and eighty thousand ; and that of the Astro-
logue Parisien, published by the widow Demoraine, and Boucquin, suc-
cessors to the celebrated Tiger, at the Pilier litléraire, is still greater.
The last mentioned work, conducted with a bonhomie frequently not
destitute of spirit and talent, has evidently the advantage over its rivals,
although, or perhaps we may say, because, it concedes something to that
thirst for prophecy, which is the generic character of its readers. But,
united with these characteristics, which are essential to its existence, we
find rules of conduct full of wisdom and reason ; medical and meteoro-
logical hints, founded on just observation; a table of the penalties
attached to the crimes most frequently committed by the common peo-
ple; and a summary of political events, in the form of an annual register.
The number for 1831, however, we may observe en passant, has one
remarkable peculiarity: following the example of certain reports, which
may, perhaps, be hereafter taken as the basis of history, it gives an
account of the expedition against Algiers, without even naming the ge-
neral who commanded it. Thus, good traditions are preserved.—* God
is great,” a Turk would say, and we are very little.

But the other day, history was mutilated in a similar way, and the
extreme verge of absurdity passed, in order to metamorphose Napoleon
into the Marquis de Bonaparte ; admirable device of those saviours of
monarchy, who, triumphing even over Chinese apathy, would find means
to create an opposition, ventas, the Burschens-chaft and barricades at
Pekin, and drive King-li out of his capital with pitch-forks, if the cus-
tom-house of Canton would ever allow them admission into the Celestial
Empire.

In addition to the cities we have mentioned, there are numerous places
in which almanacks are made specially for local purposes ; such as indi-«
cating the fairs, agricultural directions, and other particulars, which vary
in each department. Then the double Matthiew Lansberg has not lost
its old supremacy. It is to be found in all the provinces, reprinted, in
every direction, except at Liege, whose name it still insidiously bears.
Not that this veteran of popular literature no longer exists; a great
number even are printed on the banks of the Meuse ; but the elevation
of the price limits the exportation in France. It is there seen flanked
with venerable marks of authenticity, and adorned with the portrait of
the illustrious mathematician, holding in his right hand a celestial globe,
which he is examining with the contemplative air of a gastronome pur-
chasing on trust the deceitful cantaloup. Independently of its details
in domestic and rural economy, and chiromancy, it contains the cele-
brated Calendrier des Bergers, also called the Almanach des Anes, where
signs and figures are substituted for letters, for the benefit of those who
have not fathomed the mystery of reading. Nothing is more curious:
than the hieroglyphics and drawings of this popular Keepsake. A pitch-

1831.] The Popular Literature of France. 45

fork indicates the time for manuring the ground ; a pair of scissars,
that for cutting the hair ; a fan is heat; a covered pot, cloudy weather ;
a pot overturned, wet weather; and an owl, piercing cold. These
cyphers, joined with figures corresponding with the order of the days of
the week, point out the various labour to which each is to be consecrated.
It is, in fact, the infancy of art, and we may easily believe that this
calendar has remained stationary since the sixteenth century, when it
was in high fashion. It is mentioned, among others, in a work of that
period, containing minute details of the interior life, which might be
envied by the novelist of Abbotsford. The following fragment relates
immediately to the subject of this paper, as it enumerates some works
which have now fallen into the domain of popular literature :-—

«In the parlour of the house (for to have two is only the privilege of
grandeur) is the stag’s horn tipped with iron, and suspended from tne
ceiling, whence hang caps, hats, leashes for the dogs, and the great
chaplet of paternosters for common use. On the dresser, or two-storied
buffet, lie the translation of the Holy Bible, made by order of King
Charles V., Les quatre fils Aymon, Ogier le Danois Melusine, and the Ca-
lendrier des Bergers. Behind the great door are a number of long and
high perches of hung game, and at the bottom of the hall, upon shelves
fixed to the wall, half a dozen bows with their quivers and arrows, two
good large rondelles (shields), with two short broad-swords, two halberds,
two pikes twenty-two feet long, two or three coats and shirts of mail in
a small chest filled with bran, two strong cross-bows, and in the large
window over the chimney, three hocquebutes (which we must now call
arquebusses). Near it is the hawk-perch, and below are the nets and
other sporting apparatus. Under the great bench, three feet wide, is
good fresh straw for the dogs to lie on, which makes them better and
more apt to hear and smell their masters.”

At this time the Calendrier des Berger's is still reprinted at Troyes, but
the demand for it diminishes every year, in the inverse proportion of the
increase in the number of individuals who learn to read. If the labours
of the council of enlistment did not furnish us with more direct evi-
dence on this point, we might obtain a sufficiently satisfactory result
from the fact, that the Almanach des Anes, of which, even in the time of
ng empire, 300,000 copies were printed, has now scarcely 20,000 pur-
chasers. ;

The Cantiques Spirituels, which long contested the palm of literary
popularity with the Almanachs, have lost ground in the large towns,
but preserve their footing in most of the provinces. Nota country fair
or market is held without its being attended by some itinerant ven-
ders, with a sanctified and artful deportment, straight hair, and covered
with chaplets, scapularies, and agnuses, proclaiming to his half-penitent
audience the healing virtue of certain relics. Each separate locality
having thus the means of extolling its own relics, these lyric manifes-
tos supply the place of those chevauchées (cavaleades) of the middle
ages, when the desire of possessing such objects was (from their value
in attracting crowds of worshippers and pilgrims to the temples in
which they were enshrined) not unfrequently a sufficient motive for
going to war. “Is not the immense number of holy bodies in the
abbey of St. Saulve de Montreuil,” says the historian of Abbeville, “a
sufficient proof of the cupidity of the Counts of Flanders? Were not all
those holy bodies stolen? Did not the nose of St. Wilbrod come from

46 The Popular Literature of France. [Juxy,

the priory of Wetz, in Holland? and the navel of St. Adhelme from a
Norman monastery ?” These spoliations gave rise, as may be easily
supposed, to severe reprisals, so that a particular relic taken, recovered,
and retaken by open force, sometimes travelled backwards and forwards
for months, before it found a permanent resting-place. St. Hubert and
his infallible greyhounds, St. Aignau, St. Clotilda, St. Lucia, St. Vigor,
St. Barbe, St. Michael, and St. Marcouf, and numerous other beatified
personages, are always the principal heroes of this pathological poetry.
Each of them has the cure of a specific disease ; but as it sometimes happens
that the patient is ignorant of the precise nature of his malady, he has
recourse to a sort of diagnostic, which also may be traced to some
ancient tradition of paganism. A certain number of ivy-leaves are
placed in the evening on the surface of some water contained in a ves-
sel ; care is taken that the upper part of the leaf remains dry. To each
of these leaves is given the name of a saint known to cure one of the
complaints with which the patient supposed himself to be attacked ; and
the leaf which is found the next morning penetrated by the water, indi-
cates the saint to whom application is to be made. It is not only on the
strands of Bretagne, in the midst of the landes, in the depths of the
forests of Morvan, but within thirty leagues of Paris—in the depart-
ments of the Eure, Calvados, Seine-Inférieure—that these superstitions
still exist ; as is proved every day by the judicial proceedings, in which
the correctional police is substituted for the inquisition.

We have next the Hisrorre ADMIRABLE pu JuiIF Erranr Jequel
depuis 1 An XXXIII. ne fait que marcher ; the tri-logic complaint of
the chaste Joseph; the misfortunes of Généviéve of Brabant—the
model of innocent, unhappy, and persecuted women ; the Lieutenant-
General Holopherne mis a Mort, par Mme. Judith; the biographical
legend of St. Onuphre, whose prodigies have been realized by Franklin,
in ruling the thunder ; and, lastly, that pathetic canticle, Notre Dame de
la garde, in which the poor sailor implores the protection of the immor-
tal virgin against the furies of the storm :—

“ Claire étoile de la mer
Montrez-vous dans le danger

Dans la nuit Ja plus obscure

Servez de phare et de nord (boussole)
A ceux qui sous votre augure
Espérent de prendre port.”

The Virgin is also la belle lune, and l'ancre maitresse ; then returning to
themselves, these tarry penitents add—

«¢ Chacun de nous est faché
D’avoir si souvent péché

O Dame de Bonne Garde !
Faites nous ressouvenir

Que partout Dieu nous regarde
Pour mieux vivre a l’avenir.”

There is generally much less poetry in the favourite works of the popu-
lace of cities than in those inspired by the solitary life of the hamlet, or
the adventurous career of the mariner. In cities almost all the leisure
moments of the lower classes are passed in noisy pleasures. They rarely
read any beyond a few couplets from a popular vaudeville, slang dia-
logues, witticisms of the barracks, the life of some hero of the gibbet,

1831.] The Popular Literature of France. 47

Cartouche, Mandrin, Desrues—or, lastly, a few romances, imitated from
Ann Radcliffe, which form at once the delight and despair of the por-
tresses ; interrupted at every paragraph of these fascinating studies, by
the fatal “cordon, s’il vous plait” (pull the string to open the gate, if
you please). We must also include in this list IT’ Histoire du bonne
Homme misére, le Capucin sans barbe, les Cing Maris et la Pucelle, le
Testament de Michel Morin; mock sermons, remarkable for their
obscenity ; numerous discours, in defence of the god Crepitus, in which
the celebrated enigma of the Mercure Galant is commented on without
the slightest affectation of reserve in respect to style. We often also
find in cities the Catéchisme des Maltotiers (Tax-Gatherer’s Catechism),
a pamphlet composed against Bouvalais, the Ouvrard of his day, who,
to render the resemblance complete, passed some time in the same prison
in which the celebrated contractor just named was lately confined. If
the old French reputation for gallantry were not already deeply com-
promised by the devotion of the present race of men to politics and
écarté, there would be good grounds to tremble for its existence, in look-
ing at the manner in which le petit seve is treated in the Miroir des
Femmes, la Mechanceté des Demoiselles, le Catéchisme a [Usage des
grandes Filles pour étre Mariées, &c. Ancient and modern writers,
Grecian philosophers and Persian moralists, Scripture itself, all are
brought forward, to prove that woman is “the source of quarrels, the
scum of nature, the scourge of wisdom, the firebrand of hell, the touch-
word of vice, the devil’s bait, a most greedy animal, the shipwreck of
the soul, a forest of pride, the vanity of vanities, a goat in the garden,
a magpie at the door, an owl at the window, an angel in the street, and
a devil in the house.” Fortunately, every one has it in his power to
find out that this is a pure calumny ; nevertheless, from the energy of
the preventive and repressive system of the heads of some families
among the people, we may see reason to fear that the opinion of the
calumniators is sometimes adopted literally.

By asingular contrast, we find that, in conjunction with these absur-
dities, some of the old chivalric romances, inflated with lofty sentiments
and superannuated gallantry, have retained their place in the popular
estimation ; marvellous epopées, in which all the world, with the excep-
tion of a few licentious giants and perfidious magicians, brought in by
way of contrast, pass their time in annihilating crime, or cooing madri-
gals. These works, with the Cabinet des Fées, form the staple of the
Bibliotheque Bleue, some of the works of which deserve particular men-
tion :—

“ Conquests of the great Charlemagne, king of France, with the
heroic deeds of the twelve peers of France, and of the great Fier-a-
Bras, and the battle waged against him by Oliver the Little, who con-
quered him ; and of the three brothers who made the nine swords, three
of which Fier-a-Bras had to fight against his enemies, as you will see
hereafter.”

This romance, the title of which is a model of its kind, is the trans-
lation of an ancient chronicle in verse, in which the history of France
is traced up to the fall of Troy and the adventures of Francus, a com-
panion of AEneas. Pyramus is the first King of France, Mercurus the
second, Pharomond the third, &c. ; excellent historical lessons, as may
be perceived. Charlemagne, in all the works of that period, is a sort of
Pill Garlick, whom every one delights in making a dupe of. The con-

48 The Popular Literature of France. (Jury,

queror of Abderame is no better treated in the Quatre Fils Aymon.
This work, which has been called the Iliad of the middle ages, and
which, by the powerful interest of its composition, merits the title, is
‘the best known of the innumerable poems which formed the delight of
our ancestors; whilst all the others insensibly fade away and are for-
gotten, this alone enjoys undiminished popularity, and every year the
magic adventures of Renaud de Montauban and the traitor Maugis
re-issue from the press. They have, however, a formidable rival in the
history of Valentin Urson, the hero of which, a savage nurtured in the
woods by a bear, and suddenly removed to a court, shews himself the
worthy nursling of his foster-mother. Always fighting, never con-
quered, he carries off wives, beats the husbands, lays waste the larder—
playing, in fact, nearly the same part as the clowns and harlequins of
modern pantomime. Robert le Diable, so famous in the Norman tra-
ditions, is but an heroic variety of this personage.

Huon de Bordeaux, the most voluminous of the romances of chivalry
which have retained their popularity, contains some curious information
on the fairy superstitions of the middle ages. The foundation of the
Oberon of Wieland is to be found there. The comic character is a
laiton de mer, the prototype of all those goblin servants which still exist
in the imagination of the peasantry. We also there observe the strange
and constant alliance of the fairies with Christianity. Thus Oberon, a
most orthodox fairy-king, never fails to exhort his knights to remain
faithful to Jesus Christ, and oppose the followers of Mahomet. Per-
haps this romance, and other works of the same kind, have contributed
not a little to originate and confirm those numerous superstitions, par-
taking equally of paganism and ascetism, which even now are far from
being annihilated. In opposition-to these chivalrous paladins who do
every thing lance in rest, we have Jean de Calais, a plebeian hero, the son
of a merchant, whose destiny, however, is equally brilliant, as he marries
the daughter of a king of Portugal. There is some reason to believe
that his biography is founded on the exploits of those intrepid navi-
gators of Calais and St. Valery, those Angots, who, in the seventeenth
century, shewed such fatal hostility to the Lusitanian flag. Jean de
Calais has had the honour of being made the subject of scenic repre-
sentation, as well as three other heroes of popular literature, Jean de
Paris, the Aladdin of la Lampe merveilleuse, and Fortunatus translated
originally from the Arabic, and afterwards from the Spanish, and in
which La Harpe found the materials of Tanga et Félime. The drama
has also borrowed several situations from Tiel Ulespiegle, a personage,
the precursor of Guzman d’Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, and the
whole tribe of Spanish Picaros. The Bibliotheque Bleue has also its
Gargantua, but this is nothing in common with the Gargantua of the
curate of Mendon. It is established that the literary existence of this
giant was much anterior to the publication of Rabelais’ work, and yet,
judging from the following passage in the introduction, his history
cannot be of any great antiquity. ‘“ The giants which they shew us
every year at the fair of St. Germains, would have been but very little
dwarfs,” &c. &c.

A volume would not suffice to analyse the whole of these works,
more than 1,200 of which are enumerated in the catalogue of a single
bookseller at Rouen, who, in common with the members of his fraternity
at Troyes, deals specially in works of this description. We may safely

1831.] The Popular Literature of France. 49

affirm, that out of the whole 1,200, there is not a single one containing
a rational and pure morality, which would bear a moment’s comparison
with “ Poor Richard,” known in France under the title of La Science du
bon-homme Richard. We must, however, in justice remark, that, except
the Catéchisme Poissard, these works diminish in circulation every
year, particularly the obscure compositions, such as the Aventures de
Roquelaure. This observation is the summary of all we have said. It
is evident that a portion of the common people is beginning insensibly
to despise the works which they had so long found sufficient for them ;
but there is nothing to supply their place; the public are at once too
much and too little advanced in intellect; they no longer relish the
doctrines de sapience of the fifteenth century, but they cannot yet under-
stand the works which writers, who have either too much or too little
genius, are daily bringing out for their especial use. The Cvvilités
pueriles et honnétes, in which the faithful are recommended “ not to
comb their hair at church,” as if we were still in the reign of Louis
XIII., when the fops of the court only shewed themselves in the holy
edifice to ogle their mistresses and repair the coquettish edifice of their
head-dress, are no longer adapted to the comprehension of the public ;
but they would be equally far from understanding the Code de la toiletle
and the Manuel de l'homme de bon-ton. In this situation a wise direction
to the popular press would assuredly be an immense benefit in its
immediate effects, and even in its reaction; and a spark of the genius
of Paul Louis Courier would not be superfluous in directing, to the
desired end, a reform of which it was his mission to be the Luther ;
but the traditions of his method exist, and there is sufficient talent to
make the application of them. Ameliorations have already been intro-
duced ; may they continue, with the precaution derived from experience
not to attack violently the habits, and even the prejudices, which cannot
be conquered in a day. Instruction must be gradual and prepared for
the multitude (to use the words of the author of Emile), “ as bread is
cut up for children by the nurse.” Then if the government interferes at
all, let its action be invisible. From time immemorial it has been
regarded with adistrust, alas! but too justifiable. But in proportion as
official interference is fatal, an indirect and supervising influence will
be advantageous; and in order to exercise it, a minister of the interior
should, perhaps, revive the mysterious excursions of the Caliph Haroun-
al-Rasched, to inquire not what the people say, but what they read.

LODGINGS IN THE STRAND.

_ Wuar a charming place this London is for high heads and low pockets,
for a man whose pride and whose pence preserve an inverse ratio to each
other! Talk of the declension of the drama, the degeneracy of acting—
it is all “ vow et preterea nihil” —there are more livelihoods gained by
histrionic representations at the present day in London than there ever
were. It is not necessary for an actor of genius to confine his exertions
within the walls, or to the boards of this or that edifice dedicated to
scenic illusions ; it may not be politic for many to have their names ex-
hibited in relation to their calling in a play-bill, that the world may
recognize them as disciples of Thalia or Melpomene ; or never to follow
their art, but in the sock or buskin, its types and badges—no! be the
M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No.67. H

50 Lodgings in the Strand. {Juuy,

world the great stage on which their “ exits and their entrances”) are
made, and let their “ little hour” be swelled to the duration of a life.
There is then no manager, decked with a little brief authority, to come
between them and the public—no partial critics to write down their
merits—no capricious audience to conciliate ; no one sees the exertions
they make, and therefore it is in no one’s power to interfere with them.
How many dislike the society of an actor, merely because he is an actor,
although probably a very amiable man! “ We wish,” say they, “ for no
collision with such characters—they are very well in their way—that is to
hear and see; but who would think of admitting, as intimates, professed
dissimulators, and therefore dangerous associates? Can we expect that
there is one ingenuous sentiment remaining within those whose whole
study is imitation, whose highest ambition is to be transformed into fac-
similes of others?” Should this poor wight profess a warm. and
generous friendship in real life, there are twenty to exclaim, “ How
natural—but recollect what an excellent Pierre or Antonio he makes!”
Should he come as a sympathizer in misfortune—“ Capital ! Iago to the
life!” A lover—Romeo, Icilius, e¢ hoc genus omne ;—in all, he only gains
credit for playing a part, and his success is adequate to what it would be
“in his proper sphere.’’ How different is his case who preserves all the
paraphernalia of stage trickery within himself, who is obliged to no
sensible helps, and can, on occasion, alone “ play many parts,” or even
press some of his audience into his dramatic corps, without their being
privy to the capacity they fill. Such is the actor of real merit, and in
London there are many such.

I am one of them—start not, reader, I am not going to act upon you,
at least not to your disadvantage, I hope. I have an extensive ‘circle of
acquaintances ; a large connection being a primary requisite in all. pro-
fessions, but an indispensable one in mine. I have my breakfast ac-
quaintances, my dinner acquaintances, and my supper acquaintances ;
these compose my gallery, box, and pit audience. In the first class are
young men in chambers and lodgings, literary persons, whose finances
have not reached the matrimonial degree ; and even, in the session, some
members of parliament, come to town without their wives. The ladies are.
seldom included in my matin speculations ; however, they enter largely
into the next class; that is composed of mothers, who love shop-
ping and a cicisbeo, misses whose sway at home extends to an invitation
for dinner, brothers ditto, bon-vivants who need a boon companion, and
authors aspiring only to fame, delighted to secure an after-dinner victim
to their lucubrations ; this is by far the most numerous class, and, as ig
proper, is my stap!e resource. The third and last is more heterogeneous
and undetermined ; being made up, for the most part, of the other two,
with a few stragglers, peculiarly its own—such as tavern friends, street-
acquaintances accidentally encountered, and three or four old maids,
who, by a supper, reward the exertions of a novel-reader, when his
throat refuses to squeak forth a line more after five or six hours’ uninter-
rupted duty. This tiers état completes the list. .

But the reader, if he knows me, will say, “ How did you contrive to
get into so much, and such good company ? You have no means of return-
ing all those breakfasts, dinners, and suppers ?”—True, but there lies the
secret ; I have lodgings in one of the best houses in the Strand—witness
my inviting ticket ; and who knows that I may not one day entertain.
Look at the mansion I inhabit ; the first floor of it lets for four guineas

1831.) Lodgings in the Strand. 51

a week,-and perhaps I am the occupant. Is not my popularity accounted
for? Add to these presumptive attractions, the evident ones of exterior
and manners ; my owfside is unobjectionable, thanks also tomy “ credit-
able” residence ; and, from my conversation, it is very evident that Iam
neighbour to King Charles, who bestrides the “ high horse” at our end
of « the Strand,” and this, believe me, goes a great way. In these facts
simply, lies the mystery. :
But the course of good fortune never did, for a continuance, run
smooth. A storm, some time ago, impended over me, that I foresaw not,
in proper time to avert ; although appearances, for one entire fortnight,
loudly proclaimed it. These were attentions the most marked from all my
friends, who seemed simultaneously affected with a violent attachment to
my person and society. Among those of the first class, I became, tout-d-coup,
a “devilish good-hearted fellow,” “my worthy friend,” and “ the best crea-
ture in the world.” Hlalf-a-dozen breakfasts a morning I usually had on
my hands, and had eggs been bantlings, Professor Malthus might have
“grinned a ghastly smile” of satisfaction, to view the Saturnean feats I
was compelled to perform. But it was in the second class that I had the
most overpowering tokens of affection to encounter ; nothing could be
done without “ dear Mr. ’s” advice and co-operation.—* Mamma
was so angry that Mr. did not dine with them yesterday.”’—“ Emily,
Fanny, Jane, and Polly were aw désespoir last evening, not to have their
favourite Mr. —— among them.” “ Major Bottleblossom vented his spleen
upon the claret and madeira, in the absence of his friend Mr.——.”
In fact, so warm had the young ladies become in their attentions, and
so well-favoured did I appear in the sight of those in authority over them,
that I began, for the first time in my life, to entertain serious notions of
matrimony. It was evident that I had only to throw the handkerchief
to secure my sultana among a hundred eager candidates for the distine-
tion; there were the five Misses Bottleblossoms, daughters of the gallant
major before mentioned; the three Misses Slashemall, an eminent
surgeon’s lovely brood ; the pretty Fanny Syllabub ; the four honourable
Misses Rustaway ; the three extraordinary MissesCockletip; my literary
friend Mademoiselle Aubifoin, who had about six months previous come

“ O’er the deep waters of the dark blue sea,”

on a visit to my two singing friends, the clear-throated Misses Huski-
son. Shall I forget the beautiful Sally Wimple? when I do, I must
forget excellence of all kinds. These do not form a sixth of my
list, but they are the most prominent, as being most capable of support-
ing the dignity of my “lodgings in the Strand.” And now the diffi-
culty was to decide: the last-mentioned was my favourite, but the five
first had each some thousands of arguments in her favour more than any
of the others; they had obtained “ golden opinions” from many
persons, and, asa philosopher, I felt bound to distinguish sterling merit,
even though it presented itself under an unfavourable aspect. Three
nights, on my return to my lodgings, did I sit for four hours inwardly
debating this knotty question. The competition now lay exclusively
between Angelica Celestina Bottleblossom, the youngest of the five—
for six years aged five-and-twenty—and the fascinating Sally, scarcely
seventeen. On the fourth night I had something else to think of.

“ Well, girls,” said Major Bottleblossom, entering the breakfast-
room, where Mrs. B. and the five buds were assembled, with a news-

H 2

52 Lodgings in the Strand. [Juxy,

‘paper in his hand, “ his Majesty has accepted, the invitation to the civic
dinner on the 9th.”

« Gracious me, has he?” ejaculated Mrs. B., Miss Dorothea Matilda,
Miss Susanna Augusta, Miss Julia Honoria, Miss Georgiana Monimia,
and Miss Angelica Celestina, in a breath. “ How delightful !” said
Mrs. B. “How charming!” followed Dorothea. ‘“ How pleasant !”
succeeded Susannah. “ How gratifying!” lisped Julia. “ How agree-
able!” sighed Georgiana. ‘ How fortunate we are,” exclaimed An-
gelica, “ in being acquainted with Mr. , who has ‘lodgings in the
Strand !”

How unfortunate was it for poor Mr. , how unlucky for him,
that the King had consented to dine in the City! I was now beset on
all sides; not only the three classes co-operated in worrying me to
death, to obtain accommodation at my “lodgings” for themselves to
view the show, but their relations and acquaintances, and their relations’
and acquaintances’ sons and daughters, thrust their recognitions and
familiarities upon me by dozens—invariably followed by a request to
“let them stand any where, just to have a peep at the procession.”
Large as my acquaintance necessarily was, I had no idea that I:pos-
sessed such an overwhelming assortment of friends ; they seemed to
start up at every corner of the street, and the cards left at my “ lodgings
in the Strand,” were incalculable. Of those who considered themselves
entitled to precedence on this, to me melancholy, occasion, the number
was somewhat above two hundred ; these I could not refuse. To each,
individually, I was under obligations, and they all expected a return,
now that, as they considered, I had it in my power to make one.

But what was the real state of the case? My “ lodgings in the
Strand” consisted of one miserable attic, ten feet by seven, illuminated
only (when I was not there myself) by a single window, two feet wide ;
this latter looked out on the parapet, which indeed commanded a view
of the Strand, but my share of which would scarcely accommodate ten
persons, with all the ingenuity I could use in their behalf. Add to this,
that the favoured ten, when they had succeeded in attaining their dizzy
station, would find themselves in very unusual company—the friends of
my next-room neighbour, one of Warren’s blacking-stirrers, who pos-
sessed similar advantages with me, and consequently was entitled to
half the parapet. But, independent of this respectable collision, what
was I to do with the remainder of the visitors that I calculated upon—
between three and four hundred persons? There were but 146 thrust
into the Black Hole at Calcutta, and 123 of them perished in a few
hours; how then should I cram more than double that number into the
still smaller space of my attic apartment ?

Oh! the days and nights I spent revolving my desperate situation !—.
no courage had I to explain to a single individual the cause of the utter
prostration of mental and bodily energy I exhibited, and which was
becoming every day more and more apparent. I still moved among
them, but my identity was scarcely discoverable ; my cheeks grew lank
and colourless, my eyes sunken and glazy, my figure attenuated, and
my dress comparatively neglected—-I strove to laugh, but the attempt
was hysterical—I listened to the joyful anticipations of young and old,
all directed towards the gratifications I was to afford them—I beheld
new dresses, pelisses, shawls, bonnets, caps, &c., arrive to each of my
female acquaintances, and I was told they were intended to grace my.

1831.] Lodgings in the Strand. 53

windows. The prudent portion of my intended visitors requested me
not to put myself to any extraordinary trouble for their reception; “ a
few cold fowls and some wine,” said they, “ laid ina back room, will be
quite sufficient.”——“ How delightful a little dance would be after the
show !” whispered pretty Fanny Syllabub, “ if it was only to the piano ;
I dare say Mr. has got one ?”—*“ Oh !” responded Angelica Celes-
tina, “ I know he has, for he told me he sometimes amuses himself,
learning to play on it.” Thus, another thorn was added by the thought-
less fair ones to those which were already stinging me to death ; they
determined on having a dance, and I—cur non omnia ? assented. A mi-
racle, thought I, can only save me now !

The first week of the awful month I passed in a sort of desperate
resignation to the certain fate I saw gradually approaching. I made no
preparations. All the under part of the house, I understood, was to be
thronged—no hope, therefore, remained in that quarter; and, although
to bribe my next-room neighbour for a loan of his apartment I had
every wish, alas! my coffers held my inclination in bondage. Sunday
the 7th, dawned. “ Well,” said I to myself, “if I can’t shew ‘ fair play,’
let me exhibit a ‘clear stage,’ at all events ;” saying which I jumped
from my sleepless couch, and immediately laid about me with a vigour
that astonished myself. “In the twinkling of a bed-post” I knocked
four of them from their perpendicular on the floor, and in a few minutes
had thrust the ‘whole sleeping paraphernalia from the room ; then I
seized hold of two crazy chairs, and excluded them likewise; a table
shared the same fate, and, in short, a complete vacuum was in half an
hour obtained. The window was now wrenched from its moorings, and
a strict survey made of the territory I could command: this, as I before
stated, was certainly capable of accommodating about ten persons, and
these I determined should be the Bottleblossoms and the Wimples, who
would thus complete the number.—Fate might dispose of the rest. All
that day I laboured intensely to render this eyrie tenable, and the entrance
to it somewhat less hazardous. The apartment itself, too, by wheedling
my gruff landlady, I got into some sort of receptionable order, and, by
two or three personal sacrifices, I contrived to furnish my table with a
pair of tolerable looking decanters of wine, and a cold roast goose. Al-
together, towards evening, the thing did not present a very bad appear-
ance, and I contemplated it with feelings much relieved. The subsequent
day I determined to spend entirely among my friends, that it might not
appear that I was obliged to be personally concerned in the arrange-
ments for their reception at my “ lodgings in the Strand ;” besides that,
I might afterwards throw much of the onus of the disappointment
which awaited them, on my landlady and her servants, who, of course,
were to take advantage of my absence, &c. &c. That night I spent with
the Bottleblossoms, and made desperate advances to Angelica Celestina.
I thought her eyes betrayed a particular interest for me, as they rested
on my haggard countenance; and as I boldly asserted that love was
consuming me, I hesitated not to assign it as the cause of my altered ap-
pearance: this made no little impression on her, and as, towards the
close of our conference, her voice assumed a tone of tenderness, testi-
fying that love’s relative was pleading my suit, I scarcely two or three
times restrained myself from making a frank avowal of my real circum-
stances, and throwing myself on her compassion and indulgence, I
forbore, however, for the present, but resolving to reconsider the step

54 Lodgings in ithe Strand. [Juny,

against the morrow, and then act decisively one. way or the other... At
parting for the night, the Major made me promise to breakfast, with
them in the morning. =

Monday the 8th.—“ I will pour my sorrows,” said I, as I strolled, to-
wards the Major’s, “ into the gentle bosom of my Angelica; this day is
the last of my reign, unless by some bold stroke I secure a retreat from
the ills that environ me; with Angelica’s assistance I may brave them
all—why should I hesitate ?—nothing else now can save me.” Musing
thus, and thus determined to make the awful confession, I entered the
Major’s library: “Good morning, Mr. ; sad news for us all,”
whispered he, laying down the newspaper he had been reading, ‘‘ the
King won't join the procession to-morrow, after all.” I felt my heart li-
terally leap within me—lI seized the blessed journal in a transport of
delight—(I shall continue to take that paper as long as I live!)—'twas
true! Oh! who would not envy me my feelings, if I could describe
them !—I was emancipated from a living death. Grumble on, good citi-
zens, I join you; but, pleased as your Englishman proverbially is
with the privilege and enjoyment of grumbling, few there are, 1 ween,
who. feel more. satisfaction in the performance of this national anthem
than a certain “jodger in the Strand.”

Regardless of the gloom that quickly overspread the sensitive Ange-
lica Celestina’s fair visage, reflected from half a dozen others around the
breakfast table, I positively smiled—in my sleeve ; while I never, ceased
all day, nor indeed have I yet ceased talking loudly of “ provoking dis-
appointment,’—“ great. preparations,’’—“ insufferable Sir Claudius,’—
and “ unfeeling ministers,” though, as far as these last are concerned, I
cannot help thinking them, in this particular instance, the wisest that
eyer took office ; and out of pure gratitude, and upon the principle that
flowers were strewn by some unknown hand upon the tomb of Nero, J
shed several very water-like looking tears when they resigned.

By the by, as I understand His Majesty mi/l honour the “ good. citi-
zens,” although he has put it off, at least once, since the above occurrence;
whenever the happy day is positively ascertained, I shall be delighted to
give up the eligible apartment mentioned above, in favour of any lady or
gentleman ambitious of obtaining “lodgings in the Strand,” Asinstt

GOOD NIGHT TO TAGLIONI!

Goop night to Taglioni! The thought comes down like a drop-
curtain upon all my scenic remembrances !_ Many a time in the past and
present month: has this parting benediction been on our lips. » Prince
Leopold has wished good night to Belgium, and Leontine Fay ‘to the
Haymarket Theatre. Curious and manifold have been the changes of
place: and circumstance. Mr. Ward has vacated the city for Lord’s
Cricket Ground, and Horace Twiss the House of St: Stephen for ‘the
dwelling of Magog. Praed is out of Parliament, and a tallow-chandler
is lighted in his stead. May they all live a thousand years—I shall
gain nothing either by their presence or absence. I could say good
night to a million of them, without a trembling of an eye-lid. — But
Taglioni—I should like to see the man who could say Good Night to
Taglioni! A-sack and the Thames, near the Isle of Dogs, would be his:
appropriate recompence. a8

¥

1831.] Good Night to Taglioni! 55

'Eam poor; yet Ihave been three times to see Taglioni. The first
time’ was after Pasta’s sublime impersonation of Medea; I shall never
forget it—the contrast was wonderful. It was like one of Anacreon’s songs
after the Agamemnon of ‘Aschylus, or one of Moore’s Melodies bound
up with Paradise Lost. She came bounding forth from the dimness
of' the back scenes like a golden roe out of a rose-brake in Palestine,
or'a Hamadryad from some myrtle-nook in the Valley of Tempe, who
hath heard the pipe of the shepherd among the sun-lit trees. If the
reader has not seen Taglioni, I cannot hope to offer any adequate
picture of her countenance. It seemed to me, though not what is
generally called handsome, to be perfectly interesting, as she stood—but
that is not the word—with arched arms and flushing cheek, before the
enthusiastic audience. And then her attitude! Titian might have
breathed it into colour, or Canova might have kindled the marble with
the life, as the sculptor did aforetime, when he had given the last touch to
one of his most beautiful statues, and flinging the chisel from him,
exclaimed—“ Dice!” Speak! J will not attempt it—words would
be weak and idle. I never heard silence so intense; the motion of a fan
in Lady Londonderry’s box fell on the ear with startling distinctness.
If Juno had been petitioning Venus for her girdle, or Lady Lyndhurst
twining her delicate fingers in Lord Brougham’s hair, the attention
could not have been more breathless. Do not suppose for a moment,
however, that Taglioni is a posture-maker—Brocard is a figurante, but
Taglioni is a lady. I have frequently read of performances far more
scientifically wonderful than any of Taglioni. William Methold, an old”
traveller, in his Relat. des Royaumes de Golconda, speaks of a girl, not
more than eight years of age, who could elevate one leg perpendicularly
to her head, supporting herself meanwhile upon the other, so as’ to be
parallel with his uplifted arm ; and he has frequently seen the dancing
girls place the soles of their feet upon their head. 1g

‘Who ever heard Taglioni’s feet touch the ground? I never did.
Sometimes, indeed, I thought I could distinguish a faint melody—a
Libupious re wodos—like the tremulous murmurs of the water round the
foot of a Naiad, as she stands doubtingly by the fou=tain side, ever and
anon shaking the ripples into silver light as she bendeth over her own:
shadow. Mercandotti’s step was always audible, Brocard’s shoes had the
density of Suffolk hiloes, and Mdlle. Emile alighted with an echo like
Kean falling backward in the last scene of Othello.

But Taglioni—she seemed to float an Iris in the filmy light—a dove’s-
wing might bear her up—the gossamer cloud of summer would not
fade beneath her—and when she did touch the stage, it was with an
aérial and lingering motion —if I may employ so fanciful an illustration
—like a humming bird with its purple wings winnowing the air ‘as it
sinketh down into the golden bosom of the flower where it sleepeth.

It was observed to me, by a clever artist, that her arms were too:
long; for my own part I perceived nothing to detract from her
enchanting appearance, as she glided along with her limbs wandering
at their “ own sweet will,” and the eye acknowledged with rapture that
“her body thought.” ;

It can never be said of Taglioni, that she is first in a first class; she
is the first and the last—we have had nothing like her before, and we
shall see nothing like her in after time—Brocard. by her side is like
Mori accompanying Paganini. The dancer and the violin-player are

56 Good Night to Tagligni! {Juty,

the only individuals on record to whom history presents no parallel.
We look from Turner to Claude, and from Chantrey to Canova, and
from Fanny Kemble to Mrs. Siddons. They are only great in relation
to a greater. I can pardon Brocard her pretty spitefulness. It hap-
pened on the last night of Taglioni’s first engagement (this season),
that she was vehemently encored in a dance—she had retreated back,
and Brocard was commencing—the audience cheered, and Brocard
danced, but it would not do—at length Brocard walked up to the
beautiful Italian, and making her a bow, awaited for the conclusion of
the encore.—Poor Brocard !

It is certainly a pity that no patriotic individual has made any

proposal for the endowment of a College of Dancers, privileged to
confer honours and medals like the sister universities. Taglioni might
read the first lecture on the Poetry of Motion (and sure I am her voice
is lovely), illustrated in her own inimitable manner. In India the
dancing girls are peculiarly protected by a provision in the Gentoo law,
which permits any punishment to be inflicted by the magistrate, except
the confiscation of their jewels, clothes, and dwelling. The dancing
girl of Hindostan with the rings round her ankles, and her silver bells,
and golden garments, and her tresses glittering along each cheek like
the locks of the archer God in the old statues, affords the most pic-
turesque resemblance to the figures of the bacchantes sometimes found
on the antique bas-reliefs.
. But to return to the proposal for a new college: surely it is needed.
Have we not already a London University, and a King’s College, and
an Academy of Music? What glory will shine upon the Monthly
Magazine, as the originator of the scheme! The spirit of prophecy is
rushing upon me, and I see already in the leading column of the
Morning Herald :—“< We have much pleasure in stating that Mdlle.
Taglioni has been appointed professor in the New College. The first
meeting of the proprietors will be held on the 26th inst.” Who would not
bea pupil! Aspasia taught Socrates to dance. Among alist of names
distinguished in literature and science, I have only time to mention the
Lord Chancellor and the Bishop of London. The Rev. Edward Irving has
solicited the appointment of secretary. May the “ good cause” prosper!

I am not surprised that the dance, in the old time, formed part of the
religious ceremonial. It is the language of the heart,} in its season of
joy and freshness. So Eve danced into the nightingale-thickets of Eden ;
and Glycera, in the love-glow of a Grecian evening, when she bound
(the first of her country’s daughters) the garland of flowers about her
forehead, and went leaping in front of the choir up the radiant steps of
the temple of Venus.

Jeremy Taylor pronounced an anathema against dancing. Had he
ever seen Taglioni, he would have taken a stall. In her his eyes would
not have been offended by the “ indecent mixtures of wanton dancing.”
Her gestures cannot be called prologues to voluptuousness. They
address themselves, of a truth, to the senses; but they also wake up
thoughts of beauty which sleep, like odours, within the spirit. The
eloquent author of the “ Holy Living” might have applied to Taglioni
his own quaint, yet exquisite, image of light dancing in the eyes, like
boys at a festival.

Good night to Taglioni! Yet she is still dancing before me in the
light of imagination. That bound!—if the doctrine of the migration

1831.] Good Night to Taglioni ! 57

of souls be true, Taglioni will be changed into a fair and dark-eyed
gazelle, in the gardens of Araby the Blest. How the nightingale will
hush the voice of its joy as her feet pass, like a summer wind, over the
spice-blossoms. She ought not to die!

Good night to Taglioni! I am sick and ill, and a poor student ; and
my eyes are dim with thought and study. What have I to do with thee,
sweetest of Italy’s daughters? Most likely I shall never see thee any
more. Yet sometimes it may be, in my silent and lonely room, my heart
will travel back to the days that are gone, and the gentle light of one
who walketh in her own brightness, may break upon the gloom ; and I
may behold thee, yet once again, springing out, like a phantom of the
spirit, from the darkness of memory. Good night to Taglioni !

THE RAVINE OF THE UNBURIED DEAD.*

Arter the bloody plain of Cuzco had witnessed the victory obtained
by the successful Spanish brothers over their unfortunate compatriot
Diego Di Almagro, Ferdinand Pizarro (a noble born brother of the cele-
brated adventurer) aware of the policy of employing the active and
insubordinate officers by whom he was surrounded in some fresh enter-
prize, despatched several powerful bodies to seek new wealth in farther
conquests. Oue of these, leaving the plains of Peru, penetrated into
the higher districts of that country, where the inhabitants, though not
less advanced in civilization than their lowland compatriots, possessed
more of the warlike spirit of their Chilese neighbours. Here the
Spanish adventurers waged for some time dubious warfare with Alpahula,
the chief of a tribe which dwelt on the first region of the Andes, and
possessed both the courage and the skill to defend their mountain country
against its rapacious invaders. Alpahula, although he had acknow-
ledged the Incas of Peru as his sovereigns, and had even done cheerful
homage to the wise and celebrated Huana Capac, yet exercised in some
degree the dignity of an independent cazique, and when civil war and
foreign invasion seemed to have deprived Peru of its native rulers, he
determined,—not without a sentiment of contempt for the tame submis-
sion of his peaceful countrymen of the plain,—to hold out his mountain
district to the last. against these haughty intruders on its — inde-
pendence. Private motives were soon'added to the public feelings which
animated the patriot cazique. His beautiful young daughter: had, in an
early stage of the invasion, been surprised at one of her father’s palaces,
and carried off by the foreign conqueror. :

Undismayed by the artificial thunder of their eastern enemies; un-
daunted by the centaur-like combination of steed and rider, the bold
eazique and his followers rushed on the fires of the one, and dismounted
the other with a bravery which astonished the Spanish chiefs : nay more,
Alpahula and some of his most venturous officers dared even to mount
the chargers of their fallen foes, and, in one instance, even turned a few
wrested carbines against the invader, who had first made their simple

_” The following story is founded on an Indian tradition, though the scene of its
a events is somewhat removed from the spot that is said to have witnessed
m.

M.M. New Series—Vou. XII. No. 67. I

58 The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. [Jury,

highland: district roll in dismal echo to the thunders of European
warfare. Alpahula was no common cazique of a petty Indian tribe.
He wasa man of superior talents, as well as indomitable bravery ; but
neither talents nor bravery could long avail a primitive American warrior
against the military skill and superior arms of his eastern adversary.
Juan Di Alcantara, the Spanish General, received strong reinforcements
from his powerful kinsman of the same name, and Alpahula, after many
desperate encounters with his foe, was at length totally defeated and
made a prisoner. The fallen chief had, during the action, sought for
death in vain. It was no part of the policy of his enemies to bestow on
him such a boon. A report had reached their ears that treasured hordes,
the decoration of many a palace fitted for an Inca’s residence, the orna-
ment of many aprofaned temple of the glorious god of day had been
concealed by Alpahula in some mountain cave, deep amid the recesses of
the Andes. Riches, which might more ‘than satisfy the most rapacious
adventurer, were, it was confidently believed, to be found in compen-
dious abundance by once discovering the place where the vanquished
cazique had hidden his treasures. Neither threats nor persuasions could,
however, prevail on him .to reveal this important secret, and he was left
on the thirtieth day of his miserable confinement with an assurance that
he would be visited by the torture early on the succeeding morning if,
ere that period, he failed in divulging the hiding-place of his vast
wealth.

Cazique Alpahula was confined in one of the meanest apartments of
‘ his own palace. Like most of the public edifices of the less heated
regions of his country, it was a heavy, low building, constructed of stones
taken just as they fell from the mountains, or were dug from the quarry,
and only made to unite with each other by a tedious selection of corres-
pondent angles and indentures, projections and hollows. Unacquainted,
however, as they were with any cement, the tediousness of this process
prevented not the persevering Indian from joining these huge masses
with an introgressive nicety of union which might astonish a civilized
eye. As windows did not enter into the luxuries of a western palace,
and the conquerors of Alpahula had supplied him with no substitute for
that blessed light whence they had banished him, the cazique saw not
the dismantled state in which lay the residence of his ancestors—its
golden vessels and decorations removed, and its plates of precious metal
torn from the walls they had so recently encrusted.

A soft footstep was heard, and a faint light streamed into his dismal
apartment.. The Indian chief deemed that his appointed hour of bodily
endurance was arrived. The weight of his chains prevented his rising
to an erectness of person which might have fitly corresponded with the
determined attitude of his indomitable soul ; but he spoke in a tone of
stern composure. “ Morn hath broken,” he said, “and you come to
execute your foul purpose. Do your worst pleasure. Here—your pri-
soner and your victim—I defy you.’’ The lamp was instantly set down.
It shone on a tall and slender form. Alpahula felt his knees clasped
with fervent devotion, and beheld his daughter at his feet. Natural
affection overcame for a moment every sterner feeling in the bosom of
the Indian warrior, and clasping his child in his worn and fettered arms,
he shed tears of parental tenderness on her head. For some time they
remained in each other’s arms without speaking, and as the lamp with
gradual increase of light began to shew objects more distinctly in the

1831.] The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. 59

chamber, the father and daughter seemed, with mutual gaze, to be
marking what changes time and affliction had made in their personal
appearance. The cazique was the first to break silence. With a re-
lapse into his sternness of tone, he demanded, “ And what treatment hast
thou received at the hands of yon robber-idolaters 2??? —‘* Gentle, and
kind, and honourable treatment,” replied Ualla, meekly. “ Goto, daugh-
ter; this is no time to jest. I may hardly believe that the whole land
of the Sun hath been pillaged of its treasures, drenched in the gore of
its inhabitants, and trodden under foot by its lawless conquerors, while
one feeble and defenceless damsel hath found solitary grace in their
eyes. Answer me truly then, as in the presence of that orb whose
rising I may no more behold, what treatment hast thou met at the hands
of your cruel victors ?”,—‘‘ They are not all cruel,” answered Ualla, ti-
midly. “The second chief who commands our foe hath a gentler and
a kinder nature than his brethren. His protection hath procured Ualla
life, fair treatment, and honourable respect. To him our fallen country
oweth ‘aught that hath softened the conqueror’s fierceness ; and, oh! my
father, but for his guardian hand these loved and honoured limbs would,
ere this, have been either stretched to torture on their demon-engine, or
whitening in the mountain breeze.”’

“ Star of stars—I praise thee !”’ ejaculated Alpahula—“ What though
thou hast suffered the foe and the idolater to triumph in thine own land,
—what though thou hast withdrawn thy beams from the hoar head of
thy prostrate worshipper—yet hast thou not forsaken his child. En-
lightener of darkness, I bless thee.’”-—“ But, oh! my father,”’ said the
daughter, sinking from the neck to the knees of her parent, “ will you
not avoid the dark hour that now awaits you ?—To what purpose--with
what hope can you now conceal your glittering hordes ?—Shall they
serve the cause of our country in yon dark caves where the blessed sun
never calls to light their dazzling brightness, where the damp veil of
night shrouds and tarnishes their lustre? The gentle, the noble Spanish
cazique, Fernando Di Valverde, hath sent me here to move your pur-
pose. He throws himself at your feet in my person, and beseecheth you
to think well on the fate that awaits you. He hath prevailed on his
brother chief to delay his cruel fiat until your daughter could be sum-
moned from the refuge her brave captor had assigned her, to supplicate
you to shew mercy on yourself. The young Fernando hath even delayed
my coming, to give you yet time to change your stern decision. Ualla’s
voice may be powerless with you, but Fernando’s you cannot resist.
The sun, rising in his strength, and looking red and angry through the
storm-clouds of heaven, that would hide his shining course, is not mere
terrible than the glorious young Spaniard to those who cross his path.
The moon, shining softly on a dwelling of woe, is not more gentle than
he to the feeble and vanquished ; and the evening breeze of the south,
sighing sadly over the flowers that close at sunset, is not softer than his
voice to woman in her hour of darkness and extremity. Let the beauti-
ful Eastern cazique see you, beloved giver of my days, and your pur-
“ shall be changed. I vaunt not idly the power of his words—I

ve myself known and felt their wondrous influence. Aye, strange to
utter, even your words, my father (the reason I divine not), come not on
my ear with such*sweet persuasion.—Shall he be summoned to save you
from your own stern purpose ?”

The cazique, while his child spoke, eyed her with an inquisitiveness

I 2

60 The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. [Jury,

of gaze which seemed to have no reference to his own situation, but
solely to the state of her feelings. ‘“ Ah! guileless daughter of the
mountains,’’ he said to himself, with a mixture of sternness and sadness,
‘thy simple young heart hath, all unguessed by its owner, passed into
the hands of another. To thy country’s foe thou hast yielded feelings
whose nature stands out in guileless revelation to others, while unsus-
pected by thyself.’ Aloud he said, with fierce sarcasm, “ And this
friend of miserable Peru—this enemy to blood and rapine—joins the
tiger-gang which desolates our valleys, and now springs insatiate on our
mountain recesses. So mild, so kind a nature might, perchance, find
more genial companions and fitter occupation.””—‘ He had quitted both,”
answered Ualla, with the fervour of simplicity, “but that his power,
once withdrawn, would have left our tyrants without a check on their
lawless violence. For me too, father” (she began to weep) “he prolongs
his power, because he would not leave me defenceless in the hands of
these invaders, nor yet force me from a country where, while my father
lives, his daughter will remain, either to find an asylum or a grave.’
« Alas! poor Ualla,” said Alpahula, “I can recal the days when, ere
Spanish treachery had taught me dark suspicion, I would myself have
lent, like thee (aye, like the royal, yet fallen children of the sun on yon~
der vanquished plains), an easy ear to the professions of our proud and
guileful conquerors; but the treacherous sons of the East now spread
their toils for me in vain. If thy Spanish protector were of such gentle
mould, as he would make thee credit, how would the haughty and un-
pitying chief of our captors brook, amid his band, this marrer of their
plunder,—this resistance of their cruelty ?””—“ Fernando is come of a
powerfuljrace, his blood ranks among the noblest in the land of our
conquerors,’’ replied Ualla patiently, “and his soul is of such unquench-
able bravery, that even the soldier he restrains both fears and loves the
bold hand that would check his rapacity. The merciless chief himself
has no mind to chase from his side the high-born and dauntless Fer-
nando. Would that he had earlier consented to yield the task of pro-
tecting your child ; would that he had been here to lighten the chain of
your captivity !—Say, will you hearken to the voice of your daughter’s
preserver ; or, can her tongue alone draw from you, my sire, the useless
secret of your treasures, and rescue the venerable remainder of your
days from shame and anguish? What answer shall I take to him who
sent me to save you?” “Go tell the foul idolators, that when the
deathless god I worship stoops from his golden height, and sinks beneath
yon western waves to rise no more over the land, where his worshippers
await him—tell them thou, then I will yield the treasures which once
adorned his sacred fanes, to those who have profanely trampled them
under foot: Go--go—I see by the faint light which streams from the
outward opening of the palace, and makes its way even to this furthest
cell, that the glorious god of my fathers is shedding his first morning
smile on our land. I may not, as once, go forth to greet his rising, and
rejoice in his presence. Guests will soon be here thou would’st not look
on. Work that would make the blood hide itself in thy young cheek,
will shortly be done in this chamber. Retire—go prostrate thyself be-
fore our god in his crimson glory, and pray that thy father may be con-
stant: Embrace me, daughter ! it may be we meet no more, until we tread
the beamy palaces of our golden father —Farewell.”

- But the daughter clung to his knees:in agony, and refused to leave

1831.] The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. 61

him; and when his mandate was repeated, “ Go, prostrate thyself before
our day-god, and pray not that thy father’s pangs may be brief, but that
his endurance may be unshaken”—she sprang to her feet, stood for a
moment, as if bent on some desperste avowal, yet uncertain how to make
it, and then said, “ Father, revered giver of my days, I cannot pros-
trate myself before yon bright and beauteous star, because in my cap-
tivity I have learned to see in the shining orb you worship, the work of
a greater than himself; I have learnt to believe that he shall one day be
blotted from the face of the heaven he now gilds, and rise no more o’er the
earth he now gladdens, while the Creator who kindles his beams shall
remain unchanged in his brightness, and immutable in his glory.” —“ It
is done,’”’ said the chief, smking on his pallet, with a violence which
made his chains resound, and startled the sentinel without—* It is done
—my child forsakes the god of her fathers! O hide thy face in clouds,
glorious light of earth and heaven ; shroud thyself for ever, and leave in
darkness the land where even the race of its chiefs hath forgotten thee.
Fallen daughter of the sun, depart! I have not yet the strength of soul
to curse thee, but thou hast not my blessing.”’”—-The daughter, with
bended head, and arms crossed on her bosom, moved not, but stood
meekly before her grieved and indignant sire, as if prepared to endure
whatever his displeasure might inflict ; and, when his feelings had some-
what subsided, she began in humble and pensive tones to plead the cause
of the creed she had adopted. The cazique heard her for some time with
the patience of sheer astonishment, and then burst forth with that fre-
quent, and too natural query of his Indian compatriots—-“ And what
manner of God can he be, who hath such hell-hounds for his servants
and children ?”’—* Alas! father,’ said the daughter patiently, “ I have
learned that the possessor and not the professor of a faith, must be looked
to for the shining marks of its living power. It is because these Spanish
caziques and their followers have forgotten the laws, and cast off the spirit
of the God whose name they bear, that they trample on their fellow-men,
and worship the golden ore for which they are willing to peril their soul
and body.—Oh, father, the God of the children of the East is not the
cruel God his false and apostate sons would shew him. In my captivity
I have learned the language of our conquerors. I have been taught by
my generous captor to trace the strange mysterious characters which
convey the message of the true God from generation to generation of his
children. Yes, I have read (strange word, how shall I convey its mean-
ing to my sire?), I have read his written law. O turn, gracious father,”
she exclaimed, warming with her subject, “ turn from the bright vice-
gerent, whose golden eye the Creator hath kindled from nothing: look
above him, to One who can, even in this dark hour, shine into your soul,
with a peace and a joy which shall make you lightly hold, even the loss
of a cazique’s power, or the surrender of his glittermg treasures.”—
« And shall I,” exclaimed Alpahula, scornfully, “ renounce the radiant
lord whom my fathers adored, and who poureth his eternal and unwast-
ing beams on our land, to worship the God of the Spaniards, who is
subject to death, and who hath not the power to restrain the mad cruelty
of his followers? Was it for this that the blessed children of the sun left
their beaming chambers on high, and descended to teach and reclaim
our sires? Was it for this that the glorious Capac and his heaven-born
spouse brought peace and glad plenty and social union amongst us? Go
to, daughter—I have seen the miserable record which our christian

62 The Ravine of the ‘Unburied Dead. [ JuLy,

tyrants call the book of their God.* It shone not ; it beamed not.” I
held it to my ear ; it spoke not. I looked within it. Strange characters
which told me nothing were all I beheld. I threw it from me in disdain,
and marvelled that they who beheld with open eyes the glorious beams
of our god, and partook of the fruits his genial warmth calls forth, and
walked and wrought in the light he sends, would prefer a miserable and
incomprehensible record, of such petty size it might be hidden in the
woollen folds of our priest’s garments; to the felt, the visible, the
resplendent cause of allthings. Listen, idolatress; when the God of the
eastern lands, to whom you bow, hath power to restrain, or justice to
punish his merciless sons; then will your sire fall down before the Deity
that can make even Spanish hearts prefer mercy to gold !”’—* Alas!”
exclaimed Ualla, clasping her hands, and perceiving the hopelessness of
pleading for a religion, the chains of whose false professors galled her
captive sire, “you believe that the light set in yon heaven is the
glorious governor of earth and sky. With grateful homage you offer him
a part of those productions his kindly warmth hath called to existence.
To him you present the choicest works which his beams have guided
your hand to perform. Even the timid lama hath sometimes bled its
sacrificial tribute to the being who supplies its gentle race with food.t
Yet, look around, my sire; tell me have all in Peru who bowed before
the golden orb, and confessed the sacred obligation of imitating his
beneficence, have all shed on the little world around them the same kindly
influence? No. Yet my sire saith not that the God of the Western world
is a cruel God. Unhappy Ata Hualpa, the usurping Inca, still bowed
before that sun whose temples he had robbed, and whose children he had
destroyed ; yet will not my father pronounce that the golden light Hualpa
worshipped was a false and a merciless lord. O my father, the fallen
Inca was not falser to the character of his god, than these unworthy
christians to the author of their pure faith.”

Ere the unshaken cazique could reply, a sound of feet and voices
startled his child, and made her heart throb witha sickening horror. It
seemed as if some heavy weight were placed in the adjoining apartment.
The father looked haughtily prepared. The daughter turned pale as the
snow on her native Andes. ‘“ God of mercy,’’ she ejaculated, “ stay
their cruel hands. Spare yet awhile—Look in mercy on the soul for
which the sharer of thy throne expired.”

The Spaniards entered. The answer of Alpahula was demanded.
He sternly folded his arms, and seemed scarce to heed their queries.
They approached, and laid their hands on his person. “ I have nothing
to say,’’ replied the chief—<I only pray that my child may depart.
Farewell, Ualla, once the light of thy father’s eye. I have not the heart
to let thee behold what these walls must now witness. Farewell, go, and
repent.’’ Pierced to tle heart by the kindness which made her doomed
parent see in his sufferings only the pang they would inflict on an apos-
tate child, the gentle, young Peruvian strove, in despairing energy, to
release her sire with her own slender fingers from the grasp of his
enemies. She was forced back. The cazique’s garment was removed.
He was lifted in the arms of his oppressors towards the fatal engine.
Ualla saw his eye turned to the east, as if to implore the support of his

* We must suppose this to have been a Popish breviary.
+ See Robertson, &c.

1831.] The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. 63

rising deity. With a fullness of agony that could scarce find vent in
utterance, she supplicated her inexorable parent to change his stern pur-
pose, and yet save himself, in this last moment of hope, by divulging
his precious secret. Finding her intreaties useless, and seeing her
father abuut to he stretched on the fearful instrument of anguish, Ualla
flew to the opening of the apartment, and shrieked with a violence which
made the dark chambers of the Indian palace resound to her cries. “ O
Hernando! Hernando! In the name of our mutual God I charge thee
come and save my parent.”

Awed by the name of the famous chief on whom Ualla called, and
aware of the tender eye with which he regarded the Peruvian beauty,
the executioners paused for a moment, and seemed to suspend their
work of anguish, as if to see whether the brave Spaniard were really
near to answer the cries of his young protegée.

With breathless attention Ualla now listened at the entrance of the
apartment, to catch the faintest sound of her lover’s footstep. The
morning breeze, sighing through the obscure dismantled chambers of
the dwelling of her sires, was the only response to her listening ear.
Yet there was a sound at length. It came nearer and nearer. And
now it resembled the tread of an armed warrior. Hernando, himself,
appeared, but he came not alone; Juan Di Alcantara, the chief of the
Spanish foe, and the object of Ualla’s terror and abhorrence, accom-
panied her brave protector. They entered as men whom different
motives had drawn to the same spot. The noble Castilian, Hernando
Di Valverde, advanced with stern brow and authoritative mien. His
look of surprise shewed that the hour of the Indian’s extremity had
been accelerated by the impatient rapacity of his European conqueror.
With a manly tenderness, which rendered him indifferent to the scorn-
ful smile of his compatriot, Hernando supported the terrified and half-
fainting young Indian, and spoke words of comfort and encouragement
in her ear. He then waved his hand authoritatively to the ministers of
Juan’s tyranny, who, receiving no countersign from their chief, withdrew.
Hernando approached the fallen cazique. Struck with the unquenched
fire of his eye, and respecting the courage and former exploits of
his brave adversary, Hernando, not without somewhat of deference in
his manners, raised the chained and fallen cazique from his appalling
situation, and placed him beside his daughter. “ You are brave, Don
Juan,” he said, unable longer to smother the indignation which policy
and the desire of retaining power to protect the father and daughter
had, hitherto, urged him to conceal ; “ you are brave, but, methinks,
it asks small courage to wage warfare with women and captives. Had
I not reasonably appeared (God knoweth, little guessing your diligence
began so early), yon white-haired old man had, ere this, scarce owned
alimb to stand on. For shame, Juan Di Alcantara, for shame! In
blind and unacceptable zeal, you bid your servile priest to sprinkle
these unbaptized subjects of your sword, with the healing wave of our
pure sacrament, while you fearlessly and foully pollute its holy waters
with the innocent blood of those you pretend to convert. But you
shall not thus trample on man’s rights and God's mercy, without
warning ; I, for one, will dare to lift up my voice against you. What,
ho! executioners, remove this foul engine, and bring it hither again at
your peril.”—* At your peril touch it;” exclaimed Juan furiously.
** Base patron of wretched idolators, besotted lover of an Indian savage,

64 The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. [Jury,

know that Juan alone commands here. Know that I hold in my hand
thy life, and the life of thy western beauty, and the sinews and heart’s
blood of that stubborn old man. Aye, look tenderly on your terrified
maiden. You hold her but at my pleasure, and I may, at a moment’s
warning, interpose between you and the smiles you feed on.”—“ Have
a care, Juan,” answered the noble Spaniard fearlessly ; “‘ I know that
thy military followers twice out-number mine, but a loyal subject of
Spain, the scion of a powerful stock, and the beloved leader of a chosen
band, is not so lightly made the prey of vindictive cruelty. Remember
my voice is not without power in my native land. Nay, smile not
scornfully. I know I might in vain essay to make it heard athwart
this wide-stretched continent and yon wider ocean; but there be
Spaniards, even in Peru, who would lift the voice, aye, the sword, for
Hernando, and carry the tale of his wrongs to the shores of his native
land.. Nay, turn not away, Juan Di Alcantara; thou know’st that
thou and I had scarce kept doubtful peace so long, hadst thou not held
prudent credence in what I now tell thee.”

The two chiefs had now cast off the outward semblance of an alliance,
which, from motives as widely different as their hearts and characters,
had, hitherto, subsisted between them. Juan, who had till now endea-
voured to conceal his most atrocious acts from a colleague whose power
at his native court, and influence among his own soldiers, might enable
him to demand heavy retribution; now, peremptorily, and in his very
teeth, demanded that instant torture should extract the secret of the
fallen cazique’s treasures: while Hernando, who had, hitherto, avoided
any open rupture with his more powerful companion in arms, lest in
the mutual struggle for supremacy, he should lose the means of
protecting his young captive and her race; now vehemently protested
that he would oppose by force, the cruel determination of his com-
patriot. To Ualla, who well understood the Spanish tongue, the fierce
conflict was agony. It seemed that her father’s inflexibility would
prove the ruin, not only of himself, but of one, perhaps, still dearer to
the heart of Ualla. The cazique, though only slenderly acquainted
with a few Spanish phrases, seemed, from the occasional mention of his
own name, and the frequent pointing of his foes towards the engine of
torture, partly to divine the subject of dispute. At the moment, how-
ever, when Ualla deemed all lost, the Indian chief suddenly smote his
dark brow, as if some thought had kindled there like a spark of fire:
then, notwithstanding the ponderous and degrading weight of his
irons, rising to his full height, he said, with a commanding air— Chris-
tians, my will is changed. Iam ready to reveal to you the secret of my
hidden treasure.”

This sudden and unexpected concession, seemed to end the differences
between the two chiefs. Juan’s selfish and rapacious mind instantly
wandered from Hernando and his late dispute, to the glittering hordes
and golden treasures of his prostrate foe. Not, however, without
secret purposes of future vengeance at a safer opportunity, did he extend
his hand to the daring curtailer of his power. Perhaps, the gallant
young Spaniard, of taller stature than his compeer, stood in too erect
an attitude to mark the proffered hand: at any rate, he took it not, but
made such inclination of his person as might exhibit a remaining sense
of displeasure, without the intention of farther exhibiting it by-any
hostile act.

1831.] The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. 65

Juan only saw in this sudden change of Alpahula’s determination the
act of a man terrified by the immediate prospect of physical suffering ;
Hernando believed that it might result from some generous wish to save
his daughter’s protector from the consequences of forcibly resisting
Alcantara’s cruelty ; but Ualla saw by the keen, the undaunted, the
almost exulting expression of her father’s eye, that some deep and name-
less reason had prompted his sudden compliance. Juan now eagerly
leaned over the victim of his avarice to catch from his lips that golden
secret which would prove the clue to riches and splendour. The chief,
however, protested that the cave which secured his treasures lay in some
deep and lone recess of the Andes to which it was impossible to direot
his conquerors, but he offered himself to be their guide to the precious
deposit. Juan Di Alcantara hesitated for a moment—then eagerly closed
with the cazique’s offer, and fearful of allowing his prisoner time to
change his resolution, named the morrow’s earliest dawn for the com-
mencement of the expedition. Ualla, scarce knowing what she demanded,
what she feared, vehemently supplicated to be allowed to accompany
her parent. Juan heard her request as he would that of a silly child ;
and the three rival chiefs agreed in peremptorily refusing her com-
pliance ; Juan, because, he deemed she would prove a hindrance to the
expedition ; Hernando, because he feared she might be exposed to
danger ; and the cazique for reasons of a similar nature, or for others
which he did not choose to reveal.

Long before the sudden and glowing blush of a tropical sunrise had
crimsoned the eastern sky, Ualla appeared, on the succeeding day, within
the walls of her father’s prison. ‘‘ Thou comest to bid me farewell,’ he
said, apparently unable to restrain the kindness of his parental feelings ;
“TI could have. wished that thou hadst this morn forgotten thy filial
homage. But it matters not. Come hither, apostate child of the sun’—
(he embraced her tenderly)—“ God of my days and of the light that hath
so long gilded them, forgive this embrace—forgive the feelings of nature,
which cannot close themselves against this forsaker of her shining creator.
Farewell—Ualla, farewell! Yet once again” (he bestowed another
embrace) ; “and now I charge thee begone. Yet hold—thy Spanish
protector—he who hath seduced thee from thy god hath dared yester-
even to ask, aye, to supplicate, thee of me for a bride. Ualla, I do con~
fess that there is in the speech and bearing of that sightly youth what
might, perhaps, feebly plead thy excuse for the abandonment of thy
maker, and the misplacings of thy young affections: some difficulty have
even I found in closing my bosom against him: but I charge thee, Ualla,
by the soul of thy mother, now walking in light, and clothed with sun-
beams, reward not the betrayer of thy soul by yielding him thy hand.
He is the most wily, and therefore the most dangerous, of our powerful
invaders. Source of light and life, I now behold the wisdom of thy
ways! If all the children of the east resembled that brave and _ per-
suasive Spaniard, thou wouldst soon look in vain from thy shining throne
to behold one suppliant knee in Peru. O close my bosom against him!
Daughter, thou may’st yet return to the truth. Thou may’st yet bow
before the radiant cause of all things. Close not up for ever thy way to
him by giving thyself to hisenemy. Farewell!—Thou weepest as if thy
very life were bound in this idolator. Hold!—Look me stedfastly in the
face, Ualla. Thou hast seen that of late I am become a strange changer

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No. 67. Aha 5S

66 The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. [Juzy,

of my purpose. It is moved again. Jf thy Hernando return in safety
from this expedition, he is thine. I give him to thee. Light of the
heavens! J ask of thee a sign? Not another word, Ualla. The god of
thy father shine on thee in his merey—and now farewell.” He pressed
her wildly to his bosom for one instant, and then thrust her violently
from the apartment. Her foreign protector received her, and, struck by
the quivering lip and bloodless cheek of his young captive, demanded,
while he gently supported her trembling limbs, what in such brief part-
ing had thus wrought on her feelings? Fearful of revealing her father’s
strangeness of manner, lest by deferring the proposed expedition she
should expose him anew to the horrors of torture, yet afraid to conceal
her confused suspicions lest she should endanger the life of Hernando,
Ualla could only answer, “ There is some busy voice within my bosom
which tells me that this shall be a day of wailing and woe ; which whis-
pers to me thatI shall see my sire no more; which warns me of—I
know not what—O, Hernando, go not with this expedition.” ‘“ And
leave your sire, Ualla, the unprotected prey of Juan?” “ Alas, surely
no.” “ What do you dread, gentle Ualla? I will be the protector of your
father ; and for me—though I would not exchange that kind look of
solicitude for the fair empire of your Incas—it were idle to entertain a
thought of fear ; your countrymen—” “It needs not to be told,” inter-
rupted Ualla, with something of Peruvian feeling, “my countrymen
-are fallen far too low to be dreaded. For two moons the bow hath lain
powerless ‘in my native mountains, nor shall it be strung again. You
are masters of the land, nor do I dread that the hand of its servants shall
ever rise more against you. No dweller in Peru need be reminded that
you have known how to render your dominion sure and inevitable.”
Hernando smiled, half amused, and half admiring. “ And is your
father’s patriotism so infectious, gentle Ualla?” he said. “ But what
then do you fear?” “I cannot tell—I know not,” answered she
anxiously. ‘ Deride me not, noble Hernando, for my dark misgivings.
Withdraw from me that soldier’s smile—you are too brave to know fear
yourself, but too generous to deride it in a feeble woman. My father’s
eye wore a keen and strange look this morning, but—no—I reck not
what I say—’twas nothing—'twas my own idle imagining. Tell it not to
that fearful Juan. Look ! there stands the frightful instrument of anguish
still! My soul is dark this morning. They come—-they come to bear
my father hence. O, Hernando, farewell—farewell. Let your generous
arm protect my father’s grey hairs, and look to your own dark locks.
The god who made you my enlightener, the god who holdeth all hearts
and all hands in his keeping, watch over you—farewell.”

The western mountains were still sleeping in the alternate light and
shadow of a sinking moon, when the impatient Spanish chief, accom-
panied by a body of military followers, reached the exterior of the gaol-
converted palace of Cazique Alpahula. Dreading the escape of so
important a prisoner, in any of the dark mountain-holds and recesses,
with which he was so well acquainted, and where the necessary separa-
tion of the parties, from the narrowness of the passes, might render
escape practicable and pursuit impossible, the Spanish general ordered
six slaves to be chained to the fetters of the fallen chief. Fernando
generously remonstrated against this indignity ; but the cazique, far
from receiving this interference with gratitude, only answered, ‘ Young

1831.] The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. 67

man, I have not asked for your protection.” He positively, however,
refused to move, until persons of distinction were substituted for the
slaves. Juan peremptorily ordered the cazique to proceed, and pointed
to the fearful engine. Alpahula resolutely folded his arms on his bosom,
and assumed the calm, collected attitude and look of indifference of one
who has made up his mind to remain at home, instead of taking a day’s
journey. The wealth in prospect was not to be lightly relinquished, and
six of the most noble followers of the Spanish standard were therefore
substituted for the slaves. Among them was Hernando Di Valverde,
whose love for the daughter, and whose fear of exposing the father to
worse cruelty made him generously offer himself, a volunteer to the In-
dian’s pride or humour. He was placed nearest the person of the
singular chief. Alpahula looked round for a moment with an air of
triumph, almost amounting to rapturous exultation.

For some time the party proceeded amid the lower regions of the An-
des in silence, which was only broken, as they reached every fresh turn
in the passes, by the stern and authoritative call of the cazique, echoed
by his interpreter—“to the right,”—“ to the left,’—‘“ through the
gorge,’—“ up the pass,’ &c. By the augmenting difficulty of their
march, and by the increasing keenness of the atmosphere, Hernando
soon perceived that Cazique Alpahula was conducting them to the upper
region of his native mountains. A glow of crimson, which seemed
kindled as in a moment, suddenly tinged the snowy tops of the highest
elevations, and contrasted curiously with the wan moonlight in which
the lower regions were still sleeping. Hernando thought he had never
beheld a scene so stern, lone, and majestic. The white crests of the
tallest mountains, the sombre gorges, dark ravines, and overhanging pre-
‘cipices assumed even a stranger and sterner character from the dubious
and mixed light in which they were beheld. At each step of the train
the scene assumed a more desolate, wild, and solitary aspect. The cul-
tivated district they had quitted seemed to sink to an immense distance
beneath them, while that to which they were advancing gradually lost
the trace of human occupation, and presented the appearance of a region
whose lone and awful majesty had never before been profaned by foot
of man. Hernando listened to the ceaseless gushing of mountain tor~
rents, which, sometimes with the overpowering roar of a near cataract,
sometimes with the booming thunder of a distant fall, rolled down the
steep sides of Andes, and bore their swelling tribute to the Western
Ocean.

Here and there a red and baleful light, resting on the frozen summits
of the highest range, shewed where the dire volcano was sending forth
its restless and unquenchable fires. As their way became more toilsome,
Hernando, despite the fallen Indian's repulsive returns to his proffered
assistance, often grasped Alpahula’s arm, in kind, and even respectful
aid of his failing footsteps ; and when the party stopped in fatigue, either
to refresh themselves, or partake of the powerful and invigorating pota-
tions of their own country, the cazique was the first person to whom the
young Spaniard tendered refection. It was evident, that Alpahula strove,
but perhaps strove in vain, to remain insensible to these marks of respect
and compassion. .

The sun quickly succeeded the crimson rays, which—with the abrupt
glow of a tropical harbinger of returning day—had announced his

K 2

68 The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. [Jury,

approach. It was, however, only by the dazzling flood of ruddy and
golden light which bathed the east in liquid fire, and by the lengthening
shadows westward, that the rising of the Peruvian deity was discovered ;
for the cloud-capped range of eastern giants still concealed the ascend-
ing god from the eager gaze of his captive and solitary worshipper.
Yet, conscious that the star of his adoration had appeared on the earth,
Alpahula bowed himself with a prostration of posture, which forced
Hernando, attached nearest his body, to stoop his own person in accom-
modation to the adoring chief. “ God of my life!” -exclaimed the
Indian, looking on Hernando with an expression that was perfectly
indefinable ; “ shall I take even this prostration of an unwilling knee,
before thy eastern throne, as a favourable answer?” Again he gazed
hesitatingly, almost mournfully, on Hernando; then shaking his head,
as if in refusal to some unlawful wish which had crossed his mind, he
proceeded.

Morning now rapidly advanced, but the gorges of the mountains
became so narrow, that the precipices, sometimes, almost met over the
heads of the passers, and excluded the light of day. Alpahula looked
repeatedly, and with anxious gaze, at the opening of every fresh pass,
as if eager to behold the shining face of that orb whose unseen rising
he had already worshipped— I will behold his golden eye yet once
more,” he said. They reached the opening of another gorge. A steep
precipice, whose shelving sides offered narrow and precarious footing to
the party, arose to their left. Alpahula looked up in exultation.
« Yonder,” he exclaimed, “lies our path, Christians! your task is
near ended. Mount this tall giant of the moon, and your way down
its farther side shall be easy, and conduct you to Alpahula’s richest
treasure.” No music ever sounded sweeter in the ear of Juan Di
Alcantara. They prepared to ascend the dizzy elevation, but the
cazique paused for a moment—hesitated, folded his arms cross-wise over
his bosom, and seemed to be praying either for direction or forgiveness.
Then speaking hastily and abruptly, like one who would not yield
himself time to question his own purpose, he said with authority—“ I
make not the ascent while this youth impedes my steps, and insults
my vigour by his unasked assistance. Juan, chief of the Spanish tribe,
come thou and replace this eastern boy ; chief yoked to chief, were
fitter far, than that Cazique Alpahula’s fetters should be secured by the
nameless leader of a petty tribe. Thou wilt not? It matters not.
Find then thine own way to the golden vessels and glittering gems
thou wert not wont to hold so lightly. Nay, frown not. Remember
thy foul engine is not here ; and for me, ’twere full as suiting to my
humour, to sit and breathe out my last amid these rocks and torrents,
or be hurled, by Christian hands, down this mountain side, as to
return and wear out a miserable existence—a prisoner in my native
palace—a captive in the dwelling of my sires !”

The interpreter, perhaps, weary of a toilsome expedition, which, at
this rate, seemed interminable, did, what many travellers have since
done without similar temptation to mis-statement, i. e., he made a general
rule of a single instance, and assured Juan that it was a law among
Indian caziques, never to climb mountains of a certain elevation, without
being accompanied by some chief, of a rank which they deemed equal
to their own. He gave, also, such a translation of Alpahula’s speech,

1831. The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. 69

as might somewhat tend to conciliate the Spanish general, by rendering
this piece of Peruvian etiquette gratifying to Juan’s wish of assuming
supreme authority among his compatriots. Di Alcantara’s burning
desire to consummate the enterprize, by the acquisition of his long-
sought treasures, proved, however, a still stronger incentive to com-
pliance ; and, taking the place of Hernando, he consented to be attached
to the fetters of his untameable captive.

Impatient of farther delay, the rapacious commander bestowed an
accelerating push on the shoulders of Alpahula: but the proud Indian,
far from resenting such an indignity as he would once have done,
looked round and smiled superior to the petty affront. To souls sus-
ceptible of finer impressions than that of Juan Di Alcantara, there
might have seemed something almost portentous in that calm and ironic
smile.

In straining exertion the Indian and his guards continued to climb the
frowning eminence, while the now useless followers of Juan remained
at its base. Hernando, little gratified either by the triumphant regards
of his brother chief, or by the ungracious, and even ungrateful conduct
of the cazique, followed the train at a little distance. Alpahula led them
to one of those fearful Andean paths, where a false step might precipi-
tate the traveller to the bottom of a chasm which even the noontide
beams of a tropical sun have not the power of penetrating. Here the
cazique paused, for from this eminence the horizon widened, and the
source of light, which had till now been concealed by the meeting brows
of the precipices, rode revealed to view in the noontide heaven. A
mountain haze hung like a light cloud on the orb, and softened his rays,
without hiding his disk. The Peruvian, unable from the narrowness of
the path to kneel before his god, hid his face for a moment in the folds
of his garment, and then looking upward, eyed with grateful devotion
the bright globe whose lustre, softened by the cloudy veil which
enveloped it, forbade not the gaze of his worshipper. ‘ Again I behold
thee, eye of heaven!” exclaimed the chief. “I had not dared to finish
the work of this day without thy beamy face to look upon this sacrifice
of thy servant, and bless it. ‘Twice have the milder lights thou so oft
createst anew to make them regents of the night, and leaders of the stars
of heaven, wasted into nothing and darkness, since my hoar head hath
been gladdened by thy beams. The queens of the night have twice left
their place dark and void in the blue heaven, since the land of thy
worshippers hath been trampled on by those who deny thy power, and
pour contempt on thy golden honours. Yet oh! in mercy spare her
let that thought pass. Forgive the weakness which hath still
loved an apostate child, and hath shewn guilty pity on a generous, but
idolatrous foe.—And now, god of prostrate Peru, if thou wilt favour this
emprize, look forth from the clouds that would hide thy piercing eye,
and give shining token that ’tis thy inspiration that stirs within me.”
He fixed a wrapt and intense eye on the passing cloud, as if waiting an
answer to his mysterious petition. “I like not all this,” said Juan,
looking rather uneasily at the interpreter—“ Old man,” he added, “I
am not come here to listen to thy idle rhapsodies. Time passes—Move
forward, or you may chance repent your tardiness. *Tis true our mortal
engine is not here, but it still awaits your limbs in yon dark prison.
*T were as well remember that you are still in our power, and even amid

70 The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. [Juny,

these rocky shelves and thundering cataracts we might still find ways to
shew you that our means of torture are not confined to the cells of your
miserable palace. Forward—forward. Forget not that you are in our
power.”

** No you are in mine,” exclaimed the cazique, triumphantly, as soon
as the words of Juan were made intelligible to him. He turned for a
moment from the clouded object of his inquiring gaze, and fixed an eye
on Alcantara, which even startled that obtuse commander. “ Juan, chief
of oppressors, man without mercy, conqueror stained with blood, hast
thou counted over thy sins this morning?” he said sternly and awfully.
«« Hast thou thought aught on the innocent blood which calls out to
heaven against thee? Hast thou remembered that a whole land is now
sending upacry of wailing which thou hast raised? Lift up thine
heart for one moment, cry for mercy—aye, even to thy false God—for the
hand of Héaven’s judgment is upon thee.”—“ Drag him forward—force
him up the mountain,” exclaimed Juan. “ Indian slave, pitiable
idolator, move onward. I will see this expedition terminated, and
terminated instantly, or thy aged limbs, old man, shall be torn from thy
miserable body, and given to feed the fowls of the mountain.”” The
Indian did not for a moment appear to hear the threats of his Spanish con-
queror. His whole attention seemed fixed on the cloud whose last edge
now began to brighten with the rays of the sun as it passed from the orb.
The sun rode unveiled in the midst of heaven! Juan repeated his man-
date. ‘ I will know, and know without the delay of a fleeting moment,
the hidden place of thy treasures—the golden offerings which adorned
the fanes of thy false god.’’ “ Have thy wish,” answered Cazique
Alpahula, loftily. “ The best treasure of Peru is the heart of a patriot
chief—the noblest offering to her god, the lives of those who have
murdered his sons, and trampled down his temples. Adieu, native
earth and covering sky! Farewell to all I have loved and looked on!
Source of day, I come to tread thy beamy chambers. What, ho! for
god and Peru !”

Hernando suddenly saw, as in the flash of a moment, the fatal purpose
of the chief. He gave a shriek of warning : it came too late. Cazique
Alpahula, as he spoke, threw himself from the narrow and frightful
path with such a sudden and effectual plunge, that he dragged, in clang-
ing violence, after him, the tyrants to whom his chains were attached.
Amid shelving rocks,and frowning precipices, down—down descended
the fettered victims into a dark and yawning chasm, whose dismal
recesses had never, since the foundations of earth, been visited by one
beam of blessed day, or resounded to the tread of human foot. All was
the work of a moment—of the twinkling of an eye. In the first plunge
of the cazique, Hernando caught, with the suddenness of the lightning’s
gleam, a passing sight of those descending victims ; and, brief as was
that fearful view, death closed the eye of the young Spaniard ere it
vanished from his sickening memory. He saw the momentary, the
flashing glance, of the triumphant Indian ; the pale countenance of unut~
terable despair of his ruined tyrant; and the clenched teeth and vain
struggles of his followers, as they were dragged in shrieking resistance
to their dread and untimely tomb.

As the unwilling companions in death bounded from shelf to shelf of
the dizzy precipice, the rocks gave back in wild echo the clang of their

1831.] The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. 71

fatal chains ; while many a bird of prey, aroused for the first time in its
solitary haunts by human voice, added its screaming dirge to the wild
wail of despair which arose from those dying men. Days—ay, months
and years—rolled away ere those dismal shrieks ceased to haunt the ear
of Hernando di Valverde. With difficulty, as his giddy eye followed
the victims in their dizzy and headlong descent, could he keep his own
footing on the narrow shelf where he stood. Like one in a trance, he
held his head with his hands, and closed his eye to that sight of horror.
The shrieks died into a low wail ; the wail sunk into silence ; the sound
of those clashing irons became fainter and fainter, until they seemed
lost in the depths below. Hernando raised hishead. No sight met his
eye save the shaggy rocks, overhanging precipices, and dark ravines of
that wild region ; no sound saluted his ear save the low and restless
murmur of some distant mountain torrent. A complete and deathlike
stilness reigned over the solitary scene. Hernando cast one brief glance
of horror into the dark abyss which entombed his former companions.
His eye sought in vain to penetrate its obscure and invisible recesses,
and, in speechless wonder at his own preservation, he lifted up his hands
to God. :

With steps still shaking from recent agitation, Hernando then began
to descend the mountain by the path his fated companions had so
recently trodden, when, all warm with life, and elated by hope, by
avarice, by ambition, they had pursued, as they believed, the road to
riches and worldly distinction: now, cold and shapeless masses, they
tenanted the dark and unapproachable gulf beneath him. Often, as he
proceeded on his downward path, he paused, and fancied that some
stifled shriek, some dying moan, some cry for help, still arose from that
dismal chasm. ;

The death of the cruel, rapacious Juan, and those next him in com-
mand, placed the brave and popular Hernando at the head of his com-
patriots in that quarter; and as such, he was received by the conster-
nated followers of Alcantara, who had been left, as we have seen, at
the foot of the fatal precipice. With the instinct of military habit,
rather than with any defined consciousness of the duty devolved on him,
Hernando reduced the astounded soldiers to something like professional
order, and proceeded in sombre silence to conduct them to the spot they
had quitted in the morning.

Night closed on the party, and the fervour of a tropical sun had again
given place to the refreshing radiance of the moon, ere the plain of
was within sight of the returning adventurers. Thought on
thought came crowding thick and fast into the mind of the young Spa-
niard, while he pursued his doubtful path. Horror for the retributive
fate of his wretched compeer ; pity for the high-minded Indian who had
fallen a victim to his patriotism, gave place, as he drew nearer his desti-
nation, to a feeling of anguish at the heavy tidings he must bear the
hapless daughter. Yet, even here, sweeter and gentler sensations stole
into the bosom of young Hernando. He now gratefully felt that the
departed cazique had, by a voluntary act, separated his fate from that of
his doomed compatriots ; and coupling this preservation with the words
of the Indian to his daughter—words which we may suppose Ualla had,
in some form or other, known how to communicate to her lover—he
could not but augur that, when time had dried the filial tears of the

72 The Ravine of the Unburied Dead. [Juxry,

young Peruvian, she would look on him as the authorized guardian of
her happiness.
Meanwhile Ualla, surrounded by the maids and matrons whom Her-
‘nando’s gentle care had placed about her person, sate without her dwell-
ing to taste the faint breezes of a tropical evening, and to watch with
unceasing gaze for the return of her sire and her lover. She gazed on
Nature in the loneliness and majesty of the scene, until the calm of
all around her insinuated itself, at length, into her own bosom. Busy
feet, and busier voices, broke on her repose. Ualla inquires for her
sire—for her generous protector. The restless tongue of female exag~-
geration—alike in all ages and countries, and ever loving better the
importance attached to the bearer of evil tidings than the sober joy of
communicating dull reality—reports to the young Peruvian that her
sire and her lover are lying, side by side, cold and lifeless, in the
«« Ravine of the Unburied Dead!” Ualia received the intelligence as
an archer of her own country would have received the rival shaft which
pierced his vitals: She stood for a moment erect, unmoved ; then fell a
helpless, prostrate, yet unmoaning victim. But a gentle hand soon
raised her—a gentle arm supported her—a voice, which brought return-
ing life in its tones, came on her ear. With a gratitude to Heaven
which sought in vain for vulgar utterance, Ualla recognized her pro-
mised husband, and, clasping his knees, demanded of him her sire.—
“QO! Hernando, returned to bless my eyes, where is my father ?”—
“ Before His throne, my Ualla, who shall judge between the oppressor
and the oppressed. Look up, my love, look up ; there is mercy mixed
with bitterness. I come the legal, the authorized protector of your
gentle existence. I return armed with power to heal the wounds of your
oppressed race. I come to fulfil the wishes of your sire ; to watch over
the happiness of his loved child ; to restore weal and peace to his injured
tribe. I come to dry the filial tears of Ualla, by a life devoted to her
-happiness. I come to call, with her, these wailing mountaineers—to
kneel before the Being whom they shall no more hate as the God of the
cruel Spaniards !”

STANZAS.

Ir is not in the mountains, in the palaces of pride,

That Love, the winged wizard, is contented to abide ;

In meek and humble spirits his truest home is found,

As the lark, that sings in heaven, builds its nest upon the ground.

His cradle is the lily, by the breath of summer stirred—

For Love is often shaken by the whispering of a word;

His smile is in the sunshine, and his voice is in the glades—

Oh! that winter should o’ertake him with its silence and its shades !
B.

1831.] (3h pei Ay

NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL.

Any noble lord who takes upon himself the weight of an English go-
vernment must expect to be encumbered with a vast deal of correspon-
dence—silly and impudent, officious and self-sufficient. Of this kind
Lord Grey has just enjoyed a finely diversified specimen, in a letter,
signed by a personage who describes himself as the Right Reverend Dr.
Machale, a popish priest, who has taken it upon his own brains to lec-
ture his lordship on the art of government—habeas corpus, Irish poli-
tics, boroughmongery, and “all that sort of thing,” in the Dr. Doyle
style, and “all that sort of way.” We give a sentence or two of this
shewy miscellany. The first instance is what Cobbett calls a strong
hint. The Right Reverend Dr. has been talking of “ contagious mutiny,”
and other fine things of that species of verbiage, when he thus fondly
touches on the popular mode of rectifying wrongs :—

* Yes, my lord, I was alarmed lest they should learn the recent mode of
tracing their distress with the spade—a style which surpasses all the ancient
specimens of the art in the boldness of its characters, as well as the ingenuity
of the invention. Nay, it throws all the rules of rhetoric into the shade regard-
ing the powerful effects of writing.”

It is in this gay metaphor that the Dr. treats of the utter ruin of pro-
perty by the brute vengeance of the populace. The destruction of
thousands of acres by a furious mob, is a “style surpassing all the an-
cient specimens of the art of writing” by its “ boldness and ingenuity !”
Well done, priest. The concluding sentence is merely barbarism, equally
defying common sense and grammar, but is not the less a proud speci-
men of the Doctor’s best penmanship. “It throws all the rules of
rhetoric into the shade, regarding the powerful effects of writing.”
Blockhead! Why did he not confine himself to his native Irish ?

We have then, after a long tirade of stuff, a sample of the Right
Reverend Doctor’s politics mixed with his potatoes :—‘ The borough-
mongering parliament no longer exists. It has paid the just forfeit of
its want of a kindred feeling with the people, in the speediness of its
dissolution.”—-What possible connection boroughmongering has with
petitions for alms, no man can tell. But the subject was tempting, the
doctor was scribbling to a minister, and in his condescension he wished
to shew him how closely a priest could imitate a brawler at an election.
But the conclusion is prodigious! quite a peroration. Ciceronian to an
immense degree. Says the Doctor :—

“TJ have done my duty to the government by seasonable and repeated warn-
ings of their state. ‘The hopes of the people are wound to a high pitch. The
chord may snap by the rigour of the tension. The seasonableness of a boon adds
considerably to its value. Human lives are too precious to be sacrificed to
procrastination. The prompt measures of a day may preserve what the tardy
deliberations of years could not retrieve.-—I have the honour to remain, your
Lordship’s obedient servant,

“4. Joun MAcuALE.”

The self-importance of this remote and utterly unheard-of personage
is incomparable. But let Lord Grey look to it. He here learns, on the
oracular authority of the doctor, that others, even first lords of the trea-
sury, must do their duty, now that the right reverend prelate has shewn
them the way ; if they let the empire fall to pieces, history, impartial

M. M. New Séries.—Vou. XII, No. 67. L

Wa Notes of the Month on [Juny,

history, will record that they cannot shelter themselves under the
example of the Bishop of Mayo. He is now fully informed that the
people, nemine contradicente, will expect from his hands money enough
to answer their present purposes. In other words, the Irish peasantry,
wanting money, demand it of the English; and think themselves entitled
to take any measures which their wants may suggest, unless the English-
man puis his hand in his pocket, and furnishes promptly the sum in
question ; Lord Grey, as minister, not being the distributor of a shilling
which does not come from the pockets of the people—this people being
already burthened to the last shilling, and having as many paupers to
support as ten times the amount of the Mayo peasantry.

Large sums have been already subscribed, though we cannot discover
that the subscriptions in Ireland have swelled their amount. It is true
that common humanity feels anxious to put a stop to all actual suffering,
and the famine of the Irish strongly requires a remedy. But why will
the Irish so furiously set their faces against “ poor laws?” The very
mention of the name makes them all indignant. The truth is, that the
landlords find it a much pleasanter thing to make an entry regularly once
a year to England for relief to their tenantry, than to provide them
with either employment or food. Twelve months never pass without
some clamorous declaration of famine, rebellion, or the typhus, and
followed by the doctor’s bold and ingenious style of writing with the
spade: and the same routine will go on, as long as any thing is to be
got by roaring. Poor laws must be adopted.

Theatres like thrones have had their revolutions to a serious degree
during the last quarter. Lee, one of the lessees of Drury Lane has
resigned, and the management has devolved into the hands of Captain
Polhill, who must carry on his contract for two years more, a formid-
able speculation, if conducted in the spirit of last season; when in an
establishment, professing to be almost exclusively operatic, but one
opera, and that a remarkably dull one, was brought out. This negligence
was the obvious cause of the loss, for the principle is excellent. Any
theatre which will confine itself to operas is sure to succeed, if it
but produce good and new operas. No kind of performance is more
popular, and by saving the enormous expense of two companies out of
three, the tragic, comic, and operatic, the general waste would be
changed into the general profit.

Paganini, after apologizing himself out of the scrape of demanding
double prices, and which scrape has left the mark on M. Laporte’s
shoulders, has given six concerts, all superior to any thing that has been
witnessed on the violin. To those who have not had the good fortune to
hear him, no description can convey a sense of his powers; unless it
be the fact, that he filled the King’s Theatre, pit, gallery, and boxes, to
overflowing, for six successive concerts, of which his violin was the sole
attraction—the few singers, &c. having been introduced merely to give
him a slight breathing-time between his performances ; that the feeling
of those immense audiences was unmixed delight ; and that his exqui-
site and perfect mastery of the instrument, his brilliant variety of styles,
and his profound sensibility, were equally subjects of wonder to the most
practised artists, and to the general audience.

The theatres are pouring out their contents upon the high-roads, and
all our delicie, in the shape of actors and actresses, are loading the stage-

1831. ] Affairs in General. 75

coaches. Vestris is fluttering round Ireland, while her clever rival,
Miss Sidney, is playing “ The Widow Bewitched” in her room. It is
recorded in language not unworthy of the theme, that “ The son of
Momus, Liston, has been nibbling at the glittering bait which Madame
Vestris threw out to join her “ Olympic Games” next winter ; but it
was only a nibble—no bite! He is wealthy—and might have thought
it infra dig. to quit the major for the minor. Cent. per cent. was a strong
temptation ; but it was resisted, and the monarch of Farce will resume
his station at Drury-lane—engaging to play three nights a week, at £30,
a week, in preference to performing in ¢hree pieces every night at sixty
pounds per week.

Miss Phillips, as tall, as mild, and as undisturbed as ever by the fall of
thrones and heroes, is gone to play tragedy in the west; and Miss E.
Tree, the pretty, the clever, and the lady-like, is gone to the Milton-
street theatre, into whatever known part of the earth that may be. We
presume somewhere in the east. But whether of the metropolis, of
Madrid, or the land of the Mogul, passes our knowledge. We wish her
safe back in the civilized world again.

Captain Polhill, who, as we have said, intends to make Drury-lane de-
cidedly operatic, has for that purpose engaged the two Woods; the an-
nouncement characteristically declaring, that he intends to lop off many
other branches of the establishment—in consequence of which several of
the performers are taking their leaves.

The world has probably forgotten little Clara Fisher, who has been a
girl of five years old these twenty years, and who may be therefore con-
gratulated upon her prospect of seeing out the whole living and coming
generation, before she escapes from her teens. But we are told that her
father, who, unsustained in this perpetual youth, acknowledges that he
grows old—

“ The venerable Frederick Fisher, (father of Miss Clara Fisher, in his
71st year, has at length yielded to the earnest entreaties of his family, and
intends starting for New York about the middle of August. He will take with
him a variety of models, executed by himself with great accuracy, and illus-
trative of the buildings in which the immortal bard commenced his early and
auspicious career.”

A famous name has just been lost to tragedy. Siddons died on
Wednesday, June 8.

Siddons was the most extraordinary actress within memory, and, from
all tradition of previous powers, was probably the finest performer that
ever appeared on the British stage—we might even say, the finest on the
European stage. From all that has been recorded of the various talents
of the famous actresses who preceded her, she seems to have combined
all their claims—her person commanding, her voice the richest, most
sonorous, and most dignified that it was possible to conceive ; her coun-
tenance one of magnificent beauty ; her gestures classic in the highest
degree ; and her conception of character altogether unrivalled in her
time. She, suddenly, not merely distanced all competition, but extin-
guished all hope of rivalry, Her Queen Catherine, Lady Constance,
Mrs. Beverly, and Lady Macbeth were perfection. Her Mrs. Beverly
has thrown whole theatres into an agony of tears; for such was the
touching power of her voice, and her singular talent for penetrating the
heart, that a single word, a simple gesture, or even a glance has often
convulsed an audience. Her Lady Macbeth exhibited the grandest dis-

L 2

76 Notes of the Month on [Juny,

play of her genius. Wherever she appeared in this master-piece of
Shakspeare, she alone filled the stage. All acting shrank beside her.
Even her brother’s noble figure and admirable declamation seemed to
vanish in her presence. For her acting in this character there is but one
word—it was magical. Descriptions like this will seem exaggerated to
those who have not seen Siddons ; but the evidence of a great perform-
er’s ability is in the effect produced on the public mind; and no being
on the stage ever commanded admiration so universal, so lofty, and so
permanent, as the extraordinary woman who has just been taken from
the world.

Joseph Hume is member for something better than a leash of Scotch
burghs ; but he is still laughed at by the press. The Greek loan, that
exquisite piece of more than Scotch economy—the memorable fifty-two
pounds, two-pence three-farthings, which he so providently extracted
from the fire in the general combustion of patriot finance—still remains a
bar in his escutcheon ; and if he were member for every county in Eng-
land, and lord mayor besides, he will live in the pleasantries of the press,
be embalmed in paragraphs, and be pumned over when he is no more.
Among the last shots fired at him, is the “ Age’s” bill for his nursery,
a morceau which implies at once a matchless knowledge of nature and
Joseph Hume, and is equally deep in the mysteries of pap and arith-
metic :—

“ Cocker at Work again.—The papers last week announced among the births,
© The lady of Joseph Hume, Esq., M.P., ofa son.’ This auspicious event took
place on the 9th instant, and, at an early hour on the following morning, a
paper, containing the following memoranda, was picked up in Bryanstone-
square ; it had fallen out of the pocket of an elderly gentleman, as he walked
along in deep abstraction, making some calculation upon his fingers :—
© Pap, Id. pex day for 365 days... skasientscocmcacseverss suendey LL, 40). 8
Halt 2 bag of tops and bottoms, $d. per day, as per contract 0 15 23
Extra washing, 7. per Week 0.00005. secapeeciewstsencsseensnse ve by 10) 0m
2b. SOAP. PEr, WEEK Ate) s<come'as cradssecbousie sanemehasevensd on Oko ae
Half-rushlight per night—short nights coming on............ 0 7 7
Old wicker chair, new bottomed per contract........+...«68 0 1 23
Half a pint of intermediate per day for nurse, in lieu of gin,

TOT MUMGEMMONELB eouecstamees et sc cccsaclaciecler stuche co's bp ealed sees
Doctor's feeysper agreement \.oes.c.ssoccctcele.ccetecceececoeste
Making two frocks, and one cap. out of three pair of old

duck trousers, borrowed from the Recruiting Office...... 0 1113
Sealing-wax (to serve for coral) borrowed from the Home

CO oe céwe ce ce te ce cc Oh sc cece ce te 08 S8 ee ce 600s 06 08 Oe oss Cece cece sees 0 0 0
Bonnet found in a hackney-coach ..........seeesseeeresseseeeee O 0 O

£6 1 0F

This extravagant outlay calls for retrenchment, and unsparing economy in the
victualling department, for the next five years.”

The adage that “‘ poverty makes a man acquainted with strange bed-
fellows,” was curiously realised in an examination lately at the Mansion
House. A number of vagrants were brought up for sleeping in the open
air in Billingsgate market. One of those people said, by way of defence,
“« that he never intended to trouble the market with his presence again,
as he altogether conceived it to be the most ineligible sleeping-place in

4831.] Affairs in General. 77

London :—in fact, it was next to impossible to sleep, the boatmen began
to make a noise at so unseasonable an hour. He had a right to know,
as he had tried the principal sleeping places ;—he had slept on the flags
in Old Fleet Market, in the pens of Smithfield, under the arches of
London Bridge, on the pavement in the Minories, in the lime-kilns of
Paddington, among the repairs of St. Saviour’s, and in St. Michael’s
church-yard ; but he never slept in so uncomfortable a place as Billings-
gate market. He was sorry to give a bad character of any place, es-
pecially in a court of justice ; but he must say, upon his honour, that a
man had no business to go there, unless he had first got blind drunk,
which, in his opinion, no respectable person would do.”

A new institution, and, we think, one highly deserving of public
patronage, has been lately set on foot in Ireland, entitled the “ Arbori-
cultural Society,” a rough sounding name, but which is intended to
mean a society for the encouragement of planting trees. We should
greatly like to see such a society established in England ; where we are
as much in want of information on the culture of trees, as in Ireland ;
and where we want something of the kind, much more than our showy
Horticultural Society, which seems to do little else than produce “ im-
proved specimens” of the Marygold, and so forth ; and has not cheapened
a single gooseberry since its creation. Every body would be a planter,
if every body knew how, for of all propensities it is the most natural,
the most pleasant in its indulgence, and the most profitable in its results.
But the science is in the hands of a few, if indeed any one man in the
country knows much about it. The Germans havea regular course of
education for the “ forest masters,’ and whole summers are spent in the

woods under the guidance of professors, who give lectures on the modes
of planting, lopping, preserving, cutting, in short on every point of the
subject ; and, as well as we can recollect, the course is considered incom-
plete under three years. Our rustic, whether peasant or gentleman,
considers his education complete in as many days or hours.

A letter on the occasion, among many striking remarks, says ;—

“ There is, perhaps, no ciyilized country in which the want of timber is
more strongly felt than in Ireland. Any person who, on a bleak autumnal
evening, has watched the cattle deserting the pasture for the shelter of an old
ditch or a solitary thorn-tree, must be convinced that shelter is necessary for
their comfort. Any person who has remarked the gradual decline of vegeta-
tion, in proportion as the eye turns from the neighbourhood of the rising screen
to the more distant parts of the same field, must allow that a defence from
the cutting winds of spring is favourable to the growth of herbage—and he
must have a hard heart who does not pity the poor, who are forced to waste
the time, which might be otherwise profitably employed, in stealing from the
hedges the only means of cooking their scanty meal, or of buying at a rate too
heavy for their means, the only roof which may defend them from the incle-
mency of the weather.”

But more than fertility and shelter may be concerned. The dishonesty
of the lower orders generally begins in the plunder of the hedges :—

“ Independent of the bleakness of the country, the want of timber has a
serious effect upon the degradation of our peasantry. He who has no resource
for supplying the necessaries of life, but those which require capital beyond

is means, is necessarily debarred from improvement. - How many a labourer
has been visited by sickness for want of a bit of stick to render his roof a de-
fence against the severity of the weather? How often has a rising spirit of

78 Notes of the Month on [Juxy,

improvement been damped by the ravages of a trespasser, for waut of a little
gate, which his finances could not compass the acquirement of ? How hard is
it even for the wealthy to preserve their paling and young trees from the de-
predations of the shivering pauper, who infringes the law because necessity is
paramount to law.” -

But it proceeds to make some animadversions which require an
answer :—

“We have seen the Royal Dublin Society, established for the purpose of
promoting improvement in Ireland, not only in theArts, but in Trade, Manufac-
tures, Agriculture, and every branch of RuralEconomy. It was nobly endowed ;
7,000/. a-year has been devoted to it from the taxes of the country, and what
advantages have the tax-payers derived from it commensurate with so great a
sacrifice ? They have seen the Society impoverished by the vanity of the ma-
nagers, in buying a palace too large for their use—where the few members ~
who reside in Dublin find a conveniert news-room and a circulating library—
where twice-a-week the public are admitted, and nurses carry their children
up and down rooms, filled with cases of minerals, unavailable to the student,
from the confusion of their uncatalogued arrangement—where a few lectures
upon the elements of science are given to noisy school-boys—where the
greatest portion of the exertions of a National Society is devoted to the
encouragement of the limner and statuary.”

If this be true, the reforming hand would be of service. If it be true
that the Royal Dublin Society is fed upon by a regular staff of the old
job-work, which of old perverted and possessed every office and institu-
tion in Ireland, the matter ought to be inquired into. If the society have
a secretary at the moderate sum of £500 a year, a pair of librarians at
£300 and £200 a year, with not as many books to watch, as they have
pounds to receive ; if they have trebly-paid housekeepers, &c., and above
all a palace, which, his grace of Leinster being paltry enough to sell,
they were fools enough to buy, and for the half of which they can find no
use ; we say let reform put itself into the next steam-boat, and take a
march through the apartments of this impugned and costly hospital for
decayed literaturists, and lounging dawdlers over newspapers. But if
the truth be otherwise; if the society be an active, intelligent and
impartial agent of the public bounty, if it have no official locusts to
swallow up its rents and salaries; then we say, and cordially too, let it
have £14,000 instead of the seven.

The sex are fond of titles; but we have seldom seen the propensity
pushed farther than in one of the late drawing-room lists—when was
presented Mrs. “ Herbstrewer’ Fellowes. It will be recollected that
she headed the flower-basket carriers at the coronation. Whether, how-
ever, she owes the title to the taste of the Court Circular, or her own
volition, remains to be shewn. But the titular rage is strong, even
where it may not have sprung up among the flowers of a coronation.
Thus we have the wives of officers calling themselves Mrs. Colonel,
Mrs. General, and so forth, names to which they have as much right as
the wife of an artilleryman is to be called Mrs. Bombardier. It even
stoops so low as Mrs. Captain; and many an old vulgarian fights her
way through the Bath and Cheltenham card-tables at this moment on
the strength of her having had “a gallant captain for her own” forty
years ago. All the world naturally laugh at this paltry affectation.
The thing, however, is French; and in that badge-and-ribbon-loving

1831.] Y Affairs in General. 79

land was carried to its perfection. There the wife of every man in
office, down to the lowest grade, affixed the name of his employ to her
own, and plumed herself upon taking rank accordingly. They had
Madame la Fermiére Générale, and Madame la Geoliére. The vil-
lage attorney reflected honour on his lady’s virtues; and M. le Pro-
cureur was accompanied on the path of public distinction by Madame la
Procuresse.

——s

Whatever becomes of Lords and Commons, the sinecures must go.
We point out one, which the public feeling will, we presume, forbid to
survive :—

“ Comptrollership of the First Fruits and Tenths.—The valuable sinecure of
Comptrollership of the First Fruits, held by the late Lord Walsingham, is
vacant by his lordship’s melancholy death ; the office has been long known to
be one of the useless ones. It was bestowed on the noble father of the late
and present peer during the time he filled the lucrative post of chairman of
the committees of the House of Lords. Upon his lordship’s retirement from
that situation, his late majesty granted him a pension of 2,000/. per annum,
the noble ex-chairman retaining the comptrollership of the first fruits, in
which the late peer succeeded him.

A fierce fight is going on in Ireland between the newspapers and the
defenders of the episcopal church. -Dr. Ebrington has written a pam-
phlet, or sermon, or some such thing, which has brought up a whole
host of bitter stories on the opposite side. The Evening Post—a clever
paper, and always the chief opponent—gives an anecdote, which we
hope is much exaggerated :—

© Church Building in Monaghan—The Protestants of Monaghan wished to
have a church ; but the board of first fruits were not forthcoming. Being a
pious people, however, a church they resolved to have, and a subscription
was set on foot. Lord Rossmore’s family subscribed 100/., and Mr. Henry
Westenra, the member for the county, promised to be forthcoming with the
music, and to present the church with an organ of 200/. value. We have not
heard whether the other Protestants of Monaghan were so religiously inclined
as our Lord Rossmore, and we cannot, therefore, state the amount of lay
contributions. But we certainly expected to hear that the dignitaries and
beneficed clergymen subscribed. Did Mr. R. Robinson, the rector, give
anything? Nothing. The Bishop of Kilmore, who lives within ten or twelve
miles of the place? No. The primate, who is archbishop of the see, and
has 25,000/. to 30,0001. a-year—did he subscribe? Nota penny. But surely
the bishop of the diocese, of which Monaghan is the capital, Doctor or Lord
Tottenham, as we believe he is called, Bishop of Clogher, and who takes
14,000/. a-year from the place, himself having 17,000/. a-year in another
county, and living in a third—surely this right reverend lord did something
towards the erection of a temple on his little Zion? Not a halfpenny.

On this subject we shall only say, that we are convinced the primate,
at least, is not in fault. Ireland has had no better nor more generous
eld for centuries. He is a Christian, and makes a Christian use of

is power and his income. As for the others, let them put down the
accuser by shewing evidence. It is indisputable that the Irish bishops
possess very large incomes, and it lies upon their own shoulders to shew
what they do with them—what monuments of their piety, benevolence,
or public spirit they leave behind them. Let Lord Robert Tottenham
shew us any church, or set of alms-houses, or hospital, or anything built

80 Notes of the Month on {Juny,

by him for the honour of God or the good of man, and we shall be happy
to give him full credit for the exertion. There, too, ismy lord of Derry,
the receiver of the enormous sum of fifteen thousand pounds a-year, and
upwards, for the last five-and-twenty years; let him shew anything
done, for this four hundred thousand pounds, except the signature of his
receipts, and we shall be ready to applaud even the Bishop of Derry.

All the Epsom and Newmarket world know that the racer, Colonel,
broke one of his sinews at a late race; and we give the following state-
ment, as, we hope, a lesson to those dukes and earls who would have
sold Colonel, if he had been in their possession, for fifty pounds to the
first innkeeper ; with the moral certainty, that after one year’s chaise-
dragging, he would be sold by the innkeeper for five pounds to the
driver of a dung-cart ; who in six months would have sold him for
twenty shillings to the whipper-in of the county hunt, who would have
given Colonel to the hounds. The racer has, luckily, now another tale
to tell.—

“‘ The accident which befel his Majesty’s horse Colonel, in running the
second heat for the Oatlands, will prevent his again appearing as a racer.
Although offered a very large sum for him, his Majesty has declared his inten-
tion not to part with a horse that was so special a favourite with his late
Majesty, and that is so well calculated toimprove the breed of English horses.
In consequence of the accident, the gold cup now rests between Lord Exeter
and Sir Mark Wood.”

We care not a straw with whom the gold cup rests ; but we are glad,
for the sake of humanity, and for the singular pleasure of finding it
in high stations, to record this of the king. We hope the example
will be followed ; that it will be felt as a matter of deference to royal
tastes. by those to whom it would be a burlesque to talk of duty or feel-
ing, to treat that noble animal the horse with some attention to his
capacity of suffering. There can be no doubt that to torture an animal
is a crime; and we can see but little difference between torturing him
ourselves, and handing him over to be tortured by others.

The discovery of the course of the Niger at last, might give room to
an amusing essay npon the blunders of our doctores posilivi. The Bur-
rowes, Leslies, McQueens, PlJayfairs, with the whole tribe of African
Society people, walk through the streets, hanging down their heads, and
in modest blushes shunning the face of society. Every man was not
merely wrong, but on principle wrong. It was not “ a guess,” a “ pro-
bable conjecture,” a “ theory added for want of a better ;’’ the timidity
of ignorance was never less in vogue ; there was not a savant of them
all who could not prove by rhomb and rule, by chronometer and the
Scotch fiddle, that “there, on that very spot, the Niger rolled into
Lake Ichad ; and there, and on this identical spot, it rolled into the flats
of Gondor, bored a way through the Mountains of the Moon, sunk into
the bowels of the earth, expired in the sands of Ethiopia, fell into the
Straits of Gibraltar, and made the north-west passage.” We have clubbed
all the discoveries together ; but each man would have sworn to his
own whim, and all would have sworn falsely. There never was such a
scene of geographical perjury since the days of Bishop Wilkins—never
such groping through the marshes of meteorology—never such mole-
eyed digging through geological darkness But the Landers have set-

1831.] Affairs in General. 8l

tled the question, and put the philosophers to shame. As to the fact of
their shunning the face of man, we see that the last pamphleteer on the
subject, who had handsomely conducted the Niger up the sides of the
great table-land of Ethiopia, across the African Alps, by tunnel, or
otherwise, has fled to Carlsbad ; and a newspaper tells us, that “ Sir
Rufane Donkin was fined five pounds last week, by Lord Chief Baron
Lyndhurst, in the Court of Exchequer, for not attending as a special jury=
man. It was stated that he was unwell ; but, being seen about town the
preceding day, his absence is imputed not to ill health, but indisposi-
tion.” —Whether the discovery of the long-contested river, about which
the general wrote so ably and so positively, had any share in this, we
cannot say. But as he is fond of the classics, and nobody quotes better,
we say, “ Hic Niger est hunc tu Rufane caveto.”

The Emperor Nicholas is buying a racing stud. “Coming events
cast their shadows before.”’ Is the Emperor discontented with the
speed of his Russ postilions, and anxious, in ease of emergency, to be
able to distance mankind at the rate of fifty miles an hour. He-has
sent to purchase not less than one hundred “good horses”—a stable
that would furnish him with relays as far as Kamschatka. The first
consignment was embarked on board the brig Catherine, lying in the
St. Katharine’s Dock, and bound for St. Petersburgh, consisting of fif-
teen noble animals, including several valuable racers, purchased by Mr.
Anderson, of Piccadilly, on account of the Russian Ambassador. Among
them are Granby, winner of the St. Leger in 1829, bought for 355
guineas; Red Rover, a winner of the Derby Stakes in the same year ;
Miss Chance, winner of the Oaks in 1830; J upiter, Tam O'Shanter,
and others of good pedigree ; besides three from the celebrated stud of
Mr. Lyne Stevens, of Leicestershire. All the horses are in excellent:
condition ; and the stalls and accommodations prepared for them in the
hold of the vessel are of a superior description ; and, exclusive of two
Russian grooms, a native of England, and a veterinary surgeon, also go
out in attendance on the animals. The value of the fifteen horses is
not much less than £5,000, and the expense of their transmission to St.
Petersburgh will not amount to less than £500 more.

What a confoundedly locomotive age this is. Our farmers are going
off by the thousand to the Canadas; our attorneys, dandies, and unmar-
riable daughters, packing up by whole regiments for New South
Wales, and the “parts adjacent ;” and now our horses are emigrating
to the dominions of the Czar. Why does no friend of freedom inquire
into the transaction? The natives of the land of habeas corpus, trial
by jury, and liberty of the press, are conveyed on board the Catherine,
and destined to spend their lives under the sway of a despot. Here
every day witnesses this “ noble animal the horse” in our courts of law ;
our horse actions are perpetual, and many a toiling council pleads about
them with not half the brains of his client. There a horse's only actions
will be in his four legs, and he will have to bear the burthen of a despot
besides. Where is Martin, the friend of asses, now ? —but cruelty-
Martin sleeps, and the day of quadruped glory is no more—the day of
chivalry is no more—a day of horse-dealers and ambassadors, grooms
and emperors has succeeded. The sun of the Hounnhymns is set—
the fame of Newmarket is gone for ever !

M.M. New Series,—Vou. XII. No. 67. M

82 Noles of the Month on [Jury;

A Dravocver.

Lord A. How could you be mad enough to touch the question? You
should have gone on, like me, about and about it, professing and
explaining, hoping and fearing, till you left the House fast asleep, after
a speech of three hours ; of which, after the first three minutes, no man
living could make out a syllable. .

Lord B. It was a monstrous blunder, to be sure. But recollect my
inexperience. Yet, I don’t think I talked much to the purpose after
all. My worst enemies never accused me of that ; and I really gave
myself credit for speaking as unintelligibly as any one on my side. .

Lord A. I admit it. But your speech was prodigiously to the pur-
pose for all that ; the purpose of turning you and your set out. Recol-
lect what it was. “The noble Earl had recommended the expedient of
Parliamentary Reform, and remarked, that he did not think that the
government was as yet prepared with any plan on the subject. The
noble Earl was right, for certainly the government was not prepared
mith any plan for Parliamentary Reform. I will go farther, and say,
that I never heard that any country ever had a more improved, or more
satisfactory representation than this country enjoys at this moment. I do
not mean to enter upon that subject now, as it is probable that we shall
have abundant opportunities to consider it afterwards; but I do say
that this country has now a legislature more calculated to answer all the
purposes ofa good legislature than any other that can be well devised—
that it possesses, and deservedly possesses, the confidence of the country,
and that its discussions have a powerful influence in the country. And I
will say farther, that if I had to form a legislature, I would create one
—not equal in excellence to the present, for that I could not expect to be
able to do, but something nearly of the same description as possible. I
should form it of men possessed of a large proportion of the property.
of the country, in which the landholders should have a great prepon-
derance. I, therefore, am not prepared with any measure of Parliamen-
tary Reform, nor shall any measure of the kind be proposed by the
government, as long as I hold my present situation.”

Lord B. I say that’s impossible. If I had any meaning that night at
all, it was the direct contrary. The whole affair must have been the
work of those impudent newspapers. They will be for taking down a

man’s words, and then holding him to them. Rascals! There, at least,
we must have a reform.

We may expect no moral wonders from military men, but is it too
much to expect that they shall observe the common decencies of society?
We expect no remarkable strictness of discipline from the Horse Guards,
where an officer of a “hussar regiment,” a man of fortune, and, above
all, a Dundas, is the delinquent. But the public voice will not be
silent while this Major Dundas is allowed to flourish about with his
notoriety full upon him. The gallant viceroy of Ireland is the Colonel-
in-chief of the above distinguished regiment, in which Major Dundas,
possessing the advantages of fortune, high connections, and parliamen-
tary influence, has risen rapidly to be a field officer, without encounter-
ing the hazards of the field or the vicissitudes of climates. This gallant
officer is the son of the Hon. Mrs. Robert Dundas, and the late Right
Hon. Robert Dundas, Lord Chief Baron of Scotland, who died in 1819,
bequeathing Major Dundas and his brother £91,000. He is also nephew

1831. Affairs in General. 83

to Lord Melville, to Wm. Dundas, the late member for Edinburgh, and
to Lady Abercromby. These glories-should be enough for him; and
as the service will lose nothing by the abstraction of his military fame,
and society be much the better for his retreat, we recommend the atten-
tion of the government to the affair altogether. The late Duke of York
changed the whole character of the army, by discountenancing the pro-
fligacy of individuals. Let Lord Hill, or whoever else is actual comman~
der of the forces, do his duty, and he may rely on it that he will do more
honour to himself, and good to the service, than ever will be done by
suffering a man, characterized, convicted, and sentenced in a court of
justice, as this dashing major has been, to remain among the ranks of the
British army.

The speech of counsel on the trial denounced the act as one of the
most barefaced profligacy. We altogether agree with the counsel. The
silliness of the victim is nothing to the purpose. The tempter is not to
be rendered guiltless in proportion to the helpless simplicity of the being
whom he destroys. If this criminal be let loose without any mark upon
him, the government, both civil and military, will have much to answer
to the great cause of British morality.

The withdrawing of the Royal allowance from the Royal Society of
Literature, is one of the unlucky demonstrations of the spirit of eco-
nomy. For our part, we had rather, for the honour of the throne, that
a ball the less were given in the season; for the expense of a single
night’s waltzing, wine, and Weippert’s band, would have nearly paid
the whole grant. The sum of a thousand pounds is withdrawn from
ten men of high literary name and industry, who certainly have done
mere in their generation for the honour of the country than any five
hundred who shall dance the mazurka, or play the foreign mummer in
the royal presence for the next fifty years.

A little statement from one of the “ Royal Associates,” Coleridge,
through a friend, has appeared on the subject.

«© Mr. Coleridge—On the sudden suppression of the Royal Society of Lite-
rature, with the extinction of the honours and annual honoraria of the Royal
Associateships, a representation in Mr. Coleridge’s behalf was made to Lord
Brougham, who promptly and kindly commended the case to Lord Grey’s
consideration. The result of the application was, that a sum of £200.—the
one moiety to be received forthwith, and the other the year following—by a
Ses grant from the Treasury, was placed at Mr. Coleridge’s acceptance ;

ut he felt it his duty most respectfully to decline it, though with every grate-
ful acknowledgment.”

But there are others, not less meritorious than Coleridge, and to
whom the hundred a-year, trivial as the sum is, may be of still higher
consideration. Matthias is one of them, a man who is’ compelled to
reside in Italy, for the double reasons of ill health and narrow circum-
stances. Yet Matthias has deserved’ well of the country; and those_
who remember his “ Pursuits of Literature,’ the learning, vigorous
poetry, and high British principle of that work, published as it was in
a perilous time, and powerfully tending to uphold the cause of the
monarchy and the constitution, will know how to appreciate the economy
which deprives an eminent scholar, an accomplished gentleman, and a
subject distinguished for active and manly loyalty, of the chief part, if
not the whole of his income, at the age of eighty years. Sharon Turner,
M 2

84 Notes of the Month on [Juny,

the historian of the Anglo-Saxon Dynasties, is another. We may yet
go more deeply into the matter. But we may say even here, that
George the Third gave pensions of £300. a year to eminent authors, to
the full amount of the allowance to the Royal Society of Literature ;
that the present pensions were understood by every individual who re-
ceived them, to be for life; and that the bounty of George the Fourth,
for sustaining and honouring one of the chief sources of glory to his
empire, ought not to be superseded by any new spirit of economy.

We are not now to learn that a man may be puffed into any thing, and
that the reputation of half the magnates of wit, philosophy, and physic
among us, has been the work of vigorous puffing. Old Fuseli was one
of those wonders. His coterie, a gang of infidels, male and female, who
used to dine at a bookseller’s, propagated his renown as the wittiest of
human creatures. The fry of students in the Drawing School of the
Academy instinctively looked up to the drawing-master as something
supernatural in sketching ; and the mob of native connoisseurs, who won-
der at every thing with a foreign name, pronounced it as a maxim that
no one could paint Lucifer as Lucifer ought to be painted, but the man
with a Swiss one. Yet this wonderful person was but a shallow fellow
in all his provinces of wit and wisdom —with pen or pencil, with broken
English, or barbarous Greek :—which fact is thoroughly established by
the late publication of his memoirs; a work containing more naked
rudeness, vulgarity, and impudence, under pretext of wit, than is to be
found on record of any individual since Jonathan Wild. This is no
charge against the biographer ; he has probably done his best with bad
materials. But Fuseli'’s repartees, remarks, his notions of decorum, and
his trifling pedantry, must be allowed to take rank among the dullest
attempts at public effect within memory.

Old Abernethy is another of those fabrications of waggery and wis-
dom. The following specimens have been going the round of the
Papers :— ,

_ ‘A loquacious lady having called to consult him, he could not succeed in
silencing her, without resorting to the following expedient:—‘ Put out your
tongue, Madam.’ The lady complied.‘ Now keep it there till J have done
talking.” Another lady brought her daughter to him one day, but he refused
to hear her or to prescribe, advising her to make the girl take exercise. When
the guinea was put into his hand, he recalled the mother, and said, ‘ Here,
take the shilling back, and buy a skipping-rope for your daughter as you go
along.’ He kept his pills in a bag, and used to dole them out to his patients ;
and on doing so to a lady, who stepped out of a coroneted carriage to consult
him, she declared they made her sick, and she could never take a pill. ‘ Not
take a pill? what a fool you must be!’ was the courteous and conciliatory
reply to the countess. When the late Duke of York consulted him, he stood
whistling, with his hands in his pockets ; and the duke said, ‘I suppose you
know who lam?’ Theuncourtly reply was, ‘ Suppose I do—what of that ?”
His pithy advice was, ‘ Cut off the supplies, as the Duke of Wellington did in
his campaign, and the enemy will leave the citadel.’ ”

Now, what is to be thought of the practitioner who could have been
capable of this yulgar nonsense, but that he was determined on his own
ruin; or of the man, but that he was prepared to be kicked out of so-
ciety. The fact is, that Abernethy was as eager for keeping his position
as any /Esculapius of them all ; and in the first place, he never ventured
any of those coxcombries with persons of any consideration ; in the next,

1831.] Affairs in General. 85

he was the sufferer for the sins of every other joker of the profession.
From Radcliffe to Dr. Eady, every rough dialogue of the trade was
fixed upon Abernethy ; and as he probably found his account in it, for
even singularity sometimes ¢el/s with the multitude, he was content to
father the rudeness which, in turn, generated the fee. But he had too
much sense to make such experiments on his respectable applicants. To
these he was respectful, and however he might practise the grotesque
with some overgrown ale-wife, or play upon the feelings of some clown,
no practitioner in the college could be more cautious of exceeding the
bounds of proper speech than Abernethy. We say this from a desire to
see justice done to the memory of a man of talent, skill, and knowledge.

The cabinets may say what they will; but there is something odd on
the royal eards, throughout Europe at the present time. Our forefathers
would be infinitely surprised at events which to us, their more enlight-
ened sons, are as common as the sun at noon-day, and excite as little
surprise. What would Walpole, or Chatham, or even Pitt, conversant
as he was in revolutions, have thought of having, not merely an Ex-king
of France in Holyrood, with all his heirs, assigns, and so forth; but _
having a Queen of Holland, a Prince of Orange, a pair of Dukes of
Brunswick, a Russian Archduchess, a pair of sons of a King of Holland,
ason of a King of Naples, and half a dozen more potentates and heirs
cf potentates on the wing, packing up their goods and chattels for an
escape from their loving subjects, and fluttering over to England—the
sea-girt—the only spot on earth free from war ; the natural refuge of
the destitute in all directions :—without reckoning little Donna Maria da
‘Gloria, nor Don Pedro, who has already taken a view of us from sea, and
will inevitably honour us with a visit, if we let him; and our pension
list too with the dignity of his name.

Then we have kings to provide for Poland, and Belgium, and Greece,
and Colombia, and the Brazils, and Portugal, and half a dozen other
thrones, which are visibly tired of their present incumbents.

A dashing correspondent of the Courier thus disposes of all the diffi-
culties respecting Poland and Belgium :—

«« «T have thought of one mode of settling both the Polish and Belgian ques-
tions. Let the Prince of Orange be the king of Poland forthwith—the Prince
Leopold, king of Belgium till the decease of the king of Holland—Luxembourg
to remain with the latter during his reign. At his death, the Prince Leopold
to be king of Holland as well as of Belgium, with Luxembourg annexed.’ Our
correspondent,” adds the Courier, “ disposes of crowns as rapidly as Buona-
ote or the congress of Vienna. May we be permitted to ask him why, if the

oles are to have a king, it must be a Dutchman? or why the Dutch are to be
olsage by a German? Besides, when the Prince of Orange shall have
ee the Prince of Cobourg, Holland, what is to become of Prince Fre-
erick ?

What is to become of Prince Frederick? Does any human being
care. He can, we suppose, get a troop of dragoons in some Austrian
regiment ; and he will there have half-a-crown a day, which in Germany,
a cheap country, will give him his board and lodging, and perhaps his
cigars. On the whole, we look upon the prince as very pleasantly cir-
cumstanced among the ditches of his native soil, and wish him joy of
his being still allowed to remain among the Hollanders. .

86 Notes of the Month on [Juxy,

The Irish in Ireland are by no means so much enchanted with the reform
as the Irish in the province of St. Giles’s. The latter eminent patriots
have decided, that Reform must be the very thing wanted for England,
and the sojourners therein; inasmuch as it will gain them mahogany
hods, satin-wood spades, superfine “Saxony” pantaloons, and a guinea
a day to every independent and true Emeralder (for such is their
favourite appellation) ; here, there, and everywhere. But the Irish in
the mother-land having discovered that, in spite of that “ glorious,
blessed, healing, feeding, and paying” measure of Catholic Emancipa-
tion, they have got nothing yet but the martial law proclaimed against
the South, a famine in the West, emigration in the North, and my Lord
Anglesey in Dublin, begin to doubt the benefits of the glorious measure,
and are actually daring to growl. The Marquis having on his first
excursion exhausted all his faculties for catching the popular soul, hav-
ing rode to Donnybrook Fair, having rode through the streets, having
rode through his own stables, and having rode down to Athlone, beating
the mail, can do no more ; and is not less astonished than angry with
«his beloved people” for having expected anything more from him.
Yet all this will not, it seems, satisfy the insatiate appetite of the people
for excitement ; and a new lord lieutenant is rumoured, and a new
commander-in-chief is on the wing. The former appointment is only
postponed until Count Munster, or the Earl of that name, submits his
merits to Daniel O’Connel, Esq., and has the good fortune to be ap-
proved of by this great authority on Irish affairs. In the meantime, a
report having gone abroad that the Irish cabinet was lazily letting
things go on in the old way, we are happy to refute so injurious an
imputation by the following evidence of activity :—

« Attention of the Marquis of Anglesey’s Government to the Wishes of the
People.—* A straw thrown up, will shew which way the wind blows;’ and in
like manner can the feelings of the government towards the people be often
ascertained by its conduct towards them in matters of little moment, as
regards the nation at large. We are led to make these observations on account
of the dismissal of the post-master of Kilmacthomas, who had made himself
most odious to the townspeople by his ostentatious display of Orangeism. So
convinced are the people of Kilmacthomas of the Marquis of Anglesey’s wish
to gratify them, that they have already set down Mary Hearn as the successor
to the late protegé of the Beresfords. Should our readers wish to know who
Mary Hearn is, we will inform them by saying, she is the little Lady Morgan
of the town of Kilmacthomas, and, like her great prototype, the sworn foe of
abuses in church and state; or, in other words, a female reformer.”

So sayeth the Waterford Chronicle ; and we hope that every friend to
good government, and the brains of Irish viceroys, will duly appreciate
the salutary rigour of turning out the refractory postmaster of a portion
of his Majesty’s leges, so important as the population of Kilmac
Thomas ; and that they will not less appreciate the firmness of purpose,
dignity of choice, and impartial determination, which placed Mary
Hearn, or any body else, in the room of the recreant receiver of letters.
Indeed what punishment could be too much for an individual who, it
appears, not thinking with the Marquis’s government, had the atrocity,
in a time of liberal opinions, to express an opinion of his own; and
worse, to hold an office of the value of twenty pounds a-year sterling
money, and put the emoluments thereof in his pocket, while he, con-

1831.] Affairs in General. 87

tumaciously and traitorously, thought that orange was as pretty a colour
as green, and that the ribbon of King William was as good as the rib-
bon of King Dan.

The only point to which we object is the comparison of the new offi-
cial, the Whig Mary Hearn, to our old romancer the Whig Lady Mor-
gan. “ A little Lady Morgan.” Call you this backing your friends?
Miladi is little enough of all conscience ; and to what depth of invisi-
bility a lower politician of the Morgan genus must descend, we find it
impossible to measure. Optime dizit iste Butlerus :—

<« Thus naturalists say, a flea

Hath smaller fleas that on him prey ;
And they have smaller still to bite °em—
And so proceed, ad infinitum.”

Poetry of old was always prophetic ; and we shall bet our nightcap
against Miladi’s next quarto on the ‘ Science of Governing every King-
dom of Europe,” that Butlerus had Miladi, and her “ picture in little,”
in his prophetic eye at the moment.

After having witnessed such a tissue of “delicate correspondence”
as has lately been spun out between Sir James Scarlett and Sir James
Graham, Lord Something Cecil and Mr. Tennyson, and our beloved
and trusty councillor, Mr. George Dawson, of Protestant-popish, orange-
green, and black-and-white memory ; it is refreshing, as the Cockney
Homers and Virgils say, to see, at last, a writer who scribbles straight
to the point, who lays nothing on the necks of the “reporters,” and who
blabs out his whole meaning, not caring a drop of ink for the way of
any man’s taking it. The Times contains the following letter relative
to Sir James Scarlett and Sir Robert Wilson :— :

*« Sir,—I beg you to inform the public that ‘ the injudicious, unbecoming,
and unwarrantable interference,’ mentioned by Sir Robert Wilson in his letter
to Sir James Graham, published in your paper of this morning, applies to me.
I trouble myself to make this avowal, solely with a view to put an end to the
affair, and in the sincere hope that henceforward the parties concerned will
think and care as little about it as I shall.

“© 15, Pall Mall East, “ T am, Sir, your obedient servant,

May 31.” “ Tuomas WALKER.”

This is plain English. Sir Robert gets his epithets very handsomely
returned on him: and the hero of Pall-Mall East is yet unshot,
unsabred, and, we verily believe, unanswered. No delicious correspon-
dence, worthy of the dexterity of a dancing-master, and the sensibilities
of a school-girl, has grown out of this billet. We sincerely recommend
the style as a model to all gentlemen who wish to bring matters to a
short issue.

There is something curious, without being very important, in the
adroitness of “the devil’s chaplain,” a title which the possessor seems
to bear rejoicingly, in getting himself within the grasp of the law.
He has now volunteered again.—

“ A true bill was found by the grand jury, at the April adjourned sessions
for the county of Surrey, against Robert Taylor, alias ‘ The Devil’s Chaplain,’
for uttering blasphemy. Not having complied with the order of court, he was
taken into custody by Skilhorn on Saturday, and brought to Union-hall, when
he entered into his own recognizances in the sum of 200/., and two sureties of

88 Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. [Jury,

1001. each, to appear at the next general quarter sessions for the county of
Surrey.”

The curious part of the case is, who pays? That many a man is
blind to the future, and contemptuous of the inside of a prison, or ma
be amused with defying judge and jury, or may dream of the downfal
of an archbishop, ‘is now as obvious as that the Tories are turned out.
But how is all this disbursed? for law must be paid ; the walls of a
prison will feed no man; judges and juries are among the most costly
luxuries of life ; and the best dream of episcopal subversion since the
days of Jack Cade, is not worth a substantial sixpence. Who pays for
the Reverend Robert’s campaigns? We have heard something on the
subject, which we-may yet put into tangible shape.

Great and very just anxiety has been excited by the ravages of the new
plague—the cholera, in the north of Europe. It is not for us to fathom
the ways of Providence ; nor to pronounce that this scourge has fallen
upon the Continent for its crimes—first smiting Russia, red with the
blood of an unprovoked war against the Turks, and at this hour heaping
gore on gore, and crime on crime, by her attempts to repress the freedom
of a brave and most injured people. There can be no doubt that the
cholera has hitherto fought for Poland—that the Russian councils have
been distracted by it—the Russian armies struck with terror by it—and
the numbers of those brutal instruments of a despot’s purpose fearfully
thinned by its wide-wasting fury. We have no Russian hospital list—
no gazette—to tell us of the thousands perishing night by night in the
swamps of Poland, without medicine, physicians, or food.

But we have unequivocal evidence of the havoc of the cholera, in the
universal check of the Russian armies; in their sudden pause, when
nothing seemed to stand between them and Warsaw ; in their sudden
inability to move after victory ; and the extraordinary timidity, vacilla-
tion, and ill success which have marked a campaign that once threatened
the total extinction of the Polish name.

The scourge has fallen on Poland, too, but evidently in an inferior
degree, and the suffering is well recompensed by the indemnity ; for no
plague could lie so dreadful as the- fury of the Russian sword, followed
by the long bitterness of the Russian chain. Other kingdoms may yet
share in the infliction. It seems scarcely possible, that the cholera can
be prevented from spreading through the greater part of the Continent.
Perhaps, it may reach ourselves. But much may be expected from the
cleanly habits of the people, to repel any peculiar, virulence of an epi-
demic ; much from the excellent food of England; and much from her
medical science ;—three things in which all the countries hitherto devas-
tated by this plague have been singularly deficient. In India, excepting
the stations of the Company’s troops—in Persia—in the Russian pro-
vinces on the Caspian—in the government of Moscow—in the wild
provinces of Poland—the habits, the food, and even the slight portion of
medical science, tend rather to propagate the poison than to extinguish
it. There every village fever envenoms into a contagion, and nothing
but the thinness of the population prevents the fever becoming a
Pxiacur. A commission of medical men has been despatched, or is to be
immediately despatched to Riga, to ascertain the nature of the disease ;
and we may be satisfied that, if it should unhappily cross the channel, it
will be met by every wise and efficient precaution.

1831.]

[C 89 J

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE, DOMESTIC AND FOREIGN.

Sketches in Spain and Morocco; by Sir
Arthur de Capel Brooke, Bart., &¢., 2 vols.,
8vo.—Sir Capel Brooke—we must shorten
his name—scribbles his tours very agree-
ably. The reader has nothing to do but
accompany him from town to town, and
take his chance of what the active tra-
veller happens to fallin with. He very
rarely generalizes or discusses, and the
less the better—for the one, it is not his
vocation, and for the first, if he indulges,
he must be indebted to others—not be-
cause he has not time, for he has abun-
dance—he travels for pleasure merely ;
but because he does not suppose time
indispensable for the purpose, or he
wouid give it. Go where he will, he is
merely a bird of passage, and has no
notion that first impressions, in. new
scenes, require correction. The closest
observers have preconceptions of what
they are going to see—and these are
things not easily or in an instant dis-
posed of. With all this Sir Brooke
troubles himself little—his motto is,
* keep moving.”

At the. Tower he takes his passage in
asteamer bound for Lisbon, Cadiz, and
Gibraltar, and has a fair weather voyage
to Lisbon. A few hours serve him to
scamper over the town and describe it.
The first glance of Cadiz charms him
so much, that he resolves to stop a few
days—let his baggage go on to Gibral-
tar, and find his way thither himself by
some other conveyance. A few days’
residence at Cadiz enables him to dis-
course thus delectably on the ladies of
Spain.

“ T need hardly ohserve, that the Spanish wo-
men are well known for their love of intrigue,
and that the marriage vow, as is too generally
the case with the higher classes in almost every
part of continental Europe, is entered into but to
be broken,” &c.

Of course, Sir Arthur, though he
adopts the account without any hesita-
tion, must not be held responsible for
its veracity ; it is clear he can himself
know little about the matter.

After scouring the neighbourhood,
and attending a bull-fight or two, in-
stead of making his way to Gibraltar,
he starts off suddenly for Seville. Se-
ville is filled with priests—the women
are wrapt up in mantillas, and always
going to mass—beautiful as houris—
well-be-veiled at least—not so their

ancles, it would be as well if they were’

—every body drinks delicious water, and
every house seems full of Murillos'and
Riberas. The Seville gazette is just
six inches long—the leading article, an
account of an old woman who died at
Falmouth, aged 140; and not a particle

M.M. New Series.—V ou. XII. No.67.

of news “ foreign or domestic.” Re-
turning to Cadiz, he meets witha wine-
merchant going to Xeres, and as he has
nothing to clog or controul his move-
ments, and is passionately fond of sight-
seeing—it is that for which he lives and
moves—off he goes to Xeres, and «is
present at the vintage, picks up a pro-
digious deal of gossip about sherries, and
especially about amontillado—a wine
which puzzles not only Sir Arthur
Brooke and the merchants, but from his
account of it, might the devil himself.
“It is,” he says, “‘something like a
phenomenon (what does Sir Brooke take
a phenomenon to. be?) in wine-making,
for no cultivator can be certain that the
grape will produce it, though he may
conjecture that such will be the case
from past experience, knowledge of the
soil, and state ofthe vintage. It is sel-
dom obtained from young vines, neither
is it the produce of any particular vine-
yard or grape, although it is conjectured
by some that the Palomine grape is more
instrumental! in yielding it than any
other. The difference which this wine
assumes from the general character of
dry white wines, is supposed to be the
consequence of a more perfect or pecu-
liar fermentation. It is never known
what casks will turn out amontillado
before the first process of fermentation
is over, and frequently not even then.
Out of a hundred butts, not more than
five or six may turn out amontillado.
Eyery thing, relating to this wine, is
involved in so much uncertainty, that
what has been supposed to be ammon-
tillado will, after some years, turn out
the reverse, and vice versa. On these ac-
counts and its consequent rarity, it is
greatly prized and carefully husbanded
by the merchants; not for the purposes
of sale, but of mixing with their other
ye and improving their flavours,

c,??

To Gibraltar Sir Capel gets at last,
and after telling what of course every
skimmer of travels already knows, he
crosses the straights to Tangiers; and as
Tangiers is not every day visited by
tourists, he has something a little less
hackneyed to tell. His intention was
to storm the emperor’s quarters at Fez,
but people cannot do precisely as they
like in Morocco, nor move when and
where they please; and the Baronet’s
movements accordingly were a good deal
hampered. ‘To Fez there was no get-
ting, and besides, the emperor was him-
self coming to Tangiers. 'lo Tangiers,
however, he did not come, and Sir Ar-
thur finally quitted the country without
seeing this august personage, or any one

N

90

more magnificent than the bashaw of
Tangiers and the governor of Tetuan.
His accounts of Morocco are, of course,
very meagre. ‘The Jewesses, who
abound, are very beautiful, and the
Moorish ladies, when you can get a
limpse at more than one eye, prove to
Eaves very charming pairs, though a
little too sleepy—the handsomest, too,
are probably all shut up. The Moors
are more and more suspicious of travel-
lers, since they have heard of Ali Bey
and Burckhardt, and their disguises,
and, of course, they cannot imagine
strangers visit them for any purpose but
to betray them. The recent occupation
of Algiers will not tend to dilute the
emperor’s suspicions.

Returning with very little more
knowledge of the country than could be
gathered from a visit to Tetuan, and by
riding a few miles here and there about
Tangiers, he reached Gibraltar again,
and traversing Spain, by the way of
Grenada, Malaga, Cordova, Madrid, &c.,
finally arrived at Paris. When at Gre-
nada, though in unusual haste, he paid
a visit to the Duke of Wellington’s
estates, near that town; and as every
body is not acquainted with them, we
extract his account, in preference to his
elaborate description of the Spanish
Olla, with the cookery of which Sir
Brooke is quite au fait.

“The Soto de Roma, the estate which was
granted at the conclusion of the peninsular war
to the Duke of Wellington, as a small return for
the eminent services rendered to the country, i3
a royal demesne, situated at the extremity of the
vega of Granada, and, in the time of the Moors,
was a fayourite retreat of the sovereigns of Gra-
nada. We reached it before noon, and spent some
time in walking about the extensive and finely
wooded grounds, which are watered by several
beautiful streams, adding considerably to their
beauty. The house isa plain building, with no-
thing remarkable about it, except, perhaps, the
numerous cracks that are visible in the walls, the
effect of shocks of earthquakes, which are attimes
severely felt throughout the vega. The adjoining
buildings appeared also to have suffered mate-
rially. I was much pleased to observe the state
of the different farms belonging to the estate. One
does not expect to find agriculture in a yery ad-
vanced state in Spain; and, although this is any
thing but the case in general, yet I must confess
that I never witnessed neater farming in any part
of my own country than I did at the Soto de
Roma, which is saying a good deal.”

Few Words on many Subjects, by a Re-
cluse.—A mass of notes, upon matters as
they turned ‘up in the writer’s mind,
and which, being preserved, have come,
of course, to be printed. Though not
always of importance, they are charac-
terized generally by sound judgment
and respectable liberality. ‘They are
classed under the heads of law, politics,
religion, and language. If judges must

Monthly Review of Literature,

[Juny,

be made peers, they need not be here-
ditary ones; chiefly because the House
is already too numerous.—Barristers are
not warranted in undertaking all sorts
of dirty cases, by calling them acts of
duty; nor are they entitled to assume
the high and independent tone they do,
till they talk gratuitously.—It is idle to
expect simplicity of law with the com-
plications of civilized society.—It is ab-»
surd to imprison insolvents ; but wise to
hang for forgery, though it will be dif
ficult to draw a line broad enough to
place impunity on one sideand death on
the other, for acts that bear to each
other an extraordinary degree of resem-
blance—and certainly, murder and for-
gery can never, with any shew of rea-
son, be placed on the same level. Quib-
bles must be got rid of—a man is not to
lose his action of damages because he
has been driven over by a mare, when
his lawyer called her a horse, nor a thief
to be acquitted of stealing ducks because
some of them were drakes—abomina-
tions which still exist in the administra-
tion of our laws, notwithstanding we
have been lauding Mr. Peel for years—
for what ?

Among the “ political’ notes, he talks
of the pervading passion for titles and
distinctions, and augurs sad results—
but contempt for them is perhaps all
that is likely to follow from the existing
abuse. He instances the case of charity
societies, with

Patron,
Vice Patrons,
Governor,

Patroness,
Vice Patronesses,

Deputy Governor,

Trustees,

Chairman,

Deputy Chairman,
Directors,

Deputy Treasurer,
Auditors,
Physician, Surgeon,
Counsel, Solicitor,

&e. &e. &e.

Among the sources of corruption in
language, he notices the general ten-
dency to hyperbolism. Ifa person falls
out of a window, and breaks a limb, he
is sure tu be “literally dashed to pieces,”
though literally picked up in one piece
—‘‘ literally broke every bone in his
body,” is of common occurrence in the
papers. If a man drives a dust cart
against a post, the papers tell us the
wheel came in contact with the post.
Workmen are universally operatives, as
being mere genteel. Shopmen are as-
sistants. he apothecary’s shop is the
surgery. ‘The newspaper drudges are
gentlemen of the press. "he attorneys are
all esquires—and gentlemen, we believe,
by law. ‘Che new measures and weights,
lately introduced, are, by statute, the
imperial. The trust for managing the

Treasurer,

roads round London is also, by statute,

1831.]

called the metropolitan road trust. The
post-office carsare nicknamed accelerators,
by authority. The one-horse chaises,
‘lately introduced, might have been
called hackney gigs, but cabriolet is fo-
reign, and better because uot so intel-
ligible. A club of schoolmasters call
themselves the philological society, as if
it were an union for the study of lan-

uages, &c. The book will amuse for

alf an hour, and sometimes furnish
useful hints.

Social Life in England and France, from
the Days of Charles to the recent French
Revolution—This little volume must be
regarded as the sequel to Miss Berrey’s
former publication, the character of
which was estimated highly, but cer-
tainly not more so than it well deserved.
The work consists of aseries of sketches,
rather than any consecutive view, of
what strikes her as the most prominent
topics, important in themselves, or the
precursors and causes of important re-
sults. In the present volume she comes
within her own times, and doubtless her
own opportunities have been peculiarly
favourable for sketching the career of
certain classes of society, both in Eng-
land and France. It is only with the
superior classes she is concerned ; though
lower ones are by degrees, and quite
inevitably modified by them; for so
active is the principle of imitation on
us, that one class cannot change its ha-
bits, but the next lowest will be sure to
be influenced, and in many cases the
next highest, more or less. Manners
ascend as well as descend. ‘The upper
ranks, in many respects, are neither so
fastidious, nor the lower so coarse as
they were, but a few years.ago.

The times of Pitt and Fox constitute
the first topic of remark. The political
world had not been so decidedly split
since the days of Anne. The opposition
ranked among them almost the whole
exhibitable talent of the day ; the prince
was at their head, and the fashionable
world went with them. The two courts
were the centres of political faction ; nor
was women’s influence wanting on either
side. ‘The Queen on one side, and the
Duchess of Devonshire on the other.
The first a!l form and ceremony and
prejudice ; the other all freedom, gaiety,
and liberality—not licentiousness. Not
only were the arts patronized, but ar-
tists themselves were admitted within
the pale of society; and homely man-
ners, as well as stiff ones, gave way to
ease and refinement.

The French war, by keeping youn
men at home, interfered with the ad-
vantages derivable from intercourse
with foreign variety of character and
manners ; but the army and navy, which
absorbed many of them, became schools

Domestic and Foreign.

91

of intelligence and improvement. For
from the extraordinary state of puble
affairs, they were brought into contaet
with the diplomatic world, and proved
eventually as dextrous and_ polished
and reserved, as they had before been
coarse, blunt, and ignorant.

But nothing produced so striking a
change upon the higher classes as taxa-
tion. The great got rid of their use-
less retainers, useless carriages, useless
horses. From the moment these things
became taxable, every body began to
consider how many they could d'spense
with. Nobody since then keeps more
than he has occasion for; and the effect
has been, beyond doubt, to produce bet-
ter managed establishments, and more
effective services. The same cause
brought about retrenchments in costly
entertainments, and hospitality in their
rural domains shrank to nothing.

The commerce of the country mean-
while increasing, large fortunes fell into
new hands ; and these, disposed to spend
their new gains, had no other means of
forcing themselves into notice than
courting the chaperonnement of the hi-
therto exclusively great. These had
ceased to squander, but they were ready
enough to assist others in squandering,
and especially in rendering them ridi-
culous. Fetes and entertainments fol-
lowed, where the entertainer knew not
the names of one-half of his guests.
Rank and wealth were getting rapidly
confounded. To check the career of this
mortifying confusion sprang up Almack’s
—a scheme professedly and essentially
exclusive, but proceeding, in part also,
from the inability of numbers, in the
higher ranks of life, to compete with the
nouveaux riches in entertainments at
home.

The writer’s glances at France are
more interesting, in as much as they are
less familiar. She sketches the return
to habits of civilized society, under the
Bonapartes, with considerable effect ;
and has many remarks of great truth
and acuteness. Under all the political
changes she detects one great purpose
of the nation—a determination to ob-
tain a amare participation of rights,
From the return of the Bourbons who
struggled to recover their old privileges,
and force back the stream of opinion ;
and through the whole fifteen years the
influential part of the people have as
steadily prosecuted what may fairly be
deemed the will of the nation. In do-
mestic habits the difference is very me-
morable; and such as may well be ba-
lanced against the very horrors through
which the people have fought their way to
the possession of political independence,
From the abolition of convents and semi.
naries, children were educated at home,
ms the practice has generally con.

2

92

tinued; and from the general agitations
without, domestic habits were cultivat-
ed, and continue now that the occasion
is less imperative. People no longer
live for the world, but more for them-
selves; and those who ministered to the
follies of the fashionable world and hung
upon the great, have been driven to
other sources of livelihood. The con-
sequence is, that in all classes of society
appears a general improvement in tone
and manner—independence is the cha-
racteristic. The great are stript of’ their
privileges—properties are broken down,
and the owners are more simple and
natural; while the middle ranks are no
longer blind slaves of the rich, but de-
pend for custom, employment, and pa-
tronage, on the superiority of their ser-
vices, and less on intrigue, &c.

Journal of a Residence in Germany, in
2 vols., 8vo. by Wm. Beattie, M. D.—

Dr. Beattie accompanied, in quality of.

physician, the Duke and Duchess of
Clarence, on three visiting tours, 1822,
1825, and 1826, to the courts of their
respective relatives—Meningen, Hesse
Homberg, and Stuttgardt; and, like
other young men, just fresh from college,
kept a journal, and stuffed it with trite
quotation, bits of sing-song, and scraps
of sentiment. The turn of the wheel
brings his patron to the crown, and Dr.
Beattie is tooexperienced a courtier not
to know that though the duke might be
nothing, the king is every thing. Ac-
cordingly he rubs up his forgotten jour-
nal, and giving the old duke all the po-
lish and importance of the new king,
discovers a fresh and blooming interest
on every word, sentiment, grace, and
incident—all as suddenly, and as by
magic, become matter of sovereign
worth,

To anybody but a courtier, or a
would-be courtier, the book, however,
will prove perfectly useless, or at best
supertiuous, for he knows, of course, a
king can be nothing but—a king. It is
wholly occupied with the royal move-
ments—with the virtues and graces of
both their royal highnesses, and with
those of all their august relatives, male
and. female, young and old. The very
aide-de-camps and ‘ bed-chamber wo-
men” are all nonpareils. Nothing can
exceed the fascinations of the ladies
but the affabilities of the gentlemen;
and we know not how it comes about,
but certainly the gentlemen do bear
away the bell—their waltzing is exqui-
site. The doctor must have been born
a courtier—he takes to the office as
naturally as a spaniel takes to the water.

The duke is, of course, the conspi-
cuous figure, though also, of course, the
duchess is not forgotten, nor the two
Miss Fitzclarences who accompanied

Monthly Review of Literature,

[Juxy,

them. At Mayence the duke visited
the cathedral, and was ‘‘ much pleased
with the descriptive detail of the Cice-
rone;” and “no less so with the striking
scenery through which he had passed on
the day’s route,’—he was as ready to
compliment nature asart. Quitting the
cathedral, some Prussian soldiers passed
with a band, and so stirring was the
music that his royal highness walked for
nearly an hour to keep within hearing of
it—dragging poor Dr. Beattie at his
heels the whole time. For eight days
before his arrival at Meiningen his royal
highness did not dine more than twice.
Every morning he breakfasted at seven,
and “on tea and a simple slice of dry
toast,” i.e. one slice, the dimensions of
which appear, unluckily, to have escaped
the doctor’s recollection. This breakfast
be pronounces to be Spartan fare. But
though his royal highness had but two
dinners in eight days, “ slight luncheons,
consisting of cold fowl, Westphalia ham,
veal, or gibier—the latter a favourite
viand—were prepared and put in a small
basket in the chariot, and one or more of
these, with bread, formed the staple ban-
quet of the day, and were resorted to at
pleasure.” This is sadly vague to be
sure—there is no ascertaining from these
data either the number of these lun-
cheons,or the quantity consumed at each,
or whether upon the whole they might
not together amount to a respectable
dinner. At the end of his day’s journey
his * royal —— took tea—and only
green tea—of which a supply was
brought from Ghent.” No matter how
late the hour, or how potent the infu-
sion, this green tea from Ghent never
interfered with his royal highness’s rest.
Such, concludes the admiring and won-
dering doctor, is the power of lon
habit—the triumph of royal habits and a
royal stomach over green tea from
Ghent. His royal highness’s virtues
are beyond all enumeration—he is an
excellent arithmetician. ‘‘ He looks
over all his accounts himself ;” and, for
fear we should not feel the force of the
phrase, he paraphrases it thus :—‘“ he
sums up, calculates, adjusts, and com-
ares, nicely balancing every item.”
otwithstanding his long practice in the
art, his royal highness could with diffi-
culty be persuaded that his journey had
not in reality cost more than the trea-
surer of the household, or whatever he
is called, charged him with. Not only,
too, was his royal highness upon all oc-
casions an excellent father, master, hus-
band, &c. &c. but also Gkreful of his own
health—he wore galoches—and, more-
over, a delightful patient. Hehad due
confidence in Dr. Beattie, and took all
his prescriptions. “‘ I will do you the
justice,” said his royal highness to Dr.
eattie, “to say, that although a young

1831.]

physician,” the medicines you have given
me through my illness have fully an-
swered the purpose intended,” &c. But
enough of this—who can doubt but every
one become a king as long as he lives
must have every virtue under heaven.
Next to the Duke and Duchess figure
the royal sisters of his royal highness’s
“august family,” the Landgravine of
Hesse Homberg and the Queen of Wir-
temberg. Of the former the doctor
affirms, as of his own knowledge, that
she “has done more for the happiness
and prosperity of the inhabitants than
all the combined events of the last cen-
tury ;” and of the Queen of Wirtem-
bere he makes a perfect divinity; of
her—* the whole country worship her.”
Her liveries are bright orange with
black facings ; and every body goes to
court in boots. A Princess of Wirtem-
berg was going to be married to Duke
Michael of Russia, and a patriarch of
the Greek church had arrived charged
with the duty of initiating the young
lady in the mysteries of “ that religion.”
“He is a venerable personage,” says
Dr. Beattie, “justly proud of his holy
task.” Similar foppery pervades the
volumes. Now and then he presents us
with "a specimen of the sentimental.
Atsome royal supper the windows were
thrown open, and a lot of bats flew in,
which the Queen of Wirtemberg would
not allow to be driven out. When she
uitted the room, however, they were
forthwith expelled without ceremony,
and one that was obstinate was killed.
** Pauvre malheureux !” sighed a beau-
tiful young lady, “ how readily would
the royal hand have interposed even in
thy behalf, had she suspected the
smallest design against thy little sum-
mer existence. I heard the crush(!) as
he placed his iron heel upon thy late
happy and defenceless breast. I wit-
nessed and cannot forgive the act. Thy
little roost under my window will be
empty to-morrow. I shall have one
fewer in the evening to welcome me in
my forest walk. ‘This brief life was
thy immortality—the blow, therefore,
doubly cruel—ah, surely nothing dies
but something mourns.” The girl
might be silly, or smile while she uttered
the rhapsody, but the doctor repeats it
gravely, and can be nothing but a ——

Bogle Corbett, by J. Galt, Esq. 3 vols.
12mo.—We have had some difficulty in
wading through Bogle Corbett. It is
too literally and severely a copy of reali-
ties—it has nothing of the beau ideal
about it, and is relative to a class of life
which has few charms for genera] readers
to contemplate. Merely to goover the dull
detail of every-day measures too much
within every body's experience, is like
living over again one’s own annoyances.

Domestic and Foreign.

93

We do not, of course, wish to depreciate
such a writer as Mr. Galt, who, beyond
any man of his day, perhaps, can enter
into assumed characters and make an-
other’s feelings his own. He does so—
not too intensely for truth-—but too mi-
nutely for pleasure, because his subjects
are seldom of the agreeable caste, and
often essentially coarse. Certainly he
does not contrive to convey pleasurable
impressions—nay, he may be said often
to labour studiously to leave nothing
but discomfort behind him. ‘The hero

‘is a man of common education, ,brought

up as a weaver, and in due time in busi-
ness as a manufacturer. For the sake
of capital he enters into partnership with
a fool, and by a succession of difficulties,
to which mercantile matters are subject,
occasionally from the political condition
of the times, and by the blunders and
rashness of his partner, becomes a bank-
rupt. The dealings of the firm had
been a good deal with the West Indies,
and through the influence and favour of
his friends, he procures a West India
agency. By degrees West India in-
terests also decay from one cause or
other, and he loses his agencies, chiefl
because he cannot make money-ad-
a and the etch an is
rapidly slipping throu is fingers.
Udarelisle he ional ae rociergges
and the lady dies in child-birth ; he
makes a second for convenience, and
marries a good sort of woman, honest
and active, but coarse and of little or no
Parser of whom we have a vast
deal too much, unless a dash of humour
could have been thrown into her. Be-
fore ruin quite overtakes Bogle Corbett,
he emigrates to Canada, where, of
course, Mr. Galt is quite at home, and
we have the relics of gatherings, during
his own residence there, and alread
communicated in Lowrie Todd. The
story terminates abruptly, with the
second year of Bogle’s residence, when
matters are beginning to settle into
something like order and combination.
An opportunity is thus left fora new
story, to trace the subsequent career of
the new colonists.

Life and Correspondence of Sir Shomas
Lawrence, Knt., by D. E. Williams. Esq.,
2 vols., 8vo.—All depends upon the book-
sellers, and a man is to flourish or fade
with posterity, precisely according to
the publisher’s chance of making money
of his memory. No sooner does a man
die, whose name has, in any way, been
much in ora virum, than some stirring
bookseller bargains with a manufacturer
for a brace of octavos—one is scarcely
worth his consideration, for it is as cheap
to puff two volumes as a single one, and
the gain, within certain limits, is pro-
portioned to the bulk, With him one

94

and one make two, though the Chancel-
lor of the Exchequer, oecasionally it
may be, finds a different result. ‘This
is the whole secret of our two volume
lives—in most of the cases which we re-
collect any thing about in modern times,
one volume would have been more than
enough. In Sir Thomas Lawrence’s
certainly, instead of 1200 pages, 200
would have afforded ample scope for
telling all which the world could de-
sire to know of him, and have em-
braced, besides, every item of his cor-
respondence which it could have done
him any credit to publish.

Campbell, the poet, was announced as
the biographer before poor Sir Thomas
was fairly in his grave, to the surprise,
we believe, of all who knew him; for
certainly he was not the man to biogra-
phize at the rate of two volumes ina
few months—implying, as such a feat
does, a contempt of all selection—a dis-
regard for all weighing and balancing—
a mere heaping and piling whatever
can be scratched together, or can by
possibility be linked with the subject.
Mr. Campbell, however, Snpa relin-
quished the ungrateful task, under the
pretence of want of health and leisure,
and consigned the whole affair, with all
the accumulations, into the hands of the
publisher's nominee—a man after their
own hearts—one who obviously could
work to pattern, and play the part of exe-
cutioner to Procrustes.

Lawrence was born in 1769, at Bristol.
A prodigious effort is made to connect
him with the baronetage on both sides.
The failure is complete as to the father,
who was, if it be of any importance, the
son of a dissenting teacher, The mother
was the daughter of a clergyman of the
establishment, and certainiy allied toa
Warwickshire baronet. For some time
they kept an inn at Bristol, and soon
after a posting-house at Devizes, where
the father was well known to the ha-
bitual visitors of Bath, especially for
worrying his customers with the pro-
digious talents of little Tommy. And
wonderful, no doubt, they were—if
ever boy had a decided bent he had;
before he was six years old he drew
a good likeness of Kenyon and his
wife. While yet a child he supported
the family by the exertions of his ta-
lents, and continued to do so, at Bath,
or in London, till their death in 1797.
Asa very remarkable boy he had been
exceedingly petted by the neighbour-
hood, aid his agreeable manners gained
him admittance into numerous fami-
lies of respectability end distinction.
His career in London was facilitated by
his friends, for, though wholly unknown
to painters and their connections, he
was made an Associate of the Academy
by an act of royal authority, before the

Monthly Review of Literature,

[Juxy,

usual age—a circumstance which pave
occasion to one of Pindar’s happiest hits.
Hoppner’s death left him without a
rival in his own department, and he suc-
ceeded, on that occasion, to the Prince of
Wales’s patronage. In his regency he em-
ployed Lawrence to paint the emperors
on their visit to London, and subse-
quently despatched him to the Congress
at Aix-la-Chapelle to Vienna and Rome,
to paint the rest of the royal personages,
generals, ministers, &c., where he reap-
ed a rich harvest of fame and money.
Never was man more tickled with the
honours showered upon him, or better
paid for his labours—400 guineas a por-
trait, and 1000 guineas for travelling
expenses. On his return he was made
President of the Academy, and con-
tinued, till within a few days of his
death, to paint without intermission,
and at enormous prices. Yet was he
constantly in difficulties about money
matters, the source of which is traced
to liberality, and indifference about his
interests; but with all this the world
has little to do, and as little with his
liaisons, as the biographer calls what he
elsewhere represents as mere platonism.

In the correspondence there is but
little which will bear reading, and still
less relative to his art. Of gossip about
the Great there is abundance. His de-
tails of the domestic life of the Princess
Charlotte have been read by every body,
in the daily and weekly papers; but it
is not every one who can sympathize
with Lawrence’s all but adoration of
the great. The eternal straining after
compliment with his lady correspond-
ents is almost equally oes he is
perpetually mistaking elaborate refine-
ment for gentlemanly ease and polite-
ness and qualities—words for ever at his
pen’s point, as they were at his tongue’s
end. So much of sentiment is thrown
into every thing, that it excites suspi-
cion it existed only upon paper—he
sends his never-dying love to the ladies,
&c. The correspondence, it is said,
very correctly, has been doctored, and
it is certain, the biographer saw nothing
but “ copies,” which is itself a very sus-
picious circumstance. The letters to
Mr. Peel should, in common propriety,
have been suppressed—especially the
begging letters. While obviously think-
ing himself the very pink of courtesy,
he is throwing himself prostrate at the
feet of a patron.

- Dr. Brewster's Optics.—Cabinet Cyclo-
pedia, Vol. XIX.—Dr. Brewster occu-
pies sixty or seventy pages with the
principles of optics, accompanied with
abundance of diograms, to the peremp-
tory exclusion of all mathematics. The
consequence is, that rules are repeatedly
given without reasons; though, if Dr.

|

1831.]

Brewster had presumed on his readers,
but very slight acquaintance with

eometry and proportions, he might

ave readily supplied this serious de-
ficiency; and really nobody, who is
entirely ignorant of these matters, is
likely even to look at the book. The
rest of the volume is taken up with
physical optics—optical phenomena—
and optical instruments. The portion
relative to physical optics is of the
largest extent, and is that in which the
author has given proof of his well known
industry, and extensive acquaintance
with the results of science in every part
of Europe. But the work has obviously
been got up in haste, and every thing
that could be laid hold of, sound and
unsound, has been piled together to fill
it.

For many years in the history of mo-

dern science, the heating power of the
~spectrum was supposed to be in propor-
tion to the quantity of light, and yellow
was declared to carry most heat.. Dr.
Herschel, however, proved, that heat
gradually increased from the violet to
the red, and moreover, that beyond the
red—beyond the limits of the spectrum,
to the extent of an inch and a half, the
heat continued to increase, though no
light was perceptible. Hence he drew
the important conclusion, “ that there
were invisible rays in the light of the
sun, which had the power of producing
heat, and which had a less degree of re-
frangibility than red light’’—or, in other
ss that there were such things as
calorific rays, distinct from those of co-
lour. ‘Thencame M. Berard, of Mont-
pelier, who also proved, that the maxi-
mum heat was at the extremity of the
red; and though he did not quite deny
the presence of heat beyond the spec-
trum, he affirmed it was not more than
one-fifth above that of the ambient air.
Next we had Sir Humphrey, who con-
trived to confirm Dr. Herschel’s ac-
count, announcing, at the same time,
that the cause of M. Berard’s conflicting
conclusion, was assignable to his using
thermometers with circular bulbs, and
of a larger size ;—but did that settie the
question or prove any thing, but that
these experimentalists found different
results under different circumstances ?
But finally comes M. Serbeck, who
proves—they all prove—that after all,
the point of maximum heat depends on
the material of the prism—one of water
gives, yellow—one of a solution of sal-
ammoniac, orange—one of crown or
plate glass, red—while flint glass alone
carries it beyond the red. And this is
science.

The magnetizing power of the violet
rays has often been alluded to within
the last twenty years. Dr. Marichini first
announced the fact, and exhibited the ef-

Domestic and Foreign.

95

fect before Sir Humphry, Professor Play-
fair, and other English philosophers, to
theirentire satisfaction we believe. Other
philosophers, not English, and among
them M. Berard, with all his efforts,
could make nothing of the violet rays
and the needles, and the fact, in con-
sequence, fell into discredit. Not long
ago Mrs. Somerville revived the preten-
sions and the credit of the violet rays,
and even associated to the same honours,
the indigo, blue and green ;—and sub-
sequently Baumgartner, of Vienna, and
Christie, of Woolwich, found out that
the whole assemblage of the rays, or the
combined power of the whole spectrum,
performed wonders in the same way, far
surpassing those of the violet, green,
indigo, or blue. A loadstone, which car-
ried a pound and a half when exposed to
the full light of the sun, was speedily
made to carry double. But after all,
notwithstanding these experiments and
proofs, Messrs. Reiss and Moser, after
a series of what Dr. Brewster charac-
terizes as well-conducted experiments,
can make the rays of light, neither sepa-
rate nor combined, magnetize at all; and
they consider themselves fully warrant-
ed in “rejecting totally a discovery
which, for seventeen years has, at dif-
ferent times, disturbed science.” And
allis, notwithstanding, still to be called
science, and pre-eminently Sc1ENCE,

Botanical Miscellany, by William Jack-
son Hooker. L.L.D., Regius Professor of
Botany in the University of Glasgow. Part
V.—This is a quarterly publication,
which has not fallen into our hands be-
fore. It takes a handsome and imposing
shape, and appears to be respectably got
up in every branch of its execution. .
The conductor seems to be in corre.
spondence with men of science—medical
men—in India, and in every other quar-
ter of the world. The contents of the
fasciculus before us, consist of biogra-
phical sketches of deceased botanists—
communications from different quarters
at home and abroad—with botanical ex-
cursions by residents in both Indies, ac-
companied by twenty figures of plants,
in outlines slightly shaded, and ten
others, of a quarto size, of Indian plants,
well coloured. Among the biographical
notices, is one of a Captain Dugald Car-
michael, who seems to have spent the
prime of his life at the Cape, and on his
return home to have settled on the Ar-
gyle coast. ‘ He complained,” says the
writer, “of the difficulty of getting ac-
cess to booksin his retired place of abode ;
but when I urged him to come and live
in the neighbourhood of Glasgow, his
answer invariably was—‘ how should I
live without the woods and mountains
and deep dells which afford me fungi;
on the rocky beach, that yields me such

96

an infinite variety of amusement in the
curious Algz, among which I am_daily
discovering something new?” Well!
were it not for such men the knowledge
of nature would make but slow way.

Thaddeus of Warsaw—Standard No-
vels. Vol. IV.—It is now thirty years
since Miss Jane Porter published her
Thaddeus of Warsaw—the first of the
class of biographical romances which Sir
Walter Scott has since brought into
such fashion and repute, and in which,
she observes, he had done her the ho-
nour to adopt her precedent. In her
turn she is delighted to fullow his ex-
ample, in communicating to the world
allit is desirous to know of a writer’s
views, when first framing these par-
ticular fictions. Her interest in favour
of the Poles was first raised by seeing
numbers of the refugees, after the last

artition of Poland, roaming forlornly in

t. James’s Park. Some years after,
when Kosciusko was released by Paul of
Russia, and came to London in his way
to America, Miss Porter’s brother was
introduced to him, and thus he became
the topic of family talk; and finally,
when she took to writing, the hero of
the young lady’s romance. Mrs. Rad-
cliffe ate raw steaks to stir her imagina-
tion, and Schiller hung his room with
black drapery, and wrote by the glimmer
of a farthing rush-light ;—while Miss
Porter worked away in her brother’s
study or painting room, in which was
suspended Abercombie’s ‘* war-dyed
coat,” and the waistcoat, bullet-torn, of
some other commander, to give intensity
to the strokes with which she dashed otf
the campaigns of Thaddeus Sobieski.

Henry Pestalozzi—his Life and Writ-
ings, by Dr. Biber.—Whatever may have
been Dr. Biber’s intentions or anticipa-
tions, it is obvious his biography is little
calculated to elevate our conceptions of
the qualities or the merits of Pestalozzi,
save only as to kind and generous feel-
ing and irrepressible resolve. Many of

his cotemporaries considered him as half”

crazy, and Dr. Biber scarcely wishes his
readers to think him otherwise. Judg-
ing of him by the Doctor's representa-
tions, Pestalozzi had but ‘ one idea,”
and that one not very strictly defined—
certainly in none of its details. From
the beginning to the end, a period of
sixty years, he went stumbling, but still
struggling on, and was finally indebted
to others for making out his meaning,
and aiding him in reducing the matter
to practice. He never, perhaps, had a
precise view of his object, nor could con-
ceive any definite means of realizing it—
neither philosophy to generalize, nor
language to develoye his purpose. He
found out very early that writers were
perpetually talking of what they knew

Monthly Review of Literature,

[Juuy,

little or nothing, and, in disgust, but
with no discretion, threw all his books
aside. He read nothing for thirty years.
Words were only calculated to mislead,
and he would have nothing to do thence-
forth with aught but things. Education
was wholly occupied with words, and
therefore, education must be reformed or
rather revolutionized, and he must be
the agent. Lite was accordingly con-
sumed in impotent, but persevering
efforts to effect a change in national
education, while he had no definite
views of the mode in which such an
effect was to be brought about. With
the true spirit of a German, every thing
teachable seemed to him capable of be-
ing reduced to sound, form, and num-
ber; and ears, eyes and fingers were
accordingly the proper instruments of
education—in communicating and re-
ceiving. All abstractions were renounced
as mere words incapable of being coupled
with things, and so unidentifiable with
their objects.

There can be no doubt, in any sane
person’s mind, but the instrumentality
of the senses has been too much neglected,
but never was it wholly. so, as Pesta-
lozzi and his friends would have the
world believe. There never yet was a
teacher of any fitness for his office who
did not tax his pupil’s senses to aid his
mental conceptions. Nay, every old
dame who required a child to tell her
how many two and three made, directed
him, if there was any hesitation, to
count his fingers, and thus gave him
precise ideas of numbers—and what in
principle has Pestalozzi done more ?

Pestalozzi was born in Switzerland
(1745), the son of a physician, and was
himself destined for the church; but
failing in his preliminary excreises, and
quesrelling with his books, he took to
arming. No sooner was he in posses-
sion of his little property than he re-
solved to couple his new profession with
his new views of the necessities of edu-
cation, For this purpose he collected
some fifty children among his poor
neighbours, and set to work to instruct
them and cultivate his farm by the same
act—with an utter indifference as to
any results but the improvement of his
praise és in practical knowledge. He
nimself knew nothing in fact of farming,
and it is no wonder that the scheme,
with all its benevolence, ended in com-
pleting the ruin of his property ; never-
theless he had the gratification of essen-
tially awakening and rousing the intel-
lects of a considerable number of poor
forlorn lads, in the interval between
1775 and 1790; and of promoting ex-
tensively kind thoughts, tr the children
were all delighted with one who en-
tered so warmly into their feelings, and
gave himself so completely up to them.

1831.]

Disappointed as he was, he never des-
paired, and successively, at Stantz,
Burgdorff, and finally at Yverdun, he
was enabled, sometimes by the govern-
ment, and sometinies by private friends,
to resume his attermpts. They all, how-
ever, terminated in the same results;
he was incapable of comprehending the
relation between receipt and expendi-
ture, or at least of being influenced by
it. Confusion soon found its way into
his establishments, and he repeatedly
became the dupe and victim of treache-
rous assistants, till death finally over-
took him in 1827, embittered by annoy-
ance and mortification.

AfterDr. Biber’s sketch of Pestalozzi’s
life, he reviews his literary works, and
attempts to explain the process by which
he and his coadjutors endeavoured to
realize their purposes in several branches
of instruction. But Dr. Biber rarely
succeeds in giving distinct views, and
the reader will often find himself, after
looking through avery fatiguing book, but
little the wiser. Dr. Biber writes Eng-
lish very well in a certain style, but he
is never easy or idiomatic—no foreigner
can be—and to this must be ascribed
much of the mistiness which hangs over
tie whole. Then he reasons one to
death too. At the same time, too, he
has formed far higher notions of the
value of education, in all cases, and of

_ Pestalozzi’s principles, than we think
her deserves. It is clear tous, he,
li

any others, considers the subject
too narrowly and artificially, or he and
they would ascribe more force to the
imitative principles of children, and the
natural activity and growth of the intel-
lect. All need not, and is not, to be
done by teaching. We never knew the
children of active-minded people—with
the means of knowledge at hand—fail of
making large acquisitions, though left a
good deal to their own caprices.

We extract a comparison of Fellen-
berg and Pestalozzi’s views, which we
find are often confounded :—

Fellenberg was endeavouring to trace
out the shortest and most efficient way
for rendering his pupils fit members of
society ; his education was essentially
an education for the world; every child
was placed in his establishment, exactly
in that rank in which he would have to
appear hereafter in life (that is, such was
the profession, and such might be the
aim, but as impracticable manifestly
as leaping over the moon) ; his occupa-
tions, his instruction, his mode of living,
every thing was calculated to prepare
him for his social position. Pestalozzi’s
object, on the contrary, was by the most
direct, and the most simple, though it
might be the slowest course, to foster
the internal growth of the intellectual
and moral man—to the claims of the

M.M. New Series,—V ou. X11. No.67,

Domestic and Foreign.

97

world he turned a deaf ear—he asked not
for what society, but for what God had
destined the child—his education was
essentially an education in’reference to
the purpose of God, for the accomplish-
ment of his will and law in human na-
ture—and the position of each pupil in
his establishment was accordingly found-
ed, not upon the artificial institutions of
society, but upon a spirit of freedom and
brotherly love.

The Twelve Nights.—A dozen tales, most
or all of which have appeared in periodi-
cals, and are thought, of course, by the
author, to deserve something more than a
month’s immortality. They are mere
incidents, but detailed with considerable
skill, and some simplicity, and will while
away an hour or two agreeably enough
with those who have not had the luck
to read them before, or, having read,
to remember them. [It is unfortunate
for collections of this kind, that the par-
ties into whose hands they usually fall,
are precisely those who are most fami-
liar with periodicals. One of the stories,
it is entitled “* Tales of the Dead,” has
something quite original in its concep-
tion. Ina party, accidentally collected,
one has been hanged and resuscitated —
a second, drowned and brought to life
again—a third, impaled for breaking into
the Grand Seignior’s seraglio, and re-
leased by the slipping off of the weights
attached to his legs, after the torture of
a day or two. After the first horrors,
these gentlemen represent their sensa-
tions to have been quite enviable ; when
up rises, as promptly and lightly as he
was able, a tat Abbé, exclaiming, ‘“* Gen-
tlemen, you talk this matter well; but
if I were to describe the fate which I
once narrowly escaped—if'you could only
for an hour or two experience the hor-
rors of a surfeit, you would speak in
more respectful terms of the grim kin
of terrors. Death has many doors—a
of them, in my opinion, disagreeable
enough; but, take my word for it, it is
no joke to be despatched into eternity by
an indigestible Strasburg pie.”

Reasons for the Hope that isin Us, &c.,
by Robert Ainslie, W. S., Author of a
“ Father’s Gift to his Children.”—A
glance at the evidences of natural and
revealed religion, written originally for
the benefit of the author’s family, and
enlarged and published for that of the
world. Epitomes of this kind are of use
at least to the individual himself, be-
cause he must of necessity examine, and
define and discuss, as he goes, which is
not the case always when a nan merely
reads; and useful also occasionally to
his family and friends, because they will
often lend attention to what would
otherwise be passed by with indifference,

when it comes from one who is dear to
O

98

them. Few men, to be sure, are pro-
hets at home, but a writer usually en-
ists family vanity in his favour, and
papa’s book will be read because some
credit is thought to be reflected on his
children. But here such things should
stop, and certainly not be printed and
published, Respectable as Mr. Ainslie’s
book is, it adds nothing to the stock of in-
formation on the matter, and is there-
fore superfluous. The able “ Writer of
the Signet” presumes too much on his
professional skill in describing the de-
tails of evidence, and considers himself
entitled to attention specifically on this
ground. A little self-deception is the
commonest thing in the world; and it
was no doubt easy for the author to be-
lieve that Paley and Chalmers would
have done better had they been lawyers
as well as divines. Certainly Mr. Ains-
lie has not exhibited his legal advantages
in a very favourable view; and it is
pretty clear that sound sense and saga-
city, employed independently, must be
of more service in matters of this kind
than the acumen of the courts—where
men are engaged not in exhibiting truth,
but in detecting one set of errors and
establishing another. At all events
truth is not the object, but the carrying
of the cause. We are quite satisfied
that much of the evidence which this
gentleman here admitsand urges without
scruple, would have been rejected by
him in a court of justice, had he been
judge, juryman, attorney, or opposing
counsel,

Comparing the state of religious sen-
timents among the heathens with those
of Jews and Christians, he quotes Agrip-

a’s declaration to the senate, ‘* that the
Gods themselves must submit to fate,”
as if such a declaration in such a place,
and on sueh an occasion, were to be
taken as the cool measure of his own
sentiments, or even of that of the ma-
jority of those who heard it. Pliny,
again, describing the consternation oc-
casioned by the explosions of Ve-
suvius, says, ‘ they made people
think that gods and men were perishing
if one common ruin,” as if this were any
thing but a rhetorical flourish, to be
matched by scores of passages of pre-
cisely similar import from half the chris-
tian poets extant, without impeaching
the spirituality of their conceptions.

The Young Duke, by the Author of
“ Vivian Grey ;” 3 vols. 12mo.—Young
D’Israeli, already well known by his
Vivian Grey, is a very clever fellow,
who, with considerable knowledge, with
asharp eye and ready wit, with a happy
tact at seizing the ludicrous and eccen-
tric,-with great power of describing,
with abundance of language to paint not
only the visible, but the metaphysical,

Monthly Review of Liierature,

[Juty,

reasons, and generalizes and speculates,
as the whim takes him; now likea phi-
losopher, and now, where we like him
better, like a poet, and now and then
also, must we say, like—a puppy ? The
new story is nothing—the virtue is all
in the manner—it is that of a Young
Duke, who, coming into possession of
prodigious wealth, accumulated by along
minority, dashes into all sorts of extra-
vagance—takes the lead wherever he goes
—successfully partakes of every folly,
and exhausts every source of Please
till he gets hampered and embarrassed,
and is brought to consideration partly by
the difficulties into which he has thus
thrown himself, partly by the weariness
of his feelings, and partly by a pair of
bright eyes. There are few of the
scenes which are not recognizable by a
person familiar with London life ; every
where, such an one might say, the
author is alluding to so and so, or he has
such and such an one in his eye. Par-
ticular scenes are worked up with great
skill and force, and abused and ridiculed
as the author has been, we stake our
critical reputation upon the gaming
scene, beginning page 66, vol. iii. which
cannot be clipt, and never, in its way,
was surpassed. We have no space for
the extract—it is a choice morsel.

Spain in 1830, by Henry D. Inglis,—
heretofore known by the nom-de-querre of
Derwent Conway, ‘2 vols. 8vo.—Its supe-
riority as a book of travels is obvious at
the first glance, and we can assure the
reader he wiil reap much valuable in-
formation as to the actual condition of
Spain, both political and domestic. Mr.
Inglis is not content with merely record-
ing what chance throws in his way, nor
does he scamper over the country post-
haste, but takes time—inquires, com-
pares, digests, and in the results com-
municates more real knowledge of Spain
in a few pages than many travellers in a
volume. The “‘ Young American’s” was
not a bad book, but will not bear com-
parison with Mr. Inglis’s ; and as to Sir
Arthur Brooke’s, though written plea-
santly enough, it tells of little but his
personal adventures, which were scarcely
worth the telling. Except the north-
west of Spain, Mr. Inglis has visited all
the more remarkable parts of the coun-
try. Entering Spain from France, in
the month of May, he spent two or three
weeks first at Bilboa, and then proceeded
to Madrid, where he passed the summer,
making occasional excursions to the Es-
curial, Segovia, Toledo, &c. On the ap-
proach of autumn he set out for Cordova,
and yisiting successively Seville, Xeres,
Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malaga, Granada,
Murcia, Alicant, Valentia, by the close
of the year reached Barcelona—finis char-
teque vieque—for there -he ends his tra-

1831.7

vels, and writes his book. Within a few
months Mr. I. has thus contemplated all
the most interesting portions of Spain,
especially of the south, and in no book of
travels will readers find the character of
the Spaniards better described, or the
condition and circumstances of the peo-
ple, in the different and even dissimilar
parts of the country, more satisfactorily
detailed. The north, and centre, and
south of Spain are strikingly distin-
guished from each other; they are in-
deed three separate nations, with few
qualities in common among them. Mr.
Inglis’s attention is closely drawn to the
political state of the country, and his an-
ticipations of any advance towards a con-
stitutional government are very far from
encouraging. The government is in
much greater danger of falling into the
hands of the Absolutists. ‘The Basque
provinces are already comparatively free
—they have their political privileges,
and trouble themselves little about the
matter—while the south, from indolence
or ignorance, care nothing about free-
dom, and will not wag a finger to pro-
mote it.

“ T left England,” says Mr. I., “in
the belief that there existed in Spain
two great parties—the constitutionalists
and the adherents of the government ;
the latter, indeed, somewhat divided,
and comprising many shades of opinion,
ranging from absolutism toa point some-
where between that and moderation.
But this estimate I discovered to be very
erroneous. JI found three parties in
Spain—the absolutists, there denomi-
nated Carlists; the government party,
there called the moderate party ; and the
liberals. The most influential of these
parties is, beyond all question, the first.
Reckoning the total population of Spain,
this party is by far the most numerous ;
it comprises the great mass of the lower
orders throughout Spain; and in many

arts almost the whole population, as in

‘oledo, the towns and villages of the
Castiles, and the provinces of Murcia
and Catalonia, It comprises, with few
exceptions, the 130,000 friars, and a
great majority of the clergy, and it com-
prises a considerable proportion of the
military, both officers and privates, but
chiefly the former. With such compo-
nents, it is evident that this party does
not depend for its power solely upon its
numerical superiority. The wealth of
the church and the convents is immense.
This party is devoted to Carlos, the
king’s brother, and chiefly because he is
considered to be a man of more firmness,
and more to be relied upon in case of a
struggle than the king.

“In point of numbers the liberals
come next, better known in Kengland as
constitutionalists. But if, by this party,
says Mr. 1., be meant those who desire

Domestic and Foreign.

99

a return to the constitution of 1820, or
who would be satisfied to leave the set-
tlement of the government to an army
of refugees, there is no such party in
Spain ; but if, by the liberal party, we
are to understand those who perceive
the vices of the present government, and
who dread still more the ascendancy of
the Carlists, those who view with satis-
faction the progress of enlightened opi-
nions in politics and in religion, and who
desire earnestly that Spain should be
gradually assimilated in hee institutions
with the other civilized nations of Eu-
rope, then the liberal party comprises
the principal intelligence of the country,
and subtracting from the population the
lowest orders, the employées, the friars,
and the priests, it possesses a great nu-
merical majority. In any other country
than Spain, this party would wield an
influence to which its numerical strength
would not entitle it; but in Spain, the
light of intellect spreads but a little
way; for it has to struggle with the
thick mists of ignorance and supersti.
tion ; and when we say that the liberal
party comprises nearly all the intelli-
gence of the country, it must be remem-
bered, that intelligence is but scantily
sprinkled over the face of Spain; and
that, therefore, enlightened Spain and en-
lightened England ought to convey very
different ideas of numerical strength.

“With respect to the adherents of
the existing government, it is a curious
fact,” adds Mr. I., “that they should be
the fewest; yet this is certainly the
truth. With the exception of perhaps
the majority of the employées, a part of
the regular clergy (meaning the secular
clergy), and the greater part of the army,
its friends are very thinly scattered ; and
its influence scarcely extends beyond the
sphere of its actual benefits. Its patron-
ae has been greatly circumscribed since
the loss of the Americas; its lucrative
appointments are centred in a few; and
above all, its power and patronage are
held by so uncertain a tenure, that few,
excepting those in the actual enjoyment
of office, feel any assurance that their
interests lie in supporting that which
seems to hang together almost by a mi-
racle, ;

“ The Spanish government will fall by
its weakness, rather than by its vices—
it is the prospect of a stronger, not of a
more virtuous government, that excites
the exertions of the Carlists. The mass
of the population of Spain take little
heed oft: the vices of the government,
and are entirely indifferent about poli.
tical privileges. The Basque provinces,
which are the most enlightened, have
little to complain of, for they enjoy a
multitude of privileges and exemptions,
which are well defined and jealously
rll ;—and as for the Spaniard of

9

-

100

the southern provinces, give him his
shade in summer, and his sunshine in
winter, his tobacco, his melon, his dates,
his bread, and his wine—give hima hole
te creep into, and put him within sound
of a convent bell, and he asks no more;
or if you rise a degree or two in society,
and speak of the respectable peasant,
then give him his embroidered jacket,
his tasselled hat, his guitar, and his naja
(sweetheart), and it is matter of indif-
ference to him whether Spain be ruled
by a Caligula or a Titus.”

The Gardens and Menagerie of the
Zoological Society Delineated ; 2 vols. 8vo.
—These very handsome volumes com-
prise descriptions and figures of about
sixty or seventy quadrupeds, and as

Monthly Review of Literature—Fine Arts.

[Juny,

many birds, all taken from ‘living speci-
mens in the Gardens and Menagerie of
the Zoological Society. The engravings
are chiefly by Branston and Wright,
from drawings by Harvey, all deli-
neated in excellent taste, and executed
with great delicacy and effect. The
ornamental part naturally first arrests
the eye; but the descriptions, by Mr.
Bennett, who holds some office in the
institution, are deserving of the highest
commendation, for the general sobriety
of the performance. Every thing of
doubtful authority is rejected, and many
absurd impressions relative to the habits
and powers of animals are corrected.
As the Society’s stock accumulates, we
shall be glad to see more of these vo-
lumes—nothing can be better.

FINE ARTS’ PUBLICATIONS.

Every thing that relates to water, is
supposed to find especial favour in the
eyes of our present sovereign ; and, ac-
cordingly, we have here, dedicated to
him, the two first parts of a new work
in quarto, called the Watering Places of
Great Britain, illustrated with views of
all the places of resort in the united
kingdom, engraved by Allen, Rogers,
&c., from designs by Turner, Stanfield,
Cox, Bartlett, Gastineau, and others.
The work is well projected, and the
specimens before us give promise of a
successful issue. They comprise sub-
jects that have long been matters of no
common periodical interest to all the
London world at least; and we dare
say that there are thousands who will
turn over these prints with the most
animating and delightful recollections
of the sunny spots and pleasant places
they have so often visited. They are
like portraits of our old friends; and
will captivate many eyes that would be
utterly insensible to the beauties of
Grecian architecture or Indian scenery,
not because the views are more pic-
turesque, but because they are more
familiar, and have been the scenes of

ersonal enjoyment. For ourselves we
have hardly made up our minds which
is best—to take a trip to some of these

enchanted resorts here delineated, or to
stay quietly at home and contemplate
their attractions engraved upon steel.
The pictures are, at all events, quite
equal to the places—superior in some
respects ; for we see them from the best
point and to the best advantage—the
weather looks fine in all of them—the
people seem not at all fatigued and hor-
ror-stricken at the expenses, as the
always do in the originals; and, accord-
ingly, Brighton looks in all its aspects
much more inviting than it really is.
The views are, in addition to a vignette
of Ramsgate Harbour—Brighton Chain-
Pier — Sherborne Spa, Cheltenham —
Worthing—Broadstairs—Pavilion, Sta-
tue and Church, Brighton—and Mar-
ate Pier and Harbour. The literary
epartment consists of a history of
Brighton given at considerable length,
and well written, comprising every
thing the visitor can wish to know con-
cerning its ancient state and present
prosperity, an account of its population,
buildings, and embellishments ; besides
a fashionable directory, and a guide to
the best hotels, boarding-houses, and
baths—so that the world will, hencefor-

ward, be without an excuse for not pay-

ing a visit to ascene that comprises so
many attractions.

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PRESS.

By Allan Cunningham: the Fifth
Volume of his Lives of the British
Painters and Sculptors.

By Charles Severn: the First Lines
of the Practice of Midwifery, with Re-
marks on the evidence required in cases
of Foeticide and Infanticide.

By Professor Lee: the long-expected
Prolegomena, a translation of the New

Testament into Hebrew, printed with
the Points. Other editions of the
same :—Hebrew and English, Hebrew
and Greek, Hebrew and German, and
Hebrew and French.

By F. W. N. Bayley: a Series of
Tales, describing some of the principal
Events that have taken place at Paris,
Brussells, and Warsaw, during the late
Revolution.

1831.]
LIST OF NEW WORKS.

BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

Life and Writings of Henry Pestal-
ozzi. By Dr. Biber. 8vo. 14s.

Lives of Actors. By John Galt.
2vols. 8vo. 2ls.

Marshal’s Naval Biography, Supple-
ment. Vol. U1. Part 1. 8vo. 15s.

Dr. Lardner’s Cabinet Library. Vol. V.
being Life and Reign of George IV.
3 pals Vol. II. small 8vo. 5s.

Researches into the Nature and Affi-
nity of Ancient and Hindoo Mythology.
By Lieut.-Col. Vans Kennedy of the
Bombay Military Establishment. 4to.
£2. 12s. 6d.

Lockinge’s Historical Gleanings of
Naseby Field. «post 8vo. 7s.

The History of Poland from the
Farliest Period to the Present Time.
By James Fletcher, Esq. 6vo. 14s.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Ornithological Dictionary of British
Birds. By Col. G. Montague. Second
Edition. By James Rennie. 8vo. 21s.

Letters toa Young Naturalist on the
Study of Nature and Natural Theology.

By James Drummond, M.D. 12mo.
10s. 6d.

Wilson’s American Ornithology.
Vol. I. 18mo. 3s. 6d.

A System of Geology; with a Theory
of the Earth, and an Explanation of its
Connection with the Sacred Records.
By John Macculloch, M.D., F.R.S.
2vols, 8vo. £1. 12s.

De Luc’s Letters on Geology. 8vo.
12s.

National Library. Vol. X. Thomson’s
History of Chemistry. Vol. II. 6s.

Lardner’s Cyclopedia. Vol. XIX.
A Treatise on Optics. By Dr. Brews-
ter. 6s.

Patrick’s Indigenous Plants of Lanark-
shire. 18mo. 6s.

A Synopsis of the Origin and Pro-
gress of Architecture. By W.L. Smith.
bvo. 12s. 6d.

Beale’s Observations on Distortions of
the Spine. 8vo. 5s.

Landseer’s (Thos.) Ten Etchings,
illustrative of the Devil’s Walk. Half-
bound roan, imperial 4to. Prints 1lés.;
colombier 4to. Proofs £1. 1s.

Price’s Practice in the Exchequer of
Pleas. 8vo. 14s.

An Essay on the Origin and Pros-
pects of Man. By Thos. Hope, Esq.
3 vols. 8vo, 36s.

Introductory Lectures on Political
Economy, being part of a course deliver-
ed in Easter Term, 1831. By Richard
Wheatley. 8vo. 7s.

Kidd's Picturesque River Companion
to Margate. Is. 6d.

An Alphabetical Index of all the
Names contained in a New General
Atlas, engraved by Sidney Hall; with

List of New Works.

101

References to the Number of the Maps,
and the Latitude and Longitude in
which the Places are to be found. Royal
8vo. 21s.

Spain in 1830. By H. D. Inglis,
Author of “ Solitary Walks through
many Lands.” 2 vols. 8vo. 26s.

Sir Edward Seaward’s Narrative of
his Shipwreck. Edited by Miss Jane
Porter. 3 vols. post 8vo. £1. 11s. 6d.

Journal of a Residence at the Courts
of Germany, in 1822, 1825, and 1826.
By William Beattie, M.D. 2 vols. 8vo.
| BOLIC

Odds and Ends; in Verse and Prose.
By W. H. Merle. Illustrated by G.
Cruikshank, from Designs by the Au-
thor. 8vo. 8s.

NOVELS AND TALES.

Philip Augustus. By the Author of
“ Darnley.” 3vols. £1. Ils. 6d.

Arthur of Britanny. By the Author
of “ The Templars.” 3 vols. post 8vo.
£1. 11s. 6d.

Pin Money. A Novel. By the Au-
thor of “* Manners of the Day.” 3 vols.
£1. 11s. 6d.

Jacqueline of Holland. By T. C.
Grattan. 3 vols. post 8vo. £1. 11s. 6d.

Ivan Vejeeghan, or Life in Russia. A
Novel. 2vols. 10s.

Standard Novels. Vol. IV. Thad-
deus of Warsaw. 6s.

The Cabinet for Youth; containing
Narratives, Sketches, and Anecdotes, for
the Instruction and Amusement of
Youth. By the Authors of ‘“* The Odd
Volume.” 8yo. 4s. 6d.

POETRY.

Select Works of the British Poets,
from Chaucer to Jonson; with Bio-

aphical Sketches. By Robert Southey,

L.D. 8yvo. 30s.

Selection from the Poems of Wm,
Wordsworth. 12mo. 5s.

Family Library. Vols. V. and VI.
Dramatic Series—being Ford’s Works.
2 vols. 18mo. 10s.

A History of English Dramatic Poetry
to the Time of Shakspeare, with Annals
of the Stage, and an Account of 'Thea-
tres to the Restoration. By John Payne
Collier. 3 vols. post 8vo. £1. lls. 6d.

RELIGIOUS.

The Works of the Rev. Robert Haw-
ker, D.D., with his Memoir. By the
Rev. Dr. Williams. 10 vols. 8vo. £6. Gs.
royal paper £12. 12s.

Sermons. By the Rev. J. Rose.
Preached at Cambridge in 1830-31.
8vo. 7s. ;

An Essay shewing the Intimate Con-
nection between our Notions of Moral
Good and Evil, and our Conceptions of
the Freedom of the Divine and Human
Wills. By Robert Blakey. 8vo. 7s.

Pulpit Oratory in the Times of James
the First. By the Rey. L. Bloom.
8vo. 10s.

102

Dangers and Duties of a Christian.
By the Rev. Erskine Neale. 8vo. 6s.

D. A. Thomson’s Sermons and Sacra-
mental Exhortations. 8vo. 12s.

A Text Book of Popery: comprising
a brief history of the Council of Trent,
a Translation of its doctrinal Decrees,
and copious Extracts from the Catechism
published by its authority ; with Notes
and Illustrations. By J. M. Cramp.
12mo. 6s.

Ritchie’s Lectures on the Epistle to
the Romans. 8yo. 18s.

List of New Works.

[Juy,

Daily Communings, Spiritual and
Devotional. By Bishop Horne. Ina
small pocket volume. © 2s. f

A Father’s Recollections of Three
Pious Young Ladies; his Sermons at
their Funeral; and a Poem to their
Memory, illustrating the Love of Guar-
dian Angels. By a Clergyman. 12mo.
5s.

Oriental Customs applied to the Ilus-
tration of the Sacred Scriptures. By
Samuel Burder, M.A. 12mo. 8s. Gd.

Maitland on the Romans. 8vo. 10s. 6d.

BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIRS OF EMINENT PERSONS.

SIMON BOLIVAR.

Simon Bolivar, the celebrated Libe-
rator of South America, was born in the
city of Caraccas, on the 25th of July,
1783. His parentage was noble, both his
father and mother having been mantua-
nos—a title appropriated to families of
rich birth. Though, perhaps, a little
out of order, we will, before we proceed
to sketch the career of this extraordi-
nary man, present a portrait of his per-
son, mind, and manners, from the pen of
the English general, Miller, in the war
of liberation—“* The person of General
Bolivar is thin, and somewhat below the
middle size. He dresses in good taste,
and has an easy military walk. Heisa
very bold rider, and capable of. under-
going great fatigue. His manners are
good, and his address unaffected. It is
said that, in his youth, he was handsome
(he has now had some years of war, and
patriot anxieties, to rob him of that least
among many charms). His complexion
is sallow ; his hair, originally very black,
is now mixed with grey. His eyes are
dark and penetrating, but generally
downcast, or turned askance, when he
speaks ; his nose is well formed ; his fore-
head high and broad; the lower part of
his face is sharp; the expression of his
countenance is care-worn. His mind is
of the most active description. When
not stirringiy employed, he is always
reading, dictating letters, or conversing.
His voice is loud and harsh; but he
speaks eloquently on all subjects. He
entertains munificently, but is himself
very abstemious. Disinterested in the
extreme with regard to pecuniary af-
fairs, he is insatiably coyetous of fame.
Bolivar invariably speaks of England,
her institutions, and he? great men, in
terms of admiration. He often dwells
with great warmth upon the constancy,
fidelty, and sterling merit of the Eng-
glish officers who have served in the
cause of South American independence,
under every varying event of the war.
As a collateral prod of his predilection

towards England, he has always had
upon his personal staff a number of Bri-
tish subjects.”

At the age of fourteen, young Bolivar
was sent to Spain to be educated; and,
when he had completed his studies there,
he went to Paris, where he is said to
have resisted few of the temptations
which beset a rich young man in the cir-
cles of that gay capital. However, in
all the best societies, he was much no-
ticed for his talents, learning, and know-
ledge of the world. He contracted an
intimacy with Humboldt and Bouplond,
travelled with them for some time;
and successively visited England, Italy,
Switzerland, and a large part of Ger-
many, to make himself acquainted with
their customs, and the character of man.
In 1802, just after he had completed his
nineteenth year, he returned to Madrid,
to take leave of his personal friends, pre-
viously to his setting off for his native
land. There, however, he found his
affections were strongly engaged to the
lovely daughter of the Marquis de Us-
toriz de Cro (or, according to a dif:
ferent account, of Don Bernando del
Toro, uncle to the present Marquis of
that name), that, unable to tear himself
from her, the young lady’s father yield-
ed to the solicitations of the lovers, and
consented to their immediate union. 'The
lady has been described as a most beauti-
ful and captivating creature, possessing
a sweetness and dignity of deportment
that attracted every heart. Bolivar bore
off his bride to his paternal country,
where a noble fortune, his hereditary pa-
trimony, awaited him, and a family of
attached relatives to bid her welcome.
Short, alas! was the period of his hap-
piness. Within a twelvemonth, the lady,
who was only sixteen at the time of her
marriage, died. The bereaved husband
was almost frantic with grief; but the
ages of his countrymen, the Spa-
nish viceroys, had rendered their yoke
too heavy to be borne ; and, rallying at
the general cry, Bolivar ‘“* exchanged
his mourning weeds for brazed steel,”

1831.]

and yielded all the ardour of his heart to
the duties of patriotism.

Arriving at Venezuela, he was ap-
pointed a colonel in the service of the
‘newly-established republic, and was sent
to London on an important mission, the
expense of which he himself defrayed.
On his return, Miranda gave him the
command at Puerto Cabello; but the
Spanish prisoners having risen and seized
the fort, he was obliged to evacuate the
town, and proceed by sea to Caraccas.

When Miranda had capitulated with
Monteverde, and resistance seemed to
be at an end in Venezuela, Bolivar re-
tired to Curagoa, where he formed a con-
nection with Brion, by which he pro-
cured maritime co-operation. His ser-
vices were now tendered to, and ac-
cepted by, the congress of New Gre-
nada ; and, finding that the Venezuelans
were once more disposed to cast off the
Spanish yoke, he obtained from the con-
gress a body of 600 men, with which, in
1813, he penetrated across the Andes
into Venezuela. ‘There, after several
sanguinary actions, he succeeded in
wresting from the enemy the whole of
that province, excepting the parts of La
Guyra and Puerta Cabello, in the latter
of which Monteverde defended himself
with the most determined obstinacy.

It was in this campaign that the guerra
a muerta, or war of extermination, began,
in consequence of the Spaniards having
put to death some of their prisoners.
‘The Spanish domination would now have
been annihilated, had not Monteverde
succeeded in arming the slaves, and
spread insurrection over the whole face
of the country, which was remorselessly
ravaged with fire and sword.

Bolivar, who had been declared Dic-
tator of Venezuela, now marched against
these new enemies, and would probably
have destroyed them, and suffered him-
self to be defeated in a decisive engage-
ment. Amongst the republicans, dis-
trust and disunion ensued, and the
royalist achieved an unqualified tri-

oe

olivar again retired to New Grenada,
and served two years under the banners
of the congress. In 1815, when the

Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Persons.

103

Spanish troops, under Morillo, reached
the South American coast, he threw
himself into Carthagena, which he de-
fended till resistance became hopeless.
With part of his army he then cut his
way through the besiegers, and retired
to St. Domingo.

Not yet, however, was the spirit of
resistance crushed. Arismondi drove
the Spaniards from the island of Mar-
garita, and Bolivar arrived there with
his forces, which he had recruited at
Aux-cayes, and was soon joined by Brion.
With him he made some attempts on
the coasts of Caraccas and New Grenada,
ascended the Orinoco, and secured An-
gostura, the capital of Spanish Guyana.
‘There Bolivar increased his strength by
means of volunteers from Europe, and
prepared to commence another struggle
with Morillo. In 1817, he ascended the
river Apure, and penetrated into Car-
accas, as far as Calabozo; but, after se-
veral hard fought battles, he was de-
feated near Ortin, and compelled to
return to Angostura.

Yet undismayed, Bolivar changed his
plan, embarked the whole of his forces,
ascended the Orinoco and the Meta, and
thus penetrated into New Grenada, and
made himself master of Santa Fé, the
capital, in August, 1819. This master-
stroke of policy as well as of arms, was
decisive. Joined by numbers, he had
the resources of an extensive country
under his command, and Morillo in vain
endeavoured to stop his progress. T'o-
wards the close of 1820, that chief was
compelled to conclude an armistice with
Bolivar, in order to afford time to nego-
ciate a treaty between the South Ame-
ricans and the government of Spain.

At ae the Spanish sceptre in the
new world was broken for ever, and Bo-
livar received, as he had nobly earned,
the title of Liberator of his Country.
But, after many difficulties and many
disasters—for Bolivar’s success as a
statesman was not equal to that as a sol-
dier—he died heart-broken, through the
ingratitude of the very nation for which
he had obtained independence. He died
at San Pedro, near St. Martha, on the
17th of December last.

MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

Tue long and unfavourable course of east and north winds, with constant drought,
ceased about the 9th instant, and have been succeeded to the present date by west-
ern and south-western breezes, with frequent variations indeed, but with a warm
and general atmospheric temperature which has almost worked miracles of improve-
ment in the condition of the crops of corn and pulse. Unfortunately for the fruit
districts, the havoc and destruction occasioned by ungenial May, are irremediable
by any change, however flattering, and our orchardists, generally, must sit down
contented with a slight sprinkling of apples, so they phrase it; and the people at
large, according to old custom, must depend for their supply of fruit on the more
certain products of the isles and of Normandy. The crop of filberts is said to have
insffored beyond all others. This tavourable change, of which we began almost to
despair, is probably to be attended with the most important and beneficial results,
both as regards the national supply and the interests of the farmers. Instead of a

104 Agricultural Report. [Jury,

late and scanty harvest, which was so universally apprehended and dreaded, should
fortunately the present seasonable warmth of temperature continue, we may expect,
an early ripening of the crops, and a full average quantity upon all the best and
middling soils. ‘The most favourable circumstance to be recited is, the propitious
state of the weather for that vital but ticklish,process, the blooming or flowering of
the wheat, which is by this time nearly perfected on all the luxuriant and strongest
crops. Thus, the abundant crops of all kinds, upon the early sown and middling
lands, will make a comfortable atonement in the national supply for the deficiency,
and such there undoubtedly is, on poor, half-cultivated, and late sown soils. Much
complaint of this deficiency comes from all the poor, wet, and heavy land districts,
and particularly in respect to the barley crop, which seems to have suffered most.
Even in the great barley county, Norfolk, it has not succeeded on the inferior soils.
Oats, beans, and peas, are the most promising of the spring crops, and are expected
to produce a full average, excepting lands where the forward field peas were nearly
cut off by the frosts of last month. The late drought has been extremely favour-
able to fallowing the land for every purpose, and the greater part of the wet heavy
soils, previously impracticable to the utmost exertion, have since been turned up
with comparative facility, in a mellow and friable state. This important business
has thence been fortunately expedited, and in good time, so as not to interfere with
hay-making, and the sowing of Swedes, common turnips, and mangold, if some-
what protracted, will yet be in good season. The mangold wurizel, cattle beet-root,
so immensely productive, and almost universally cultivated of late years, has, it
seems, got into discredit, and the breadth sown in the present season is inferior to
any lately known. We adverted on its introduction to its inferior quality. Pota-
toes, that indispensable, and, happily, we may almost say, uever-failing crop, have
thrown out a strong plant, and give fair promise of abundance, though, on some
soils, they are later than usual. The bulk of the spring business may be said to
have been successfully finished with the present month, and the interval be-
tween this period and the commencement of harvest, will be filled up with the
finish of hay-making and with summer-fallowing the lands intended for wheat.

The present hay cemivest makes a very different figure in comparison with the
last. Clover, tares, all sown grasses, are a general failure. ‘The meadows and pas-
tures, retarded in the chief season of their growth by cold and drought, though
assisted in some degree by the subsequent warm showers, have not recovered, and
the burden of hay will be light on the best lands. The crop of clover hay is light,
but cut early on those lands intended for a second crop and for seed. The marsh
grasses have been remarkably dry and short ; but, with respect to the general short-
ness and want of bulk in the grass, there has been this countervailing advantage, it
has been additionally nutritious, and all stock has succeeded well upon it; another
advantage, of high consequence attendant upon the drought, it appears that the
nutritious and drying quality of the grass has had a most salubrious effect on the
constitution of the sheep, and, in all probability, will tend to stay the further pro-
gress of the rot. The short quantity of grass will be, in some measure, econo-
mized by the reduced numbers of sheep. Sheep-shearing is finished, and the number
sheared is supposed to be one-sixth minus, compared with any preceding year in
recollection. Much business is said to be doing in wool on the continental markets,
where buyers are assembled from all quarters ; a strong indication of an approach-
ing advance of price in this country, where the stooks of that important article
cannot be large. Our cattle fairs and markets, on the whole, have been abundantly
supplied, and, considering the advance of the season, and, with some few exceptions;
the prices obtained have been satisfactory.

From Scotland our accounts of the wheat crop are not so satisfactory as from
other parts of the island ; and complaints from the north are more frequently urgent
than usual, ofa deterioration of the land from overcropping, and want of cultivation
of manure. On the English border in the north bone-dust is extensively used as a
manure on dry soils. In South Wales lime is perhaps bestowed upon the land in
greater quantities than elsewhere, as an absorbent fitted to improve their moist
soils. The old story is repeated, even with additions, of the general foulness of the
tillage lands throughout the country; and black grass, twitch or couch, and char-
lock, make a conspicuous figure in these recitals. ‘The sage practice is continued, it
seems, of beheading the charlock with a scythe where it overtops the corn.

Smithfield.— Beet, 3s. 4s. to 4s. 6d.—Veal, 4s. to 4s, &d.—Mutton, 3s. 6d. to
4s. 4d.—Dairy-Pork, 5s. to 0s. 0d.—Lamb, 5s. to 6s. 0d.— Rough fat, 2s. 5d.

Corn Exchange.—W heat, 54s. to 78s.—Barley, 28s. to 46s.—Oats, 24s. to 33s.—
Bread 4b. London loaf, 10d.—_Hay, 50s. to 90s.—Clover ditto, 70s. to 128s.—
Straw, 30s. to 42s.

Coal Exchange —Coals, in the Pool, 21s. to 35s. 6d. per chaldron.

Middlesex, June 20th,

Errata in last Report.—End of last column but one, for arable read acreable ; near

the end, for Lapland read ripland.

1831.] f 105 J

MONTHLY COMMERCIAL REPORT.

Sucar.—The market has been very languid; but there was no further reduction
in the prices of late. The stock of West India sugar is now 24,928 hogsheads and
barrels, which is 5,177 less than last year; the stock of Mauritius, 96,576 bags,
being 7,803 less than last year; the delivery last of West India sugar, 2,967 hogs-
heads and barrels, being 237 more than last year; the delivery of Mauritius, 6,245
bags, being 658 less than in the corresponding week of 1830. The buyers of
West India Muscovadoes were numerous; there has been a further reduction of
6d. per cwt. The expired market is rather dull; some parcels have been sold at a
further reduction of 6d. per ewt. The refined market is again heavy, and parcels
of Lumps sell freely, Gd. under our quotations. Brazils sugars continue so pressed
on the market, that a further reduction of 1s. mst be stated. Middling white Per-
namo, 24s. and 25s.; brown, 12s. 6d. to 16s.; brown Bahia, 15s. 6d. to 17s.; grey
white, 24s. In Havannahs, no purchases by private contract, except damaged
parcels. Havannahs at 2s. to 3s. per cwt..; good white, 32s. to 34s_6d.; yellow,
20s. to 24s.; Java sugar, ls. lower; ditto brown Mauritius, 44s. to 45s. All other
descriptions were again Is. per cwt. lower ; the finer qualities very heavy. Average
price of sugar, £1. 4s. 5jd. per ewt. j 2

Corree.—The prices of coffee have nearly recovered the depression. Brazil
coffee sold at 41s. ; St. Domingo, 40s. ; Havannah coffee sold at high prices ; Colony
from 46s. 6d. to 51s 6d, which is 2s. higher.

Rum, Branpy, Hotitanps.—Rum continues in a very languid state; Brandy
and Geneva are without variation.

Hemp, Frax, Tattow.—Tallow, and all other Russia articles, are held firmly,
and for higher prices; but there have been no sales lately exported.

Course of Foreign Exchange-—Amsterdam, 12. 2.—Rotterdam, 12. 2.—Antwerp,
‘12. 3— Hamburgh, 13. 12.—-Paris, 25. 24.__Bordeaux, 25. 55.—Frankfort, 150. 03.
—Petersburg, 10. 0.—Vienna, 9. 56.—Trieste, 9. 59.—Madrid, 37. 0}.—Cadiz,
37. 04 —Bilboa, 37. 04.—Barcelona, 36. 0}.—Seville, 36. 03.—Gibraltar, 47. 04.—
Leghorn, 48..0.—Genoa, 25. 45.—Venice, 46. 0.—Malta, 46. 0.—Naples, 39. 0}.—
pa 119. 0.—Lisbon, 46. 0?.—Oporto, 46. 02.—Rio Janeiro, 19. 0.—Bahia,
27. 0.— Dublin, 1. 04.—Cork, 1. 04.

Bullion per Oz.—Portugal Gold in Coin, £0. 0s. 0d.—Foreign Gold in Bars,
3. 17s. 14d.—New Doubloons, £0. 0s. 0d.—New Dollars, £0. 4s. 10d.—Silver in
Bars (standard), £0, 4s. 114d.

Premiums on Shares and Canals, and Joint Stock Companies, at the Office of
Wo tre, Brothers, 23, Change Alley, Cornhill.—Birmingham Canat, (3 sh.) —l.—
Coventry, 795/.—Ellesmere and Chester, —/.—Grand Junction, 244/,—Kennet and
Avon, 253/.—Leeds and Liverpool, 395/.--Oxford, 500/.—Regent’s, 174/.—T rent and
Mersey, (}sh.) 620/.—Warwick and Birmingham, 2427.—London Docks (Stock)
621.—West India (Stock), 125/.— East London Waver Works, 113/.—Grand
Junction, 493/——West Middlesex, 68/.— Alliance British & Foreign Insurance,
81.—Globe, 140/.—Guardian, 253/.—Hope Life, 53/.—Imperial Fire, 97/.—Gas-
Licur Westminster Chartered Company, —/,— City, 191/.—British, 3 dis —
Leeds, 195i.

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BANKRUPTCIES,
Announced from May 23d to June 23d 1831, in the London Gazette.

’ BANKRUPTCIES SUPERSEDED.

W. Ridley, Wreckenton, miller.

J. Cameron, T. Jounson, and W. Pevern, West-
minster, tailors.

J. Hoskins, and J. Bird, Clerkenwell, watch-
manufacturers.

J. Horncastle, Crooked-lane, money-scrivener.

J. Benson, Lancaster, linen-draper.

M. Emanuel, Birmingham, jeweller.

©. Webster, the younger, Manchester, currier.

J, Alexander, Chiswell-strect, stable-keeper.

G. O. Houliston, Blandford Forum, grocer.

J. Tuackeray, Manchester, cotton-spinner-

T. Stone, Austin Friars, banker.

——

M.M. New Series.— Vow, XII. No. 67.

BANKRUPTCIES.

[This Month 121.]
Solicitors’ Names are in Parentheses.

Aggett, T., Hatherleigh, linen-draper.
Exeter,

Austin, T., Oxford, livery stable-keeper, (Rack-
strow, Oxford,

Aimner, T., Austin Friars, merchant.
Easteheap.

Ashworth, ‘T. Rochdale, corn-dealer. (Norrisand
Co,, Bedford-row ; Woods, Roehdale.

(Turner,

(Smith,

Berry, A. King-street, poulterer, (Tribe, Lin-
coln's-inu-lelds,

Burton, I, Brambam, shoemaker. (Dunning
Leeds.
P

106

Booth, J., New Malton, millwright.
Malton. : J

Bennett, C., Lambeth, smith and farrier. (Holme,
Southwark. ¢

Bartram, T., Warwick, slater. (Kitchin, Bar-
ford.

Beauchamp, J., Holborn, silversmith. (Gresham,
Barnard’s-inn,

Byerley, W., Bucklersbury, eating-house-keeper.
(Bennett, Bash-lane.

Burroughs, J., Mile-end-road, merchant. (Nichol-
son, Dowgate-hill.

Brown, M., Gateshead, publican. (Shaw, Holborn ;
Crozier, Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

Boast, J., Trinity-square, Southwark, apothecary.
(Watson and Sons, Fleet-street.

Copeland, W., Liverpool, linen-draper. (‘Toul-
min, Liverpool,

Carroll, M., Edgeware-road, * baker.
Castle-street.

Coles, A.; Great Portland street, coach-maker.
(Williams, Henrietta-street.

Cohen, I., Hastings, jeweller. (Crosby, King-
street.

Chiven, J. and S., Castie-street, tailors. (Baker,
Nicholas-lane.
Crosland, J. and G., Huddersfield, wollen cloth-
merchants. /Battye and Co., Chancery-lane.
Chappel, T., Honey-lane-market, butcher. (Evitt
and Co., Haydon-square.

Dell, T. S., Barnet, horse-dealer. (Gibson and
Co,., Lombard-street.

Deleour, H., !all-mall, auctioneer and builder.
(Rye, Golden-square.

Davies, R., Hull, bookseller. (Taylor, Cloak-
lane.

Draper, W., Wellclose- square,
(Philipe, Gray’s-inn.

Emett, C. G., Bath, grocer.
Bristol.

Elwin, J. R., Hackney, coal-merchant. (Spence
and Co.,, Size-lane.

Eveleigh, T., Maidstone, grocer.
nival’s-inn.

Edmond, R., Bridlington Quay, innkeeper. (Wil-
liams, Gray’s-inn ; Taylor, Bridlington.

Ford, W., Stockport, hat-manufacturer. (Cop-
pock, Stockport.

Flower, B., Newington-butts,
(Kearsey and Co., Lothbury.

Fearnside, W, G., Haydon-street, agent. (Young,
Mark-lane.

Fellowes, T., Aldersgate-street, broker. (Crow-
der and Co., Lothbury.

Gillett, C., Walworth-road, butcher.
worth.

Gogney, T. C., near Footscray, builder. (Dimes,
Bread-street.

(Walkers,

(M'Duf,

auctioneer.

(Harmer, jun.,

(Smyth, Fur-

ironmonger.

(Kiss, Wal-

Gill, H., South Molton, lime-burner. (Pyne and
Co., South Molton.
Gibson, J., Northwich, victualler. (Saxon,

Northwich.

Gudge, E., Bristol, woollen-draper. (Jackson,
New-inn.

Greenway, T., Walcot, builder. (Hellings, Bath.

Griffiths, H., Newcastle Emlyn, druggist. (Per-
kins, Bristol.

Griffiths, T., Newcastle Emlyn,tanner. (Evans,
Newcastle Emlyn.

Hellyer, R., Devonport, cork-cutter. (Elwortliy
Devonport.

Hale, E., Trowbridge, innkeeper. (Brown and
Co., Mincing-lane.

Hodges, P., Brecon, ironmonger. (Vaughan and
Co., Brecon.

Hacker, T., Southwark, hat-dyer. (Walthew,
Norfolk street.

Hunt, T., Nichkolas-lane, merchant. (Steadman,
Throgmorton-street.

Handley, S., Sandon, flint-grinder. (Brookes,
Stafford.

Harris, J., Beeston, lace-manufacturer. (Enfield
and Son, Nottingham.

Harvey, J., Dartford, timber-merchant. (Kirk-
man and Co., Cannon-street.

Harris, W., Hampton, shop keeper. (Burgess,
Queen-street. :

Harper, J., Monmouth Cap, Langua, innkeeper.

Bankrupts.

[Juxy,

(Church, Bedford-row; Pateshall and Co.,
Hereford:

Hooper, F. W., Leamington, carver. (Horsey,
Barnard’s-inn,

Heughan, W., and W. Muir, Newcastle-upon-
Tyne, drapers. (Dunn, Gray’s-inn.

Hallifax, G, W., Hexthorpe-with-Balby, lime-
burner. (Forbes and Co., Ely-place, Holborn.

Joy, W., St. Paul's-churchyard, bookseller.
(Williams, Quality-court.

Jones, P. and F, Bolton-le-Moors, brush-manu-
facturers. (Hampson, Manchester.

Jones, M., Old Compton-street, upholsterers.
(Richardson, Ironmonger-lane.

Jobnson, P., St. Mary-axe,
(Whiteley, Lothbury.

Kreeft, J. C. T., Fenchurch-street, merchant.
(Douce and Sons, Billiter-square.

Leyin, H., Great St. Helen’s, merchant. (Ro-
berts and Co., New Ormond-street.

Livermore, E. M., Old Broad-street, merchant.

Bickerton, Barnard’s-inn.

wine-mercbant,

Locke, H. J., Islington, linen-draper. (Hard-
wick and Co., Lawrence-lane.

Lea, J., Braunston, coal-merchant. (Gery,
Daventry.

Leverett, W., Harwich, upholsterer. (Jackman,
Ipswich.

Laughton, J., Bishop’s-yard, wine-merchant. ’
(Gale, Basinghall-street.

Maclachlan, J. and D. Macintyre, Sun-court,
merebants. (Oliverson and Co., Frederic-place,

Moore, J., Bermondsey and Stogumber, master-
mariner. (Harvertield, Hart-street.

Mapley, J., Little Bell-alley, glass-cutter. (Jones,
Brunswick-square.

Marshall, B., Huddersfield and Selbridge Abbey,
Kildare, woollen-manufacturer. (Rowlinson,
Liverpool.

May, N., Mile-end Old-town, builder. (Murphy,
Royal exchange.

M‘Lellan, J., Regent-street, tailor. (Haris,
Bruton-street.
Millard, J., Margaret-street, glazier. (Jones,

Brunswick-square.

Macdonell, R., Suffolk-street, wine-merchant.
(Poole, Southampton-street. '

Noverre, G. B., Clement’s-lane, insurance-broker.
(Stedman, Throgmorton-street.

Nicholson, R. Rise, Holderness, dealer. (Rosser
and Sons, Gray’s-inn; England and Co., Hull.

Ouzman, J., New Sleaford, victualler. (Foster,

Sleaford.

Povall, C., Birkenhead, stone-mason. (Walker,
Liverpool.

Parsons, J., Shrewsbury, grocer. (Routledge,

Shrewsbury.

Poole, W. R. and J, Hadley, Birmingham, linen-
drapers. (Palmer, Birmingham,

Patterson, J., Commercial-road,
(Vandereom and Co., Bush-lane.

Roberts, H. E., Broad-street-buildings, merchant.
(Barendale and Co., King’s Arms-yard,

Robertson, J. C., Fleet-street, bookseller. (Pit-
man, Lincoln’s-inn-fields.

Ramsden, §., Colne,
(Makinson, Manchester.

Rowe, W., Devonport, upholsterer. (Elworthy,
Devonport.

Richardson, G., Derby, wharfinger. (Simpson
and Co., Derby.

Roberts, Eliza, Pall-mall, East, lodging-house-
keeper. (Crombie, Suffolk-street.

Russell, J., Ancoats, cotton-thread-manufacturer.
(Morris and Co., Manchester.

Ronghton, L., Walbrook, chemist. (Selby and
Co., St. John-street-road,

Richardson, W., Adams.court, Broad-street, mer-
chant. (Baxendall and Co., King’s-arms-yard.
Sanford, J., the elder, Stoke Newington, coal-

merchant. (White and Co., Great St. Helen’s.
Sayer, T. J., Beccles, linen-draper, (Newton,

Norwich.
(Stubbs,

victualler.

cotton - manufacturer.

Solomon, D., Birminguam, dealer,
Birmingham.

Stoddart, G. Binnacle, (Bowness, tintber-mer>
chant. (Hodgson, Carlisle.

Skidmore, J., Nottingham, bobbin and carriage-
maker. (Buttery, Nottingham.

1831.)

Songhard, R,, Budge-row, packing-case-maker.

. (Shefiield and Son, Great Prescot-street.

Stonebridge, J., Wivenhoe, corn-merchant.

__ (Maberly, Colchester.

Smith, C. C., Chorlton-row, victualler. (Thomp-
son and Co., Manchester.

Shury, J.,Charter-house-street, printer. (Saward
and Co., Furnival’s-inn,

Stevens, W., Clare-strect, linen-draper, (Hard-
wick and Co., Lawrence-lane,

Skelton, J. H., Chandos-street, woollen-draper.
(Wilde and Co., College-hill

Stockman, J., Portsmouth, jeweller.
Gray’s-inn ; ‘Taylor, Portsea.

Townsend, T., Leamington Priors, painter. (Tib-
bits and Son, Warwick.

Turney, J., Bridge-house-place, batter. (Town-
shend, Southwark-bridge-road.

Tapley, W., Cateaton-street,
(Taylor, Great James-street,

Tilsey, W., and W. Jones, Newton, bankers.
(Jones and Co,, Southampton-bildings.

Valoiton, J. J., Old Cavendish-street, general
dealer. (Turner, Basing-lane.

Waterhouse, J. and W. Waterhouse, the younger,
Lad-lane, cvach-propietors. (Leigh, George-
street,

(Compigne,

warehouseman.

Bankrupts—Chronology.

107

Wilkinson, J., and J. 8traith and R, J. Thornton
Perkin, Leadenhall-street, brokers, (Oliverson
and Co., Frederic-place.
Wood, J. S., Leeds, ironmonger.
Woolrich, J., West Bromwich, chemist.
Birmingham.
Walker, A., Walton-place, Bayswater and Doyer,
publisher. (Browne, Hatton-garden.
Whitfield, R. W, Oxford-street, ironmonger.
(Parker, Furnival’s-inn.
Woolley, J., Dalston, broker. (Watson, Old
Broad-street.
(Petch,
(Fitz-

(Naylor, Leeds.
(Parker,

Wood, W., Kirbymoorside, innkeeper
Kirbymoorside,

Willows, W. and S., Strand, fishmongers.
gerald and Son, La'vrence Pountney-bill.

Watkins, W., Shoreditch, grocer. (Bartlett and
Co., Nicholas-lane.

Woolsey, J. and J. Seeker, Great Yarmouth,
wine-merchants. (Clowes, Great Yarmouth.

Woolley, J. W., Hanover-terrace, ironmonger.
(Mark, Fitzroy-square.

Weston, J. sen. and J. Weston, jun., Old Bond-
street, tailors, (Wilde and Co., College-hill.
Yonng, E., King’s Lynn, beer-brewer. (Jarvis,-

King’s Lynn,
Yonng, T., Lane End, (Salt,
Rugeley.

innkeeper.

ECCLESIASTICAL PREFERMENTS.

Rev. P. Jacob, to the Rectory of
Crawley.—Rev. C. Pilkington, to the
Rectory of St. Lawrence, Winchester.
—Kev. W. Otter, to be Principal of
King’s College, London,—Rey. H. P.
Hamilton, to be Chaplain to Duke of
Sussex.— Rev. C. Wordsworth, to be
Chaplain to Lord Palmerston.—Rev. F.
Elwes, to the Rectory of Whixoe, Suf-
folk—Rev. J. Hawkesworth, to the
es Curacy of Woore, Salop.—

v. E. R. Theed, to the Vicarage of
Selling, Kent.—-Rev. J. N. Davidson, to
the Vicarage of East Harptree, Somer-
set.—Reyv. C. 8. Twistleton, to the Rec-

tory of Ashow, Warwick.—Rev. Dr.
French, to the Prebendal Stall, in Ely
Cathedral.Rev. W. Selwyn, to the
Rectory of Braunston, Leicester. Rev.
P. Fosbrook, to the Vicarage of Lock-
ington, Leicester.—Rev. J. C. Leak, to
the Rectory of Barningham, Parva,
Norfolk.— Rev. S. Hall, to the Rectory
of Middleton Cheney, Oxon.— Rev. Pro-
fessor Lee, to be Chaplain to Earl of
Munster.—Rev. T. L. Bluett, to the
Vicarage of Mullyan, Cornwall.—Reyv.
J. W. Arnold, to the perpetual Curacy
of Burrington, Somerset.—Rev. T. P.
White, to the Rectory of Exton, Hants.

a

CHRONOLOGY, MARRIAGES, DEATHS, ETC.

———

CHRONOLOGY.

May 23. The Lords of His Majesty’s
Privy Council gave notice, that all ves-
sels having on board rags and dried hides,
arriving from Russia, Prussia, and the
Hanseatic towns, are immediately to be
placed under quarantine.

24. The King has been pleased to

ant to Frederick Fitzclarence, Esq., a

colonel in the Army ; to Adolphus Fitz-
clarence, Esq., a Captain in the Navy;
and to the Rey. Augustus Fitzclarence,
respectively, the title and precedence of
the younger son of a Marquis of the
United Kingdom of Great Britain and
Treland;* and also has been pleased
to grant to Sophia, wife of Sir Philip
Sidney; to Mary, wife of Charles R.
Fox, Esq., a Lieutenant-Colonel in the
Army; and to Augusta, widow of the

_* The Earl of Munster’s (the King’s eldest son)
titles are settled successively on his surviving
brothers in default of lineal heirs.

Hon. John Kennedy Erskine, respec-
tively, the title and precedence of the
daughter ofa Marquis of the said United
Kingdom.

30. Society for the Improvement of
Prison Discipline, met at Exeter Hall,
when various resolutions were passed ;
it appeared, by the Report of the Com-
mittee, that on a modern computation,
there are annually confined, in the seve-
ral jails and houses of correction in the
United Kingdom, a population of not
less than 120.000 persons !! !

June l. By order of the House of
Lords, a statement of the number of
criminal offenders, committed to the
several gaols, in England and Wales,
was published; by which it appears
that, during the last seven years, up-
watds of 115,000 were committed,
nearly 20,000 of whom were women!!!
The total number on whom sentence of
death was passed amounted to 8781!!!

9. Arrived at Falmouth, His Ma-

P2

108

jesty’s ship Volage, commanded by Lord
Colchester, having on board the Ex-
Emperor of Brazil, with his consort,
and a numerous train. In consequence
of a revolution, and the soldiers laying
down their arms, instead of supporting
their emperor, he had abdicated the
crown.

14. Meeting of the New Parliament.
Right Hon. C. M. Sutton chosen Speaker
of the House-of Commons.

16. Advice received at Lloyd’s, that
the Urania, Portuguese corvette, was
taken, June 1, off Terceira, by the Mel-
pomene, French frigate, with a brig in
company, and sent for France.

June 16. The Lords of the Admiralty
paid a visit to the Thames Tunnel ;
they were conducted over the works by
Mr. Brunel, who explained the mode in
which the tunnel had been proceeded in.

— The King granted the dignity of
a Baron, to Arthur James, Earl of Fin-
gall, and his heirs—also the same dignity
to William Philip, Earl of Sefton, and
his heirs—to Lord Kinnaird, ard his
heirs, the same dignity, under the title
of Baron Rossie-—and the same dignity
also to G. J. W. Agar Ellis, and his heirs,
under the title of Baron Dover.

21. His Majesty went in state to the
House of Peers, and delivered the fol-
lowing speech to both Houses of Parlia-
ment—

My Lords and Gentlemen—1 have availed my-
self of the earliest opportunity of resorting te your
advice and assistance, after the dissolution of the
late Parliament.—Having had recourse to that
measure for the purpose of ascertaining the sense
of my people of the expediency of a Reform in
the Representation, I have now to recommend
that important question to your earliest and most
attentive consideration ; confident that in any
measures which you may prepare for its adjust-
ment, you will carefully adhere to the acknow-
ledged principles of the constitution, by which the
prerogatives of the Crown, the authority of both
Houses of Parliament, and the rights and liberties
of the people are equally secared.—The assu-
rances of a friendly disposition, which I continue
to receive from all foreign powers, encvurage the
hope that, notwithstanding the civil commo-
tions which have disturbed some parts of Europe,
and the contests now existing im Poland, the
general peace will be maintained.—To the pre-
servation of this blessing my most anxious care
will be constantly directed.—The discussions
which have taken place on the affairs of Belgium
have not yet been brought to a conclusion ; but
the most complete agreement continues to subsist
between the powers whose plenipoteotiaries have
been engaged in the conferences of London. The
principle on which these conferences have been
eonducted has been, that of not interfering with
the right of the people of Belgium to regulate
their ioternal affairs, and to establish their go-
‘vernment according to their own views of what
may be most condneive to their future welfare
and independence ; under the sole condition, sanc-
tioned by the practice of nations, and founded on
the principles of public law, that, in the exercise
of that undoubted right, the security of neigh-
bouring states should not be endangered.—A
series of injuries and insults, for which, notwith-
standing repeated remonstrances, all reparation
‘was withheld, compelled me at last to-order a
sqnadron of my fleet to appear before Lisbon,
with a peremptory demand of satisfaction; a
prompt compliance with that demand prevented

Chronology—Home Marriages.

[Juny,

the necessity of further measures, but I have to
regret that Ihave not yet been enabled to esta-
blish my diplomatic relations with the Portuguese
government.

Gentlemen of the House of Commons—1 have
ordered estimates of the expenses of the current
year to be laid before you, and I rely with con-
fidence on your loyalty and zeal to make adequate
provision for the publie service, as well as for the
further appl cation of the sums granted bythe last
Parliament, always keeping in view the necessity
of a wise and wholesome economy in every branch
of the public expenditure.

My Lords and Gentlemen—tt gives me great
satisfaction to state to vou that the large reduc-
tion of taxes which took place in the last and
in the present year, with a view to the relief of
the labouring classes of the community, has not
been attended with a proportionate diminution of
the public income, TI trust that such additional
means as may be required to supply a part of the
deficiency occasioned by these reductions, may be
feund without any material abridgment of the
comforts of my people. —To assist the industry, to
improve the resources, and to maintain the credit
of the country on sound principles, and-on a safe
and lasting foundation, will be-at all times the
object of my solicitude, in the promotion of which
I look with confidence to your zealous co-opera-
tion.—It is with deep concern that I have to an=
nounce to you the continued progress of a formi-
dable disease, to which my attention had been
early directed, in the eastern parts of Europe. In-
formation having been more recently received that
it had extended its ravages tothe ports in the
Baltic, from whence there is a great commercial
intercourse with my dominions, I have directed
that all the precautions should be taken which
experience has recommended as most effectual
for guarding against the introduction of so dan-
gerous a malady into the country.—Great distress
has unhappily prevailed in some districts, and
more particularly in a part of the western coun-
ties of Ireland, to relieve which, in the most press-
ing cases, I have not hesitated to authorise the
application of such means as were immediately
available forthat purpose. Butassistanee of this
nature is necessarily limited in its amount, and
ean only be temporary in its effect. The possi-
bility, therefore, of introducing any measures
which, by assisting the improvement of the natu-
ral resources of the country, may tend to prevent
the recurrence of such evils, must be a subject of
the most anxious interest to me, and to you of
the most grave and cautious consideration. —
Local disturbances, unconnected with political
causes, have taken place both in this part of the
United Kingdom, and in Ireland. In the county
of Clare, and in the adjoining parts of Roscom-
mon and Galway, a system of violence and out-
rage had for some time been carried on to an
alarming extent, for the repression of which the
constitutional authority of the law has been vi-
gorously and successfully exerted. By these
means, the necessity of enacting new laws to
strengthen the executive government with fur-
ther powers will, I trnst, be prevented. ‘To avert
suclia necessity has been, and ever will be, my
most earnest desire; bunt if it should unfortu-
nately arise, I doubt not your firm resolution to
maintain the peace and order of society, by the
adoption of such measures as may be requisite
for their most eifectual protection.”

HOME MARRIAGES.

Rey. T. P. Bridges, to Sophia Louisa,
eldest daughter of Sir W. L. Young,
Bart.—Hon. W. S. Bernard, brother to
Earl of Bandon, to Eliza, daughter of
Lieutenant-Colonel Gillman. —N. J.
Knatchbull, Esq., eldest son of Sir E.
Knatchbull, Bart., to Mary, eldest
daughter of J. Watts Russell, Esq.—At
Cheltenham, Rev. T. G, Leigh, to Hen-
riana Matilda, youngest daughter of

1831.]

Lord Henry Murray, and niece to Duke
of Athol. R. Fowler, Esq., son of the
Bishop of Ossory, to H. E. Wandesford,
daughter of the Marquis of Ormond.—
a: R. Beaumont, Esq., to Catherine,
daughter of Sir G. Cayley.

HOME DEATHS.

At Wighill Park, Lady Mary York,
wife of R. York, Esq., and sister of the
Earl of Harewood.—In Berkeley Square,
Sir Jobn E. Harrington, Bart., 72.—At
Spencer House, the Countess Spencer,
68.—In Baker-street, Mrs. Siddons, 75.
—In Welbeck-street, R. Fullerton, Esq.,
late governor of Prince of Wales’s
Island, Singapore and Malacca.—In
Devonshire-square, J. B. Lonsada, Esq.,
8&3.— At Reading, S. Maberley, Esq., 87,
father of J. Maberley, Esq., M.P.,
Abingdon.—Earl of Lisburne, 63.—In
the Isle of Portland, Baron Gustavus
Noleken, eldest son of Baron Noleken,
who was for a considerable time Ambas-
sador from Sweden to the court of Lon-

Marriages and Deaths—Provincial Occurrences.

-

109

don.—Earl of Northesk, 74.—At War-
wick, Rev. J. Clowes, 87, author of se-
veral literary works.—At Longbridge,
Mrs. Russell, wife of J. Russell, Esq.,
banker, of Warwick.

MARRIAGES ABROAD.

At Carlsruhe, Captain Drummond,
heir-presumptive to Earldom of Mel-
fort, to the Baroness Alkertine de Ro-
therg-Rheinweiler, widow of the late
General Count Rapp.—At Paris, Covnt
G. M. Paggenti. to Mary, daughter of
the late Colonel Rogers.

DEATHS ABROAD.

At Malta, Captain G. M. Jones, R.N.,
author of Travels throughout the Rus-
sian Empire.—King of Sardinia.—Near
Rome, Lady Clifford, daughter of Car-
dinal Weld.—In Paris, Dame Eliza-
beth, relict of Admiral Sir George Col-
lier, and the celebrated Abbé Grégoire,
Bishop of Blois, and Member of the
National Convention.

MONTHLY PROVINCIAL OCCURRENCES.

NORTHUMBERLAND.—The pit-
men have not yet all returned to their
employment. The men are not at work
at any of the following collieries :—
Russell’s Wallsend, Perey Main, Tyne
Main, Team, Callerton, Gosforth, and
Fawdon. Every day confirms, that the
concessions which have been made to
them were, in many instances, too great 5
and they are now disposed to tyrannize
and rule over their masters. ‘There are
cases where the men who are bound re-
fuse to regard their bonds as having any
obligation. The men are bound at Sheriff
Hill, and at Hebburn, for example, but
still refuse to go to work at either place.
Sometimes the pitmen require that those
who have been faithfully discharging
their duty to their employers, while the
majority have been idle, should be dis-
missed as a condition of their going to
work: in other instances they decline
working unless other men, not wanted,
whom they chose to patronize, are also
hired and set to work. No man who has
workmen under him in any trade can
justify such a system of dictation and
insubordination.

YORKSHIRE. — Three meetings
have been recently held at Leeds; one
for the establishment of an association, to
be denominated “ ‘The Leeds True Blue
Constitutional Association,” in defence of
the true dignity of the crown; another
for the erection of a monument in the pa-
rish church, commemorative of the late
Mr. Leigh’s public character and private
worth, who fell a sacrifice to the vio-

lence of a mob, in the exercise of his
duty as an elector of Wigan; and the
third, held in the Court House, for the
relief of the Irish poor, who are suffer-
ing the most appalling distress from fa-
mine and disease. ‘ Every human
being,” said Mr. Sadler, “‘ whom the
Providence of God has placed upon
earth, has a claim to sustentation and
relief, when his honest labour will no
longer afford him the necessaries of life.”

SOMERSETSHIRE.—A number of
able-bodied excavators, on Monday last,
commenced work on the Grand Western
Canal, near this town, on the point of
the undertaking near the present termi-
nation of the Bridgwater and Taunton
Canal, with which it is intended to
form a junction. A handsome, lofty
aqueduct will be thrown across the Row-
barton road, near Mrs. Liddon’s. <Ac-
tive operations are also in progress on
the line marked out for the Canal, be-
tween Holcombe and Wellington, and
no doubt is now entertained that the
whole of the country towards Welling-
ton, Tiverton, Cullompton, and other
places to the south-west of those towns,
will, ere long, realize the anticipated
benefits of this elaborate undertaking.

June 14. The first exhibition of the
Selwood Horticultural Society, took
place at Frome. Notwithstanding its
recent establishment, it bids fair to
become very popular with the ad-
mirers of horticulture in and about the
neighbourhood of Frome. Among the
fruits were two very excellent pine ap;

110

ples sent by Mr. Jillard, a plate of
citrons, lemons, and oranges, from Col.
Houlton, and some very fine cauli-
flowers, several plates of ripe strawber-
ries, and cherries. ‘The flowers were very
fine specimens of cellularia, erycthrina
cristagalli, phlox wheeleri, cistus cocca-
nia, and seedling geraniums, erica ven-
trliosa, verbenze mirvandolis, &c. &c.

DORSETSHIRE.—We are gratified
in observing that a society has been
established in Blandford, for the benefit
and improvement of the labouring
classes, by procuring and letting out
land to them at a fair and moderate rent.
A meeting for this purpose was recently
held in that town, the Hon. and Rev.
8. Best in the chair, when the requisite
resolutions were entered into. It is
pleasing to witness the extension of a
ylan which is so eminently calculated as
is the Allotment System, to promote the
temporal interests of the labouring
classes, to render them more indepen-
dent, comfortable, and contented; and
to promote their moral welfare, by giv-
ing them habits of honest and profitable
industry.

LANCASHIRE.—Mr. Maury, the
late Consul from the United States, at
Liverpool, where he resided many years,
was entertained at New York, on his
arrival from England ; and after dinner
the following toast was given by the
chairman :

“ Our venerable guest, whose deport-
ment, public and private, during an ab-
sence of nearly half a century, endeared
him to those among whom he ‘was a
sojourner, and strengthened the affec-
tion and respect of his countrymen.”

Mr. Maury then rose and said—

Mr. Mayor—I request you and the

entlemen present, to accept my most
Frankful and respectful acknowledg-
ments for the high and distinguished
honour conferred on me this day—
a day which I shall ever have pride
in recollecting, from the kind manner in
which you welcome my arrival in my
native land, after so long an absence.
To the gratification I feel from this en-
dearing reception, you have added a
still greater in the flattering testimonial
of approbation you have been pleased to
give as to my conduct abroad, which [
must ever highly appreciate. I have
particular satisfaction in noticing the
wonderful changes which have taken
place in this great city since my being
here, in 1783, then estimated, I believe,
to contain not more than 20,000—and
now more than 200,000 inhabitants!!!

LEICESTERSHIRE.— The Lord
Chancellor’s decision, in the case of the
school of Ashby-de-la-Zouch, is one of
much importance to the diffusion of ge-

Provincial Occurrences :—Dorsetshire; Lancashire, Sc.

[Juxy,

neral knowledge. His Lordship, in con-
firmation of the Master’s Report, in
1806, decided that the school was not for
instruction in the learned languages
only, but for the communication of the
minor branches of science, ‘* juvenes
pueros infantes et parvulos,” being men-
tioned in the foundation Act—persons,
in fact, too young to be taught Latin
and nothing but Latin. Every body
knows that in the reigns of Edward VI.
and Queen Elizabeth, the age for found-
ing grammar schools, many such were
established for the exclusive purpose of
teaching the learned languages. But it
is also known, that many schools, esta-
blished for more general instruction,
have been since raised into the rank of
anges schools, by which the poor
have been deprived of the advantages
originally intended for them. But as
the latter evil is remedied by the dis-
covery of the Bell and Lancasterian
systems, and by the proper qualifications
of masters to impart general knowledge
—reading, writing, and accounts, there
can be no reason why schools should not
be rendered generally useful, according
to the spirit of the age in which we live,
and gccording to that spirit which does
positively direct the formation of schools
at present.

WALES.—Merthyr, June 8. The
Court of Requests, or as it is commonly
called, the Court of Conscience, has
been a source of great annoyance to the
working classes for a length of time, and
threats have been dealt out repeatedly
that they would have it abolished. alto-

ether. On Thursday, an execution was
evied on the goods of one of the work-
men employed in the Cyfarthfa Iron
Works, belonging to Messss. Crawshay
and Sons, and on that evening a crowd
assembled together, who demanded of
the clerk of the court all the books and
papers in his possession, which were ulti-
mately taken and totally burnt, toge-
ther with the whole of the furniture. A
messenger was despatched to Brecon;
where a detachment of the 93d High-
landers was stationed. The soldiers ar-
rived, and when the Riot Act was read,
and on being asked for what purpose the
mob had sssembled, they said that they
must have an immediate advance of
wages. The iron-masters then addressed
them in the most kind language, beg-
ging them to disperse, and come to them
in small bodies of ten or a dozen men,
assuring them that every attention
should be paid to any thing they had to
communicate. To this, however, they
would not listen; when one violent man
urged his lawless companions to seize
the arms of the soldiery, which was im-
mediately done, and not until then was
the order given to fire. The moment

1831.]

the firing commenced, the mob began to
disperse in all directions. ‘T'wenty-one
persons have fallen victims to their rash
and daring outrage, besides 70 to 80
severely wounded. Some few of the
soldiers were also wounded, but not one
was killed; they are now nearly reco-
vered. On the same evening, different
troops of yeomanry cavalry arrived, and
every thing appeared to be going on
very quietly ; but on Saturday morning
a much more numerous assemblage of
the mob was to be seen on the different
hills surrounding the Iron Works, armed
with guns, bludgeons, and other offen-
sive weapons. ‘Ihe ammunition of the
93d regiment was stopped on the road,
at a place called Coedcymmer, within a
mile of Merthyr, and was taken back to
Brecon the same day. The cavalry ad-
vanced towards Coedcymmer, but made
a judicious retreat, fearing that their
arms would have been taken away by
the mob. In the afternoon, as the Swan-
sea cavalry were within three miles of
Merthyr, they were totally disarmed,
and were compelled to return to Neath,
where they were joined by fresh forces,
when they took a circuitous rout through
Bridgend and Lantrissent, and arrived
at Merthyr at six o’clock on Monday
morning. By this time the infatuated
rioters had contrived to stop the Bute,
Sirhowy, Tredegar, Ebbw-vale, and Nan-
tyglo Iron Works, and compelled the
men to join them, although the Cyfarthfa
men had in the mean time agreed to re-
turn to their work. It is calculated that
there were upwards of 10,000 men, from
the above-named works, assembled at
Dowlais when the military went to meet
them. The Riot Act was again read,
and it appearing that there was no dis-
position to disperse, the 93d were ordered
to make ready; scarcely had the order
been given, when away the mob scam-
pered, and in less than two hours the
whole had disappeared without the loss
of a single life. In the afternoon, a
party of the 3d Dragoon Guards arrived,
which, together with the Swansea ca-
valry, were immediately stationed at
Dowlais; the 93d and other forces being
placed in a situation to protect the town.
Allis now quiet.

We have the painful duty of record-
ing a most appalling and distressing
accident at the Cilebrook Vale Iron
Works, Monmouthshire, by which nine
lives have been lost. From the nature
of the workings in one of the coal levels,
a very considerable accumulation of
water has been ‘for some time forming,
and to guard against meeting with it un-
expectedly, very particular instructions
had been given not to carry on the work,
without first boring to the right and left,
and also in advance. Jor several weeks

Wales—Scotland.

M11
those operations have been continued,
but it is much feared the present cala-
mity has been occasioned by not strictly
observing those necessary precautions,
On Friday last, about mid-day, the water
broke in upon that part of the works
where 14 colliers were employed, with
such impetuosity that three only were
enabled to reach the pits, and thereby
escape.

There is at present a strong popular
excitement in the forest of Dean. A
great portion of the forest was enclosed
and planted with oak, under an act
passed in the 48th of George IIT., which
plantations are now in a thriving state.
The act provides. that 11,000 acres are
always to be inclosed as a nursery for
timber; and that the fences can only be
legally opened by order of the Lords of
the Treasury, and that only when the
young timber shall be safe from the
browsing of the cattle, sheep, and swine.
An erroneous opinion, however, prevails
among the foresters, that the enclosures
should be thrown open at the expiration
of 21 years; and as the act was passed
in 1808, several of the enclosures are of
a longer standing, and great dissatifac-
tion has been for some time felt at their
continuance, and about a fortnight since
a portion of the embankment was secret-
ri destroyed. A large reward was of-
ered for the discovery of the offenders,
without effect, and hand-bills were cir-
culated, cautioning against the recur-
rence of similar outrages. On Wed-
nesday morning a body of men, about
eighty, commenced levelling the em-
bankments. In the course of the day
their number increased to 500. On
Thursday they continued the work of
devastation, and their numbers increased
to 2,000, parties being sent out in all
directions to compel the colliers and
other workmen to come and assist in
opening the enclosures. Several miles
of fences were levelled in these two
days. The men worked regularly with
suitableimplements.— Bath Herald, June
18.

SCOTLAND.—Provost Haig, of St.
Andrew’s, on Thursday week, received
a letter from’ Dr. Bell, the author of
what is termed the Lancasterian system
of education, and a native of St. An-
drew’s, enclosing Bank of England trans-
fer receipts for £60,000 three per cent.
Consols, and £60,000 three per cent. Re-
duced, vested in the names of the Pro-
vost, Principal Haldane, Dr. Buist, and
Professor Alexander, as trustees, for the
promotion of education and endowment
of schools in St. Andrew’s. Besides the
foregoing magnificent grant, the donor
has made over to the same gentlemen, a
piece of ground he had purchased from

112

the town of St. Andrew’s, which he in-
tended as a site for schools, and for
which he paid £1,100. This splendid
donation reflects the highest credit on
Dr. Bell, and it is to be hoped that he
will live to see his system in operation
in St. Andrew’s, which has already been
of so much benefit to the human race.

On the afternoon and evening of Sun-
day week, we had a pretty heavy fall of
rain, with thunder and hghtning. On
the eastern side of Loch Ness, by Boles-
kine, the atmosphere became so dark and
close, that the parishioners, who were
then in church, became alarmed, and
rushed out to some adjacent barns, where
they had only been a few minutes, ere a
flood descended, the barns were swept
away, and the people surrounded up to
the middle in water. It was evident
that a water-spout had fallen, and its
consequences, we regret to add, have
been very injurious. The glen of Alt-
more has been rendered a perfect wreck.
One bridge has been carried away, and
three others rendered impassable. About
400 yards of the road are totally de-
stroyed; and nearly an equal quantity
of the breast wall, in another part of the
road, washed away. On the other side
of the Inch, the bridge of Borlum, con-
sisting of three large arches, has been
destroyed; other two stone bridges are
carried away, a third is greatly damaged,
and two wooden bridges, on the farm of
Balmacaan, are swept into the loch. A

reat quantity of the road has also been
Heals poll The whole glen of Urquhart
was one sheet of water, and consequently
much injury has been done to the grow-
ing crops. Indeed, whole acres of the
soil, containing potatoes, barley, &c.,
have been carried off. The surface of
Loch Ness is completely strewed with
timber and other debris of the flood.
Hail fell in great quantities, and of un-
usual size. In the unexposed part of
the glen, in some places, they were lying
so late as Wednesday to the depth of
five or six feet, and ape ae than boys’
marbles. Pieces of ice of six or seven
inches of diameter also fell_—Glasgow
Journal.

IRELAND.—A meeting was lately
convened, by the Right Hon. the Lord
Mayor of Dublin, for the purpose of
taking into consideration the wretched
state of the peasantry in the west of
Ireland, and of adopting such resolutions
as seemed best calculated to lead to the
relief of those districts; the Right Hon.
the Lord Mayor, M.P., took the chair.

The Chief Remembrancer submitted
a series of resolutions to the meeting,
which had been prepared by the Com-
mittee. The amount of subscriptions
already raised was £2,257. 10s., and this

Provincial Occurrences :—Ireland.

Juxy,

sum had been almost all transmitted to
the distressed districts. £918 had been
sent to Galway, and £1,286 to Mayo—
so that there remained in bank but £53
to meet the demands of a deputation to
the Committee for relief, who have made
such a statement of the appalling misery
of their respective districts, as must
wring the hardest hearts, and draw forth
the contributions of all who are not
wholly callous to the claims of charity,
or dead to all sympathy with their fel-
low-creatures. In Mayo several had
died. Nearly 200,000 persons were in
the deepest distress in the west of Ire-
land; and unless immediate relief was
eT thousands of these must die of
amine. The peaceable conduct of those
poor people, under such trying, such
terrible circumstances, and their obe-
dience to the law, gave them a tenfold
claim upon public commiseration. They
are not only without food, but without
the means of procuring it. The potato
crop has been swept away. Whilst they
are dying of starvation, or feeding upon
sea-weed, or browsing, like cattle, upon
nettles, could the public remain unmov-
ed by their woes, because such deplorable
calamities were not passing in review
before them ? Mr. Blake then read two
letters, one from Sir Francis Lynch
Blosse, the other from the Right Rev.
Dr. Machale, detailing the frightful dis-
tress of the people in their districts.

The resolutions proposed by the Chief
ga a were carried unanimous-

ly.

Sir Francis L. Blosse said that £8,000
had been contributed by gentry of the
county, and provision to the same
amount, so that this made £16,000 as
the amount of their subscriptions. It
had been said that the people were in a
state of tumult: now, he declared that
he had no apprehension about the safety
of his house or family, though he left
home without any bars or bolts to his
doors, and purposed proceeding to Lon-
don before his return. This might pos-
sibly be the last occasion of their seeking
relief, for the gentry of the country saw
that some permanent measure, to pre-
vent the recurrence of such distress,
must be resorted to.

Mr. Howell observed, that the letters
which he and Mr. Corbalis received from
Cunnemara, were fully as bad as those
detailed with such direful accuracy from
Mayo. Not only were the seed potatoes
dug out of the ground in a state of ve-
getation, but it was too true that the
wretched people had supplicated for per-
‘mission to bleed the sheep and cattle
under the care of the herds, as orie
means of enabling them to support life.

£600 were subscribed by the meeting
before it separated.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

5 Rl Se a AUGUST, 1831. [ No. 68.

THE STATE OF EUROPE.

Tue eyes of the continent are henceforth to be fixed on Poland.
That country has nobly redeemed her pledge. She has been now
six months in arms, and she has not merely defended herself, but she
has struck deep and desperate blows at the supremacy of Russia. No
war within the memory of man has stirred so strong an interest in every
breast capable of a sentiment of honour. Or, if it is to find a rival, the
discovery must be made in her own history ; the patriotic heroism of
her living warriors can be compared only with that of the patriot armies
which defied Catherine ; and her generals at this hour are the only
men who can share the laurel with Kosciusko.

It is cheering to our consciousness of the noble powers which may be
latent in man, until the occasion calls them forth, that Poland has fought -
her battles alone, and yet has baffled the armies of the tyrant. Had she
been assisted by the strength of indignant Europe, had every man
whose bosom burned at the spectacle of Russian tyranny been seen
rushing into her ranks, the contest might have been sooner decided, but
it would have wanted those features of grandeur ; that Roman fortitude
which now invests it with dignity, and makes Poland an example to
all future nations, trampled on by a severe and barbarian master. Why
shall we endure the chain an hour longer? will be the cry of the patriot
from his cottage or his dungeon. True, the oppressor is mighty and the
victim weak ; but was not Russia the military sovereign of the con-
tinent, dreaded or flattered by every power from the channel to the
Euxine? and was not Poland a broken and dismantled power, scarcely
to be called a power, a nation swept from the list of kingdoms, and at
best only a province of Russia, with a Russian governor, Russian
guards, Russian ministers, every office of public life, and almost every
emolument and enjoyment of private, monopolized by Russians? Yet
against this immeasurable weight of hostile and jealous authority Poland
rose. She drove out the foreign governors and established native ; she
fought the foréign army, and gave an immortal attestation to the truth
of her cause, by the magnanimous valour of her resistance; and,
finally, she took the sting from insurrection, and shewed that the most
daring intrepidity might be consistent with the utmost prudence, by
forming a constitution from which anarchy was expelled, and whose

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XIL. No. 68.

114 The State of Europe. [ Aveust,

principle was peace to all her neighbours, and justice to all men. Such
are the direct results of the Polish war, a most gallant, generous, and
justified effort of a manly people, to assert their national rights, and
recover the independence of which they had been deprived by the
most flagrant combination of political chicane and military ferocity in
the history of Europe.

But there is a time for all things, and the time has now fully arrived,
when it would be base in the independent nations of Europe to suffer
this trial of fortitude to go on any further. They should say to Russia,
you have had your full opportunity to discover whether the Polish war
has originated in the turbulence of a faction, or in the will of a people.
You have now fully ascertained the fact, that the resistance is national,
and before God and man alike no right can be founded on mere force.
You may desire to make the furious experiment for years together,
how far the patience of this unfortunate people may be proof against
your sanguinary perseverance, how far their cottages may be laid in
ashes without bringing the ruined tenants to your feet, how far the
naked breasts of the peasantry may prefer rushing on your bayonets, to
bearing your chains. But this must not be permitted any longer. The
firebrand of war cannot be long tossed, even over Poland, without com-
municating its flame to other countries, and the result of your attempt
to crush a brave people whom you could not subdue, might issue in’an
universal war. The general hazard is too formidable to be lightly
encountered, and Russia, if she is cruel and criminal enough to resolve
on extinguishing Polish freedom in blood, must prepare for arguments
more direct than those that apply to her understanding. Russia must
not be suffered to trample down Poland.

Language of this nature is declared to be used by some of the leading
cabinets at the present moment to the Czar. France has certainly felt
no hesitation in making the most intelligible remonstrances. England
has already spoken in all the voices of her people, and it is said, that
her cabinet has adopted their language. Such remonstrances cannot
speak in vain. Even the Austrian cabinet, always tardy, and always
the abettor of a dictatorial and haughty spirit of privilege and posses-
sion, is beginning to display some human feeling towards the Poles. It
is even reported, however improbably, that the emperor would be
willing to give up Gallicia if Prussia would exhibit a similar self-denial.
But this may be but a finesse of the Austrian cabinet, from its know-
ledge that Prussia will hold possession of every acre that she has torn
from Poland with the grasp of a plunderer, determined to struggle to
the last against the resumption of his plunder. We look to the British
and French cabinets for the true interposition ; their efforts, if sincere,
must be successful, for the Czar is already weary of the war, the Russian
army is disgusted with its loss of glory, wearied with the incessant
fatigues of its campaigns, and seriously weakened by its losses in the
field. Still the Czar may find it necessary to his personal safety to push
the campaign, for even despotism has its masters, and the Russian
nobles have shewn, by many a fierce example, that they are the neigh-
bours of Asia, and that, if their monarch be but a sultan, they themselves
are not far removed from those Janizaries who, in the time of public
-effervescence, knew no remedy more simple than their sultan’s neck.
The Czar, proposing peace to Poland, would probably be only plunging
himself into inextricable peril. But the Czar, acceding to the request

1831.] The State of Europe. i

of his high allies, would stand in a different position, and the peace might
be honoured as policy, which would have been scorned as fear.

The last accounts from the seat of war are unpromising to the good
cause. The power of Russia is gigantic, contrasted with the narrow and
shattered strength of its heroic victim. The population of Poland, in
its present limits, is probably not a twentieth of the population of Rus-
sia—its finance is nothing, and its trade is entirely at a stand. The
Russian armies are said to be concentering for the assault of Warsaw,
and, by a more calamitous fortune, Warsaw itself has been the scene of
an extensive Russian ‘conspiracy, in which the prisoners of war, amount-
ing to 13,000, were to have risen on the citizens. But the conspiracy
has been detected, its members are under arrest, and the popular spirit
has shewn its sincerity by evincing the strongest indignation against the
traitors. Some attempts of this kind were to be expected. Russia is
barbarian still, and barbarism is even more ready at corruption than the
sword. Inall the wars of the continent, a bribe, if it be but of the
suitable magnitude, is one of the most potent instruments of war and
policy. It would be curious to know the sums disbursed privately
during the Turkish war. But we may rely on the fact, that gold was
more powerful than steel, and that the fall of the Turkish fortresses was
_as much owing to the enemy in the pocket as the enemy at the gates.
Independently of the power of direct corruption, among the idlers of
Warsaw, among the former dependents on Russian office, the pensioners
.of the palace, the gentleman usher tribe, all who lived on the bounty,
-or ministered to the indulgences, or expected the favours of the govern-
ment, the whole locust generation of the capital, there must be a crowd
of individuals to whom the return of the old despotism would have been
more desirable than all the prosperity and freedom of all the nations of
the earth. In those classes corruption makes its native nest, and they
-are habitually fit for every mean artifice, and malignant invective, and
treacherous machination, against national honour and virtue. The con-
spiracy, however, has been broken up, and the attempt seems to haye
only animated the people to the more vigorous attachment to the hope
of independence.

But they have found an ally more resistless than all the force of man.
The formidable disease, which has already ravaged the south of Russia,
has begun to spread at once to the north and the west. It has entered
St. Petersburg, and is said to have produced such terror there, that the
principal inhabitants were flying for their lives, and the imperial family
had left the palace. But its more startling direction has been the Aus-

trian Polish provinces. Of the return from Gallicia of about six and thirty

thousand seized within a very short period, the tremendous proportion
of thirteen thousand have died! The terror has spread to Berlin, and
even to Vienna; and the cry of the people is, that while the war con-
tinues it will be impossible to arrest the progress of this terrible visita-
tion by the usual means. For what cordon can be preserved in the midst
of fighting armies? In the present circumstances every skirmish operates
as a conductor of the contagion, every prisoner, every deserter, is liable
to bear a new infection from the field. The insurrection in the provinces,
eyery thing in the shape of public excitement, all public assemblage
propagates the pest, and whether the war spread into the Austrian and
russian provinces, or the insurrection be formed there, or prisoners be
there confined, or fugitives suffered to make their way over the frontier,

Q 2

116 The State of Europe. [Aveust,

and what human vigilance can prevent them? the epidemic marches on,
and may before long make itself felt in the presence of the monarchs as
well as of the people. ‘The only hope of stopping the progress of this
awful infliction is by stopping the havoc of the war; peace once come,
will give time for the exercise of those precautions which have so often
checked the advance of pestilence. But continued war will be sure to
spread it through the belligerents first, then through every bordering
nation ; and then, when its fury defies all control, Europe, in tears and
terror, will pay the penalty of those military madmen.

Brussels at last has found a king, Prince Leopold a throne, and the
British nation has got rid of an illustrious sinecurist. We can have no
desire to enfeeble the merits of Prince Leopold in this sacrifice ; but
truth is the first point, and it must be observed that though he has de-
sired the surplus of the £50,000 a-year to be returned to the treasury,
yet he preserves the grant in a condition to be resumed the moment he
pleases. He has not given up the £50,000, he has placed it “in the
hands of trustees,” thus keeping up the whole machinery of the grant ;
and evidently intending to resume it, if his Belgian patriots should think
fit to return him again upon our pension list.

The accounts of his reception are highly favourable. Triumphal
arches, flowers, illuminations, and reviews of the burghers, have wel-
comed him everywhere, and the people are clearly glad of the prospect
of quiet and money-making again. And what man of common sense
would not rejoice to escape the eternal hazards, fooleries, and crimes of
republicanism? If Prince Leopold will conduct himself with intelli-
gence, and still more, with a real wish to do justice to the nation, if he
give them freedom, and disdain to sink into a mere enjoyer of a laced
coat and handsome salary, he may carry his crown with him to his grave.
If he play the miser, he will be scoffed at: if he play the lover of mili-
tary parade, the amateur of lancers, hussars, and other gewgaws of ser-
vice, he will be in danger of it over-draining his exchequer, and being
rapidly turned out. If he play the German prince, the Landgrave or
Margrave, the sullen sovereign of three square miles, his fate will be
sealed within the first week.

But at best his throne must be an uneasy one. A strong and bitter
Flemish party have already declared against him. The Dutch nation
are universally indignant at the loss of Belgium, and are determined to
recover it, if sullenness, grumbling, and the virtues of the Prince of
Orange will help them in the recovery. But the time for those weapons
is past. Wilhelmus van Nassau was not made for a conqueror, and he
must be content with the triumphs of the. counting-house. His admi-
nistration was unwise, for it was displeasing to the people. In spite of
all remonstrance he kept the scourge over their heads, in the shape of a
minister whom the people universally abhorred. If he thought proper
to sacrifice his supremacy to the happiness of keeping M. Von Maanen
at the head of Belgium, he has only himself to thank for the consequences.
Another absurdity was the determination to make the Flemings speak
Dutch, whether they knew it or not; the consequence was that they
have left their king to contribute his philosophical cares to his Hollanders
alone. There were fifty other similar fooleries played off upon a people,
tetchy enough in their nature, much connected with France, who taught
them to despise the Hollanders most heartily, and fully recoll cting the
brilliant times of Napoleon, who taught them as heartily to despise,

1831.] The State of Europe. 117

right or wrong, every thing that called itself’ a monarch on the con-
tinent. The Flemings have now another reason for their aversion ; they
have fought the Dutch and beat them. They have fought the Dutch
troops of the line with peasants and apprentices, and they have beat
Mynheer without mercy. Of course, the breach is now irreconcileable.
So much for the partition policy, so much for handing over nations, as if
they were as transferable as the polite notes of the “ high contracting
patties.” But the age of those guilty and tyrannical fopperies is past,
and we may live in hopes that diplomacy will at length learn, that men
are not to be sold like sheep, that sovereigns are not to be imposed upon
nations, like overseers on the helpless of a workhouse ; and that ancient
feelings, manly hopes, and the love of country, are not to be demolished
at a dash of the diplomatic pen. The secretary-age is over, and hence-
forth it must be taken into consideration, even in the cabinets of Austria
and Berlin, that the old definition of man, as a transferable commodity
by cabinet bills of exchange, must be given up, and man be allowed to
be a creature of flesh and blood, capable of likings and dislikings, and
much more safely led than driven.

The Flemings have a right to congratulate themselves. We as much
abhor disturbance for disturbance sake, as the most worshipful of state
functionaries. But we have no power to overlook the facts, that the
Flemings fought and conquered their masters ; that, if their debates want
order and elegance, there has been at least as much sound sense in them,
as in the proclamations of the Prince of Orange, or even in the ukases of
the lord of all the Russias; that more of men’s minds has been suffered
to come out, even in those rambling debates, than in all the polished
conferences of all the well-dressed courts of Europe; and thus the very
tinkers of Brussels might set a lesson of political honesty to three-fourths
of the Metternichs in existence. ;

One point, there is, of the highest importance. In all the present
changes of the continent, there is nothing of unprovoked insurrection,
and nothing of sanguinary outrage. Nothing of the furious bigotry
that, to our national shame and sorrow, puts the knife and the firebrand
into the grasp of that wretched fanatic the Irish peasantry ; and nothing
of the mob or party butchery of the French revolution of 1793. The
French of July 1830, rose by compulsion. Their infatuated king him-
self blew the trumpet. His mad “ ordinance” was a declaration of war,
and the rising of the people was against a national enemy. In England,
if any government had been rash enough, which we think impossible, to
issue a royal proclamation announcing in summary words that—the liberty
of the press was abolished—that parliament was dissolved, and the
arbitrary pleasure of the king ; and—that the whole system of repre-
sentation was as arbitrarily changed for the express purpose of returning
a submissive parliament: we leave any man of common sense to say
what would be the consequences by the time his majesty’s mails had car-
ried the news a twelve hours’ journey through the land. “ Absit omen.’
Those things will never be necessary here, for the constitution bars out
the sacrilegious hand that would pluck away its jewels; and while the
Habeas Corpus and Trial by Jury exist, the rights of the nation are
guarded by a fence of more than triple steel. But in France, the act
was done ; the nation rose neither to retaliate nor to riot, but to defend
itself, and its efforts closed, as it ought to close, in the expulsion of the
Bourbons for ever. That deed at least is completed. And the Duchess

118 The State of Europe. [Avueusr,

of Berri may make fifty foolish journeys, and distribute the last
franc of her expatriated purse before any one of her blood makes the
slightest impression upon the indignant and justified spirit of the French
nation.

The Polish insurrection has been already alluded to. In this there
was nothing of either wanton revolt, or democratic outrage. An op-
pressed people appealed to Heaven, started up, as one man, broke the
weapons of the oppressors on their heads, and put themselves on their
trial in the field against the most furious and savage of European des+
potisms. God prosper them! They fight for the same matchless stake,
which once covered England with blood, and which was well worthy all
the blood that won it. Their misfortunes, if they must sink, will be a
source of sorrow to all that is generous, brave, and wise in human
nature. Their triumphs—and we will not let go the hope that they may
triumph yet—will be a trophy erected for the praise and pride of many
a generation to come, a noble memorial to every people struggling under
the weight of a tyrant, and a glorious encouragement to those efforts of
wisdom and virtue without which nations are better in the grave.

The Belgian Insurrection too has been justified by the total want of
volition in the people, in their transfer to the Dutch, by their natural
aversion to the authority of a stranger, and by the original right of every
nation to follow its own interests according to the dictates of its own
reason. The trade, the finance, and the public privileges of the Fleming
will find under an independent sovereign that protection which it would
be idle to expect under a Dutch king. And the nation were undoubt-
edly authorized to break through an allegiance which they believed in-
jurious to themselves, and which had been imposed on them by the
caprices of continental policy.

There are still some questions, which may seriously occupy the new
king’s attention. The province of Luxemburg was a kind of purchase
by the House of Nassau for some territories on the Rhine belonging to
the ancient Orange family. But the Luxemburgers, discovering them-
selves to be human beings, and not stocks and stones, conceive that they
ought to have some voice on the occasion, and determining to share the
fate of the Flemings, they boldly refused to be handed back to William
of Nassau. Against this obstinate adherence to their own choice, the
Dutchman protests with the air of injured honesty. But the lesson will
be good for him, and for others like him. Man must not be bought and
sold ; and the sovereign of the Hollanders must be content with what is
content with him. Limburg and Liege are matters of discussion, but
the whole will be speedily settled. The Dutch king will see the folly of
resisting common sense. Belgium, as a thriving kingdom, will be more
productive to him; an opulent neighbour is better at any time than
a disaffected subject. Europe will be quiet (for a while), and men will
think of commerce, books, and steam engines—much better things than
guns and gunpowder, “ brilliant staffs,” regulation moustaches, “ mor-
tars on a new construction,” and gazettees extraordinary of killed and
wounded.

In England we have the more pacific battles of the House of Com-
mons. Country gentlemen making speeches of half an hour’s length to
their own great delight and the infinite surprise of their most intimate
neighbours. Statesmen falling asleep under the table, debates dragged
on trom hour to hour through midnight, twilight, and daylight. The

1831. ] The State of Europe. 119

unfortunate Speaker alone wakeful, and inwardly cursing—if so decorous
a functionary can commit such an enormity—the art of speech newly
discovered by so many tongues. The Reform Bill lingers and lan-
guishes in the Commons. The subject has run itself dry, and if the
ministry do not resuscitate it by some coup d'etat, it will never find
nerves or breath enough to walk into.the House of Lords. Sir Robert
Peel is the antagonist leader. What more need we say for the inactivity
of its advocates? We have feelings towards that “ breaker down of the
constitution of 1688’ which we will not trust to paper. But it is
enough for us to know that Sir Robert Peel mingles himself with any
question, to shrink from it with disgust. If we should ever be con-
vinced that the “ Reformers” are honest men, it will be from hearing
Sir Robert Peel’s most determined declaration against “ giving them his
confidence.” We remember him on the fatal Catholic Question too well.
We remember the solemn decorum of his solemn visage, his formal
protestations that “ no change of public affairs, no accident of time, nor
glitter of office, no popular outcry, no command of parent, people, or
king, should nor could shake the firmness of a principle that was all but
born with him, that he felt as the breath of life, and that he would part
with only when he parted with all things in the grave.”

And we remember the equally solemn decorum, the supersober
sanctity of visage with which, at a week’s warning, he told us the direct
contrary. In this thing, we offer no reproach to Sir Robert, he could
not help it. It was not in his nature to be firm, and he gave way ac-
cordingly. But if we should yet rank among the Reformers, our an-
swer. will be—‘ the measure was reprobated by Sir Robert Blifil
Reel,:’

THE CHOLERA.

TueEne is, we may easily believe, a vast quantity of unnecessary alarm
on the subject of this disease. Three-fourths of the English drawing-
rooms seize upon it as a subject ; it supplies a capital relief, when every-
thing has been said about the weather, that can be said about weather,
and when politics are cast aside as “mawvais ton.” ‘The citizens find it
the matter of a new paragraph, in the duil intelligence of the foreign
; pr, and the whole of the watering-places have laid hold of it, as the

happiest auxiliary to the exhausted topics of high water and low water,
the “sub-acid taste of the hot spring, this morning ;” “the deficient
sulphur in the bath dose ;” “the superabundant steel in the Malvern
potation,” “ the marvellous phenomenon of a celebrated alderman, who is
just able, after forty years of swallowing a bottle of it before breakfast,
to see his own knees, and even put one foot before the other,” and the
“prodigious improvement in the complexions of Sir Watkin Wigs-
borough’s seven daughters, from Cumberland, whose cheeks it has
turned from peonies into the colour of pie-crust, by the activity of its
saline,’—and so forth. ‘

In all cases, there will be a great deal the work of gossip, and every
wicked old man, with a hundred thousand in the three per cents, and
every ancient lady, conscious of the secret sins of card-playing and car-
mine, will tremble at the first touch of a cold, as the herald of that dire
enemy, which sweeps the unfortunate people of the north from the

120 The Cholera. [ August,

world. Still the disease exists ; it is perilous, and though we must hope,
that a large share of its virulence is owing to the intolerable filth and
penurious food of the northerns, and that, so far, its effects must be
much lightened, in more cleanly and well-fed countries, no precaution
can be too strict, and no science too intelligent and active, in guarding
this country against the contagion.

A clever work by a physician, who has seen a good deal of cholera
in the east, gives the following suggestions :—

«‘ When cholera prevails in a district, it is of great consequence to avoid as
much as possible all exposure to fatigue, &c. Cold is also to be avoided, par-
ticularly while asleep,” p. 98.

«* Moderately warm clothing, even within the tropics, is also of importance
with a view to the prevention of the disease; and the author has been in the
habit, even in the hottest weather, both by precept and example, of recommend-
ing the use of flannel next the skin. It is the best means of regulating the
warmth of the body, and of preventing sudden and injurious chills. It is
unnecessary to enlarge on the depressing effects consequent on a debauch. All
who have seen the disease, are aware how frequently an attack of it has suc-
ceeded intoxication, p. 99.

«The minds of all exposed to the remote cause of cholera, should be as
much supported as possible ; and every attempt should be made to remove any
alarm as to the contagious nature of the disease. It is a good rule, to avoid
making the disease, when prevalent, a subject of conversation. * *

«Little need be said of the injurious effects of hunger; but it may be ob-
served, that it is dangerous, during the prevalence of cholera, to take severe
exercise before breakfast, with an empty stomach, p. 100.

“‘The aliment should be of easy digestion, generous and nutritive; those
accustomed to live well should not be stinted of any of their usual luxuries ;
long fasts and subsequent heavy meals should be avoided; and fruit and all
vegetable matter likely to produce acidity, to disagree with the stomach, or to
derange the bowels, must be prohibited.

“It is so much the fashion in these times for individuals to dose themselves
with medicine, that many are apt to resort, for the relief of the uncomfortable
feelings which arise during the prevalence of cholera, to some favourite purga-
tive; and innumerable instances have occurred, in which the invasion of the
disease seemed the result of an over-dose of medicine, p. 101-2.

“There is reason to believe, that those residing in well-built houses, and
sleeping one or two stories above the ground-floor, are less liable to the disease
than those who sleep on the ground, or on mud-floors little raised from the
surface,” p. 102.

But what is European science to the wisdom of China ; the “ Celestial
Empire” beats Europe hollow, and the emperor is worth the whole
College of Physicians :—

«‘The Russian director of the customs at Kiachta, applied to the dzarguschey,
the chief civil officer on the Chinese frontier, to establish quarantine institutions
against the cholera. The latter replied, that police precautions would be useless
for his country, on account of its very numerous population ; adding, with the
most perfect sangfroid, that this disease would give their empire so much the
more room, the more people it carried off. This notion he supported by the
remark, that a sickness of this kind knew its victims, and left others untouched ;
that it selected such as live in filth and intemperance; and that, on the con-
trary, a person of undaunted mind, with cleanliness and moderation, was safe
from its attack.”

The idea of the folly of precaution, when there were so many to take
care of, is a fine piece of orientalism; but we had no notion that Pro-
fessor Malthus had lectured in China; perhaps he stole the doctrine,

1831.] The Cholera. 121

that the fewer the people the more the room ; an odd way of arriving at
a philosophical discovery after all. But the Chinese argues better still,
and gives an example which must throw all the Lord Mayor’s placards
into utter despair :—

“He referred to the present Emperor of China, declaring that Pekin owed its
exemption from the disease solely to the firmness of his Imperial Majesty, who
was pleased to say to those about him, ‘ Do not suppose that the disorder is
more powerful than yourselves ; the pusillanimous alone dje of it.” From that
moment they all took courage, and nothing was left for the disease but to quit
the capital.”

The disease was quite in the right; it found itself discountenanced
at court, and disdaining to be a sinecurist, took its leave. But the
Chinese had another case in point, and we think that the tail cholera
deserves a paper by Davies Gilbert, in the archives of the Royal
Society.

«T relate to you another case, which occurred in the year 1070. A disease
broke out at Pekin of a peculiar character, for it affected the tails of those who
quitted their houses and abode in the open air. Ina short time it consumed
half the tail; and the immediate death of the owner was the consequence.
When this was reported to the then reigning Emperor, Tschang-Lung, he de-
clared, emphatically, that he would not hear any thing of such a disorder. This
his supreme will, expressed with firmness, and thereupon made public, had
such an effect on the malady, that it left Pekin forthwith. ‘While the dzar-
gutschey was detailing these circumstances, he fixed his eyes intently on the
director, and, perceiving in his looks a certain distrust of his statements, he
added, with a smile: ‘You must believe, at any rate, that fear enervates the
mind, and that the latter has a decisive influence on the body. Whether you
believe my story or not, we must listen without terror to the report of the dis-
ease at Dukuchoton, and then it will positively not visit us.’ This was in the
summer of 1827: the disease actually proceeded no further in that direction.”

There may be sceptical persons in the world, who will be disposed to
doubt. But Dr. Riecke, the learned German, who now figures at the
head of the anti-cholerists, is ready to pledge himself for the fact, in
any way that may become a gentleman, a doctor, and, above all, a tra-
veller of the first dimensions.

Apropos, now that we are upon the subject of orientals. A Scotch
dentist has just advertised the discovery of a species of artificial palate,
made of the inner coats of a muscle of gigantic size, found in the Mo-
luccas. It has the advantage of enduring wear and tear of any dura-
tion or degree ; is not affected by any quantity of arrack punch, how-
ever strong in the spirit, or glowing in the mixture, and has already
withstood the whole winter’s dinners of a select club of members of
parliament, at the west end, which all who know the world, must know
to be a much better test than even a round of corporation dinners.

In return, another dentist offers a superb equivalent to the Persian
Sofi. A Scotch paper says :— Fe

“Messrs. Cracour, the eminent dentists, are now on a professional visit to
Scotland. They have just completed a set of pearl teeth for the Emperor of
Persia, which they inyite the nobility, gentry, and gentlemen of the faculty to
inspect at their apartments, previous to its being sent off for the Persian mo-
narch. Je believe this is the only set of teeth ever made in Europe for the same
illustrious personage.”

We believe so too.

922) 4 [Avueust,

NARRATIVE OF THE LATE CONSPIRACY AT CADIZ.*

Wuew the followers of Mina and the other chiefs were ordered into
the French depots, those who were not initiated into the mysteries of
the revolution, naturally concluded that no immediate attempt would
be made on the part of the exiled Spaniards ; all their enterprizes having
ended only in discomfiture and misfortune. The germs of revolution,
however, were sown in Spain, and could not be so easily eradicated.
The indefatigable General Torrijos, having taken refuge in Gibraltar,
kept the public authorities in the southern provinces of the Peninsula in
continual alarm. Although uniformly repulsed, his little band, con-
quered as it was, could never be utterly subdued. That Torrijos carried
on a very active correspondence with his countrymen, is no longer a
question of doubt; nay, there exist the best grounds to suppose that he
acted in concert with some of the very men who had been sent by the
government against him. Duplicity and treachery have unfortunately
presented a prominent feature in the conduct of some of the Spanish
generals. Nothing can depict, in more gloomy yet more faithful colours,
the lamentable position of the peninsula, than the daily-occurring instances
of distrust and indecision which characterize the operations and conduct
of the military. It seems to be an established theorem, that a person
may change his opinion two or three times a day, according to the
aspect which affairs may take, or the indications of failure or success.

Persecution seems favourable to the growth of liberal opinions ; and the
workings of private feeling strengthening the views of political regene-
ration, combine to keep alive a flame which it is no longer in the power
of oppression to extinguish. Nothing can more strongly exhibit this
truth than the organization of the conspiracy at Cadiz—a conspiracy so
vast, so skilfully prepared, that it yet appears a wonder how it should have
failed in the moment of execution. It will form a striking episode in
the series of conspiracies, and, like those of Venice, Fiesco, and Rienzi,
deserves a piace in the pages of history.

The movements of Torrijos seemed to afford no great cause of anxiety
to the government. Wilfully blinded, the rulers of unfortunate Spain
persisted in maintaining that there were not the slightest elements of
revolution in the nation itself, and that every partial movement to that
effect was the result of the traitorous machinations of a few discontented,
lawless, and implacable refugees. This impression was so strong, that
the movement at Cadiz burst like thunder on the constituted authorities.
It was sudden and unexpected, bearing all the characteristics of a
powerful combination: yet it failed. But that the reader may better
understand the spirit and progress of this curious event, it is necessary to
enter into some details, for which we request his indulgence.

Among the refugees sojourning at Gibraltar, there was a man who
had acted a distinguished part in the Spanish revolution of the year
1820. This was Don Salvador Manzanares—an officer of engineers, of
considerable abilities in his line, who filled the post of minister for
the home department at the time that the constitution expired at Cadiz.
After a series of perils and adventures, Manzanares sought refuge at
Gibraltar, where, in order at once to provide the means of subsistence

™ We give this narrative on the authority of a correspondent, who was an eye-
witness of the principal events he has recorded.—[Ep.

1831. Narrative of the late Conspiracy at Cadiz. 123

and to remove suspicion, he embraced the profession of a schoolmaster.
In this capacity he remained, obscure and unmolested, for some time.
At length the moment for action arrived, and it was decided that he
should proceed to the Serrania de Ronda, to promote the ends of revo-
lution on that side, whilst Torrijos made an attempt by land from
Gibraltar. ‘Torrijos must either have been studiously deceived by spe-
cious promises, or abandoned from fear in the moment of crisis by those
from whom he expected aid and support. In the full confidence that he
was about to be joined by a whole regiment, he made a sally, on the
night of the 28th of December, with a handful of men, and, succeeding
in forcing the picquets of the advanced troops, he proceeded into the
inland country, where he met a vigorous repulse from the royalists. He
retreated within the English lines, having sustained but trifling loss.
An officer, called Donadeu, and about a dozen soldiers, alone incorpo-
rated themselves with Torrijos. Donadeu was, in consequence, pro-
moted, and appeared very anxious for the success of the enterprize.
When this failed, however, he represented himself as a prisoner, and a
man forced to follow Torrijos; in consideration of which he was also
promoted by the Spanish government ! ‘

» The operations of Manzanares were not more fortunate than the enter-
prizes of 'Torrijos: The troop which he had been able to muster—
chiefly composed of smugglers, deserters, and disbanded soldiers—was
not only’ inconsiderable in point of numbers, but, from its miscella-
neous description, seemed to offer little security as to adhesion and
fidelity. ‘Some’ determined patriots,’ however, had joined this | band,
amongst whom ‘was a guerrilla chief, called Carlos—a man of extra-
ordinary resolution, inured to fatigue, and familiarized with danger.
‘This officer was sent by Torrijos from Gibraltar with money and other
supplies, which enabled Manzanares to proceed in his undertaking ; so
that, although we see him continually defeated, or obliged to retreat
before superior forces, he nevertheless contrives to keep his footing in
the country, and evade the vigilance and the snares of the enemy. He
went through a severe ordeal of trials and sufferings ; but he was buoyed
up with the anticipation of the approaching rising of the inhabitants.
Many chiefs in the army had promised their support as soon as the people
should raise the cry of liberty ; and the grand scheme at Cadiz, which
had been carefully prepared and matured, was now on the point of ex-
ploding. Mina, though apparently quiet in France, would not be long
in making his appearance in the north of Spain; and thus the prospect
of a speedy deliverance to Spain cheered the spirits of the liberals, at the
very moment that the government considered them totally ‘unable to
make any serious attempt in furtherance of their views.

Let us now turn our attention to the proceedings at Cadiz. This city
has always ranked foremost amongst those which have been conspicuous
for their adhesion to a liberal system of government; but the decree
issued by the king, declaring the city a free port, was considered by
many as tending to quench the ardour of the inhabitants in favour of
political freedom. This surmise proved, in some measure, just. The
merchants, which composed the chief and most influential portion of the
inhabitants, seemed reconciled to the existing order of things, and among
them many who had formerly been remarkable for their liberal opinions.
But, even making the most ample allowances, there still remained within
the precincts of Cadiz sufficient elements of revolution. The number

124 Narrative of the late Conspiracy at Cadiz. [Aueusr,

of the disaffected was very great, and the quantity of sufferers by the
existing form of government equally considerable. On the downfal of
the constitution, all those individuals who had strongly pronounced
themselves in its favour were obliged either to become voluntary exiles
from their country, or remain exposed to the active surveillance of the
authorities to whom they were obnoxious. Thousands of men, therefore,
without any other offence than that of having followed the government of
the Cortes to Cadiz, were, upon its downfal, left in a state of destitu-
tion. Among this number we must count a crowd of artizans and
mechanics, who had served as milicianos,* and an equally numerous
band of zndefinidos.t These, together with the men serving under
government, and who, with the political change, lost their places, and
consequently the means of support, composed a multitude naturally
enough averse, from self-interest at least, if not from amore ennobling
principle, to the despotic rule which pressed heavily on their country.
Many of these unfortunates had employed themselves in the most, mecha-
nical offices; others had dispersed over the land ; not a few had fled from
the country, and some were dependent on the charity of their friends
and relatives. In these persons, no less than in the disaffected of the
city, the materials for a revolt were found ready at hand. But a most
extraordinary feature in the conspiracy—and one, indeed, for which it
will be distinguished from similar attempts in ancient and modern his-
tory—is the singular fact that strict secresy was kept by no less than
about fifteen hundred men during a period of several weeks. The
colonel that commanded the regiment forming the garrison was
invited to place himself at the head of the commotion. The answer
which he gave deserves attention. He professed himself willing to
second the wishes of the inbabitants, should they declare themselves for
a change of government ; but, at the same time, refused to take the lead
in the undertaking; alleging, as a plea, that he was unwilling that the
attempt should bear the character of a military revolt. ‘ Let the insur-
rection proceed from the people ; and the soldiers, instead of opposing,
will support the enterprize.” This decision evinced the good sense and
moderation of the colonel, and appeared to afford general satisfaction to
those who composed the directing junta, the members of which were
Lopez Ochoa, a lawyer, and—a friar !} ;

The various points of the conspiracy were leisurely and prudently
discussed in the many meetings to which the more influential men of the
party were admitted. An active correspondence was kept up. Money
was procured, arms distributed, and a communication opened with
another junta, established at the Isla de Leon, to act in accordance with
that of Cadiz, and to second the insurrection which was to burst in this
city. All these dangerous transactions were carried on within the pre-
cincts of a town very small in compass. Hundreds of men knew the
progress of the scheme ; yet the governor remained in complete igno-
rance of the fearful plot, and seemed to sleep in security at the very
mouthofa volcano. The organization and arrangement of the plan was
as follows. It was determined that several groups should start up at

* Volunteers, answering the purpose of the national guard.

+ Officers deprived of their pay. ,

+t We forbear giving the names of the two last, as we are not certain that
they are in safety.

1831.] Narrative of the late Conspiracy at Cadiz. 125

different parts of the city, and raise the cry of liberty. The principal of
these were to proceed to the square of San Antonio, and there proclaim
the constitution. The soldiers would then join the conspirators, and
the governor be put to death, in case he offered any opposition to the
plot. The signal for the conspirators at the Isla de Leon to pronounce
themselves, was to leave the beacon-lamp in the tower of Cadiz unlighted.
This was to be a token that the blow had been struck, and succeeded.
These arrangements made, Sanchez-Reza and Captain R , two officers
of known courage, and strongly addicted to the cause, were chosen to be
the leaders in the popular commotion. Every thing being in readiness,
the 2d of March was the day appointed to strike the decisive blow that
was to change the destiny of many, and be the herald of a general revo-
lution.

The 2d of March arrived ; but—owing to those fatal casualties which
have so frequently accompanied attempts of this nature—some deficiency
in the plan, or other motives to us a secret, induced the leaders to post-
pone the undertaking until the following day. This was, in the end,
fatal to the enterprise that promised such brilliant results, Distrust had
began to dawn in the mind of the governor, Don A. Hierro y Oliver.
He had observed groups, which first fixed his attention, and then awoke
well-grounded fears. Throughout the fatal 2d of March, but more
especially towards the evening, the aspect which the city presented
led him to suspect that some secret plot was in contemplation.- Some
partial and injudicious cries of liberty, on the part of some of the con-
spirators, came to strengthen his suspicions ; and he immediately applied
himself to make the most diligent inquiries. Although, in so short a
space of time he could not ascertain thé magnitude of the conspiracy,
he yet obtained a clue tohelp him in his subsequent investigations.
Whether some one of the party betrayed the secret, or the governor was
guided by mere suspicion, from the well-known character of Sanchez-
Reza, it is certain that this officer received a preremptory summons to~
appear immediately before him. The astonishment of Sanchez-Reza
was as deep as his apprehension for the discovery of the plot. However,
he determined to obey the order of the governor. Don A. Hierro y
Oliver received the officer with an austere countenance.

“ Sanchez-Reza, I know that there exists a conspiracy against the
government.”

The officer attempted to expostulate.

“ Nay, sir,” interrupted the governor, “do not attempt to impose
upon me ; Iam fully acquainted with the plans of the conspirators ; you
are one of the leaders chosen to direct the plot.”

The coolness and nerve which Sanchez-Reza had displayed on former
occasions failed him upon this. The governor perceived his consterna-
tion—his doubts were confirmed, and he proceeded—

“ Now, sir, give me your word that you will immediately repair to
- your companions, announce to them that their plans are known to me,
and then quit this city without loss of time. On this condition, I shall
pardon you.”

Sanchez-Reza consented to quit the place as he was desired ; and this
want of decision was fatal to his companions. If he had preserved that
calmness and composure which are indispensable requisites in men who
embark in dangerous undertakings, he would have discovered, from
the behaviour and deportment of the governor, that the conspirators had

126 Narrative of the late Conspiracy at Cadiz. [Aueusr

nothing to apprehend from that quarter. It was evident that the gover-
nor, naturally a man of a violent temper, and zealously attached to the
existing government, would not have consented to parley with a ‘con-
spirator if he had been in possession of power sufficient to crush the
attempt by open force. The probability is, that the governor knew
nothing of the extent of the conspiracy further than that it was’one
of'a most serious character ; and he availed himself of the only resource
within his command—that of throwing indecision into the councils of
the conspirators, by affecting a knowledge of their operations which he
did not possess, and by attempting to intimidate one of the leaders ito
a resolution to relinquish his design. In this manoeuvre lhe succeeded.
Sanchez-Reza, on quitting his house, instantly repaired to the junta,
and announced that the whole of their, plans were discovered, related
the particulars of his interview with the governor, and signified his deter-
mination to leave the city that very moment. It was in vain that argu-
ments and expostulations were tried; the officer appeared. totally
inflexible to both, and persisted in declaring that it was madness to
continue in their design—that, as far as he was concerned, he had
pledged his word, and that nothing should prevent him from quitting
the place. To this resolution he adhered. Not so with the rest of the
conspirators. Captain R. declared to the members of the junta that
he was fully determined to strike the blow—that it was too late to
retract—and that, at the peril of his life, he was resolved to make those
attempts alone in which he was to have been aided by Sanchez-Rezai'o

The night passed in gloomy suspense. The inhabitants surmised that
somé dreadful affair was in contemplation, and strange rumours began
to circulate. On the following morning, these symptoms grew more
decisive and alarming. Every one anticipated a blow ; but they were
ignorant how, or by whom, it would be struck. ‘The governor then
sallied from his residence, accompanied by some attendants. He con-
ceived that his presence would be effectual in calming the anxiety and
effervescence evident among the inhabitants. Probably, too, he might
suppose, that, by patrolling the streets, he should check the boldness
of the conspirators, and defeat their plans. The city continued in ‘this
dreadful suspense until three o’clock in the afternoon, when an incident
occurred that threw a fearful interest on the monotony of the drama.
This was the assassination of the governor himself, who, while pass-
ing through the street called Veronica, was assailed by a party of the
‘conspirators. The attack was instantaneous, and the governor fell.
His attendants had neither the power to prevent this catastrophe, nor to
avenge the death of their chief. The conspirators then proceeded up the
Calle Ancho, uttering cries of “ Liberty ;” and rushed to the Plaza San
Antonio, the chief place of meeting, to incorporate themselves with other
groups. A crowd had already assembled on the spot, but neither effi-
cient in numbers, nor—to judge from the aspect they presented—pos-
sessing the resolution necessary for the desperate undertaking which they
had begun.

The aspect of Cadiz at this time was singular. Every one seemed
afraid to pronounce himself on either side; every one looked with a
kind of painful distrust on his neighbour ; and nothing can more eff-
ciently paint the terror and incertitude which must have reigned in the
city, than the fact that the corpse of the governor remained on the
spot where he had fallen until nightfal—no one daring to’ remove, or

1831.] Narrative of the late Conspiracy at Cadia. 127

even, indeed, to approach it. The leaders of the conspiracy strained
all their energies to carry their attempt to an issue; but, to their utter
confusion, they perceived, that the number of their adherents had
decreased in an alarming degree. About three hundred men only might
be seen about the streets, with the intention of exciting a popular com-
motion: the inhabitants themselves preserved a dismal—a fatal neu-
trality! A spell hung over the city. The soldiers, on whose support
the conspirators had relied, remained tranquil spectators of what was
going forward ; they neither joined the revolt, nor endeavoured to put
it down. The leaders of the commotion then waited on the colonel, and
earnestly conjured him to place himself at the head ; but he adhered to
the answer which he had given on a previous occasion: he promised
that, if the people declared themselves in a respectable number, the
soldiers would support the attempt. In this frightful suspense several
hours passed. The groups in the Plaza St. Antonio raised a shout at
intervals; but the crowd, instead of augmenting, was losing its num-
bers as the day advanced. One by one gradually withdrew—no doubt
under the impression that the affair had failed, and that to provide for
safety was the only prudent course now to be adopted. At this moment
Captain Zayas, who commanded the troop on duty at the Plaza St. An-
tonio, raised'a cry in opposition to those uttered by the conspirators.
This event produced no less surprise than indignation among the assem-
bled crowd. It had been expected that both captain and soldiers would
join. the insurrection ; and at least it was never contemplated that
the captain would, under any circumstances,. depart from the neutrality
_ he had assumed. But now the die was cast, and a contest appeared
inevitable. No sooner had Zayas pronounced the obnoxious cry, than
one of the crowd rushed upon him, and levelled a pistol at his breast :
it missed fire. For one moment the man stood defenceless—that moment
sealed his fate !

This incident gave a more determined character to the proceedings of
the day. Hitherto the liberals, if they had met with no support, were
nevertheless free from opposition. The cry uttered by Zayas, and the
death which was the consequence, served to change completely the
aspect of things. Those who were secretly inclined to favour the exist-
ing government took courage from the decision of Zayas ; whilst those
who had leagued against it grew more disheartened as they perceived
that time was suffered to pass without any advantage being obtained.
Nay, it was easy to foresee that the soldiers—those very men on whose
aid and support they had confided—would, with their accustomed
pliability of disposition, assume a very different attitude as soon as it
might suit their interest.

It will no doubt appear extraordinary that such a conspiracy—one
which bore so determined a character, in which such numbers had joined,
and which met, in fact, no real opposition—could have failed in effect.
We may explain this seeming anomaly in some measure. The conduct
of Sanchez-Reza was unquestionably highly detrimental to the under-
taking. From the moment that he signified his resolution to quit Cadiz,
a degree of dismay and incertitude began to prevail among the liberals.
The greatest drawback on the success of the attempt was the absence of
a competent leader. We perceive no one distinguished name, either in
the members of the junta, or the leaders appointed to conduct the insur-
rection. It is singular that, although many powerful names are enrolled

128 Narralive of the late Conspiracy at Cadiz. [Avueust,

in the cause of Spanish liberty, the executive part of the affair is always
entrusted to individuals of inferior note.

We have stated that the signal agreed upon to inform the liberals of the
Isla de Leon of the success of the attempt, was to leave unlighted the
tower-beacon. It so happened that, in the terror and confusion which
prevailed at Cadiz, the man whose task it was to tend the tower-beacon
neglected to perform his duty. On this neglect the most favourable
construction was put by those of the isla—they hailed, as a token of
success, what was the mere effect of disorder and forgetfulness. Here-
upon the leaders proceeded to the execution of their task; the cry of *
liberty was raised, and the whole of the town of St. Fernando was, in a
few moments, thrown into a ferment. The regiment of royal marines,
two companies of the line, and the youths of the naval school, imme-
diately pronounced themselves in favour of the constitution, which was
solemnly proclaimed. The existing authorities were deposed, and new
persons appointed to fill their places. The enthusiasm spread with rapi-
dity ; and the inhabitants having been invited to join the ranks of the
liberators, no less than four hundred of the people offered themselves
as volunteers in the course of the night. The dawn of day found the
town in the bustle of preparation ; and early in the morning a body of
about fourteen hundred men began their march towards Cadiz, with
banners flying, and drums sounding. Patriotic songs were sung; an
air of proud satisfaction pervaded every countenance ; and the progress
of the motley assemblage bore rather the aspect of a triumphant proces-
sion than a military march. They proceeded to Cadiz under the firm
impression that this city had pronounced itself in favour of a change of
government. They hastened, therefore, to interchange the embrace of
congratulation with their friends—to celebrate the promised regenera-
tion of Spain, and to restore independence to its ancient seat. No sooner,
however, had the rejoicing crowd reached what is called the Cortadura,
than to their consternation they perceived the fortress, which is situated
about two miles from Cadiz, put in hostile array. They endeavoured to
obtain a hearing, but were immediately answered by a volley, which
did some execution among the condensed mass. An event so totally
unexpected paralyzed the energies of the most daring. It was evident
that Cadiz was not under the power of the constitutionalists ; and yet
how was this to be reconciled with the token of success which they had
perceived the night before !

But there was no time for reflection: a contest or immediate retreat
was inevitable. To attempt to storm the fort appeared impracticable :
they were compelled to return to San Fernando. There the chiefs
assembled in council, and deliberated on the difficulties of their posi-
tion. The town of San Fernando is open on every side, and totally
destitute of the means of defence. The ferment had already began to
subside ; whispers of fear and distrust were beginning to prevail; and
it was finally resolved, that those who still adhered faithful to the cause
should retire in a mass from the town, and endeavour to join the small
band of constitutionalists that reved near the coast—about eight hundred
men. ,

Resolved to follow this course, and placing themselves under the
command of an officer named Rosique, they departed from San Fer-
nando. Rosique conducted this troop to Veger, a small town built on
an eminence, The situation appeared favourable, and it was besides

1831.] Narrative of the late Conspiracy at Cadiz. 129

known that General Torrijos had agents in the place. Immediately on
the arrival of the party at Veger, the command devolved on Don Chris-
toval Jurado, an officer acting under the direction of the above-named
general. Of the capacity of Jurado to fulfil the charge entrusted to him,
little was known at the time ; but the sequel afforded a plain demonstra-
tion of his total want of abilities for the task.

Whilst these affairs were transacting, the general, Don Vicent Que-
sada, being duly informed of the commotion at Cadiz, proceeded to check
the progress of the evil. He immediately repaired to that city, and
having provided for its tranquillity, hastened to march against the
liberals stationed at Veger. Jurado received intelligence of his advance.
He knew that the force which the general could collect in his hasty
progress was very small, scarcely amounting to half that which he him-
self commanded. Instead, therefore, of advancing against the general,
- he preferred remaining inactive at Veger ; instead of intercepting every
communication between the inhabitants and those abroad, he allowed
the post to enter. The courier thus brought, with the private correspond-
ence, a proclamation from General Quesada, in which he promised a full
pardon to all who would quit the standard of revolt. This pernicious
document circulated freely through the town, and produced the most
fatal effects. The soldiers began to discuss the expediency of purchasing
personal security at the cheap rate of quitting their present chief; and,
indeed, the lamentable incapacity for command which Jurado had dis-
played might justify their apprehension that no favourable results could .
be expected. Accordingly, desertion soon began to prevail. In parties
of ten and twelve, the soldiers left the town, and surrendered their arms
to Quesada. Jurado endeavoured, by expostulation and threats, to check
the progress of the contagion, but perceived, with dismay, that the cause
was hopeless. He attempted a sally, in order to gain the coast ; but the
moment favourable for this operation was past. A skirmish took place,
and then he was compelled to retreat into the town. On the following
day, about three hundred men, who had until now adhered faithfully,
came to a resolution of surrendering in a mass. This step they took ;
and the abandoned Jurado, with a few desperate companions, remained
at Veger, endeavouring to conceal themselves until an opportunity
should offer to gain the coast. But even this last slender hope failed
them. General Quesada set a price of three thousand reals—a sum
equivalent to thirty pounds—on the head of Jurado. Trifling as the
sum was, it proved a sufficient bait to induce a human being to betray
him without remorse into the hands of his enemies. Little time was
necessary to decide his fate; and Don Cristoval Jurado was executed
within a few hours after his capture !

General Quesada now considered the revolt completely quelled ; for
he was under no apprehension with regard to the movements.of Manza-
nares. The followers of this chief were few in number; they had
already experienced several reverses, and had long been exposed to a
series of fatigue, suffering, and danger. Harassed on every side, and
without the means either of making a stand against the enemy, or of
inducing the peasantry to join them, it was seen that they must fall an
easy prey into the hands of the royalists. The situation of Manzanares
was, at this time, most lamentable. He had been compelled to make a
hasty retreat; many of his companions had been killed; others had
deserted ; and he felt the urgency of gaining the coast with all possible

M.M., New Series.—Vou. XII. No. 68. R

130 Narrative of the late Conspiracy at Cadiz. [Aveust,

expedition. At length he approached Estepona, and stayed at the foot
of the Sierra Bermejon, in order to recruit his strength. He was, at the
moment, accompanied only by five-and-twenty resolute men, who had
sworn to remain faithful to each other to the very last breath. Amongst
these were the brave guerilla, Carlos, Bemtez, and a young gentleman of
good family, named Egido. In this pitiable condition, Manzanares
applied to a goatherd, whom they chanced to meet coming down from
the mountain, and promised him a large sum of money if he would
hasten to the coast, and procure them a vessel that might carry them
away. The goatherd heard him attentively, and greedily closed with
the offer; but the traitor, instead of discharging his commission, ran to
inform Mateos, a royalist, of what was in contemplation. The astonish-
ment of Manzanares, therefore, was not slight when he perceived the
goatherd advancing, with a numerous party of soldiers and royal volun-
teers, to betray him and his helpless companions. Indignation soon
usurped the place of surprise ; the moment of their fate was arrived,
and they determined to make a desperate resistance. Manzanares him-
self rushed fiercely on the goatherd, and, in a moment, laid him dead at
his feet. Upon this, a brother of the slain, took aim at Manzanares,
and he fell instantly ! His companions fought desperately, until—several
of them being killed—further resistance was fruitless; and they were
soon surrounded, overpowered, and taken prisoners. Carlos, Bemtez,
Egido, and others, were soon after executed: the others were thrown
into confinement.

The instructions which General Quesada received were of the most
sanguinary description ; but Quesada—to his honour be it spoken —has
conducted himself, in the present instance, with laudable moderation.
However wide we may differ in opinion from him, and however blame-
able his acts may have been in other circumstances, he is yet a native
Spaniard, and must be actuated by more honourable sentiments than the
atrocious executioner who commands in Catalonia.

In consequence of the failure of the Cadiz conspiracy, the most active
investigations were commenced, and the government adopted rigorous
measures to terrify those men who would not be pacified by other
means. A great number of persons have been obliged to quit the coun-
try: the prisons have been filled with victims ; and military commis-
sions have been instituted, in order that the most summary justice
may be performed on those who are considered obnoxious to the
existing government. A reign of terror has commenced in the penin-
sula ; yet it is a glaring mistake to suppose that persecution can stem
the force of public opinion. Brutal force, instead of calming the angry -
feelings of the disaffected, tends to widen the breach existing between
them and the rulers of the land. For the common interests of humanity,
the powers of Europe (which can so well meddle with other people’s
affairs when it suits their purpose) ought to have interfered long ago, to
prevent the fearful storm which still hovers on the political horizon of
the peninsula, and which will, sooner or later, burst with destructive
fury upon that unfortunate country.

1831.] yl Bh Sa

ELLISTON-ECCENTRICITIES.

Ir was not without emotion that I heard of the death of Mr. Elliston.
He had been one of my earlier associates, and the recollections of our
former intimacy rapidly suggested themselves to my mind, when the
subject of them had passed from the scene for ever! The little circum-
stances in which he bore a part, once merely considered as the amuse-
ment of the hour, as they passed in revision before me, seemed to
‘acquire an importance which would be undue, did they not serve par-
tially to illustrate the character of one who, from his situation and inter-
course in life, as well as indiyidual excellence in his profession, must
occupy a distinguished niche in the dramatic temple of fame.

I will not pretend, in this short notice, to assume anything like detail.
Pens are already busily engaged, which, doubtless, will do their subject
‘ample justice. I do not set forward as Mr. Elliston’s eulogist or bio-
grapher—but merely choose a few anecdotes, which will serve to exhibit,
in an amusing, though I trust not unamiable, point of view, the pecu-
liarities of this admirable actor—an actor in every sense of the word.

The ruling passion of Elliston’s mind, I should say, was vanity, or
perhaps we may ennoble it by the term of ambition. I do not mean
mere personal vanity, or desire of extravagant praise, in the exercise of
his profession—I believe in this particular he was exceeded by many
of his brethren; but it was his management he delighted to honour.
It was an overweening desire to impress on the minds of his associates
and dependants an exaggerated idea of his own importance—to impart
‘a false consequence to the rule of his little dominion—a prerogative he
had succeeded in persuading himself was equal to royalty itself. Here
is an instance.* A gentleman of considerable merit as a provincial actor,
once called, by appointment, at Drury-lane Theatre. He found Mr. Ellis-
ton, who had then the management, giving some directions on the stage,
and was welcomed by him with great politeness. The manager, how-
ever, thinking from the slight conversation which had passed, the gen-
tleman in question did not seem sufficiently impressed with the greatness
of the individual whom he had the honour for the first time of addressing,
took an odd method of displaying his power and consequence. “ Yes,
Sir,” said Mr. Elliston, continuing the conversation previously com-
menced, with a slow and solemn enunciation,—“ the drama—is now—at
its lowest ebb ; and—” then suddenly breaking off, in a loud emphatic
voice he called “ First night watchman.”—The man instantly stepped up,
and making his bow stood for orders.—%“ And,” resuming to the actor,
“and unless—a material—change—” again breaking off, he called,
“ OrneERr night watchman,” with peculiar emphasis. The call was obeyed
as before— a material change—I say—takes place,—as Juvenal justly
—’ “Mr. Prompter.’—The prompter came—“ as Juvenal justly ob-
serves—” ‘ Boa-keeper, dress circle, right hand.’—The man joined the
group,— but, Sir, a reaction must take place, when—” “ OrnER Bov-
keepers.” —The other box-keepers came up.—“ Sir, I say there must be
a—’ “ Copyist.”—Copyist arrives,— must be a—” “ First scene shifter.”
The man comes.—“ Sir, I say it, a convulsion, which will overturn—”’
* OrneER scene shifter”’ ‘They all flock round— and eveutually crush
even the—” ‘Call boy.” Mr. Elliston having now, by the power of his

* This story has been pleasantly told in the Tutler; I tell it as I heard it.
R 2

132 Elliston- Eccentricities. [Aveust,

wand, collected all these personages around him, without seeming to have
an idea of providing for their exit, luckily thought that the easiest way
to dismiss them, without derogation to his dignity, would be to make an
exit himself; beckoning, therefore, to the actor, for whose especial be-
nefit this display of authority was got up, he said, in a slow and magi-
sterial tone, “ Follow me ;” then, in the most dignified manner, he retired |
to his room, leaving the minions of his power to guess at his will.

A clever dramatic author once so far offended the manager, that, for-
getting his dignity, he kicked him out of the room. This little effer-
vescence of Mr. Elliston of course produced a coolness on the part of the
other ; till the talents of the latter were so much in request by the
manager, that he condescended to apologize. Still, however, the wound
was hardly healed, and was alluded to indignantly by the injured poet.
« Come, come, my good friend,” said Elliston, “ you think too much of
it, many would have rejoiced, and with good cause ; for at all events it
will make you popular !”

If ever an actor obtained credit for identifying himself with the cha-
racter he represented, it was certainly due to Mr. Elliston more than to
any man on the stage; for it is a well known fact that, during the cele-
brated representation of the Coronation at Drury-lane, Mr. Elliston was
so carried away by the enthusiasm of his profession, that he verily be-
lieved himself to be the royal personage he represented. When the
mimic but gorgeous pageant left the stage, the acclamations of a crowded
house were long and deafening ; until Elliston, forgetting that he was
only the puppet of royalty, overcome with emotion, burst into tears, and
stretching forth his hands, exclaimed in an almost inarticulate voice,—
“« Bless you, bless you, my people !”

But amidst a great deal of apparent frivolity, Elliston had a deep
knowledge of human nature. <A strange instance of this was related to
me by a party concerned, and shews the singular tact of which he was
master, to beguile a man into the most extravagant adventure, by excit-
ing his feelings of curiosity and self-interest. A gentleman who has
been long celebrated as a dramatic author, and who was also an inti-
mate friend of Elliston, had at one time a situation of some responsibility
at the Coburg Theatre. Repairing to his duties rather late one evening,
he was walking quickly along the road, when a coach drove rapidly after
him, and he heard a voice calling him to stop. On turning round he
saw his friend Elliston with his head out of the coach window, and with
great earnestness beckoning him to come—“ Ah! my dear fellow,” said
Elliston, “‘ you are the man I most desired to see ; I was driving to the
Coburg in quest- of you—just step in here, and as we drive along I
have something to communicate.” ‘“ Then let it be brief,” said the
author, getting into the coach; “ as they are waiting for me at the theatre.”
« Tt is better that they should wait for a time,” said the other, “ than
that you should lose the advantage of what I am about to say.” “ What
is it?”? inquired the first; “tell me in a few minutes.” “ A few
minutes is not sufficient ; what I have to say requires time and thought,
and ”” « My good Sir,” said the author, anxiously, “remember how
I am situated. Tell me where I can meet you in an hour.” “I can
only say,” returned the other, “ that I am going by the mail into the
country ; it is now nearly eight o'clock, and 1] have a secret proposal to
make to you of the ,utmost consequence to both.—Now will you throw
away the pearl at your foot or return?” The situation was embar-

1831.] Elliston-Eccentricities. 133

rassing. Already the coach, having driven rapidly, had considerably
widened the space from his duty. The proposal might be of importance.
Perhaps some country management. “ Proceed,” said the author ; “I
must make what excuse I can on my return.” Elliston immediately
began some rambling desultory harangue, which, before any thing could
be made out of it, was cut short by the coach stopping in Lombard-
street close to a north country mail just then in the act of starting. “ Just
in time, Sir,” said the guard, “couldn’t wait the ghost ofa minute.”—
* Good God!” said the author, “ you will not be able to tell me after
all.’’—“ Yes, yes, I shall,” said Elliston, getting into the mail; “ jump
in; we can put you down at the Angel, and you can take a coach—I’ll
pay for it ” «© But the Coburg.”—* I tell you, I'll make a man of
you—curse the Coburg !”—“ Now, Sir,” said the guard. The visions
of management danced before the author’s eyes. ‘‘ Curse the Coburg!”
he echoed mechanically, and jumped in beside the manager. Every
body knows in what an incredibly short space of time the mail travels
from Lombard-street to the Angel at Islington. Before the author had
well recovered his surprise, he found himself already there, and heard
Elliston calling loudly for brandy and water. It was confoundedly hot,
and before they could drink it, the mail was ready to travel.—*< Well,”
said the author, “‘ you have brought me into a pretty mess, and told me
nothing after all—what on earth shall I do?”—* Nonsense,” said the
other ; “ I was just coming to the point when we arrived ; but there is a
coach-stand a little higher up, and by the time we arrive there you shall
know all.” In an unlucky hour did the poor author again commit him-
self to the road. “ My dear friend,’ said- Elliston, ‘ give me but a
minute or two to reflect ; and throwing himself intoa corner of the mail
seemed to be wrapped in thought. There was no other passenger in the
mail, and night was closing in unusually dark—what could this impor-
tant proposal be? anxiously thought the author. He knew Elliston to
be a great speculator—perhaps he had taken the Dublin Theatre, and
had chosen him to superintend its management,—or the Liverpool,
perhaps—travelling in a north country mail favoured the supposition ; yet
why all this deep reflection—Elliston gave a loud snore! “ Good
God!” cried the astounded author, “ have I been fooled all this time ?”—
« Excuse me, my dear fellow,’ said Elliston, half awaking by the
violence of his own exertion ; “ but the fact is—brandy and water—
night—without sleep ;”’ and relapsing into somnolency, he snored again.
In despair, the author thurst his head out of the window to look for the
coach-stand, but found himself rattling along the north road, and just
then going through Highgate archway ;—with a groan the unhappy
man of letters threw himself back on the seat. ‘ Make a man of you,”
muttered Elliston ; “ fortune favours—the brave.—Curse the Coburg.”
-—snores. A drowsy sympathy came over the author; the brandy and
water had its effect, and when he awoke it was to a supper at the Bull at
Redburn, it being then about half-past eleven at night, and consequently
too late to think of taking a coach for the Coburg. Not to render my
story too long, their destination proved to be the Three Kings, or three
somethings at Leicester; and now the important secret was to be
divulged. The author was shewn into a bed-room to adjust his toilet ;
having nothing, however, but the clothes he stood in, but little time was
required for ‘hat. On descending he found Elliston seated at a well-
filled breakfast table, prepared to explain all to his satisfaction. “ Honesty,

134 Elliston-Eccentricities. [Aueusr,

my dear friend,” said the manager, “is a valuable quality to its pos-
sessor ; but still more valuable to his friends.” The author nodded as-
sent. ‘ Such aman I have been long seeking, and, I think, I have found
one in yourself.” The author bowed—the vision of Dublin theatre again
presented itself. “ Any thing, my dear friend,” said he complacently,
“that honesty, or my little ability can compass, you may command me
in ——” «“ You delight me,” exclaimed Elliston, “ half the difficulty
is removed by the admission ” « You wish to place me in a
situation of trust I presume?” said the author, anxiously. ‘ Precisely
so,” returned the other. “It is the Dublin,’ thought the author.—
« But,” continued Elliston, “ I was half afraid you would consider it too
trifling a game to have played so large a stake for.” ‘It must be the
Liverpool, after all,” thought the author. “I can sacrifice a good deal
for friendship,” said he.—“ My kind, generous friend,” exclaimed Ellis-
ton, “ you bind me to you for ever,—know then,— that to-morrow night
is my benefit at this theatre, and as I know they will cheat me, I have
brought you here to lake my money at the door!” I will pass over the
scene of astonishment and disappointment on the one side, and of excuse
and promise on the other,—suftice it to say, the author agreed to the
proposal, determining, in his own mind, however, to turn the tables on the
cajoler. In the mean time Elliston took him round to different shops,
with all of whom the manager appeared to have an account, and fitted
him out, with somé things he actually wanted. The author found that
his friend the manager had pursued his usual plan, and obtained a place
in the recollection of many worthy men with whom he had dealings, by
‘obtaining a place in the easiest filled side of their books.—Even the
very fiddlers were looking to the result of the benefit with anxiety.

The eventful evening arrived. A comedy, then popular, was an-
nounced. Elliston had been at the theatre during the day to superin-
tend the arrangements, which were then completed. About an hour
before the performance, when the man of letters was about to descend
from his pegasus, to occupy the humble post of money-taker, Elliston
burst into the room, anxiety portrayed on his countenance. “ My dear
friend,” said he, “‘ you have done much to serve me; I have one thin
more to ask you ; it will then crown the obligation.”-—-“ What is it?” —
« You know we play ’s piece to-night ; the man who plays Scamp
is no where to be found—not a soul will undertake it. Now, my dear
friend, if you have any regard for me—will you?”—*« Good Heavens!
Mr. Elliston, are you mad? I never was on the stage, nor could I ever
recite a syllable in my life.”—*“ No matter,” said the manager, “ look
over the part, and trust to me.”—* Impossible!” ejaculated the author.
—- Then I’m a ruined man!” rejoined the manager, clasping his hands
together.—“ As I have gone so far,” returned the good-natured dra-
matist, seeing his distress.—“ Only try,” said the other, energetically.—
« There’s nothing in it, believe me. Trust to me and the prompter. —
Here, waiter, bring brandy and water.” The author was not proof
against such an attack. As the brandy and water diminished, his courage
increased, and it was agreed, as it was expected the house would be full
before the curtain drew up, that the author, after securing the money,
should make his first appearance as Scamp.

Shortly after opening the doors the house was crammed ; and at his
proper place in the drama our new aspirant to theatrical fame, having
been puffed off as a gentleman from London, made his appearance amidst

1831.] Elliston-Eccentricities. 135

an enthusiastic welcome. It must be observed that both master and
servant had imbibed a sufficient quantity of brandy and water to make |
them quite independent of audience, or, in fact, of any thing else but
the object for which they came. The following extraordinary dialogue
ensued—“ Well, Scamp,’’ said his master (Elliston), “ so, after all the
years we have been together, you will leave me at last—(aside)—I
say, you rogue, how much money have you got ?”

Scamp.— Yes, Sir, I can submit to your temper no longer—I have got
sixty good pounds in my pocket.”

Master.—< Sixty pounds, you say ; hand them to me, good Scamp.’’

Scamp.— Harkye, Sir John. For many years have you promised
me my wages, but the devil a penny could I get. Have you not
likewise trepanned me from a comfortable place to starve in your service?
I have now got the money, and I intend to keep it, Sir John’—
suiting the action to the word by slapping his pocket, where the noise of
the coin was distinctly audible. Some of the audience, who knew the
play, were in amaze, others thought it capital acting. An appalling
fact, however, glanced on the manager’s mind. He knew there was a
considerable balance due to the author, but this method of payment he
was unprepared for.

Master.—“< What, would you ruin your generous master, after all he
has done for you?” (shewing considerable agitation.)

Scamp.—‘* My generous master has ruined me, and the least he can
do is to pay me what he owes me. Farewell, Sir—I have a conveyance
near to take me back to town.”

Master.—«< Nay, then, if that’s the game, here’s after you ;’—and
before the author could make his exit he felt the manager’s hand on his
collar with such an impetus, that, aided by the potation, down they
both tumbled, and literally rolled together on the stage. The pockets
of the author, charged as they were with gold and silver, and all unused
to such a freight, gave way under the shock, and the glittering coin
scattered itself liberally about the stage. The fiddlers’ eyes glistened
at the sight, and, unable to resist the temptation of paying their own
arrears, they scooped the stray half-crowns into the orchestra with their
bows, while some jumped on the stage, and began to collect the spoil.
In the pit there happened to be a number of worthy tradesmen and
others, having bills unpaid, who, seeing how matters went, and dread-
ing the result, hastily followed the example of the fiddlers, and in
another instant the stage became a bear-garden, each intent on himself,
swearing, and fighting, and scrambling, like so many Eton-boys, or—
devils. The independent part of the house were shrieking with
laughter—the original combatants, lying on the stage, panting with
their exertion, were hustled about and trampled by the creditors—
while, to crown the scene, amidst the babel-like contusion, some wags
extinguished the lights, and—let fall the curtain !

E1364 [ Auveusrt,

DON PEDRO, AND THE BRAZILIAN REVOLUTION.

Tue revolutionary earthquake which, in July last, hurled the Bour-
bon from his throne, and which still continues to agitate the political
substratum of the European world, has vibrated with powerful effect
across the Atlantic. Like the cholera at present raging in the natural
world, spreading its devastating ravages with equal fury amid the
snows of Russia, as on the burning plains of Hindostan, the headlong
course of the revolutionary scourge is marked by undiscriminating
features ; uprooting, in its fearful progress, both liberal and despotic—
the upholder of the divine right of kings, and the defender of popular
institutions.

The prediction so confidently set forth at the outbreak of the French
revolution, by La Fayette, was no idle prophecy—* Revolutionary
principles appear destined to make le tour du monde.’ Within the nar-
row circle of a year, Cherbourg has beheld two fugitive monarchs seek-
ing refuge in its port—both the victims of revolution, but whose political
careers and principles are distinguished by features certainly as opposite
as the hemispheres in which they reigned.

When Don Pedro d’Alcantara, in the year 1822, raised the standard of
Brazilian independence, he presented to the world the novel spectacle of
a prince, cradled in the lap of despotism, and whose mind was strongly
imbued with ultra notions of kingly prerogative, casting at once aside
the prejudices of birth and education, coming boldly forward as the
champion of liberalism, and erecting his new-made throne on the basis of
revolutionary principles. As the star of independence rose majestically
on the political horizon of Brazil, there arose, at the same time, a small
cloud, which announced a future tempest. The recollection of the prin-
ciples in which he had been educated has proved as fatal to the emperor
as the misguided policy of his government; for, from the very com-
mencement of his reign, it inspired his subjects with well-founded
suspicions of the sincerity of his professions. On the day of his coro-
nation, when, to the superficial observer, all appeared couleur de rose, a
trifling incident betrayed the existence of this feeling. On the termina-
tion of the ceremony, Don Pedro—his brows encircled with the impe-
rial diadem—harangued, from the window of the palace, the crowd
assembled in the square beneath. After a speech of considerable length
—of course admirably calculated to flatter the vanity, and gratify the
hyperbolical taste, of the Brazilian people—he concluded by swearing to
defend the independence of Brazil, and the constitution which the
Cortes should frame for it. In repeating these words with great empha-
sis of tone, the emperor carried his hand to the hilt of his sword. The
abruptness of the action loosened the crown from his brows, which
would have fallen but for the hand of the emperor, which restored it
to its place. This little incident was by many regarded as a favourable
omen of the short duration and instability of his authority.

The position of Don Pedro was, from the first, one of peculiar diffi-
culty. The only monarch in a region encompassed on all sides by new-
founded republics, and aware that a similar spirit was gradually spread-
ing among his own subjects, with admirable skill and sagacity he
sought, on every occasion, rather to lead than oppose the expression of
popular feeling ; and, by thus forestalling the tide of events, he effec-
tually, for a time, baffled the machinations of the republican party. The

1831. Don Pedro, and the Brazilian Revolution. 137

first acts of his reign were distinguished by wonderful activity and energy
of character. The royalists were, after a short struggle, driven from
the country, and the last link of the chain, which for three centuries had
bound America to Europe, was severed. Three months after his elevation
to the throne, he convoked the legislative assembly. On this occasion,
he expressed his confident hope that the constitution which that legisla-
tive body would frame for the country, would be equally remote from
every extreme of despotism, whether monarchical, aristocratic, or demo-
cratic—a constitution, in fact, which should render Brazil at once the
«admiration and terror of the world.” How far these legislators realized
the hopes of the emperor and the nation, and how nearly their wild,
democratic spirit precipitated the country into a civil war, from which it
was only saved by the admirable presence of mind and stern decision of
Don Pedro, are events with which the English public are perfectly
familiar—and events, too, which sufficiently demonstrate that the
throne of the emperor was undermined from the first moment of its
erection. j

The promulgation of a new constitution, more adapted to the infant
political education of the Brazilian people—the suppression of the revo-
lutionary spirit in the northern provinces of the empire—and, above all,
the recognition of the independence of Brazil by Great Britain and Por-
tugal, appeared to have consolidated the authority of the emperor, and
to have consummated the profound policy which aimed at the preserva-
tion of the immense empire of Brazil to the house of Braganza. But
even at this period, when the star of Don Pedro was at its zenith, the
great tide of revolution was rolling on, and gaining ground with every
breaker. :

We will now endeavour to develop the causes which produced the
late events at Rio de Janeiro; but previously it will be necessary to
investigate the causes which led to the separation of Brazil from the
mother country.

There is no problem in politics, it has been profoundly remarked,
more difficult of solution than that of colonies. To watch over their
infancy ; to mark the hour of their maturity ; to know when to yield to
well-founded remonstrance, and when to exact implicit obedience, re-
quires the exercise of consummate sagacity. Much more skill and poli-
tical discernment, we venture to pronounce, is required of those daring
spirits who wield the destinies of colonies, to mark the hour when, by
education, the mind of the country is prepared—when the faculties of
the gifted few are prepared to lead, and of the intelligent mass to fol-
low—hic labor, hoc opus est—for then alone can a well-conducted revolu-
tion ensue. Did this calm, decided, energetic operation of the reason of
the people—diffusively in the common sense of the mass—eminently in
the strong conviction of the gifted minds—did this chaste operation of
intellect, we ask, exist in Brazil when she reared the standard of inde-
pendence? We confidently answer the question with a decided nega-~
tive. Not only was the mind of the country totally unprepared for the
revolution, but there really existed no grounds for the measure. Brazil
had ceased to be acolony ; and, under the mild despotism of the house of
Braganza, the country was slowly but steadily advancing in the march
of civilization. Up to that period, the political surface of these beautiful
regions was still and unruffled as a mountain lake—singularly contrast-
ing with the convulsed state of Spanish America. ‘The constitutional

138 Don Pedro, and the Brazilian Revolution. [Aueusr,

system proclaimed in Portugal in 1820 was adopted, a few months
afterwards, by Brazil—a political event which has brought on both coun-
tries all the evils attributed to the fabulous box of Pandora. The real
cause of the revolution was a feeling of deadly hatred to every thing
European—a feeling produced solely by intrigue, and which was dis-
seminated with inconceivable rapidity from the Amazon to the Rio de
la Plata. Unfortunately for the peace and prosperity of the country,
there existed but too many elements admirably fitted to the views of the
revolutionary party. The European-Portuguese were by far the most
intelligent portion of the population, who, by their steady industry and
superior activity, were in possession almost exclusively of the whole
commerce of the country. Hine ill lachryme. The revolutionary party
appealed rather to the wounded vanity of the Brazilians than to their
sense of wrongs ; and they touched a chord which vibrated with power-
ful effect. The long-smothered flame suddenly burst forth, and led to
acts of atrocity against the defenceless European population at which
humanity shudders, and which will ever be a stain on the annals of the
country. Even the emperor, from the policy of the moment, appeared
to have strongly imbibed this anti- European feeling.

Having thus cursorily detailed the principal causes which led to the
separation of Brazil from Portugal, we shall proceed to investigate those
which have lost Don Pedro his crown, and which appear fated to plunge
his dominions into the most frightful state of anarchy and confusion.
They may be classed under three heads :—

1st. The war with Buenos Ayres.

Qdly. The crusade against Portugal, in the cause of the young
queen, Donna Maria.

3dly. The abolition of the slave trade, and the venality and cor-
ruption of the Brazilian people.

The war with Buenos Ayres—one of ambition and territorial aggran-
dizement, undertaken without any just grounds—proved disgraceful to
the arms of the empire, ruined its trade, exhausted its finances, and
fostered a deep-rooted spirit of discontent throughout every one of its ©
provinces. But it was the intervention in the affairs of Portugal which
was the most fatal stroke of policy, and which effectually undermined
the popularity of the emperor. This measure was a gross deviation
from the grand principles of the revolution, in diametrical opposition
to the best interests of the country, and one that the public voice was
loud in their deprecation of. In fact, in so anti-national a light was this
course of policy viewed by the chambers, that they refused to ratify the
conditions of the loan contracted in London for the service of the young
queen. The republican party, on the other hand, hailed with delight
the arrival of the moment so favourable for the consummation of their
darling plans. With Machiavelian skill they fanned the flame," excited
the fears, and inflamed the passions of the people, by inculcating on their
minds that it was the intention of the emperor to reduce Brazil to its
ancient state of a colony of Portugal. The arrogance and presumption
of the Portuguese refugees at Rio de Janeiro went far to give a strong
colouring of probability to the report. But, after all, the intervention
in the affairs of Portugal was rather the remote than the proximate cause
of the late revolution, which has hurled Don Pedro from his throne with
the same rapidity that he ascended it. The real cause is of deeper
growth, and must be sought for in the character of his people, of whose

1831.] Don Pedro, and the Brazilian Revolution. 139

habits of venality and corruption no adequate idea can be formed but
by those who have long resided in the country, and have had access to
the best sources of information. The revolution had wrought rather a
change of men than of measures. Under the new order of things, every
species of corruption continued to pollute both the course of public and
private life. Another “ Arte de furtar” might be written to illustrate
the state of manners in Brazil, and of the degenerate spirit which sacri-
ficed every thing to the base consideration of personal interest.

To cleanse out this Augean stable of corruption, was the undeviating
study of Don Pedro ; but, less fortunate than his fabulous prototype,
the attempt cost him his crown. His ministry, the object of so much
popular clamour, ably seconded the views of the emperor. The aboli-
tion of the slave trade—a source of immense profit to those engaged in it,
though acknowledged to be detrimental to the best interests of the coun-
try—produced general dissatisfaction ; but when the reforming spirit of
the ministry began to attack the flagrant abuses that pervaded every
branch of the public administration, then it was that the revolutionary
torrent burst forth. The emperor was abandoned to a man; for even
his own adherents, fearful of the public exposé in active preparation,
threw themselves into the arms of the republican party. <A certain
marquis, well known in the diplomatic circles of London, is reported to
have powerfully influenced the late events by his largesses to the troops,
and to have been, in the back-ground, the main-spring of the revolu-
tion.

What may be the future career of the emperor—whether, like another
Sylla, disgusted with the “ lust of sway,” he will retire into the bosom
of private life—whether he will actively attempt to place his daughter
on the throne of Portugal—or whether, in the course of a few months,
a counter-revolution in Brazil may again induce him to recross the
Atlantic—for such an event among a people whose political acts have
resembled the playful fantasies of monkeys, rather than the acts of
beings who dignify themselves with the appellation of rational, does not
pass the bounds of probability—these are questions which we will not
venture to answer. Don Pedro has been the victim of untoward circum-
stances, the operation of which was uncontrollable. So far from com-
mitting any overt act against the liberties of his subjects, he granted them
a measure of freedom for which they were totally unfited; while his
frank and generous character, and his unceasing exertions for the wel-
fare of his empire, deserved him a better fate than that he has expe-
rienced from Brazil, for the crown of which he abdicated that of his
own hereditary dominions.

Over the future destinies of Brazil there hangs a thick cloud of fearful
uncertainty. We have already remarked that the Brazilian people, at
the period of their revolution, were totally incapable of adapting their
previous habits to the institutions of freedom. All the phases of their
revolutionary career have been marked more by a servile spirit of imita-
tion than by an abstract love of liberty. In 1821, in imitation of the
mother country, they proclaimed a constitution ; a few months after-
wards, dazzled by the example of Spanish America, they declared
themselves independent ; in their late political alerte, they appear to have
been led away by a blind admiration of the Parisians in July last—at
least if their ery of “ Viva a liberdode franceza!” be taken as a cri-
terion. In the next revolutionary spectacle which they will offer to the

140 Don Pedro, and the Brazilian Revolution. [Aveusrt,

world, St. Domingo will be the model ; and here it is that their powers
of imitation will be the most happily displayed ; for the elements of
society in Brazil are much more analagous to those of St. Domingo than
to those of any of the countries which, in their revolutionary career, had
served them as prototypes. When we reflect on the elements of anarchy
which exist in Brazil, we shudder at the frightful perspective which
awaits her. The proportion of the black and coloured population to the
white is as seven to one. The wrongs of the three centuries cry loudly
for redress. The veil which has so long blinded them has been suddenly
rent away ; and they at last open their eyes to a sense of their own
strength and importance. Opportunity, we fear, will soon be afforded
them of discharging the debt of deadly hatred they owe the whites. The
flood-gates of ambition are burst asufder, and the seeds of the most
frightful anarchy are in full development. In the language of Napo-
leon, “ Tous les elemens sont prets, il ne faut, qu’un point d’appui, qu’
un homme.” Brazil, like Naples, will have her Massaniello.

It has been acutely remarked, that a shot cannot be fired in any part
of the world without English interests suffering. Great Britain, by the
late revolution in Brazil, will be a loser of between six and seven mil-
lions, independent of the large capital employed in mining speculations
and the general purposes of commerce. The ephemeral monarchy which
exists will be of short duration ; the republican flag will, on the first
news of the change which has taken place in the capital, be hoisted in
the northern provinces. This immense empire, hitherto held together
by the prestige of the emperor’s name, will be dismembered, and formed
into so many independent republics. To which of these will then the
English creditor look for the payment of their dividends? The leaders
of the Brazilian revolution may be honest in their views, and may fondly
dream of still maintaining a monarchical form of government; but we
fear that the experience of a few months will shew that, like Franken-
stein, they have raised up a demon which will work their destruction.

For the sake of humanity, we sincerely hope that our forebodings may
prove unfounded, and that this richest portion of South America may
not, like the other parts of that vast continent, disappoint the sanguine
hopes which, at the outbreak of the revolution, led the commercial
adventurer to seek there an El Dorado, and the political theorist an
Utopia!

The fortunes of the young queen, Donna Maria, in whose cause her
father has sacrificed so much, are on the beam. If Don Pedro, when
seated on the throne of Brazil, was unable to influence the policy of the
European cabinets in her favour, there at present exists but little
chance of his doing so, now that he is a dethroned and fugitive monarch.
The Portuguese constitutionalists must now depend on their own
energies and resources. Accustomed to the protecting arm of England,
they dreamt of foreign assistance when they should have acted boldly
in the field—retreated ignominiously when they should have advanced. _
Let them look to Poland—to that Poland who, alone, armed with her
native fortitude, has broken the spear of the colossus of the north ; let
them, if possible, catch a ray of the noble inspiration which animates
that gallant people, and blush for their own pusillanimous conduct, which
has rendered them—may we not say? the contempt, of the civilized
world.

1831.] [ 41]

JOHNSON, BOSWELL, AND CROKER.

We have no time now, to detail the merits of the five solid volumes,
which the scissors of the late secretary of the Admiralty have compiled
for us ; his part in the performance has been, to gather from all the
memoirs scattered through the shelves of gossipry, every fragment of
anecdote which could swell the bulk of the doctor’s notoriety. The
result is, a very amusing book, probably of very considerable trouble
to the compiler, and undoubtedly, of very considerable interest to the
lover of pertinent sayings, strong character, and rough argumentation.
The doctor was a first-rate John Bull, that is, a first-rate bull-dog, and
nothing could be more formidable than his gripe, when he once took
the trouble to tear down his antagonist. But we have no time for cri-
ticism now. We shall try to gratify our readers by some fragments
of the volumes.

Goldsmith was continually provoking Johnson, by some foolery or
other ; the doctor was fond of him, but, like a good parent, never spared
the rod.

“Of Goldsmith’s Traveller he used to speak in terms of the highest com-
mendation. A lady, I remember, who had the pleasure of hearing Dr. Johnson
read it from the beginning to the end, on its first coming out, to testify her
admiration of it, exclaimed, ‘I never more shall think Dr. Goldsmith ugly !’
In having thought so, however, she was by no means singular: an instance of
which J am rather inclined to mention, because it involves a remarkable one
of Dr, Johnson’s ready wit: for this lady, one evening, being in a large party,
was called upon, after supper, for her toast, and seeming embarrassed, she was
desired to give the ugliest man she knew; and she immediately named Dr.
Goldsmith : on which a lady, on the other side of the table, rose up, and
reached across to shake hands with her, expressing some desire of being better
acquainted with her, it being the first time they had met; on which Dr. John-
son said, ‘Thus the ancients, on the commencement of their friendships, used
to sacrifice a beast betwixt them.’ ”’

Johnson had some original dislike to the Scotch nation, though clearly
not to the Scotch as individuals, for his chief companions in his early
literary course were Scotchmen, and Boswell was obviously on the
most familiar footing with him ; but he had the insolence of the “ Mo-
dern Athenian :”—

«© Mr. Boswell has chosen to omit, for reasons which will be presently obvious,
that Johnson and Adam Smith met at Glasgow; but I have been assured by
Professor John Miller that they did so, aud that Smith, leaving the party in
which he had met Johnson, happened to come to another company where Miller
was. Knowing that Smith had been in Johnson’s society, they were anxious to
know what had passed, and the more so, as Dr. Smith’s temper seemed much
ruffled. At first Smith would only answer, ‘ He’s a brute—he’s a brute ;’ but
on closer examination, it appeared that Johnson no sooner saw Smith than he
attacked him for some point of his famous letter on the death of Hume. Smith
vindicated the truth of his statement. ‘What did Johnson say?’ was the uni-
versal inquiry. ‘ Why, he said,’ replied Smith, with the deepest impression of
resentment, ‘ he said, you lie!’ ‘And what did you reply?’ ‘I said, you area
son of a ’ On such terms did these two great moralists meet and part ;
and such was the classical dialogue between two great teachers of philosophy.””—
Watter Scorr.

One of the anecdotes, trivial enough, is traced by the editor with a
ludicrous particularity :—

142 Johnson, Boswell, and Croker. [Aveusr,

«‘ Lord Wellesley has been so obliging, as to give the editor the following
account of the cause of a quarrel between Boswell and Johnson. Boswell,
one day at Sir Joshua’s table, chose to pronounce a high-flown panegyric .on
the wits of Queen Anne’s reign, and exclaimed, ‘ How delightful it must have
been, to have lived in the society of Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, Gay, and Boling-
broke? We have no such society in our days.’ Sir Joshua: ‘I think Mr.
Boswell, you might be satisfied with your great friend’s conversation.’ John-
son: ‘Nay, Sir, Boswéll is right; every man wishes for preferment, and if
Boswell had lived in those days, he would have obtained promotion.’ Sir
Joshua: ‘How so, Sir?’ Johnson: ‘Sir, he would have had a high place in
the Dunciad.’ This anecdote Lord Wellesley heard from Mr. Thomas Syden-
ham, who received it from Mr. Knight, on the authority of Sir Joshua Rey-
nolds himself.””—CrokeEr.

Here is a sorry joke transmitted through five hands, “all persons of
wit and honour ;” a bon mot was never honoured with so flourishing a
pedigree before.

One of the doctor’s well-known paradoxes, was his notion of
genius :—

«« People are not born with a particular genius, for particular employments oF
studies, for it would be like saying that a man could see a great way east, but
could not west. It is good sense, applied with diligence to what was at first a
mere accident, and which, by great application, grew to be called, by the gene-
rality of mankind, a particular genius.”

The question ought to have been asked, whether Johnson himself,
had the slightest hope to have painted like Sir Joshua, or have com-
posed like Handel; why did he himself not write tragedy like Shak-
speare? He took trouble enough in this point at least, yet what is his
Irene? Is Macbeth the mere work of “ good sense, applied with
diligence to what was a mere accident?” nonsense. The truth is, that
genius is a peculiar power of certain minds, with which other minds have
as little to do, as the man born blind has to the man with eyes. The
faculty is exclusive, and however near approaches may be made to its
effects, by men of diligent common sense, there is still a stamp which
all the diligence in the world cannot give, and that stamp is the work
of genius.

«« Johnson’s opinion of Sterne.—Sterne, as may be supposed, was no great
favourite with Dr. Johnson; and a lady once ventured to ask him how he liked
Yorick’s sermons: ‘I know nothing about them, madam,’ was his reply. But
some time afterwards, forgetting himself, he severely censured them, and the
lady very aptly retorted. ‘I understood you to say, Sir, that you had never
read them.’ ‘No, madam, I did read them, but it was ina stage-coach. I
should never have deigned even to look at them had I been at Jarge.’”

He was not unconscious of his own roughness :—

“* Of later years he grew much more companionable, and I have heard him
say that he knew himself to be so. ‘ In my younger days,’ he would say, ‘ it
is true, 1 was much inclined to treat mankind with asperity and contempt: but
I found it answered no goodend. I thought it wiser and better to take the world
as it goes. Besides, as I have advanced in life, Ihave had more reason to be
satisfied with it. Mankind have treated me with more kindness, and of course I
have more kindness for them.’ ”

But the great man could be deceived in himself, like the rest of man-
kind, and one of his blunders was, a notion that no man understood the
refinements of politeness better. The following anecdote comes pro-
perly from the pen of a lady, Miss Reynolds :-—

1831.] Johnson, Boswell, and Croker. 143

“ He particularly piqued himself upon his nice observance of ceremonious
punctilios towards ladies. A remarkable instance of this was his never suffer-
ing any lady to walk from his house to her carriage, through Bolt Court, un-
attended by himself, to hand her into it (at least, I have reason to suppose it to
be his general custom, from his constant performance of it to those with whom
che was most intimately acquainted); and if any obstacle prevented it from
driving off, there he would stand by the door of it, and gather a mob around
him ; indeed, they would begin to gather the moment he appeared handing the
lady down the steps into Fleet-street. But to describe his appearance—his im-
portant air—that, indeed, cannot be described; and his morning habiliments
would excite the utmost astonishment in any reader, that a man in his senses
could think of stepping outside his door in them, or even to be seen at home!
Sometimes he exhibited himself at the distance of eight or ten doors from Bolt-
court, to get at the carriage, to the no small diversion of the populace. And I
am certain, to those who love laughing, a description of his dress from head to
foot would be highly acceptable, and in general, I believe, be thought the most
curious part of my book; but I forbear, out of respect to his memory, to give
more than this slight intimation of it; for, having written a minute description
of his figure, from his wig to his slippers, a thought occurred that it might pro-
bably excite some person to delineate it, and I might have the mortification to
see it hung up at a print shop as the greatest curiosity ever exhibited.”

Goldsmith’s eccentricities were well-known, and of course, played
on by his club; the following anecdote places Burke in the new light
of a pleasant mystifier :—

He and Malone were walking together, to dine at Sir Joshua’s, when
they saw Goldsmith looking up, with a crowd, who had gathered before
a house in Leicester Square :—

«<«Now,’ said Burke to his friend, ‘mark what I shall do with Goldsmith.’
He went up to him, said something, and passed on. They reached Sir Joshua’s
before Goldsmith, who came soon after, and Mr. Burke affected to receive him
very coolly. This seemed to vex poor Goldsmith, who begged Mr. Burke would
tell him how he had the misfortune to offend him. Burke appeared very
reluctant to speak, but, after a good deal of prefacing, said, ‘That he was
really ashamed to keep up an intimacy with a man, who could be guilty of
such monstrous indiscretions, as Goldsmith had just exhibited in the
square.’ Goldsmith, with great earnestness, protested he was unconscious of
what he meant ; ‘ Why,’ said Burke, ‘did you not exclaim, as you were look-
ing up at those women, what stupid beasts the crowd must be, for staring with
such admiration at those painted Jezebels, while a man of your talents passed
by unnoticed?’ Goldsmith was horror-struck, and said, ‘Surely, surely, my
dear friend, I did not say so?’ ‘ Nay,’ replied Burke, ‘ if you had not said so,
how should I have known it?’ That’s true,’ answered Goldsmith, with great
humility: ‘I am very sorry—it was very foolish—I do recollect that something of
the kind passed through my mind, but I did not think I had uttered it.’ ”’

“ Johnson’s Manner.—Sir James Mackintosh remembers, that while spending the
Christmas of 1797, at Breconfield, Mr. Burke said to him, ‘ Johnson shewed
more power of mind in company than in his writings; but he argued only for
victory; and when he had neither a paradox to defend, nor an antagonist to
crush, he would preface his assent with, ‘ why no, Sir.”

“ Johnson and Hugh Kellyx—Hugh Kelly, the dramatic author, who died in
Gough-square, in 1777, at 38—his first introduction to Johnson was not likely
to have pleased a person of ‘ predominant vanity.’ After having sat a short
time, he got up to take his leave, saying, that he feared a longer visit might be
troublesome. ‘ Not in the least, Sir,’ Johnson is said to have replied, ‘I had
forgotten you were in the room.’ ”’ ,

[ 144. ] [Avausr,

SPANISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. N”, III.*

Havine gained all the information I required respecting the rich
copper mines of Rio Tinto, on the morning of the 15th of May I
departed from the village of Las Minas on my return to Madrid, a dis-
tance of four hundred miles. My horses were caparisoned in the man-
ner I have heretofore related ; and I took care to provide myself with
such provision as the village afforded, to guard, as much as possible,
against the privations which I anticipated we should have to undergo,
knowing the inhospitable nature of the country through which we had
to travel. Pursuing our route, as we thought, according to the instruc-
tions of our mining friends, towards the village of Arecena, we passed
innumerable small shafts, from which copper ore was extracted in former
days by the Romans. Whatever progress they might have made in
other arts, it is evident, from the remains of their workings, that of
mining had not occupied much of their attention.

We now entered upon an extensive plain, covered with low under-
wood and dwarf trees. The path which we had to traverse, from infre-
quency of travelling, was in many places impeded by the growth of
shrubs ; and it occasionally cost us no little trouble to regain our route.
The whole face of the country appeared different from any part that I
had previously seen. Itis of a singularly wild and desolate character.
Nothing but mountain rising above mountain, and plain after plain, was
presented in prospect, and all covered with this sombre and unpro-
fitable garb, till the eye grew tired with the eternal monotony ; and the
glimpse of a tree, or of a human habitation, would have been hailed
with delight. The return of seasons, which seems to awaken nature
into a second existence, is here unfelt ; and the revivifying influence of
the sun serves but to heighten the horrors of this dreary and apparently
interminable waste. Nothing can convey a better idea of the utter deso-
lation which seems to pervade this region, forgotten as it were by Pro-
vidence, than Coleridge’s fine thought, in his poem of “ The Ancient
Mariner :”— é

“ So lonely ’twas, that God hiraself
Scarce seemed there to be!’

The whole of this day did we wander about those wilds without
meeting with a human being ; when, just as night set in, we descried
a small village, to which we instantly made, and found it to be that of
Rio Frio, ‘having wandered considerably out of our way. Here we took
up our quarters for the night in a:sort of open barn, with our horse-
clothing for covering, and destitute of all provisions except that which
we had brought from the mines—which, indeed, bore but a mighty
insignificant proportion to the extent of our appetites.

In the morning we were advised to go to St. Ollala, and were assured
that there would be no danger of losing our way, the town lying im a
perfectly straight direction foom our present position. Encouraged by
these assurances, we again ventured forth, and, after wandering for
some hours, had the mortification to find the track we had pursued end
in a variety of small paths, apparently trodden by sheep or other animals.
All day long we journeyed in this doubtful and discouraging manner,

"* Extracted from the Note-Book of Sir Paul Baghott.

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 145

first choosing one path, then another, as it chanced to appear larger than
the rest, and hoping it might lead to some human abode, however
humble. The sun was sinking rapidly, and, fatigued and dispirited, I
saw no alternative but to bivouac for the night amongst the wilds whither
our errantry had led us; when my servant, whose slight portion of wit
and natural faculties had increased in a more than usual proportion with
a hungry stomach, fancied he perceived something like a habitation in
the distance. Animated by this hope, we resumed our march, and found
what he had descried to be a high wall, inclosing a piece of ground con-
taining numberless hives of bees. The hives were of the rudest descrip-
tion, being made of small portions of hollow trees, and covered with
flat stones. The disappointment we exnerienced on finding the nature
of our expected refuge, was softened by the distant barking of a dog
becoming audible to our quickened senses ; and, shortly afterwards, we
had the good fortune to hail a peasant, who guided us to the neighbour-
ing village of Val de Flores. On the road he informed me that the
inclosed spaces for bee-hives, one of which I had observed, was made
sacred by the clergy, on account of the wax being so much in request for
the service of the Catholic church. In order to secure these places from
depredation, they have enacted a law that if any person is discovered in
appropriating any portion of these sacred spoils to profane uses, he is
condemned to lose his right hand. These establishments, of which there
are numbers amongst those mountains, I learned were extremely produc-
tive to the reverend proprietors and their agents—the bees delighting in
the odorous gum-schistus, and other fragrant shrubs, which are indige-
nous to this mountainous district.

On our arrival at Val de Flores, I found, to my great annoyance, that
we were only three leagues from the mines which we left the day before ;
and, to render our disappointment the more severe, our accommodation
was not a whit better than on the night previous—the ground for beds,
our horse-furniture for covering, and a still more scanty supper than the
last to crown a day of toil. The next morning we received directions
to St. Ollala, which, it was affirmed, could not this time be mistaken ;
and the idea of taking a guide for such a purpose was perfectly ridiculed.
We, therefore, set forward in better spirits, but found, to our perfect
dismay, the road, to which we had scrupulously adhered for several
leagues, gradually diminish, and at last branch off exactly in the manner
we had experienced on the two preceding days. I now became exceed-
ingly dispirited ; I was fatigued with our long and wearisome marches,
and weakened by little rest and sustenance. It was not, therefore, to be
wondered at, if I felt the unpleasantness of my situation more keenly
perhaps than the nature of the evil might warrant. I was almost
inclined to despair of ever finding my way from this blank and dreary
wilderness. In vain I strained my sight to its utmost gaze—almost to
painfulness—but could discover nothing but a range of sterile moun-
tains, and an interminable sea of entangled copse-wood. I would have
given anything to have heard the bark of a dog, or anything which indi-
cated humanity ; but my ear could catch no other sound than the hum
of the wild bee, or the moaning of the wind through the shrubs. In this
forlorn and desolate manner did we wander on for leagues further—
almost, I must confess, without hope. The sky was becoming overcast,
and the wind was evidently rising—all betokening a stormy night. In
vain did I cast my eye to the utmost limits of the horizon, becoming

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII, No. 68. Ss

146 Spanish Highways and Byways. [Avueusr,

now a little indistinct with haze; the same dull, monotonous prospect
continually met my view ; and the thoughts of passing the night in
those wild wastes, with the mountain-wolves for my companions, abso-
lutely terrified me. Our course became now impeded by a small river,
which, though inconsiderable, was too deep to ford. On the opposite
side I observed a conical hill of considerable height ; and it occurred to
me that our only chance was to ascend to its summit, and, if human
habitation were near, we might, by that means, discover it. Accord-
ingly, we pursued the river’s course for some distance, until a place pre-
sented itself by which it might be forded in safety, which, having effected
with some little difficulty, we arrived at length at the mountain, from
whose summit we, with delight, descried a small hamlet in the distance.
Our fears being thus providentially allayed, and hope proportionately
excited, we marked carefully the bearings, and had the good fortune to
gain the track, which brought us at nightfal to the village of Ranquileo,
where we passed the night, if not luxuriously, at least safely.

Of course I took care to run no further risk of losing myself, and
proceeded the next morning to St. Ollala, where I had been originally
directed. On my road thither, and proceeding very leisurely along, my
ears were regaled with the tinkling of mule-bells, and occasionally the
twanging of a guitar. These sounds proceeded from a party in the rear,
and, as they travelled at a gayer rate than myself, they soon overtook
me; and I discovered my light-hearted travellers to be no other than
a party of gitanos, or gipsies, on their way to a fair. They were sin-
gularly and fantastically attired. The women, particularly, seemed
desirous to exhibit their wealth, which consisted in extravagantly large
golden ear-rings and necklaces, besides an abundance of other gold and
silver trinkets with which they were bedizened. The men seemed, by
a happy coincidence of taste, to have joined with their natural predatory
profession the equally profitable one of horse-dealing, or stealing, I
hardly know which to call it; and had, amongst other temptations to
beguile the unwary, two of the most beautiful white asses I ever beheld.
These animals were at least fourteen hands high, of perfect symmetry ;
and through their ears, which were perforated for the purpose, hung a
streamer of pink ribbons. They were also expensively caparisoned ;
their furniture was decorated with silken tassels, and about sixty small
bells were attached thereto, the effect of which was by no means un-
pleasing. We arrived together at St. Ollala, and took possession of the
only posada the town afforded. I passed a much more pleasant evening
in their society than I had spent for some time; their lively and agree-
able manners forming a pleasing contrast to the dull detail of my last
few days’ adventures. The females sung several native airs to the guitar,
in which they were joined by the men: a tolerable proficiency on the
‘guitar seemed the acquirement of the whole party. When the time for
rest arrived, we were shewn into a spacious chamber, sufficiently large
to contain us all. The females retired to the alcoves, and I stretched
myself on the floor, side by side, with my gipsy friends, with my accus-
tomed pillow and coverlid, my saddle, and horse-clothing. The next
day I passed on, through the same description of country, to the little
wretched village of Monasterio, where I found the posada occupied by
a gang of muleteers—about as sinister-looking and unpleasant a set of
gentry as I have ever had the ill-fortune to pass an evening with.
Immediately on our arrival they greeted us with an oath, and demanded

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 147

Que quieren ustedes 2? No hay lugar aqui para estrangeros 2” —« What
do you want here ?. there is no room for strangers?” While my servant
looked to the horses and baggage, I tried all over the village to procure
a room for the night, but without success, and was at last obliged to
insist _on our share of the room at the posada, in despite of black looks
and cuchillo-handles, which they were not backward in shewing, with a
‘view to intimidate us. It appeared to me that they were a band of
Smugglers, and by no means liked any check on their conversation,
which doubtless had for its import some ingenious plan for defrauding
the king’s coffers of their legitimate rights.

I was not displeased to find myself breathing the fresh air early the
next morning, on the road to Monte Molin, by a much better and broader
pathway than I had been lately accustomed to travel. The tramp of

_our horses disturbed some eagles, who were busily engaged feasting on
the carcase of a horse, which had been destroyed by wolves the night
before.

Passing Monte Molin we reached Llerena, which was the first really
respectable town I had seen since I had left Seville. Here then I deter-
mined to make a halt, and indulge in the luxury of a plentiful meal and

bed... For, the former, of course, I had to forage; it not being the
custom of the keepers of posadas in this part of the country to supply
jthe..guests with food. I soon found a butcher’s shop, and fortunately
discovered that respected functionary of the town, the master thereof, in
_ the.act of cutting up an old goat. “As I had tasted no meat since I had
left Seville I was by no means fastidious in my choice of food, and was
glad to bargain for a fore-quarter with the worthy tradesman, who, I sup-
posed, observing my eagerness, and haying a due respect for my quality
as a stranger, charged me a’ double price, as a matter of course. My
landlady, who was a very civil and obliging person, and I dare say ac-
customed to the management of the same description of viand, promised
to furnish from it a very dainty repast. While this was preparing, I
determined on indulging myself with the luxuries of the toilet, a duty
rendered attractive by its novelty, although, in fact, it was but a just
compliment to my hostess, who besides being courteous and attentive,
was pretty withal. My razors, powder, and pomatum were put into
requisition ; and as I re-entered the public apartment, I really fancied I
did not exhibit an indifferent specimen of the mode Anglais. Seating
myself at table—the savoury smell of the stew almost banished from my
mind the complacency with which I had dwelt on my exterior,—my
curiosity was roused by seeing the cook suspend her functions, an act of
unpardonable temerity at that moment considering the state of my ap-
petite, and the muleteers and other guests gazing at me with an
unfeigned expression of astonishment. All eyes being riveted on me it
was evident that I was the object of this singular attraction ; though in
what manner to account for it was beyond the limits of my comprehen-
sion. There was nothing that I could see remarkable in my dress ; it
was perfectly plain and. gentlemanlike ; when, as I began to enumerate
in my mind the several articles of which it consisted, my speculations
were cut short by an astounding burst of laughter from a thickset wag-
gish-looking ruffian who had been eyeing me, as I thought, with peculiar
earnestness. In this exhibition of mirth he was joined, or rather fol-
lowed, by the whole corps de la cuisine, not excepting the cook, the land-
lady, and a little scrubby waiting girl. Totally ignorant of the cause
$2

148 Spanish Highways and Byways. [Auveust,

of their obstreporous humour, I sat perfectly unmoved, whilst peal after
peal shook the very walls of the room. My gravity only encreased with
their extravagant merriment, being still unable to divine the cause, until
my fat friend advanced towards me rather cautiously, with a leering
look, and a comical twinkling of the eye, and prefacing his address with
a low bow, enquired what goods I had to dispose of? Not wishing to
shew my vexation at the savage rudeness of the people, I merely replied
I had nothing for sale—“ Oh! then,” continued he, “ where do you
intend to exhibit, I suppose you have got leave from the alcalde?” I
still answered mildly, though the impertinence of the fellow was almost
too much for my temper, that I had no such intention, I was an English
gentleman passing through the country, and expected to be treated, at
least, with decency, if not with respect. ‘“ Come, come, my good fel-
low,” said my querist ; “ I suppose this belongs to the nicety of your
calling ; but we are all friends here ; so tell us which are you—quack
doctor or mountebank ?” This was too much.—The impudence of the
fellow was past human endurance. In another instant, surrounded as”
he was by friends, I should have kicked him out of the room, at the risk
of a stab the next minute ; when my landlady, with the quick witted-
ness of woman, fancying there might be some mistake, stepped between
us, and laying her hand on my arm pointed to my hair, which I had but
a few winutes before arranged so much to my satisfaction with powder
and pomatum. Taking a small quantity of powder between her thumb
and finger, with great naiveté, she said—“ If you are a gentleman what
could have induced you to put that stuff on your head?” I replied it
was the custom of many gentlemen of my own country and those of
others, to wear powder, and that I was by no means singular in its
adoption. Immediately the laughter of the crowd seemed to subside
into a sort of quiet astonishment ; and my fat persecutor to whom I was
indebted for the first sally, assuming a more respectful demeanour said—
« Really, Sir, we must beg your pardon for our rudeness ; but, the fact
is, in our country, the only persons we have ever seen thus disfigure
themselves are mountebanks and quack doctors, who do it for our
amusement ; and I am sure we never knew before that it was the cus-
tom for gentlemen, in any part of the world, to prank themselves out like
mountebanks.” Whether the fellow intended this sally as an apology, or
a quiet piece of waggery I know not, I suspected the latter ; but be it
as it may, it had its effect, for I have never worn powder since. This
little incident, mortifying as it was, did not in the least detract from my
appetite ; for when my landlady placed before me my disguised portion
of goat’s flesh, not even Mons. Ude’s celebrated coteléte a la Sontag ever
received so hearty a commendation. It was with regret that I quitted
the posada of the “ Dos Cabelleros,” or “ The Two Gentlemen ;” but
being now within a short journey of my friend Thomas, at Azuaga, I
made the best of my way thither.

Azuaga was considerably out of our way to Madrid, therefore, on
our arrival the next day at Berlanga, instead of pursuing the route to
Merida, we made a detour to the right, and entered a district in every
respect the opposite to that we had quitted. The country seemed rich
in corn and olives, and merinos began to shew themselves—a sure indi-
cation that we were approaching a civilized world.

On my arrival at Azuaga after receiving the congratulating. visits
of friends with whom I had become intimate on my former journey, I

1. 31.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 149

accompanied my friend Thomas to inspect an estate to which he had
given the name of North and South Baghott. This estate had been
conveyed to me, on the condition, that I should introduce my new sys-
tem of washing wool in this district, which is notoriously behind-hand in
this particular to the rest of Spain. I found the estate consist of a con-
siderable tract of grass land, comprising a great number of acres. It
was divided by a ravine through which flowed a copious stream of
water. Thomas proposed to dam up this rivulet by throwing a head
across the ravine, which would enable the proprietor to flood the
meadows, and supply the washhouse, besides working a mill to grind corn.
The speculation, however, did not please me, for reasons which it is
hardly necessary to relate here, and my place was supplied by a gentle-
man of a more enterprising spirit than myself ; which, unfortunately for
him, ended as I predicted.

Azuaga is a neat, pretty town, containing about 3,000 inhabitants.
There is a fine ruin of an ancient castle at its northern extremity, beau-
tifully situated, so as to command a view over the whole adjacent coun-
try, clothed with vines, olive trees, corn, and sheep pasture. Game is
likewise very plentiful, consisting of the wild boar, deer, hare, bustard,
partridge, and birds of the grouse species, which I had not seen before.
Thomas had procured a young wolf, which he brought up as tame as a
dog ; and he had a hen then sitting on bustards’ eggs, intending to try
whether these naturally timid birds could be domesticated. _An English
lady, to whom I had _ been introduced in Madrid, resided in Azuaga
with her husband, and had fitted up her house with a true sense of
English comforts ; not amongst the least of which were glass windows.
They arrived during my stay there, and as the people of the country
had never beheld any thing like them before, their curiosity was excited
in a proportionate degree. One fellow, after gazing on the transparent
substance for some time with vague astonishment, at last fancied he had
discovered the secret, and supposing it to. be nothing more than an im-
provement in the manufacture of oiled paper, which he had seen before,
to convince himself, thrust his huge fingers against the pane. The brittle
material was not proof against so rude an assault, and was shivered in a
moment; on which the lout, seeing his maimed fingers, and hearing the
crash of the glass, believed himself mortally wounded, and set up such
an astounding cry, that the whole crowd, magnifying their danger, took
to their heels, and proved that the imaginary demoniacal effect of the
glass was its best protection.

Our horses being fresh, I hoped to reach Villa Franca, a distance of
eleven leagues, in a day, and leaving Azuaga early in the morning, we
passed through Maquilla, Lerea, and Hinojosa, obscure villages of no
note, and having entered a plain of considerable extent, which we tra-
versed for some hours without seeming to approach any great thorough-
fare, I began to fear a repetition of my old misfortune. Night overtook
us in this predicament, and foreseeing in the darkness only an increase
of our perplexity, I determined to bivouac for this night in the plain.
We drew off the road about the distance of a hundred yards; and my
servant stripped the horses, tied them together, and turned them up to
graze. Our saddles served as usual for pillows, our horse blankets for
covering ; and having the advantage of a good stock of provisions, we
made ourselves comfortable for the night. The only drawback on our
rural enjoyment, was the danger of a visit from the wolves of the neigh-

150 Spanish Highways and Byways. [Aveusr,

bouring mountains, to whom our horses might possibly present an at-
traction. To provide against this mischance, I determined that one of us
should sleep, while the other, with his arms: loaded; kept watch, and
giving my servant the first turn, desired him to awaken me at the ex-
piration of two hours. It so happened, however, that before the time
was expired I awoke, and distinctly heard the howling of the wolves in
the mountains, and the dogs set to guard the flocks baying in angry
response. This was by no means a pleasing réveille, and on looking
round, for it was not too dark to distinguish objects, I beheld my centinel
very composedly enjoying the comforts of his pillow, trusting, I suppose,
to his snoring to frighten the enemy. Rather incensed at such a breach
of discipline when we were really in so dangerous a situation, I went up
to him, and with no gentle touch roused him from his slumbers. The
poor fellow whose mind was intent on his duty, although his eyes had
refused their watchfulness, fancied, from the nature of my’assault, that the
fangs of the monsters were actually tearing him,—“ The wolf! the wolf!
help! help !”—he cried, or rather shrieked, and seized me with sucha
firm convulsive grasp, that it became my turn to cry out. The affair
became thus so ludicrous, that my anger was converted into merriment,
and he was soon convinced by my laughter of his own safety. I believe
the fright he experienced rendered him trust-worthy for the rest of the
night. At day-break we found our horses grazing within a very short
distance of us, taught by instinct of their danger, and, like all domes-
ticated animals, trusting to man for protection. The wolf in this country
is the dread of the shepherd and the husbandman. All cattle are care-
fully enclosed in strong outhouses for the night, and so well are the
animals aware of the danger, that regularly at nightfal when they hear
a horn, which is sounded for the purpose, they scamper from the moun-
tains whither they are sent to pasture during the day, and gladly seek
the asylum prepared for them. The cavanas, or flocks of merinos, are
so large that it would be impossible to give them shelter of a similar de-
scription ; the shepherds are therefore obliged to trust to their own ex-
ertions, and the watchfulness and courage of their dogs, which are so
remarkably intelligent and faithful to their charge, that the wolf can
seldom take advantage of their vigilance. About two miles from the
spot of our bivouac we found the village of Rivera, where they directed
us to Villa Franca. On our road I observed numbers of storks in the
marshes adjoining the town, many bustards, and doves in flocks. Some
of the latter I shot ; but the bustard was too shy to be approached. The
land we passed was well cultivated, yielding abundant crops of wheat ;
and the olive trees appeared to thrive luxuriantly. The country during
the whole way to Villa Franca wore a cheerful and animated appearance.
Many: thousands of merinos are kept in its immediate vicinity, from
which a good quality of wool is obtained, though it is badly washed,
according to the method practised throughout Estremadura.. The evil
of this system might be easily remedied, although the water is certainly
inferior to that of Castile and Soria. My further progress towards
Madrid; and my arrival at that city at an unusually excited peried, would
extend this paper to a greater length than I intended at its commence-
ment. I shall therefore reserve it as the subject of another communi-
cation. ,

1831.] [151]

“MY WIFE!”—A WHISPER!

* My Wife”—she is gone out of town, and I seize the lucky moment
to paint her portrait, and to tell my story. They shall not be full-lengths.

Wives!—what a word. There is “the creaking of shoes and the
rustling of silks” in the sound ; the rattling of keys, and—no, not the
chink of money ; but there is the sly, subtle, single knock of a dun in
it, the scolding of servants, and the squeaking of children. Wife !—it
sounds like the requiem of liberty, the knell of genius, the sad, sullen
adieu to all the rhapsodies and ramblings of youth—the ipse diwit of
destiny, pronouncing sentence of imprisonment for life, upon the unfet-
tered and untameable spirit. It is a dictionary of itself—it means every
thing, good and evil. It is the open, sesame! of mischief—the sound of
the creaking hinges of Pandora’s box—the riveting of chains—the caba-
listic word that is to call spirits from the deep, seraphs or satyrs, as it
may happen—the flapping of the sails of the departing vessel, that is
leaving us on an island, peopled probably with hyenas that hate laugh-
ing, and bears too sulky to dance. But then, on the other hand, there is
a certain sweetness—not a sweetness exactly, but a something or other,
in the sound, that certainly does but all this is not what I was going
to say.

Wives in general—for I have a word for those of other people before
I come to my own—are as varied as the weather. There are hot and
cold ones, fair and foggy, damp and dry. Your “ damp” wife will be
barely civil to you when you ask for her husband, and will perhaps say
something about “ people calling to take him out.” If you open the
door suddenly, you will perhaps see her putting the decanters away-
The “dry” wife works by hints; she will quiz you, if single, upon your
dissipated habits, and intimate that she considers you the cause of all
her husband’s wickedness before marriage, and some of it since. But
your “foggy” wife is more disagreeable than all—one with whom it is
impossible to see an inch before you, where you don’t know whether you
are to go or stay, who seems to entertain you with entire indifference, or
regards you as a part of the live-stock upon her husband’s estate ; who |
neither invites you nor declines your visits, forgets your name twice a
week, and if asked who you are says— Oh! it is only a friend of Mr.
M.’s;” who, in short, just endures you, because there was a sort of un-
derstanding in the marriage contract, that the husband was to have his
friends and dogs as often as he pleased. This is asad clog to friendship,
but it isa common one. I have a dozen friends whom I never think of
visiting for this reason, because I know I should be placing myself in
the situation of that person who apologized to Dr. Johnson for his long
stay, and was answered, “ Not at all, Sir; I had forgotten you were
present.” ’

When a man makes you stay to dinner whether you will or no, you
may understand what he means ; and when, on the other hand, he kicks
you down stairs, you may, in general, pretty accurately guess what his
intentions are. But an indifferent or an indefinite sort of reception is
what I never, under any circumstances, run the risk of encountering
twice.

How provoking is it, when you have made a call upon a friend who
is delighted to see you, and with whom you have made up your mind to
stop the evening, to be mercilessly interrupted by his wife, with— well,
when will you come and take a cup of tea with us?” as if she had de-

152 ** My Wife!’ [Aueusr,

tected the lurking intention as soon as it was formed. Really, I cannot
understand how it is that human nature is still willing to submit to such in-
conveniences; and that in spite of Doctors’ Commons, people are constantly
found, not only perpetrating marriage, but persisting to their last breath
in justifying their conduct, gilding their miseries till they look like
transports to all but themselves, and preaching up their independence
till, like patriots, they half delude themselves with a notion that they are
in earnest. I do not go quite so far as the philosopher, who wished that
the human race could be continued like trees ; so that when a man wanted
an heir he might only have to plant himself in his garden—set his house-
keeper to water him—and wait for the shoot sprouting forth. This is a
philosophy that is beyond me; but I do wish that there were some
modification in the article of marriage; that the practice of widows
throwing themselves on the funeral-pile of their husbands, were not con-
fined to the Hindoos, but that something of the kind could be adopted
here—as, instead of worrying us to death, it would then become the
grand aim of their existence to keep us alive as long as possible.

Or perhaps if the husband were to incur the penalty, it would be as
well; it would certainly tend to a diminution of the number of marriages—
a result which, besides setting the Malthusians at rest for ever, no slight
advantage—would have a sensible effect in the marriage-market, by hum-
bling the coquettish and taming the termagants. It is the natural prejudice
of the human mind in favour of marriage, and a proneness to commit it
when about nineteen, that creates the mischief. If men were less ready
to fall into the snare, women would be less disposed to make them sensi-
ble that they were in it. The more isnot the merrier, in this case. There
are instances, 1 know, where marriage is indispensable ; such as, when a
man has made up his mind to take to drinking. Nothing is more un-
comfortable, after spending an evening in the society of a few glasses of
brandy and water, than to return home late, knock at the wrong door
for half an hour, repeat the operation at the right one for three quarters,
then recollect that you have got the key in your pocket after all, open it,
grope about in the dark, find your way into any room, careless whether it
be the landlady’s or not, and fall fast asleep before you have got one
boot off. All this is unpleasant, and any person so intending to indulge
should certainly matrimonize his condition, in order that he may have
somebody to take care of him. In cases like this it would be excusable ;
but we are every hour seeing marriages committed upon the most frivol-
ous pretences, when there is really no earthly occasion for it. One would
think it was considered quite a pleasure to repeat the responses and to
‘pay parsons their fees—to eat fifteen shillings’ worth of cake, and go to
‘Richmond in a shabby chaise.

I make not these observations about wives with any desire to depreciate
my own. Luckless and ill-fated is the wight who hath a partner prone
‘to cards or paint, to throwing teacups, or dancing with first cousins not
absolutely ill-looking. I pity him from the very depths of my spirit—-
yetIenvy him. Yes, his is an enviable state of existence tomine. What
is a simple fracture or two, or a slight scar on the temple—or a dinner-
service demolished—or the loss of the money which you had put by for
your summer expenses at somewhere, to an old card-player that you
hate’; or even the elopement with the not-ill-looking first cousin, which
is the consequence of your remonstrance? All these are nothing to my
sufferings, but they spring from a different cause. I am not tormented
with a bad wife; but I am tortured—that is not the word, it does not

183}.] © My Wife!” 153

express what I mean—with a good one. All my calamities arise from my
good-fortune ; my indescribable misery lies at the door of my unspeak~
able happiness. I am like a man who having unfortunately drawn a
prize of ten thousand pounds, is immediately thrown by his creditors
into prison for twenty thousand ; or I resemble the unhappy winner of
the prize-ox lately raffled for, whose appetite reduced the envied posses-
sor of the beast to the verge of bankruptcy. I am ruined, I repeat, by
my good-fortune. Had “my wife” been less amiable, I had been less
afflicted ; but she is perfection—and I am undone. Oh! ye, who love—
but have the incalculable advantage of not being beloved in return; ye,
whose wives reward your devoted attentions with the most profound and
unmitigated hatred ; ye, who never knew what it was to be doated on to
a degree of inconvenience, which, as novels and newspapers remark,
“ may be more easily conceived than described”—how little able are ye
to sympathise with me! I am the very victim of “ my wife’s” idolatry,
the martyr to my own felicity. Her affection for me is of that micros-
copic kind that she is perpetually detecting some horrible omen in what
I had foolishly looked upon as a prospect of pleasure. She finds blots
upon my sun when I fancy it all brightness. She sees poison in
every thing that I happen, by any chance, to have a partiality for. She
is such a faithful guardian to my happiness, and takes such extraor-
dinary care of my comforts, that she never lets me have any for use.
Every disaster that has happened to me for these ten years may be
clearly traced to her precautions for avoiding it. Lest I should get into
any danger, or rather lest her affectionate spirit should miss the delight
of sharing it with me, she never trusts me out of her sight. There
she is always at my elbow, taking care, as she says, that I want for
nothing —

a form of life and light,
That seen became a part of sight!

And rose where’er I turned mine eye — *

In fact, I can’t turn it, upon the most trivial object, without under-
going a cross-examination as to my motive for looking at it. If my eye
happen to fall upon the window or be turned towards the sky, I am saluted
with—* What is the matter? Are you going out ?”—ifmy glance wan-
ders round the room she remarks it, and says— Can I get you any-
thing?” or if it be fixed for a moment on the fire—“ You are cold.
Shall I ring for some coals ?”—nay, if I glance, though ever so carelessly,
at the girl who brings them—the same question is ready ;—“ What do
you want? any thing that J can get you?” Her tender regard for my
health takes place of every other feeling ;..I have been a most pitiable
invalid for many years,—not that I feel ill—quite the contrary ; you
would think me remarkable strong and healthy ; but “my wife’’ knows
better—she is aware that I am of a most delicate and sickly constitution,
and she accordingly abridges my beef-steak, and locks up my cigars,
with a firmness that amounts to something philosophic. She sees the
water come into my eyes—or my mouth—but without relenting. In
short, she is the most sensitive of women. She detects a fever in the
very opening of a door, and discovers a rheumatism in every keyhole.
She never uses an umbrella until she is sure it is thoroughly aired ; is
seized with an ague at the sight of the damp newspaper regularly every
morning ; and once experienced inflammation, which she attributed to her
haying incautiously drank some water out of a wel glass.

154 « My Wife!” [Aveusr,,

I said, that I would paint her portrait and then tell my story ; I
wave finished my pen-and-ink sketch; and my story will bring me to
the end of my paper. The adventure arose out of that incessant and
amiable anxiety for my health which I cannot too much admire—or
lament. _

«‘ People cannot be too careful of themselves, particularly at this try-
ing season. . Now do take it, dear L.”

« Qh! no, it will be quite unnecessary.”

«« You are so careless. Who is to nurse youif you catch cold? Now,
oblige me by taking it—you had better.”

*« Ridiculous! How can you press it upon me when I say so positively
that I don’t want it. Inever heard of such a thing, and it would be
really absurd.”

«« Not so absurd as your refusal. I can’t conceive why you should
make so many scruples—when it’s all for your own good. I’m sure
you’ll catch cold. You know your cough is very bad already—there,
its coming on now; it will spoil all the folds of your cravat before
dinner. Pray oblige me; be reasonable and pnt it in your pocket.
Well, it’s very teasing of you—I'm sure you might as well.”

The article which was so assiduously and tenderly pressed upon my
attention, but which I perseveringly declined accepting, was by no means
a romantic. one. It was not one of those infallible and heaven-invented .
restoratives for which all females—but elderly ones especially—are so
deservedly celebrated. It was neither charm nor cordial: no, it, was
nothing mere or less than—a nightcap! The dialogue took place just as
I was on the point of going out to dinner, alone, for the evening was
wet, and “ my wife” for once hesitated to share the horrors which she saw
accumulating round my head. It was too late to send an excuse ; I
was obliged to go—“ my wife’ insisting that I should not think, under
any circumstances, of returning home through the night-air, but that I
should make up my mind to take a bed at my friend's. Having without
much difficulty gained this point, she pertinaciously petitioned for
another ; and ever watchful for an opportunity of exercising the privi-
leges of a guardian-angel, insisted on my taking with me my nightcap.
Vainly did I assure her that it was unnecessary ; that whereI found a
pillow I should find a cap; or in the event of the worst, that I should
still be able to hit upon some means of protecting my temples from cold,
and my curls from disorder. I was set down for a visionary, a rash,
thoughtless enthusiast. ‘ Besides,’ said my amiable torturer, “ even if
you should find a cap upon the pillow, which, considering the uncertainty
of this life, does not appear more than probable; but even if you
should, it may not be aired as it ought to be. As for trusting to chance
I own I am surprised at your imprudence. A dependence upon provi-
dential interference is a becoming feeling in some cases, but not in. this,
when the means of averting calamity are already in your power. Now
take it without another word—here it is, as white 4.

« As your arm.”

« Nonsense! But besides all the reasons I have stated, I must confess
that I should not like you to wear any but your own natural nightcap.
You would look like somebody else in another, and I should have
unpleasant dreams. I should see you approach in an odious caricature
of a cap ; not in a nice, neat, becoming ornament like this. I’m sure I
never saw amore graceful head-dress, considering its shape. Oh, I
can’t bear the thought of your wearing another.—If you love me, if you

1831.] « My Wife?” 155

wish to dream of me, you'll take this—unless you expect to find For-
tunatus’s.”

I reasoned and romanced—smiled, scolded, and humoured: but I
persisted in adhering to my principles, and rejected the nightcap in dis-
dain. At last the point was given up; my wife threw her arms round
me, and assured me that her anxiety was only for my good—I repeated
the usual affectionate phrases in such cases made and provided—and we
separated with a world of protestation on my part, and a universe of
advice upon hers.

When I arrived at my place of appointment I found a pleasant party.
Every body was in high spirits. The ladies listened to our compliments
as if they had never heard them before, and we all laughed at each
other’s jokes as if we had never told them ourselves. We sat down to
dinner.

Among the company was one of that class of females who may be
designated languishing ladies. She was young, handsome, possessed
extreme sensibility, an ardent fancy, and refined nerves. A whisper
affected her like an earthquake, and a hint threw her into hysterics. It
was necessary, in addressing her, to speak with profound caution, in case
of ‘giving alarm to her sensibilities, or treading upon a spring-gun. It
was impossible to keep out of danger, unless every sentence had been a
safety-lamp. TI felt, in offermg a compliment, as if I were presenting a
spark to a barrel of gunpowder ; and was obliged to extinguish its mean-
ing before it was fit for use.

‘We were seated in a circle of elegant enjoyment, not dreaming of
disaster, when the genius of this sensitive plant—she wrote poetry, just
by way of escaping the imputation of singularity—was served up as a
subject for discussion. Unlucky theme for me! I was sitting opposite
to her, and was appealed to, in a manner that rendered it impossible to
escape, for my opinion upon the merits of an unpublished poem, which
she had a little time before sent me to read, and which I had returned,
(haying read three lines of the three thousand,) with the usual flourish
about an “admiring world,” and “Mr. Murray’s good-fortune” in ob-
taining so extraordinary a production. Of course, nothing is so easy
as to give an opinion—zmine was, that the poem could not fail of becom-
ing a dangerous rival to the “statue that enchants the world,” and that
it was, in short, nothing less than a miracle in manuscript. I hate
your bit-and-bit eulogists, and like to do the thing handsomely when I
do begin. This was all very satisfactory ; but when I was asked to de-
scribe the poem—the stanza, the scene, the subject—I was puzzled. All
I knew was, that it was written with a light hand and a new pen, and
stitched in a pink wrapper. But to describe it !—I was confident, of
course, that the heroine died broken-hearted, because that’s a rule with-
out asingle modern exception—but that was not enough. My hesitation
already, I perceived, began to affect the aspen nerves of the fair author.
She was beginning to suspect—while those who had barbarously driven
me into the dilemma, were beginning to titter. Something must be
done—and so I determined upon venturing on the last resource in these
cases, and on trusting to candour to help me out. I confessed that I
could not satisfactorily describe the poem, as I had not been able to
read it quite through. At about the two hundred and fifty-third page
an accident, which I could not particularly describe, had prevented my
reading farther, and I had never after been able to complete it. The
nature of this mysterious accident, was then: inexorably demanded, by

156 « My Wife!” [ Aueust,

my persecutors—and to relieve my embarrassment, and to gain time, I
had recourse to my handkerchief. A very good effect is sometimes pro-
duced, by taking a neatly folded one by the corner, and giving it a
graceful jerk, so as to scatter the perfume as you raise it to your lips.
I took it from my pocket for this purpose—it was folded up. I held
it by the corner accordingly, and elevated it to a becoming height, in
order that it might fall with proper elegance and effect. Imagine my.
astonishment, my agony, my shame. It was—not my handkerchief, but
my—nightcap! Alas! my too-fond, too careful wife, had, without my
knowledge, slipped it into my pocket, when she embraced me at my
departure.

No culprit at the fatal tree—no young lover of money, with an old
bride—no monarch when the emblem of liberty, or revolution, is borne
through his palace halls—ever saw a cap with such utter consternation.
I held it up between my finger and thumb—not by the corner, for it had
none—but by the white tassel that adorned it. I was deprived of the
power of motion, my eyes fixed upon it; and I could neither drop it,
nor the hand to which it seemed to grow. There it hung, like Mahomet’s
coffin. It looked pale with horror. It was suspended before me, like a
winding-sheet. It seemed like a concentrated snow-storm ready to burst
on my head. I at length east a glance round the table. The female
portion of the spectators were endeavouring to look grave and angry,
amidst their laughter. The rest did not attempt to conceal the nature of
the emotions my inadvertence had produced... The laughter was undis-
guised, and I felt that I must fight a duel with every man in the room.
I ventured one half-averted look at the fair poet, who had thus uninten-
tionally conspired with ‘“‘ my wife” to bring this disgrace upon my head.
I read my history in her eyes—the truth was too clear to be a moment
questioned. I had been praising her poem—I had dwelt with delight
upon its beauties—I had confessed that an accident had interrupted the
perusal ; and when asked what that accident was, I had in the most
pointed, public, and deliberate manner elevated a nightcap! Could any
declaration tell more plainly, that I fell asleep over the production I had
so satirically admired. What!—to display a nightcap to a young and
innocent creature, who had probably never seen her grandfather’s !—not
even her little brother’s, after the border was taken off? The offence
was beyond the hope of pardon, and apology was useless.

The lady spoke first—what I know not. I only heard her stammer
out something, like an Holian harp afflicted with the palsy, or a piano-
forte with an impediment in its speech. I could not reply. I had borne
the laughter, but it was impossible to encounter the condolence of the
whole room. Retreat was my only refuge, and I determined at once to
decamp. I feigned a fish-bone in my throat, or something equally incon-
venient, pulled the cap furiously upon my head—nay, over my eyes—
and without uttering a word, or stopping to answer one, rushed hatless
into a hackney-coach.

« My wife” watched over the progress of my fever for three months,
with the truest and most tender affection. How thankful the kind-
hearted creature was that the incident had taken so serious an effect upon
me !—it afforded her such an admirable opportunity of evincing her de-
votion. How grateful was she for my sufferings !—she had the exquisite
enjoyment of alleviating them. I sometimes think that she almost wishes
me dead —for the pleasure of being utterly inconsolable.

1831.] ee yea
AFRICAN DISCOVERIES.

~Mourray is said to have given Lander a thousand pounds for. his
Journal—which we hope, for Lander’s sake, is true. As to the wisdom
of the publisher’s thousand pounds’ purchase, we may have very) con-+
siderable doubts; for the public have been so saturated with African-
discovery narratives, that their curiosity is prodigiously gone down,
However, we hope the government will take the affair to themselves,
and give the two Landers pensions. Let them have a couple of hun-
dreds a-year each, which is the very least that can decently be given,
and which might be saved in a single déjetné d la fourchette of the
band of gentlemen pensioners. But the oddity of the whole matter is,
that the termination of the Niger had been declared, over and over
again, in print and copper-plate, before the Landers sailed down it. In
the travels of Leo Africanus, just detailed in the “ National Library,”
by Mr. St. John, the discovery is described in the early part of the six-
teenth century :—

«« « From Timbuctoo, Leo proceeded to the town of Cabra on the Niger, which
was then supposed to discharge its waters into the Atlantic ; for the merchants
going to the coast of Guinea embarked upon the river at this place, whence they
dropped down the stream to the sea-shore.’ From this it appears that all our
hot controversies, and lavish expenditure of human life for the last half-century,
have only left us as wise as we might have been had we listened to the earliest
traveller through Central Africa who has recorded his observations. Leo was,
in all probability, the authority upon which an old map of Africa, about which
considerable noise has lately been made, represents the Niger as falling into the
Bight of Biafra.”

From the latter part of the observation—which is made by a Scotch
journalist—we dissent. The old map is, we understand, a Dutch one,
and now at Amsterdam; probably formed on the observations of some
of the national traders, who, at this period, were the carriers of Europe,
and of course looked with a cunning eye to the land of gold and
ivory.

But all this was a sealed book to our “ philosophers,” who, being
determined te believe nothing that anybody else had known, were
equally determined to believe a vast deal that was sure to turn out
absurd. What hundreds of pages has this controversy filled in the
Reviews for the last twelve years! What proofs have been brought
that the Niger ran into the Nile, or into the Persian Gulph, or into the
Senegal, or into the moon! What counter-proofs, that it ran in none of
these directions, but that it buried itself in the sands, or was lost in the
Lake Tchad, or evaporated in summer !—or did none of these things—
but ran up the Ethiopian ghauls, and, having fought its way up an
ascent of three thousand feet—all by the new law of projectiles, of
course, for eyery thing now is science—roamed at its will over the
great African table-land, and, after meanders of some thousands. of
miles, quietly slipped down, washed the faces of the Hottentots, and
finally glided through the great Karoo, to increase the comforts of the
British colony, who have imported pianos, harps, soda-machines, and
satin sandals, for their soirées on the banks of the “ great fish river !”——
and all this was proof!

Yet dull as truth is, compared to the fancy of reviewers, the truth had
been given to those national enlighteners in all kinds of ways before.

158 African Discoveries. [ Aueusr,

That indefatigable Scot, Mc Queen, had told them, nearly ten -years
back, that they were blockheads, and had missed their way, and that
they must look for their river in the very spot where it has since been
found. <A paper of his, printed in 1823, gives, step by step, the pro-
gress down the Niger, from Park’s last discovery, to the place where it
cuts its way through the sands on the shore of the ocean. - Of this fact
there can be no doubt; for any one, who will take the trouble to turn
over the pages of Blackwood, will find it in the volume relating to
1823. .So much for sagacity and hydrography, and the command of
information, and “a purer spirit of inquiry,” and so forth! Philoso-
phy, on this occasion, like Astrea or Cupid, was blind of both eyes.

Timbuctoo, the other problem, has had its description in the pages of
the same Africanus, who was a Moor, and, of course, had the power of
making his way through Africa without being detected by the gibberish
which our travellers must utter as genuine Joliba, or being flogged for
the mis-shape of his turban, or hanged for the colour of his skin. As
for M. Caillé, the Frenchman, we have the strongest possible doubts
that he ever saw the city of Timbuctoo. But in Leo we have the whole
detail ; and, after we have sacrificed some dozen more of our half-pay
captains, we shall find that the discovery has been only re-discovered.
Thus saith the Moor :—

«« The city of Timbuctoo—(the name of which was first given to the kingdom
of which it was the capital only about Leo's time)—is said to have been founded
in the 610th year of the Hejira, by a certain Meusa Suleyman, about twelve
miles from a small arm or branch of the Niger. The houses originally erected -
here had now dwindled into small huts, built with chalk and thatched with
straw ; but there yet remained a mosque, built with stone in an elegant style of
architecture, and a palace, for which the sovereigns of Central. Africa were
indebted to the skill of a native of Granada. However, the number of artificers,
merchants, and cloth and cotton weavers, who had all their shops in the city,
‘was very considerable. Large quantities of cloth were likewise conveyed thither
by the merchants of Barbary. The upper class of women wore veils; but ser-
vants, market-women, and others of that description, exposed their faces. The
citizens were generally very rich, and merchants were so highly esteemed that
the king thought it no derogation to his dignity to give his two daughters in
marriage to two men of this rank. Wells were here numerous, the waters of
which were extremely sweet; and during the inundation, the water of the Niger
was introduced into the city by a great number of aqueducts. The country was
rich in corn, cattle, and butter ; but salt, which was brought from the distance
of five hundred miles, was so scarce, that Leo saw one camel-load sold, while he
was there, for eighty pieces of gold.”’

This would be incomparable news for the Liverpool salt-pans, and, if
we could but teach the Moors to eat bacon, might be a means of un-
Mahometanizing the whiskered millions of the land of panthers. The
King of Timbuctoo was very kingly, and, excepting the difference in
clothing and complexion, might be mistaken for an emperor of Rus-
sla i—=

«“The king was exceedingly rich for those times, and kept upa splendid court.
Whenever he went abroad, whether for pleasure or war, he always rode upon a
camel, which some of the principal nobles of his court led by the bridle. His
guard consisted entirely of cavalry. When any of his subjects had occasion to
address him, he approached the royal presence in the most abject manner; then
falling prostrate on the ground, and sprinkling dust upon his head and shoulders,
explained his business ; and in this manner even strangers, and the ambassadors
of foreign princes, were compelled to appear before him. His wars were con-

1831.] African Discoveries. 159

ducted‘in the most atrocious manner, poisoned arrows being used; and such as
“escaped those deadly weapons, and were made prisoners, were sold for slaves in
the capital ; even such of his.own subjects as failed to pay their tribute being
treated in the same manner.”

The poisoned arrows, we allow, are not Pelersburgish ; but cannon
-and mortars are tolerable equivalents. One grand exception, too, occurs, |
which might distinguish Timbuctoo from the /ate Polish dominions of
his Majesty :—

“© Leo seems to have been astonished at finding no Jews at Timbuctoo ; but his
majesty was so fierce an enemy to the Hebrew race, that he not only banished

them his dominions, but made it a crime punishable with confiscation of property
to haye any commerce with them. Timbuctoo, at this period, contained a great

_number of judges, doctors, priests, and learned men, all of whom were liberally
provided for by the prince; and an immense number of manuscripts were an-
nually imported from Barbary, the trade in books being, in fact, the most lucra-
tive branch of commerce. Their gold money, the only kind coined in the coun-
try, Was without image or superscription ; but those small shells, still current
on the Coromandel and Malabar coasts, and in the islands of the Indian Ocean,
under the name of cowries, were used in small transactions, four hundred of them
being equivalent to a piece of gold. Of these gold pieces, six and two-thirds
weigh an ounce.”’

The inhabitants were, however—like all inhabitants under the most
gracious of monarchs—happy as the day was long ; they being only liable
to be beheaded, pounded in a mortar, or thrown to the dogs and elephants
of his majesty, ata moment’s warning. The source of their gaiety seems

' described to be their slave-dealing, and their houses being periodically
burned to the ground :—

** The inhabitants, a mild and gentle race, spent a large portion of their time
in singing, dancing, and festivities—which they were enabled to do by the great
number of slaves of both sexes which they maintained. The city was extremely
liable to conflagrations, almost one half of the houses having been burnt down
between the first and second visit of our traveller—a space of not more than
eleven or twelve years. Neither gardens nor fruit-trees adorn the environs.”

In those points, they emulate the subjects of the Ottoman Porte, and,
on the same grounds, we rely upon it, are just as happy.

But a book, certainly not less curious than Lander’s, and about a
much more interesting region than any thing belonging to the hideous
negroes of West Africa, has just made its debit ;—Pearce’s Account of
Abyssinia. Bruce awoke the world on the subject forty years ago, but
it must be acknowledged that Bruce had a manner of telling truth that
made it appear prodigiously like a lie; and that with all allowances for
what he saw, his conversations at the Court of Gondar, such as it is, his
unfailing diplomacy, his desperate valour, and his matchless success upon
all oceasions, human and divine, still rest very considerably under the
imputation of romance. In. fact, neither we, nor we suppose anybody
else, could find it in our hearts to believe a syllable of it. But Pearce is
a trust-worthy fellow, and zot a privy councillor; he is not profound in
the graces of queens and princesses, nor even worshipped as the oracle
of western wisdom, during the whole course of his residing at the
Abyssinian hills. Some parts of his book have the dullness that belongs
to all things under the sun, but many of his details are excessively
curious. We give an instance of the diversity of opinion that may
exist between individuals of the highest rank in sundry places—
Abyssinian, as well as English. Mr. Coffin, who communicates the

160 African Discoveries. [ AueusT,

anecdote, had astonished the whole court with that recherché instrument,
a barrel-organ. The hearer was either a king, or that much greater
man, a prime-minister, we forget which—

“© The organ, which Mr. Coffin had just begun to turn, next took his attention;
he stood seyeral minutes looking at it, at last went close to it, looked at the
inside, and appeared quite lost in contemplation. ‘ I hear it breathe,’ said he,
several times, and as, upon putting his ear close, he could hear a hiss now and
then, occasioned by there being a small hole in the leather on-.one side of the
bellows, he cried out, ‘ By Saint Michael there is a snake init! Lhear it plainly;’ |
and quickly drawing back, he exclaimed, ‘ Such a thing which contains a deyil
cannot be fit for a church.’ Allicar Barhe, the high-priest, standing close by,
said, ‘ Ganyar, I beg your pardon, it is an angel, not a devil; our church has
not suffered in any way since it came into it, but on the contrary has rather
increased in prosperity. Ito Pearce has opened the whole before the carmart
[eongregation of priests] and all are of opinion that nothing but the wisdom of
man, such as God gave unto Solomon, had made it;’ and he added, ‘ Abuna
Counfu told us that he saw one in the church of St. Paulos and Petros, in Rome,
as large as twenty of this.’”’ i. 266-7.

There are in Abyssinia all the contrivances that Europe exclusively
boasts of; but, as it will be seen, without reason. Abyssinia has
gaming-tables, opera-dancers, according to the African fashion, duelists,
professional hangmen, a hierarchy of as much vigour and utility as any
corporation of pope and cardinals on earth. Curricles, that break necks
and legs ; bankrupts, insolvent debtors, prize-fighters, and epidemics—
and yet we talk of our superior civilization !

THE OLDEN TIME.

Ye reminiscences of olden time,

Ye dwell upon my memory like a dream.

Ye come and go, like bubbles on a stream ;
Or like those clouds that float around the moon.
I listen—for to me there comes no chime
Without its echo, and all voices seem

To speak in words of some familiar rhyme

I listened to of old.—Ah, me! as soon

Shall winds forget their minstrelsy, the trees
Forget the sunshine in the month of June,
The tranquil waves forget the stormy breeze,
And the cold lakes of mountain-tops to freeze,
As the unhappy one, while life may last,
Shut from his heart the memory of the past.

1831.] P6l sy

RECOLLECTIONS OF SCENES AND CITIES :—N?°. 1.—THE TYROL,
BAVARIA, THE VOSGES.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “ SPAIN IN 1830.”

Ir is an old saying, that reality seldom equals expectation; and I
have heard some experienced travellers assert, that the planning of a
journey, its arrangements, and the many pleasing anticipations connected
with it, afford greater enjoyment than the journey itself. From my
own experience, I would say, that there is much truth in this; but I
am strongly inclined to think, that recollections are productive of more
real enjoyment than either the anticipation or the reality, there is no
limit to éhem ; they live as long as life endures, and we can renew them
as often as we have a mind. They possess this advantage besides, that
nothing can wrest them from us; expectation may never ripen into
reality, and reality may be clouded by disappointment; but the recol-
lection of the past is ours for ever; beyond the reach of vicissitude, or
the malevolence of fate. All recollections are not, indeed, remi-
niscences of pleasure ; scenes may have been chequered by difficulty, or
darkened by danger ; but difficulty that is past, and danger that exists
no more, are seldom remembered with much uneasiness, but rather give
rise to a pleasurable consciousness, that we have vanquished the one
and escaped the other.

Let me wander for awhile among the scenes I have visited, and through
the cities where I have dwelt.

To me, the Tyrol is full of interesting recollections ; and if the limits
of this paper would permit the details of a personal narrative, I would
conduct the reader into many as sweet valleys as lie among the moun-
tains of more travelled Switzerland ; I would lead him by the margin
of lakes, as beautiful and as tranquil as any that sleep in Alpine soli-
tudes; I would introduce him to many lively, and many quiet but
interesting companions—mountain streams, prattling of a hundred things
—grave and gay, never weary, discoursing ever, talking and running
on ; companies of summer flowers, enjoying sweet fellowship—nodding
to each other—all silent, but all smiling. I must content myself, how-
ever, with selecting a few portraits and recollections, from the many
that crowd upon me.

I remember, with peculiar distinctness, that charming morning—I
think, one of the first days of July—upon which I left Meran, to jour-
ney to Glurus. One travels for more than a league, under an arcade
of vines, which are trained over head, from one trellice to another; but
then the vines and cultivation are left behind, and give place to pastoral
scenes; and it is among these, that I would sketch a portrait. The
river Adige presents here, one of the most extraordinary spectacles
that are to be met with in Europe—a rapid—almost a cataract—extending
at least a mile in length. It is one continued: sheet of foam, rushing
with a deafening noise, and resistless force, between quiet green banks,
that resemble more the shores of a gentle lake, than the skirts of a cata-
ract. I leapt over the wall that bounds the high road, to cross the slope
and reach the margin of the river,—and never shall I forget the picture
that offered itself to my contemplation ; it was a woman sitting upon a
little knoll, six or eight yards from the margin, with bare head and
braided hair ; there she sat, knitting, and singing to herself, snatches of

M.M. New Serics.—Vou. XII. No. 68. T

162 Recollections of Scenes and Cities. [Aveost,

a wild but monotonous mountain air; a cow, and five goats, were feed-
ing around her—and_ there she sat, with her little flock—a beautiful
and perfect image of. placidity ; how strangely contrasted with the
angry, impetuous, and roaring torrent that rushed by. I wish Words-
worth had seen this picture—he could have made it immortal.

Most people have heard of Mount Brenner. It was a few weeks
earlier when I walked into the very small village that bears its name,
and which is situated at the summit of the pass. “Spring comes slowly
up that way”—for although in the low grounds the woods were leafy,
and summer had spread around her garb of beauty, its only indication
at Brenner was the bright green of the fir-tree’s tender shoots. No-
where in Europe is simplicity of manners so untainted as in the Tyrol.
At six o’clock in the evening, a small treble chime from the village
church called the villagers to prayer, and they all obeyed the sum-
mons; the two or three little shops were-shut up, the cottages were
locked, even the inn-doors were closed, and some seventy or eighty
people, old and young, the whole inhabitants of the village, re-
paired to church. I did not remain alone in the inn, but went with the
flock. There was little of the pomp and majesty of the Catholic church
to be seen there ; it was as lowly a house, and as unadorned as any of
our protestant temples; but for the single image of the Redeemer, it
might have been a meeting house. I saw much apparent, and I have
no doubt, genuine devotion, among these simple-minded villagers.

Of all the towns in the Tyrol, I like Botzen the best; I like it for its si-
tuation, I like its cleanliness, I like its excellent inn, and civil landlord;
and as for its inhabitants, their manners are nearly as primitive as they are
at Brenner. I have seen ladies returning from mass at five in the morn-
ing; dinner is generally served by half-past eleven, and at eight o’clock,
the'streets of Botzen are almost as quiet as they are in other towns at
midnight. It chanced to be the annual fair, when I was there, and
I shall not easily forget the picturesque dresses of the peasantry. A
noble peasantry are the Tyroleans; and well are their tall, slight, but
firmly knit figures set-off by their dress; the tight breeches and white
stockings, shew well the lower part of the figure, and there is a peculiar
smartness in the high hat tapering to the crown, with its green silk
tassels. But what shall we say of the women, who conceal the
form within as many folds as might serve for the wrappings of a
mummy? At first, one supposes they are decorated with hoops, but
the rotundity is occasioned by ten petticoats, without which number
no woman can be considered respectably or modestly attired.

Riva, beautiful Riva! let me add thee to my recollections of the
Tyrol. It is a charming journey from Roveredo to Riva; mul-
berry trees line the road, and vines are trained from tree to tree—and
at every door, maidens are seen sitting, winding silk. It was a lonel
evening when I descended the steep mountain of Riva, and saw below
me the Lago di Garda, stretching down almost to Verona; the win-
dows of the inn look down upon the lake, and one or two pomegranates—
then with their bright crimson blossoms—and a crooked fig-tree, hung
over the water.

But I have yet one other portrait to offer ; it is the house of Hoffer,
in the retired valley of the Passauer. I walked thither from Meran,
and passed the night in it—for it is now indeed “ liberty hall,” having
been converted into a little inn. The brawling Passauer runs past the

1831.] Recollections of Scenes and Cities. 163

door—and on either side are seen high mountains, their lower accli-
vities spotted with patches of corn, and a small church with a tapering
spire, crowning a neighbouring height. I passed part of the evening
on the balcony over the door, sharing, with two peasants, a bottle or two
of pleasant wine ; and although we could see the Austrian soldiers sit-
ting smoking at the gate of the Castle of St. Leonhard, whose time-.
worn walls reposed upon the side of the mountain, we ventured to
toast the memory of Hoffer—and to drink to “liberty without licen-
tiousness.”

From the Tyrol, ’tis but a step to Bavaria—'tis but ascending the
Bavarian Alps, and we drop at once into the plain. The charm of the
Tyrol lies in its natural beauty; the attraction of Bavaria is found in
its cities. But let me pause at a country village, where there chanced
to be a children’s feast. About two hundred boys and girls, all the
girls attired in white, and headed by a band of music, walked in pro-
cession to a neighbouring hill—and first, having formed two circles,
the girls inside and the boys without, a grave but good humoured
elderly gentleman made a speech to the little people,—he praised their
proficiency at school, and told them that they had assembled to enjoy
themselves ; that they might eat as much bun as they pleased, and
play till sunset; and he concluded by exhorting the little boys to
behave with gentleness and politeness to their female companions. The
next moment all were at play—boys and girls mingling promiscuously.
One beautiful little girl, about twelve years of age, appeared to be
queen of the games; she wore achaplet of flowers and seemed to be
invested with the authority which was yielded alike to her superior
age and charming countenance. It was a beautiful and a pleasing scene.
New fangled notions of education and propriety, had evidently made
no progress in Bavaria; there was no torturing of nature; children
were children, not ridiculous caricatures of men and women ; and the
buoyancy of youth was not curbed by the silly and prosaic maxims of
modern philosophers. As for the sensible and kind hearted old gentle-
man, who lent his countenance to the children’s feast, I could not resist
the temptation of introducing myself to him ; I found he was a magis-
trate of the town; and we spenta pleasant hour over a bottle of Rhine
wine, and in talking of the supposed improvements of modern times.
They know little in Bavaria of the march of mind. The old gentleman
had never heard of the Mechanics’ Institutes, or Libraries for the People ;
«Tis a great discovery,” said he, “but tell me one thing—are crime
and vice diminished in your country, and are the people happier?”
but as my Voilurier was impatient, the reins already in his hand, and
the pipe in his mouth—I had an excuse to rise suddenly, and take
leave of my kind entertainer.

I remember, with great pleasure, the ten days I spent in Munich.
There is no city of Europe, three times the size of Munich, that con-
tains so much that is worthy of observation ; and if it were for nothing
else than to see the dress of the women, I would advise the traveller to
include Munich in his way. Take the following portrait of the washer-
woman, who came to receive my commands at the “Black Eagle.”
A silver head dress, confining all the back hair, and forming a tiara in
front; a blue satin brocaded waist, and shirt of flowered muslin; a
worked muslin apron; blue gloves; in one hand, a blue satin bag de-
pending from a silver chain, and a handsome parasol in the other. I

T 2

164 Recollections of Scenes and Cities. [Aveusr,

need scarcely say, after this, that the women of Bavaria are extravagantly
fond of dress ; the girl who waited at the table d’héte in the hotel, wore
a gown, the waist of which was entirely of silver. Customs like these,
give great life and beauty to the picture of a population ; nor is it
easy to forget the brilliant effect of these silver tiaras and silver-waisted
gowns, when on Sunday evening a Munich holiday is held in the royal
gardens.

I was in Munich when the king returned from Italy, where he had
been for some months on account of his health. Ifthe King of Bavaria
owns a smaller dominion than some other kings, he can boast of a larger
measure of his people’s affection. It was an universal holiday—the
town seemed mad with joy—and his entrée was like a triumph ; one
might almost have envied evena crown. The same evening, his majesty
honoured the theatre with his presence, and there his reception was
equally enthusiastic ; he deserves his popularity ; he lives as moderately
as any gentleman about court, and the large surplus which he has been
enabled to save from his private revenue, enables him to beautify his
capital, and to be the munificent patron of literature and the arts. That
most splendid edifice in Europe, the Glypthothek, before which the
Louvre sinks into insignificance, has been erected at his own expense’;
and the magnificent palace now in progress, is also the offspring of his
moderation and public’ spiritedness. His majesty is a slight, gentle-
manlike person, with a pleasing, but not a handsome countenance —
and may be seen any day among the ancient statues in the Glyptho-
thek, or walking over the new palace.

From Bavaria, my recollections carry me across the lake of Constance
into Switzerland.

When I think of the Swiss towns, one, not the most celebrated, rises
to my memory ; it is not Lucern, nor Berne, nor Zurich, nor any of the
towns best known to fame; it is Zoug—the quiet, secluded catholic
Zoug, passed over by some travellers, and cried down by others: but com-
mend me toa long summer’s day at Zoug—a day of musing, with no inter-
ruption but that of an excellent dinner at the Hotel de Cerf. Zoug has
nothing of the bustle and money-getting air of Zurich ; neither is it like
Berne, full of vanities and distinctions—nor like Lucern, full of filth,
beggars, and idleness,—nor like all the smaller towns—such as Thun,
and Unterseen, and Nevay, and Altorf, full of travelling English, who
make the inns dear, and the people idle. “Tis the perfect picture of a
country town in an out-of-the-way place ; only a few children are to be
seen in the streets, and matrons sitting at their doors—the men and-the
maidens are all in the fields at work, or with the cows or the goats; and
in the evening, long processions of these tame creatures are seen return-
ing, straggling along the streets, and every one stopping at its own door.
I was nearly concluding a bargain with the innkeeper at Zoug to
spend the summer with him—he asked the moderate sum of four francs
per day.

I was the spectator, and indeed partly a participator in a curious scene
in the country of the Grisons, which is now the only district of Switzer-
land where the primitive manners of the people are preserved. I walked
into Fettam, a small town of the lower Engadine, about ten in the
morning ; it seemed to be a holiday ; it was not Sunday, and yet all the
men were clad in their best blue homespun—and the women also in their
best printed calicos. In the inn, I found all was preparation for some-

1831.] Recollections of Scenes and Cities. 165

thing unusudl ; and naturally on inquiring the cause of what I saw, I was
told that Felix Zerner had returned. It is the custom in the Engadine
for youths to go from their native valleys in quest of fortune, and to re-
turn when they have found it—and Felix Zerner was one of those sons
of adventure who had returned rich to his native town ; it was only the
eyening before that he had arrived at Fettam, and that day an entertain-
ment was to be given at his expense to many of the villagers. The
houses of the Engadine are of extraordinary size, and in a large upper
room the table was laid out: the feast was fixed for mid-day, and I was
invited by Felix Zerner himself to partake of it. The table was laid
with a cloth that would have done credit to a nobleman’s feast, and
forms were set round, upon which upwards of forty Grisons took their
places—Felix Zerner at the head, and myself on his right hand. Per-
haps the reader would like to know what were the dishes at this Grison
feast,—there were capons without end, enormous pieces of pork, several
preparations of chamois, cheese scattered here and. there, and pastry in
extraordinary abundance ; and as for drink, a bottle of pale-coloured
wine was placed at the side of each guest.

The entertainer, who spoke French well, and English a little, told me
that he left his native town when he was seventeen ; and that he carried
‘with him twenty crowns. He went first to Lyons, where, by paying
eight crowns to the master of a caffée, he got the place of under-waiter ;
here he picked up a little money and more knowledge, and at the end of
a year, he Jeft Lyons for Paris, with forty crowns in his pocket,. There
he hired himself to a restaurateur in the Rue de St. Denis, paying twenty
crowns for his place ; and after remaining there till he was twenty-two,
he found himself in possession of fifteen hundred frances. . With-these,
he left Paris and set up a restaurant at Orleans, in which he continued
twelye years, having in that time amassed no less a sum than forty
thousand francs; he was then thirty-three, and during the seven years
that had elapsed since that time, he had travelled to Russia, Germany,
and England, in the capacity of a valet and interpreter, and he had now
returned to Fettam with a hundred thousand francs (£4000. sterling).
This sketch may serve for the outline of the career of almost all those
sons of the Grison valleys who leave their homes in quest of fortune, and
return after having found it.

After a little while, the company became uproarious ; political liberty
was the theme of discourse and congratulation ; for the Grisons suppose
they are the only free people upon earth ;—but the conversation being
carried on in the old Provengale, it was unintelligible to me, and I retired
below, where I was introduced to the grisette whom Felix Zerner had
already made choice of for a bride. He must have been a true Grison
at heart, to have chosen any thing so homely, after having spent half a
lifetime among the piquantes Orleanoises.

The primitive scenes which I have witnessed among the Grisons, recal
to my mind the simplicity of life among arace of mountaineers, who in-
habit that range which divides Alsasce from Franche Coméé, and is called
the Vosges mountains. Europe is ransacked for the picturesque 3—but
the department of the Vosges is passed by ; and yet Ido not know of
any place in Europe, where it is to be found in so much perfection. In
one feature of the picturesque it is peculiarly rich,—the ruins with which
it everywhere abounds. Scarcely is there an isolated eminence that is
not crowned by the ivied walls of one of those strong-holds, that in

166 Recollections of'-Scenes and Cilies. [Aueusr,

former times were the baronial castles of the German nobles ; nor in any
spot that I have yet visited, have I found more primitive manners than
in the Vosges; and this will create little surprise when I add, that I could
not learn that any foreigner had visited these mountains for many years.
One evening in the Vosges deserves a more minute record. :

It was on the second day after leaving Strasburg, and when I had
penetrated into the heart of the mountains, that on a delicious August
evening, I looked down upon the village of Rannes, one straggling street,
suspended over the brawling stream that watered the little valley, and
overtopped by the ruins of two, once no doubt, rival castles. I inquired
for an auberge; but there are no inns in the Vosges, for there are no
travellers ; and uncertain how the night was to be spent, my pace had
gradually waxed slower, till it came to a dead halt ; when an old respect-
able looking man, coming from the vine-covered porch of a house oppo-
site, asked me if I were a stranger ; and learning my difficulty, he offered
me the hospitalities of his house. It was a patriarchal establishment,
and there might be seen all the domestic virtues,—reverence for age, in-
dulgence for youth, motherly love, sisterly and brotherly affection. I
was received, as strangers were received of old, before the inhabitants of
cities had carried their refinements—perhaps their corruptions—into the
lands of simplicity and hospitality. How equally flowed the stream of
life in this seclusion !—what a picture of peace and serenity! and yet to
one whose scenes of life are varied every day, and who is accustomed to
men and cities, it is rather a painful, at all events a regretful, sensation
that is awakened by the contemplation of life without variety, and as it
would seem, almost without enjoyment. The old man, whose head was
frosted over with eighty winters, and his spouse, seemingly as aged, sat
during the evening at the door, upon two seats formed of plaited vine-
twigs, watching silently the labour of their progeny. Their son, a
healthy man of, perhaps, forty years, was digging little troughs at ghe
roots of his vines; while two boys, of about ten and twelve years old,
were carrying pitchers of water from a neighbouring well; the old man’s
daughter-in-law was within the house, preparing supper, and pleasing a
little pet of three or four years old, that sat upon a stool eating a pear ;
but the gem, the chief figure in the group, was the grand-daughter, who
stood upon the threshold with her arms crossed, having just returned
from the neighbouring cottage of a married sister. She was somewhat
above the middle height; slender, but with that beautiful roundness of
form which is so captivating in woman, but so rare among her country-
women: her eyes were dark and expressive, but mild ; and two rows of
pearly teeth were seen betwixt two parted lips of roses. Her straw-
bonnet was slung over her arm; and abundance of beautiful tresses,
gently agitated by the air, shewed a forehead and neck of ivory: her age
might be eighteen ; but whatever it was, she seemed to preserve the re-
cent impress of the hand of divinity. She was the first and only French
girl I ever saw of whom one might say, “she is interesting.” Many are
piquantes, many gentils, some even jolies comme des Anges—but interest-
ing! how seldom. F
- [have somehow got into France, without intending it. I have many
recollections of France; but few of them either vivid or pleasing ; but
as I have no intention of returning to France after having crossed the
Pyrenees, I may as well sketch one scene which, although hackneyed
both in its locality and its subject, I would not willingly let slip from my
memory.

1831.J Recollections of Secnes and Cities. 167

Something—-I forget what—had depressed me; and by way of ex-
citement, I strolled up the Boulevard Italienne, turned into the Rue de
Richelieu, and then into the Court of Frescatis. It was about ten o'clock,
a rainy night, and the court was only lighted by the lamps placed under
the arcade. The plashing of the rain prevented my footsteps from being
heard ; and just as I was about to enter the arcade, I saw a young man,
with whose countenance and name I was not unacquainted, come down
the stair, and pausing under the porch, he emptied his pockets, and
counted his money. He stood for a few moments irresolute ; he had
evidently been a gainer; and was debating with himself, whether he
ought to be contented, or might not, by following up his good fortune,
perhaps double his gains. The love of excitement prevailed (for I be-
lieve it is seldom that the gambler is incited by love of money) and he
retraced his steps up stairs; I followed, and entered the room after him.
A gambling table is a strange picture of human character, and it is
a curious fact that the real anxiety of players is in inverse ratio to the
apparent interest they shew in the game. He who sits still, and keeps
his eyes upon the dealer, to see the fate of his stake, is less agitated,
less anxious than him. who affects to have his attention otherwise occu-
pied while the cards are dealing, and seems only to have his attention
called by the final announcement. He again is calm in mind, compared
with the player who cannot remain upon his seat, but who, throwing
down his stake with seeming unconcern, leaves the room, and only re-
turns to see whether it be doubled, or swept away. But to return—my
young friend, for such I may call him, again played eagerly with various
success—but at length lost his last piece. He asked a loan from the
man, who, with powdered hair and hands behind his back, stands at the
window ready to advance money to those whom he knows, but being
unacquainted with this young man, the loan was refused—_and he walked
into the garden. I followed him down the dark walk tothe lamp at the
farther end. I saw him lean for a moment against the wall, and he then
drew a pen-knife from his pocket, and was about to open it when I
started forward. “Mr. L.” I said.

« Ah!” said he, suddenly putting the knife in his pocket ; “I did not
see you in the room.” ‘‘ Upon one condition,” said I, “ I will lend you
five hundred francs.” He sat down at the foot of the wall and burst
into tears. <““ R——’ said he, after a few moments, “‘ you have saved
me from self-murder ; ten days ago my father gave me a hundred pounds
to come here to pay my medical classes, and to maintain me for four
months. I have gambled it all away in two nights—I have not a sous
left, and I had resolved 4 :

“No matter what you resolved,” said I, “here are five hundred
francs upon condition—that whether you win or lose them, I shall be
your banker while you remain in Paris.” I knew that to have en-
deavoured to exact a promise, without giving myself a title to ex-
act it, would have been useless ; for the gambler, however he may curse
fortune or upbraid himself, never fails to imagine that one stake more
would have retrieved his losses. L gave me the promise I required,
and we returned to the room. He threw down his bill upon the red,
saying “la moilid ;” the black came up, and L was now worth only
twelve louis and a half. We passed into the other room, the ball on
the roulette-table had just rested in No. 36. “ Messieurs faitez vos jeua,”
said the man ; the ball was whirled round, and L clapped down his

168 Recollections of Scenes and Cities. [Aveusr,

money upon No. 36—and the next moment the ball fell a second time
into that number, and L—— put into his pocket nearly nine thousand
francs.

«Let's go sup at Riche’s,” said he, putting my arm within his; and
we did sup at Riche’s, and there he gave me his gainings, of which, I
every week during his residence in Paris, gave him a hundred francs.
Upon what trifling circumstances hang the greatest events--even the
choice of life and death. If I had not felt depressed that evening, or if
I had gone to the opera, as I at one time intended, an excellent father
would certainly have lost an amiable son ; and society a useful member:
for L now practices medicine with success in his native town.

*Tis an easy matter to traverse France from north to south. Tis only
stepping into the steam-boat at Chalons, and so to Lyons.; and in another
day the Rhone carries one to Avignon, and almost in sight .of the
Pyrenees.

Gigantic barrier! with thy deep ravines, and sunny slopes and val-
leys—the Edens of the world ; and rocks and snows, and huts, and sim-
ple people, and portraits of a pastoral life—how many and vivid are my
recollections! But for the present, let them sleep.

A WEEPING-WILLOW-ISM.

My heart, that was moulded in mirth,
Hath been washed by the waters of earth ;
And thus every curl of the stream

Hath ruined some innocent dream.

Some fancy, once fed by a ray

That melted like starlight away ;
Some joy, that depended unblest,
As it gazed on the graves of the rest.

That heart, by the cold waters worn,
Though forsaken, is scarcely forlorn ;
Hope came, and departed as fleet,
But left there the print of her feet.

And is it a glance or a tone

Whose enchantment about me hath grown?
Tis the light of thy heart, in the eye;

And the voice of thy soul, like a sigh.

For I looked on the world and its wiles,
And a multitude met me with smiles—
But I came unto thee, and have gained
The tears that have never been feigned. B.

1831.] [ 169 J

LAW REFORMS—-THE NEW RULES OF COMMON LAW PRACTICE.

Tue torpid patience with which the people of England suffer de-
tected abuses to prevail, and to interfere with their comforts and con-
venience, is most surprising. It is not enough that the whole commu-
nity has been over and over again convinced that glaring injustice is
done to them in points of dear import ; that they have the power, and
know the means, by which such nuisances might be abated, by the
mere exertion of their voices ; that, whoever may be interested in the
perpetuation of such abuses, there is hardly any man profligate and au-
dacious enough to raise his head any where in vindication of them.
Knowing and feeling all this, most sensibly, they permit the evils to
exist ; their complaints assume no other shape than unheeded grumbling,
or sarcasms, which become pointless from repetition ; and matters go
on at least as badly, in many respects much worse, than under our
great-great-grandfathers. In no branch of our domestic arrangements
more abundantly, or more absurdly, has this been permitted, than in
the administration of the laws. Although in this commercial country
no man can reasonably expect to pass any one year—some men cannot
even pass weeks—of their lives, without being either immediately or
remotely affected by the delays, and inconvenience, and expense of the
stupid and costly system that has been permitted to grow up about us,
the mischief has remained almost wholly unchecked. No doubt there
has been abundance of talk about it. The evils of expensive and pro-
tracted litigation have been complained of for centuries; but from the
time of Edward the Third to the present day, how little has been done
in the way of remedy !

In the administration of criminal justice, indeed, a great improvement
has been effected, and of late years. But although it is a favourable
“sign of the times,” that there are men among us, enlightened and
energetic enough to take upon themselves the burthensome task of re-
ducing the unformed mass of contradiction, and of abolishing the
wretched expedients which had been from time to time resorted to by
judges who, not having the power to make laws, did their best to prevent
those laws from becoming scourges and snares to the least guilty and
the unwary, yet, in truth, the amendments were less urgently called for
in the criminal than in the civil judicature of the country. The cri-
minal law, as it was written, was undoubtedly so severe, that if it had
been applied, ¢o the letter, it would have been a disgrace to any civilised
nation; but it never was so applied. Its inartificial and unsystematic
form prevented its sanguinary provisions from being carried into full
effect ; and the ingenuity of judges, and the humanity of juries, were
exerted, rather to save the miserable culprits with whom they had to
deal, from the doom denounced by the law, than their true and honest
judgments exercised in the performance of those impartial duties which
their several oaths enjoined. The way has, however, been opened to
improvement in this part of our domestic policy; but although we
rejoice unfeignedly at the progress which has been made, and are ever
eager to ascribe to those persons who are entitled to it, the high credit
of having conferred a lasting benefit on the country, we cannot help
seeing that the course is only entered upon; and that the greatest praise
which can be conferred on those who have been the means of ame-
liorating .our criminal jurisprudence, is, that they have set a laudable

170 Law Refornis. [Aveust,

example to such persons as may be disposed to follow them. In the ad-
ministration of civil justice, infinitely more remains to be done, and the
best interests of society—of the quiet and industrious part'of society—
of those persons upon whose exertions and conduct a great portion of
the prosperity, and almost all the moral happiness of the country,
depends, requires that it should be done speedily.

From the days of the Commonwealth, when it was very seriously
debated in Parliament, whether a court of equity ought to exist any
longer in England, the expense, and the delay more ruinous than
expense, of which that branch of law is the fruitful source, have been
universally complained of; and never has the complaint been more
justly founded, than it is at this moment. The project of abclishing the
Court of Chancery was then overruled, and in its place resolutions were
drawn up, by sagacious and experienced men in the matter with which
they were dealing, the object of which was to preserve the institution—
a valuable one as they justly deemed it—but to root out from it the
rank abuses which destroyed its utility, and converted its wholesome
principles into instruments of oppression. The pernicious influence of
lawyers—that is, of the persons interested in perpetuating the evils
most exclaimed against, then prevailed ; the projected improvements
exhaled in mere talk ; and, from that day to this, nothing effectual has
been done, while the lapse of two centuries has added a monstrous
burthen to the weight and incumbrance of the system. It must not,
however, be supposed that the outcry has in the mean time been stilled,
or that public opinion has changed with respect to the demerits of the
Court of Chancery. On the contrary, no public man has ever spoken
of it, but in terms of reprobation, more or less bitter, but always richly
deserved. Books have been published of all kinds and sizes; bulky
octavos, pamphlets, even poems, have been written, to decry the
mischiefs of a system under which few men are so fortunate as not to
suffer. Within the last ten years, the clamour about it in Parliament
became so loud, that some inquiry was found to be inevitable, and a
commission was appointed te inquire into the causes of the delay and
expense, which were admitted to be its chief characteristics, and to
provide some remedy. ‘The adroitness of the then chief of the Court
prevented any speedy progress being made in the inquiry. No man
knew so well—no man ever practised so successfully the principle of
defeating opposition by sheer delay. To gain time was with him to
gain victory; and when at length the report of the Chancery Commis-
sioners made its appearance, the great Cunctator of modern times was
found to have succeeded in taking the sting entirely out of it. It is six
or seven years since that report was published by Parliament ; and, with
the exception of what are called ““ The New Orders,” no attempt of any
kind has been offered, to remedy the abuses which even that document,
emasculated as it was, exposed. It is true, that members of both
Houses of Parliament have talked much about it; true, that Lord
Lyndhurst promised to reform those abuses; no less true, that he did
not keep his promise, although he had abundant time, and the voice of the
whole country to back him, if he had been minded to redeem the pledge
which he, solemnly enough, gave. It is true that Lord Brougham in-~
cluded it in his seven hours’ speech ; but true, also, that it shared the
fate of all the other fine things that Lord Brougham talked about ;
that is to say, that they ended there. It is true that Mr. Spence made

1831. The New Rules of Common Law Practice. 171

a lucid speech (his only one!) on the same subject, and true, too, that
Sir Edward Sugden said ditto to Mr. Spence, with great emphasis ;
but there it stops: neither lord nor commoner can be induced to lay
their shoulders in earnest to the wheel of the ponderous machine, and
try in earnest to draw it out of the mire in which it is enswamped.

The practice of the courts of common law has been not less noto-
riously defective and inconvenient, but it has been less loudly com-
plained of. The reason of this, among other less obvious, is, that the
stakes played for in that court are much less in amount, the interests
more concentrated, the delays not to be compared with those in Chan-
cery (and quick injustice is, in nine cases out of the hundred, preferable
to tardy justice), the costs trifling in the comparison, and folks cannot
be dragged into the courts of common law., by whole families, almost
whole parishes, as they may be with Chancery. Still it is only by
means of such a comparison that any excuse can be found for the
glaring absurdity and injustice of the modes of practice in the courts
of common law; and, in short, in every department of the admi-
nistration of civil justice—from the privy council, where enormous
expense is incurred by parties in order to obtain decisions, by judges
for the most part wholly incompetent to the duties they venture to
take upon themselves—down to the wretched farce which is per-
mitted. to mock the common sense of the metropolis, under the
name of the Marshalsea Court, and which is several degrees below
the Pie-powder Court of Bartlemy Fair—the whole system is one
of abuse and yexation and disappointment, rendered. trebly intolerable
by reason of the burthensome expense which is inflicted upon the
suitors,

In such a state of things it becomes us indeed to be thankful even for
“small mercies.” The commissioners to inquire into and suggest. im-
provements in the common law courts, who annually cost, and for years
past have cost, the country several thousands of pounds (while the real
property commissioners cost at least as much more), have made their
reports ; Sir James Scarlett brought in a bill, in the last session of par-
liament, checking some of the more glaring wickednesses of the system,
and at length the judges of the common law courts, acting under one
of the provisions of that statute, have published a set of general rules
for ameliorating and rendering something more reasonable and some-
thing less costly, that hocus-pocus, the practice of which has been too
long encouraged. It is true these amendments do not go very far,
certainly not far enough by many, many degrees ; yet, still in the hope
that it may be the commencement of that reform which is so loudly
called for, and which it requires nothing but the sincere inclination of
the judges to effect, we are willing to receive it with as good a welcome
as we can afford—better even than, in itself, it deserves.

We proceed to detail the purport and object of these reformers, of
which the first relates to the subject of bail. Every one knows, at least
every one whom it concerns, knows that no greater abuse exists than that
by which it is permitted to swindlers and knaves of all kinds, to hire
other knaves to become their bail, and to stave off, at great-expense and
risk, the demands of their creditors. Hundreds of Jews in this metro-
polis make a subsistence, such as it is, by swearing in courts of justice,
“‘ for a consideration,” that they are housekeepers ; when they have not
perhaps a place in which they can lay their heads at night, and that

172 Law Reforms. : [ Auveusr,

they are worth large sums of money when they have not property enough
under heaven to pay the toll upon Waterloo-bridge. This abuse has
led to another, that is, that all kinds of bail are subject to the same ordeal,
and the client in all cases put to the same expense ; as if vigilance and
care such as are necessary to defeat the practices of the Jews we have
alluded to, were equally necessary in all other cases. The new rules are
well devised for abating the inconvenience arising under this head.

The first of the rules provides that bail may be justified at the same
time that they are put, substituting for the present system of giving notice
that they intend to justify in court, a notice four days before the day of
putting in bail, that they will justify at the same time they become bail.
In order to prevent the plaintiff from being imposed upon by irresponsi-
ble bail, he may, upon giving one day’s notice of his desire to do so,
have three days’ time to inquire into the circumstances of the proposed
bail, if they reside in town, and six days if they are in the country,
during which period the proceedings of the cause are to be staid. _ This
provision at once prevents imposition on the one hand and unfair haste
on the other.

In order to make the notice of the bail effectual, it is provided. that
the plaintiff shall have notice of the street and number at which the bail
reside, in addition to their formal descriptions, and of all the streets
and numbers in streets at which any of them shall have been. resident
during the last six months, and whether they are housekeepers or free
holders. ti

Justification of bail is almost as often an oppression against the debtor
as it is an advantage to the creditor, and to guard against needless oppo-
sition it is provided, that if the exception to the bail shall fail after their
names and descriptions shall have been verified upon affidavit, that the
costs of opposing shall be paid by the plaintiff; but if, on the other
hand, it shall succeed, then that the defendant shall pay them. And
the bail may be justified out of court upon their own affidavit unless
they are excepted against, and that after notice of them has once been
given that they shall not be changed without leave of the court, or of
one of the judges of the court.

Although nothing is more indisputable than that the plaintiff in every
action ought to furnish the defendant with a clear and succinct state-
ment of the nature of his demand, in order that the latter may “make
his peace with his adversary,” if the case admits of compromise or satis-
faction, yet nothing is more difficult,—it often becomes very expensive
to-obtain such a statement. To obviate this difficulty the new orders
provide, that in all the more common cases of actions for debt or upon
assumpsit, the plaintiff shall deliver the particulars of his demand, it
they can be comprised within the space of 216 words; and if not that
he shall deliver such a statement of the nature of his claim, and the sum
he asserts to be due, as may be comprised within that number of words.
To secure compliance with this order, it is declared that if it shall
become necessary for the defendant to procure the particulars by sum-
mons in the ordinary way, the costs of such summons, and the attend-
ance upon them, and the delivery of the particulars under it, shall not
be allowed. And to make the matter still more clear to the judge as
well as to the party, the plaintiff is enjoined to annex a copy of his par-
ticulars to the record when it shall be delivered to the marshal in order
to be set down for trial.

1831.] The New Rules of Common Law Practice. 173

The absurd system of imparling from one term to another is abolished,
and the defendant is to be compelled to plead of the term in which
the declaration is filed. Before judgment of non pros. can be signed,
the defendant must give four days’ notice to the plaintiff. Two sum-
monses before a judge, instead of three, are in future to be sufficient.
Declarations, de bene esse, are not to be delivered till six days after the
service of process not bailable, nor till six days after the actual arrest,
upon process which is bailable. The time for proving declarations in
ejectment is to be extended to the first day in full term, instead of being
limited to the epoign, or fourth day, before the commencement of the
practicable term. Notice of taxing costs must, in all cases, be given one
day before the taxation takes place. Rules to plead several matters are
abolished, and permission is, in future, to be obtained upon summons ;
but no summons or order is to be necessary in cases where the plea of
non assumpsit, or nil debet, or non detinet, with or without a plea of
tender as to fact, a plea of the statute of limitations, set off, bankruptcy of
the ‘defendant, discharge under the insolvent act, plene administravit,
plene administravit preter, infancy, and coverture, or any two or more
of such pleas shall be pleaded together ; but a rule shall be at once
granted upon production of the draft or engrossment of the pleas.

The second, and, perhaps, the more important branch of the altera-
tions, is another rule, which prescribes certain forms of declarations, in
the more common kinds'of actions upon bills of exchange, and the or-
dinary demands for goods bargained, and sold, or delivered. They are
concise, but yet sufficient; and as the sole object of prescribing forms
at all is, that the practice of the court may be in all cases similar, and
that business may thereby be the more readily despatched, there is no
apparent reason why such short statements of the matter in dispute,
should not answer the purpose as well as more lengthened formula.

Now, we should be ungrateful to deny, that these matters we have de-
tailed are benefits, as far as they extend; but we should betray our
sense and judgment, if we did not protest against the miserable affecta-
tion on the part of the judges, who know so much better, and who have
the means of doing so much more, and who yet venture to offer these as
a cure for the detected evils of their courts. It will not have escaped
the observation of all who are acquainted practically with the subject,
that the most grievous of all the evils complained of remains untouched
in this pretended amendment. That which is at once the bane of the
honest practitioners in the courts of common law, and the ruin of suitors,
is the amount, the intolerable amount, of fees demanded by the officers
of the court. These officers in the higher departments are the sons and
cousins of judges ; inthe lower grades, they are their dependants and re-
tainers, even to their superannuated servants. The public cry has forced
those, in whom lay the power to amend that which is complained of, to do
something towards improvement ; but they have carefully kept their
hands from curtailing the overgrown fees of their officers—those fees
which make the demand of a just right too costly for a poor man, and
often too odious for a more wealthy one to enforce. Here is the very
source of the evils which most require amendment. From this point
improvement must begin to be useful, and unless it be effected speedily
by those who have the power to do it, it must fall into the hands of
others, who will set about the work, with less delicate hands, perhaps,
but with more resolute minds.

{iD G4> pO [Aveust;
HOMER: A RHAPSODY.

I remEmBER to have read of a Professor at Paris, who was so ardently
attached to the Poems of Hemer, that he always carried a copy in his
pocket, and even in church not unfrequently studied them instead of
his prayer-book. Dark and mysterious is thy history, thou singer of
the ancient time !—Thy spirit seems to have come up on the old world,
like the mighty eagle gazed on by Esdras, from the dark waters of
time, and covering the whole earth with one vast and everlasting sha-
dow. I have generally found, in my researches into the literature of a
country, that the life of one great man is, in truth, the fructification, so
to speak, of the age in which he lives. A band of illustrious men begin
to gather around him, and Aischylus was followed by Sophocles, and
Phidias by Praxiteles, and Dante by Petrarch and Boccaccio. But Homer
stood alone, an intellectual Omnipresence. Blending in his own person
the authority of the law-giver, and the religion of the priest, and the
sanctity of the poet, and the influence of the historian, he was indeed, as
the Italian poet styled him, the first Painter of the Ancient Memories.

The Iliad was indeed the “ Secular Bible’ of the Grecian, and he
pondered over it, as an inspired volume. The Poet’s name was an old
familiar sound, one of the household words which the child learned in
his boyhood teachings, and in after-times he looked upon his poems, as
upon a book in which the name of his dearest friend had been graven
by hands long since cold in ashes. It is one of the peculiar charms of the
poetry of Homer, that it associates itself with all our early calm and
beautiful dreamings. I read Horace, and Tacitus, and even Livyy—
the sweet and picturesque Livy—-with more or less pleasure ; but the
idea of a task was ever present with me. Homer, on the contrary, was
my companion, and whether the path lay across the clover fields, or
along the green and dewy lanes, full of music and sunshine, scattered
around our sequestered village, he was rarely absent from my heart,
and I suffered the short summer hours to glide away, while I medi-
tated in awe on the Necyomanteia, or shed tears of pure sorrow over the
young Astyanax’ pathetic picture of his coming afflictions.—Let me go
back unto thee yet again, thou blind old man of Scio !—thou chosen of the
heart, thou garnered of the memory !—let us listen yet once more to the
thousand voices of that river of song, which the lips have poured around
the city of Troy !—Let my memory sit among the spears, and the
chariots, and the plumed chiefs of that tournament of the ancient
chivalry !

I number among our choicest earthly blessings the power of feeling
intensely the beauties of the imagination. My thoughts return to the
spring-like days-when I stood listening to the adventures of Robinson
Crusoe, or more earnestly still, with the tears in my eyes, to the story of
the Children in the Wood. But my after-delight was in the study of
the ancient poets. How distinctly do I remember the day when the
first book of the Iliad, with notes and an interpretation, was put into my
hands! It has been said that this is inferior to the succeeding in variety
and imagination, but at that period I knew nothing of critics or criti-
cism; I seemed to wander through some ruined gallery of ancient sta-
tuary, mossy and ivy-grown, while the moonlight fell like a transparent
curtain, and the gleams danced along the mouldering floor like the foot-
steps of the olden poetry.

1831.) Homer: a Rhapsody. 175

The authenticity of the Homeric poems I believe was never questioned
until the close of the 17th century, and then by a Frenchman—one of a
people who never have, and never can, appreciate the simplicity of the
Poet. Oh! Ignorance, what a hundred-headed monster thou art!
Joshua Barnes wrote a book to prove that the Iliad was composed by
King Solomon. Another theory, equally singular and vexatious, has
been proposed by Branchini, who affirmed that the Iliad was one entire
allegory in the oriental manner. By Jupiter, he understood Sesostris,
who occupied the throne of Egypt during -the siege of Troy, and the
other gods he considered as his vassals: Juno was Syria; Minerva, the
learned and scientific Egypt. Fontenelle relates in his loge de Bran-
chini, that so great was the estimation in which this extraordinary man
was held during his residence at Oxford, that the university defrayed,
from their own funds, the expenses of his establishment. We suppose
such men as Philip Melancthon introduced these divertimentz upon the
principle assigned by the Rabbin, for the nonsense so frequently re-
curring in the Talmud. /

The Digamma, again, who cares a straw about it? The reader may
remember, that a treatise of the celebrated Bentley is preserved in the
library of Trinity College, Cambridge, where it was shewn to Thiersch,
in 1815.* Long may it continue in its dust and oblivion, until some
future Columbus of criticism shall bring forth the manuscript, even as a
rich treasure, like Giovanni Finati, Mr. Bankes’ servant, who ran away
with a heavy chest, and found, to his mortification, that it contained
nothing but crockery-ware. We remember an anecdote which strikes
us as forming an excellent accompaniment to the ignorance of the dis-
believers in the authenticity, we should have said the evistence, of
Homer, and the equally erudite historians of the Digamma. Our readers
may recollect, that before the close of the fifteenth century, the French
had no idea of gardening. “ Writers there were in abundance,” says the
author of the Vie Privée des Francois, “ but they were learned men, who
knew nothing but Latin and Greek.”

Shame—to sit lingering here, while the leaves of that laburnum-tree
are glancing forth specks of light, as from a thousand beautiful summer-
eyes, and the lark is nestling herself far, far away, a mile high, in the
blue air, bluer than the eyes of Venus, when they opened upon the
Trojan warrior, and he hid his face in his garment.t Reader, be not
surprised at my apparent hallucination ; the present rhapsody was com-
posed in the sunny hours among the glorious trees of the most seques-
tered village in the woodlands of Suffolk. I resemble Rousseau in in-
ability to write at a desk. I put on a shooting jacket, and slipping two
or three books —fayourites of course— into the ample pockets which de-
corate the sides, in three ticrs, as it were, stray forth into the shady
nooks and the stilliest vallies, fashioning in my mind, as I linger along,

_my broken dreams of loveliness. Beautiful in the summer light is the
green stile on which I am sitting, with a dark wood full of pheasants,
gold and silver, by my side, and a hamlet-church casting a brightness
through the old oaks before us. .

I have been reading a little book by an old Etonian, which offers a
very pleasant introduction to the ancient poet. It is designed principally

a — ——_— -- ot te ee

* Thiersch’s Greck Grammar, pp. 312, 213.
+ Hymn to Venus

176 Homer : a Rhapsody. [Aveusr,

for young persons at school and college, and liking much the tone which
pervades it, I purpose taking, in the course of my rhapsody, an occa-
sional notice of its contents. Now that Mr. Brougham is Lord Chan-
cellor, and cannot, by reason of his numerous duties, devote so much of
his attention as formerly to the diffusion of useful and entertaining know-
ledge, it becomes in me and others a duty to supply his place to the
utmost of our poor ability, and I proceed, therefore, like the rhapsodists
of old, to weave the imperishable thread of wisdom into the golden
web of my dreams and visionings.

I sometimes wish that Longinus had never written his treatise on the
sublime and beautiful: many are the errors to which the dicta of the
famous minister of Zenobia have given birth. - Yet who, with one gleam
of poetry in his heart, would ever think of confounding the sublime
and the beautiful? Sublimity—the breath of one breathing into the
dry bones, and startling in an instant, into perfect form and feature, the
dust of all ages and of all people—the light upon the hands of Lazarus,
when he stretched them forth from the sepulchre—the shadow falling
from the wings of the Cherubim upon him who sitteth beneath them.
Beauty—the music which covereth the spirit of man like a raiment—
the memory of the face of one beloved—the sorrow, thrown like a.
shroud upon our heart’s gladness. Sublimity, dim, mysterious, inex-
plicable in its origin, the path of the soul in a former state of power,
magnificence and glory. Beauty, the serenity of the Omnipotent,
garmenting every work of mortal hands, from the dark and solemn
cathedral, to the ivy-grown walls of the old and obsolete priory. The
French critic, La Harpe, has analysed Longinus’ Treatise ; but what
idea of sublimity can he have formed, who talks of comparing the
Henriade to the Paradise Lost! The mind of Voltaire could not feel
the glory of the Epos in others, much less embody it. But La Harpe,
who was really a pleasant writer upon things not too lofty for his com-
prehension, has been surpassed by Huet, who wrote a treatise to prove
that the splendid line in Genesis—God said, Let there be light, and there
was light! is not sublime. Blair, again, whose thoughts are as leafless
as the polar trees, and whose mind was more dry and sapless than the
mummy recently explored by the Royal Society, says, there is no poetry
in the prophecies of Daniel and Jonah. Reader, turn to Daniel, chap.
10, verse 6—speaking of the vision :—the voice of his words was like the
voice of a multitude! Is there no poetry in Daniel? Look at the 2nd
chapter of Jonah :—“ The waters compassed me about, even to the soul; the
depth closed me round about ; the weeds were wrapped about my head.”
And these men are to guide us in our appreciation of a poet!
But let me return to Homer. “ The truth is,’ observes the
author of the Introduction to which I have more than once referred,
“that there are not many passages in the Iliad which can be properly
called sublime ; the grandest of those few, beyond comparison, is the
description of the universal horror and tumult attending on the battle
of the gods ; whilst the real characteristics of the poem are truth, good
sense, rapidity, and variety, bodied forth into shape by a vivid imagina-
tion, and borne on the musical wings of an inimitable versification.”

That there are not many passages inthe Iliad coming under the title of
sublime, I think in some measure true ; but still we consider the charac-
ter of the poem to be sublimity—not the sublimity resulting from parts,
but from a whole ;—not from separate and individual images, but from

1831.] Homer: a Rhapsody. 177

one universal and all-ruling idea. The Iliad is like a mighty temple of
ancient worship, into which the light creeps through a thousand mossy
. openings; yet the enthusiast still beholds. a spirit of glory sitting in
silent majesty, by the ruined shrine of the old religion.

Perhaps the distinguishing characteristic of the Iliad is the idea of
power and grandeur which it conveys. Who supposes for a moment
that the dominions of Agamemnon, the leader of the Grecian armament,
were not larger than the territory of a Scottish chieftain? The spirit
of the poetry is dark and terrible ; it delighteth in the clang of arms,
and the roar of the chariots, and the tumult of the battle ; it walketh
among the more stern and revengeful passions of men, but the golden
light of a most gentle humanity is scattered about its head. Gentle, we
mean, when we consider the mind of the age ; the performance of one
of the commonest duties of christian charity by a Highland cataran
amounted to an act of rare and positive virtue.

It has been a, favourite amusement of many, to form comparisons
between the Homeric poems and the Sacred Writings. The voice of
the Homeric poetry is instinct with life and passion, whether it be in
the battle-cry of the warrior, or the “ linked sweetness” of the orator,
or the words, sweeter than perfume, of Paris, the Trojan lover. The
voice of the Hebrew falls upon the heart like moonlight on a grave ;—
it is not of earth, earthly ; you listen to it as unto the echoes, growing
faint and fainter, of departing feet —It leaves a silence upon the soul.

I have been reading the Iliad and Odyssey, with Flaxman’s IJlus-
trations—I will not call them compositions—by my side. They are
worth all the interpretations of the bard put together—-certainly, no
sculptor has ever surpassed the purity of these outlines—they are the
shadowings of poetry. Look at the third Book of the Iliad; Venus
coming to Helen. How like the Queen of Beauty !—her footsteps are
sweeter-toned than the voices of a summer dream—she leaneth on the
filmy air as upon the bosom of her Dardan lover—a Grecian Taglioni !
—we almost fancy we can hear the whispers of her lips, softer than
the zephyr creeping between the purple fans of the butterfly. Worthy
of the antique minstrelsy, is the image I have taken from that woof of
beautiful thoughts, the Romance of Endymion.

Surely Flaxman could have translated some passages in the Iliad
divinely. Can any thing be more touchingly sublime than the repre-
sentation of Sleep; in the fourteenth Book—her wings folded, and
the mantle hanging down on each side of her face ; the garment scarcely
heaveth—it is a living death! Homer never painted a picture more
pathetic than Iris standing before Priam. His face is almost entirely
covered, and his arms are resting on his knees—poor old man! There
is a very interesting paper in the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions,
on the old men of Homer. The affection of Priam for his children is
warm and lasting ; in the last Book of the Iliad only, is bitterness min-
gled with his parental tenderness—it may well be so—grief has come
down upon him, like an armed man—Death sits in the palace of his
ancestors—Hector is no longer numbered among the living—his plume
is in the dust ; the spear is broken. Desolate old man !—*« Thy taber-
nacle is spoiled, and all thy chords are broken. Thy children are

one forth from thee, and they are not. There is none to stretch forth
thy tent any more, and to set up the curtains.’ — Ezekiel.

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XM. No. 68. U

178 Homer: a Rhapsody. [Aveusr,

How enthusiastically do our feelings go along with the characters of
the Odyssey. Penelope, like the picture of Zeusis, moulded from all
fair and- beautiful visionings ; and old Euriclea, the nurse of Telem-
achus, associated in my memory with one, upon whom I shall never
look again. And Helen, the Grecian lady, the impersonation of Ionian
richness, and attic grace—the Juliet of the poet—so enchanting in her
time of mourning, so humble and affecting in her beauty.

It has been said, there is more of imagination in the Iliad, and more
of fancy in the Odyssey. In every page are visible the delicate foot-
prints of a fair and golden-sandaled creature, a young gleeful sister of
the imagination—the Hebe-Lyra of the spirit.

The Iliad has more of our admiration, the Odyssey of our love; it
links our feelings, like a magic chain of music. We kneel before the
genius of the Iliad, throned in its thick brightness; but we hang over
the Odyssey, as the sweetest tale of passionate love, that ever folded
its sunny curtains round the spirit of the poet-dreamer. uf

STANZAS.

Wuen stars forsake the sullen sea,

When rains descend and winds arise,

Some rock a sunny bower may be,
If Hope but lend us eyes,

It tracks our steps in every stage,

And wakes a fountain in the wild ;

It mingles, with the thoughts of age,
The rapture of a child.

It sheds on Joy a richer glow;

It flings to Want its gifts of gold;

But ah! its hand—as pure as snow—
Will sometimes prove as cold !

Yet when the graces fall from Youth,
And Passion’s fervid cheek grows pale,
Then Hope becomes a thing of truth—
A faith too deep to fail. B.

1831. ] peorygyts

COLONIAL QUESTION.—LATE MEETING OF DELEGATES AT
BARBADOS,

Ir is still somewhat fashionable to maintain that colonies are of no ad-
vantage to the mother country, and some of our modern economists take
pleasure in repeating that neither our trading nor shipping interests
would suffer-were our ancient colonial policy to be abandoned, and our
foreign possessions, or at least the greater part of them, given up to other
states, or declared independent !

Against such doctrines we have repeatedly entered our protest ; and
we affirm that. our commercial prosperity, naval superiority, and strength
as a nation, has gradually risen with our colonies, and depend upon our
retaining them ; and that in proportion as Great Britain deviates Jrom
that course which made her great, she will become feeble.

It would be no difficult task to shew, in opposition to the arguments
of Sir H. Parnell and other economists, that the people of the United
States though essentially English in their habits, take, in proportion to
their numbers, an infinitely smaller quantity of British produce and ma-
nufactures than the inhabitants of British North America, the West
Indies, or other English colonies. N. ow, suppose that our transatlantic
possessions were not at once to fall into the hands of foreigners, but
merely to become independent of the mother country, and _ consequently
to be at liberty to take the supplies requisite for the use of their planta-
tions, &c. from the cheapest markets of Europe and America—it must
be obvious that, even in this limited view of the case, avery great dimi-
nution of the demand for English commodities would be the immediate
consequence ; that our manufacturers, agriculturists, and fishermen
would, of course, suffer by this loss of custom, and that fewer British
ships would be requisite for carrying on our trade with these places.

On the other hand were these colonies to pass into the possession of
any foreign country—the United States of America for instance—this
demand for British produce and manufactures would be still further re-
stricted, thousands of people in this country would be thrown out of em-
ployment, while at the same time, an immense property, and a numerous
commercial marine would, with other valuable advantages, be added to
the strength of our rivals.

We think these propositions are undeniable ; and that independent of
any other considerations—such as the loss of national revenue, inhumanity
to the negroes—for to give them liberty before they are fit for it would be
inhuman — and injustice to our fellow subjects, a wise government
would pause before they risk the dismemberment of the empire, or drive
to despair a numerous body of loyal subjects, merely to conciliate a
powerful party of sectaries who are daily acquiring a dangerous ascen-
dency in the state—Yet ministers seem inclined to force on a serious
crisis, in spite of the most earned representations of the colonists !

Already, by the impolitic and unjust interference of the mother coun-
try, and in absence, or in defiance of accurate information, the property
of the colonists has been diminished more than one-half; they have been
borne down by regulations and restrictions, adopted in utter ignorance
of the state of society in the colonies; the labouring population have
been excited until, in various places, bloodshed and the destruction of
valuable property has taken place ; in Antigua, and we fear in other
islands, the slaves have lately commenced the work of destruction 3 and

U2

180 Colonial Question. [ August,

the colonists, instead of receiving that sympathy and support to which,
in common with every other class of his Majesty’s subjects, they are en-
titled, are, in effect, told, as in a late debate, that they had not attended
to the admonitions given to them; that they must, therefore, now be
“harassed by fiscal restrictions and regulations,’—and, ultimately, (if
they persist in defending the remainder of their diminished property)
“ crushed by open force !”* ‘
Is it wonderful, therefore, that, seeing how ineffectual are the efforts
of their friends in this country to defend them, the colonists should now
collectively begin to consider what is to be done to protect themselves
against injustice, and to avert the total ruin with which they are threat-
ened? The various colonies of Barbados, Antigua, Demarara, Esse-
quibo, Dominica, Grenada, Nevis, St. Christopher’s, St. Vincent, and the
Virgin Islands, have accordingly sent deputies—appointed at public
meetings held in these places respectively—to Barbados, where they
regularly assembled ; and their first proceeding was to pass a series of
resolutions declaratory of the grievarices under which they labour ; they
have entered their solemn protest, “ against any further spoliation of, or
interference with, their property, which they hold by a right as sacred
as the public creditor holds his claim on the national funds—the highest
or lowest. subject in the united kingdom his lands, his mansion, or his
cottage—or any corporate body their chartered rights ;’—they affirm, in
regard to the slave trade, that their principal share in the transaction has
been that of civilizing, and bringing to order and comparative comfort
persons brought into the colonies in a state of barbarism ; and after as-
serting their importance to the mother country, in a commercial point of
view, they affirm that any attempt to injure or destroy their property is
a gross violation of every principle of law and justice, unless full and
complete compensation for all losses which may arise, and all injuries
which may be sustained by any changes in such property, shall have
been previously provided at the expense of the nation in general ; and
upon these resolutions they formed petitions to his Majesty, and both
Houses of Parliament, embracing the general objects of their meeting ;—
together with memorials to the Lords of the Treasury, and the Board of
Trade, explaining, no doubt, the difficulties of their situation, the neces-
sity for relief, and the consequences of further attempts to legislate
for them without a full and complete inquiry and investigation into
the state of society in the sugar colonies.—One of the deputies as-
serts that, “let government send whoever they will as a commission
of inquiry, the planter may safely leave the slaves themselves to ex-
plain their own situation, which in ninety-nine cases in every hundred
will be found one of comparative luxury, and nineteen out of twenty
that every facility is given to teachers of the gospel of every deno-
mination ;” and after hinting at the false statements which the mis-
sionaries are alleged to be in the habit of sending home, it is said that
the proceedings of the sectaries should be one of the subjects of the
assembly’s deliberation, and he recommends to the missionaries to take to
task “their cruel, hard-hearted masters, and open the eyes of the good of
their own persuasions, by assuring them an idea is entertained of driving
them forth, if such impudent, angry, and hasty measures are persisted in
at home !!” What the good ladies of Clapham will say to this ; or, what

* Vide, the Attorney General’s speech on Mr. Buxton’s motion, 15th April last.

1831.] Late Meeting of Delegates at Barbados. 181

effect the debate on Mr. Buxton’s last motion in the House of Commons
will have on the deliberations of the next Barbados assembly-remains to
be seen!

The powers granted to the different deputies, so far as we can judge
by the information before us, seems to have been sufficiently ample ; and
the following may be taken as a brief summary of the qualifications
necessary, and of the duties required of them.—< First, they should
infurm themselves of all matters which bear either upon the question, as
te what will be relief to us, under our present conflicting and accumu-
lating distresses. Secondly, not only to inform themselves, but to be
prepared with proofs, to shew in what manner the slave laws passed by
Great Britain have borne hardly and cruelly on their different commu-
nities. Thirdly, to be prepared with authenticated information respect-
ing the treatment of the slaves, in every point regarding them—such as
the hundreds that have refused their freedom—the hundreds that having
been free in England, have voluntarily returned to bondage—the num-
ber of estates that permit catechists, and the number that refuse to do so—
the treatment, in fact, in every way, even to the sick house: and the
more minute the particulars, the more certain are they to carry convic-
tion. While they arrive at the place of meeting, prepared calmly and
temperately to canvass the points laid before them, they ought to dis-
card every thing like inimical feelings, either against the authorities, the
parliament, or the government, and to be ready to propitiate both the
one and the other, provided they can do so without compromising one iota of
the chartered privileges of their colony, or without permitting the least
invasion on the all-sacred right of private property. Whether it be effective
or not, it is the duty of all to maintain, if the question be agitaled, that no
authority, not even parliament itself, has a right to interfere with our
ancient, legally-confirmed, and long-established right of legislating for
ourselves, and to determine to dispute the slightest inroad upon our legis-
lative functions ; and, above all, that it will be incumbent upon all, strictly
to attend to their instructions, to be attentive to their duty, and obedient
to their orders.”

We would recommend to those who affect to think lightly of the
feelings of the West Indians, and who talk of our absolute right to im-
pose taxes, and to legislate for the internal governance of the colonies,
to study and profit, by the constitutional doctrines stated by Dr. Brn-
JAMIN FRANKLIN, when examined by parliament, in 1766, and then to
consider the events that so closely followed thereupon. He was asked
—What was the temper of America towards Great Britain, before the
year 1763? The best in the world. They had not only a respect but
an affection for Great Britain, for its laws, its customs and manners, and
even a fondness for its fashions, that greatly increased the commerce.

In what light did the people of America use to consider the parlia-
ment of Great Britain? They considered the parliament, as the great
bulwark and security of their liberties and privileges, and always spoke
of it with the utmost respect and veneration. Arbitrary ministers, they
thought, might possibly at times, attempt to oppress them; but they
relied on it, thatthe parliament, on application, would always give redress.
And have they not still the same respect for parliament? No; it is
greatly lessened.

To what causes is that owing? To a concurrence of causes; the
restraints laid on their trades, &c., &c.

182 Colonial Question. [Aveusr,

Supposing an extraordinary occasion should occur, to render it neces-
sary to raise taxes in the colonies, who are to be the judges of that
extraordinary occasion ; is not the parliament? Though the parliament
may judge of the occasion, the people null think tt can never exercise such
right, till representatives from the colonies are admilted in parliament,
and that whenever the occasion arrives, representatives will be ordered.

If the legislature should think fit to ascertain its right to lay taxes, by
any act laying a small tax contrary to their opinion, would they sub-
mit to pay the tax? As to an internal tax, how small soever, laid by
the legislature here, on the people there, while they have no represen-
latives in this legislature, I think it will never be submitted to. TuEy
WILL OPPOSE IT TO THE LAST.

Have not the assemblies in the West Indies, the same natural rights
with those in North America? UnpousreDLy.

We might proceed further with this parallel, but we think it quite unne-
cessary. Every person who has paid attention to the subject is aware that,
during the war, and in fact at all times, the West Indian colonists have
cheerfully borne more than their fair proportion of the public burdens,
and are still, after so many years of peace, labouring under the weight
of the greater part of the war duty imposed on their staple commodity ;
yet government have lately been threatening them with a fresh infringe-
ment of their constitutional rights, by the imposition of an odious distine-
tive tax on their produce, for the purpose of dictating to the Colonial
Legislatures, laws of internal regulation ; inexpedient im policy, unjust
in operation, and contrary to the practice of parliament, since the dis-
astrous period above alluded to! Moreover, as already stated, a threat
has been held out, that if these plans to “‘harass the colonial legis/atures
by fiscal restrictions and regulations,” are unsuccessful, then, THEY ARE
TO BE CRUSHED BY OPEN FORCE !”

After the full and ample information already submitted to Govern-
ment by the West Indians in this country, we do not anticipate that any,
great attention will immediately be paid by the present ministers to any
similar statements or representations that may come from the leeward
island congress. It was clearly shewn by the calculations submitted to
the Board of Trade by Mr. Keith Douglas, that the restrictions imposed
by the mother country for the benefit of various national interests, cost
the West Indian colonists nearly a million and a half per annum ; yet
the colonists were told, that no remission of duties, equalization of
drawback, or other relief, could be afforded to them. It seems, there-
fore, difficult to guess what measures the colonial congress may be forced
to adopt, to procure an alleviation of their distress, or an alteration of the
oppressive policy pursued by the mother country. We may also notice,
that the prosperity and value of our North American possessions depend
greatly upon their intercourse with the West Indian sugar colonies ;
and to lose these would be extremely prejudicial to the former, as well
as to our fisheries, wherever situated.

The proceedings which ended in the separation of the United States
from the mother country, commenced in a less formal and constitutional
manner, than those to which we now allude. These powerful states
have, for some time back, coveted the possession of ports for their
shipping, and for depots of merchandize in the islands of the Caribbean
Sea. It is said that they have already shewn a disposition to quarrel
with us, and have refused to abide by the King of Holland’s decision, in

1831.] Late Meeting of Delegates at, Barbados. 183

regard to boundaries ; but be this as it may, they will never be at a loss
for a pretext, when a favourable opportunity offers, for seizing, by force,
whatever they may be unable to obtain by negociation.

In the meantime, the inveterate enemies of the colonists in this
country are again using the greatest exertions to poison the minds of the
community, preparatory to another grand attack upon colonial pro-
perty ; and we are sorry to be unable to notice any very active efforts on
the part of the colonists, to defend themselves from the dangers which
assail them.

We fear that too much importance is attached to matters of minor
consequence, and that unless the west use measures to place their true
situation in a proper point of view before the public, they may be de-
prived of the sum total of their properties, while labouring to adjust cer-
tain of the items.

Under all these circumstances, it is exceedingly desirable that parties
in this country—especially mortgagees, annuitants, consignees, and
others, whether connected with the legislative and crown colonies, and
however their ideas of direct interests may appear to differ, in a slight
degree, from those entertained by proprietors or planters, who are less
dependent—should cordially join in making common cause with their
trans-atlantic brethren for mutual protection :—For if, by the imprudence
of our own government, the hostility of the sectaries, or the want of
union and activity. in the West India body, colonial property be once
destroyed, the consequences not only to individuals, but to the British
community at large, will be more disastrous than would at first sight
appear to be within the bounds of reasonable probability !

REASONS FOR RETIREMENT.

Tuere is a charm in the sound of the word retirement which pro-
duces a variety of different effects upon different individuals. Many
seem to acknowledge its value, though -there are but few who take
advantage of the opportunity which it offers for the enjoyment of plea-
sures, which, in comparison with them, those of the world are but mere
shadows. The imagination of the industrious citizen, while in the labo-
rious employment of some of the thousand-and-one methods of getting
money in occupation all over the world, pictures to himself the delight
which he shall hereafter enjoy when able “ to retire.” Visions float before
him of yellow-looking cottages at some “ convenient distance,” enjoying
a view of the high-road, and the flavour of the summer dust. His ears
are gratified with the sound of horns and the rattling of stage-coaches,
omnibuses, and flies. His sense of smelling is regaled with the deli-
cious perfume of mignionette, holyhock, and sun-flowers, and his ambi-
tion is excited by the prospective enjoyment of a “ one-horse shay.”
What an incentive to continued exertion, what an impetus for renewed
application! How he will repaint the green palings and the veranda
blinds, cultivate his own cabbages, and form a rookery in the poplar
trees ; keep a bowl of gold-fish to look at, and a colony of guinea-pigs
to feed ; and, in the enjoyment of his oliwm cum dignitale, exist in a
blissful forgetfulness of the horror of dishonoured bills and the troubles
of unruly apprentices.

184 Reasons for Retirement. [Aueusr,

How different are the enjoyments of a man of rank, of fortune, or of
fashion, who is obliged, from peculiar circumstances, to retire to the
continent and leave his estate at nurse. He exists upon a small provi-
sion allowed him by the liberality of his agent, cursing his creditors, and
envying his more fortunate friends. He detests Boulogne, and abhors
Brussels. He avoids Paris, from the fear of coming in contact with his
fashionable associates, refrains from entering Italy from a similar cause,
and stops short in some out-of-the-way place in Switzerland, where his
incognito may be kept sacred. Here he lives in a state of most unen-
viable existence—half the day in sleep, the other half in cursing his
unlucky stars, or his bad fortune at the gaming table, that he cannot
enjoy the delicious strains of Pasta, or the inimitable graces of Taglioni.
At times the prospect of an intrigue with some coquettish rustic ap-
pears to give him new life, but the impetus soon dies off without pro-
ducing any effect; and he thunders imprecations against the fickle
countess and the avaricious figurante who left him—the one for a more
fashionable, and the other for a more wealthy lover. A maggot-race
has no charms for him; throwing stones, or firing pistols at a mark, soon
becomes tiresome ; viewing scenery he has observed before gets exceed-
ingly dull; his guitar is out of tune, and his numerous collection of
musical snuff-boxes, though the chef-d’ceuvres of Geneva, he has heard
too often to wish to hear again. He exists in a state of purgatory to
which he considers Dante’s a paradise, and he only refrains from putting
an end to so miserable a life by the pleasing prospect of an early con-
clusion of his exile.

There are many who, after having amassed a considerable fortune,
or, by some other equally lucky circumstance, find themselves enabled
to retire from their professions. We will take the stage as an instance,
although professions of retirement in such a quarter are sometimes
suspicious. Kean’s-have long become a standing joke; Grimaldi tried
it on more than once, but trickery was his trade, and his physiognomy
was irresistible. We pardon him and others their farewells ; they were
gratuitous on their parts, and as people generally know the value of
things which are offered for nothing, they now-a-days attract very little
attention. Actresses, from the days of Nell Gwynne to those of St.
Albans, have been a fortunate race. ‘Their retirements come occasion-
ally ; the cause being either marriages or money. Our peerage has
lately become much ennobled by a few unsophisticated pieces of purity,
for whom a coronet has been the reward of their acknowledged mo-
desty and virtue. Fiddlers, figurantes, prima-donnas, and other artistes,
may be considered as of the same class, but are exotics which, having
been carefully cultivated in our hot-houses, as soon as they come to per-
fection are sent back to flourish in their own country. In one season
they frequently realise what is considered on the Continent an amazing
sum. None of this is spent in the land from whence they received it.
It frequently goes to the purchase of a German barony, or an Italian
palazzo, where the fortunate musicians are proud of shewing their new
dignity to their astonished countrymen, and induce shoals of others to
seek those golden shores where such riches are so easily procured.
Englishmen who pay for this, wrap themselves up with the idea that
they are considered, on the Continent, as possessors of exceeding great
taste, and that the hearts of these foreigners are overflowing with grati-
tude for the liberal treatment they have received from so hospitable a

1831.) Reasons for Retirement. 185

country. They little know how much they deceive themselves. The
Germans and Italians monopolize all taste to themselves; they even
allow the French to have more musical genius than we possess.

Then comes the retirement of the statesman from public life. These
retire from various causes. Some, like well-bred dogs, who take to
their heels when they see preparations made effecting their retirement in
another way; others, because their party have lost their power, and
nothing is to be had from either one or the other ; throughout this class,
however, a hatred of retirement is especially observable. Some, indeed;
never do retire.

In opposition to these, we may mention the unfortunate individual
whe, in consequence of certain indiscretions, seeks a retirement in the
uncultivated prairies of New South Wales, in the company of kanga-
roos, and others, the natural inhabitants of that flourishing colony.
There he may ruralize for a few years, and afterwards become the pro-
prietor of some thousand acres of untilled land, or a breeder of stock,
which, however numerously they may multiply, he will find difficult to
catch. If his visions of agricultural improvement are not put to flight
by a shot from a bush-ranger, or a visit from the natives, he may, in
course of time, become a person of consequence, possessing the most
sovereign contempt for tread-mills, prisons, and police ;—an utilitarian
and a liberal ;—hating all governments, and advocating the absolute
necessity of equality. Perhaps the colony may take advantage of some
lucky moment, and partly by his agency obtain its freedom ; he might
then become the absolute head of affairs, and when he dies, his name
may go down to posterity with those of Bolivar and Washington.

We occasionally hear of the retirement of some nobleman, or man of
property, from the turf. Now, we do not believe that it is occasioned
by the individual having contracted a distaste for such sports, to seek
the quiet of a more tranquil life; the cause is, more frequently, being
dished by the knowing ones—neglecting to hedge his bets, and being de-
clared a levanter at Tattersall’s. For him, nature possesses but few
charms. The finest prospect appears but a vulgar landscape, unless it
offers an advantageous situation for a steeple-chase, or presents the ap-
pearance of some piece of ground which he thinks admirably adapted
for a race-course. For flowers he has little affection, unless as present-
ing an agreeable footing for a “ daisy cutter ;’’—finds but little gratifi-
cation in books, with the exception of the Sporting Magazine, and his
own betting-book ;—continues to look at the heavy list of his unliqui-
dated debts of honour, with a rueful eye—damns every member of the
Jockey Club as a knave, and every unsatisfied claimant as a black-leg ;
—curses the Pilgrim filley for bolting off the course, his brown mare
Impudence for shying, and his colt Surefoot for slipping when within a
length of the winning-post. Mourns over his unhappy fate at being
obliged to part with his celebrated stud, although, by every horse in it,
he had been thousands out of pocket. Calls to mind how he was done
at the Doncaster, dished at the Derby, lost at the Leicester, cleaned out at
the Cheltenham, spooned at the Nottingham, and flvored at the New-
market ; then, in a paroxysm of fury, burns his betting-book, and leaves
the country till his affairs have been put in order by his agent.

When we have called frequently at the house of a friend of idle habits,
and the servant invariably answers our question with a “ Not at home,
Sir,” or, “ Master’s gone into the country ;” if an inquiry be instituted,

186 Reasons for Retirement. [ August,

we shall most probably find that he has sought retirement in some of the
remote regions in Banco Regis. There in unenviable durance walks our
melancholy friend, apostrophising his present dwelling, with its “ deep
solitudes and awful cells ;” execrating the inhumanity. of his creditors,
and condemning the policy of our laws, which, in the land of freedom,
for a paltry debt, deprives a gentleman of his luxuries and his liberty.
Oh! ye creditors, be ye tailors or tobacconists, dealers in necessaries, or
retailers of luxuries—panders of licentiousness, or high-priests of fashion,
ye are equally a hard-hearted and flinty-souled generation.—Ye offer
credit, to allure persons to purchase your high-priced commodities, and
then imprison the unhappy debtor for having no means of payment.
This, though the last example of retirement, is the most unendurable
state of all. In those instances which we have enumerated, if the retire-
ment should become irksome, there is an expectation of a deliverance.
If the citizen, after being used to a life of bustle and anxiety, ‘finds no
pleasure in one of tranquillity and indolence, he can easily return to his
old habits with increased application. The man of rank, fortune, or
fashion, after the endurance of a few years of voluntary exile, may rea-
sonably hope that his estate has been put to nurse to some purpose, and
that he may again enjoy the pleasures which have formed so large a
portion of his existence. That actors may emerge from their retire-
ment with impunity, will be believed by the most unbelieving.
Actresses do so occasionally when their marriages have not proved so for-
tunate as they expected. There are instances also on record of foreigners,
after having spent the best portion of their ill-gotten gains, doing us the
honour of paying us a second visit, and thereby realizing a second hars
vest. Statesmen, in the ups and downs of politics, manage, we know to
the national cost, to get power and place again into their hands. In
fact, if a retired member turns his coat at a favourable opportunity, and
gives up his principles at a momentous crisis, nothing is so likely as his
being reinstated in all the honours and emoluments of office. Public
delinquents, who have retired from their important avocations, return
sometimes from transportation—except in Scotland, where that offence
has been hitherto unheard of. It is possible that aman of property, im
the duration of time, may return to the delights of the town after a re-
tirement of a few years. Such things do occur, there is a prospect of
change for all. But for the unfortunate being whose poverty or whose
carelessness has immured him within four stone walls, if he cannot get
a friend to advance the desired amount, or his creditors will not be pre-
vailed upon to give him his liberty—or if a shower of gold does not drop
from the clouds—his retirement, he is well aware, will only cease when
the hand of death cancels all obligations between debtor and creditor.
All these individuals have different opinions with regard to the subject
of this paper ; it is only the man of education, of taste, of genius, or of
feeling, who possesses a proper idea of the moral advantages and intel-
lectual pleasures which are comprised in that one word—retirement.

F. W.

1831.] ee

MAXIMS, BY A MIDDLE-AGED GENTLEMAN,

ContENT.—Content, “ thou art my lieutenant!” I have occasionally
cherished discontent ; but it is an ugly humour. It puckers the lips,
and twists the natural shape of the mouth into that of a vinegar-cruet ;
pulls down the brows ; lengthens the face; makes pits in the cheek ;
gives a Zachary-Macauley severity of look to the entire countenance,
which frightens little children, who are great physiognomists ; turns the
sweet milk of humanity into a sort of unbearable curds and whey ; and
is altogether an unsightly and unhandsome indulgence.

Besides these considerations, I have, so to speak, no reasonable reasons

. for discontent. Have I not every thing which can gratify man? It is
for me that the Misses Stubbses (ugly, but well off), my opposite neigh-
bours, come out daily in all the glory of the rainbow and humility of
the peacock. It is for me that the beauties of this great city walk
abroad in May: I behold them with reverence and bachelorly devotion ;
for I have not yet sung to the tune of “ Hail, wedded love !” and have
never responded to that service which begins with “ Dearly beloved,”
and ends with “ amazement.” For me the doors of taverns, out of
number, gape their mahogany jaws. When I grow weary, a carriage
waits ; but the holding up of my hand, and a cry of “ coach!” and I
am wheeled and whirled off to wherever I wish. IfI desire to make a
short cut into Surrey from the theatres, a bridge has been thrown over
the Thames for me: it cost my considerate countrymen too many thou-
sands; I acknowledge their munificence, and drop a penny to one of
their rough-coated retainers, as a slight douceur for his civility in turn-
ing a stile to let me pass. St. James’s Park was a duck-pond and a
cow-lair ; it is now made pleasant with shrubs, swans, and serpentining
waters for my delectation. The Lord Mayor (no less a man) goes
yearly in state from the good city of London to the tolerably vir-
tuous one of Westminster, partly by land and partly by water, being
amphibious, that I may choose where I prefer to behold the show.
The parliament and play-houses are thrown open, to g:atify my alternate
relish for politics and poetry. Books are published almost daily to in-
struct and delight me: they are made cheap to suit my circumstances ;
and comely, to take my eye. For me, Wilkie paints, and Chantrey
chissels ; and the “ Times” is printed for me every morning, in order
that I may know the news.

So much for town contentments. If I visit the country, Nature, the
best florist and horticulturist I know of, places before me every object
that can administer delight to the better senses of man. Rivers run in
silvery splendour at my feet ; flowers kiss “ the shadow of my shoe-tie ;”
trees lend me their umbrellas or parasols, just as it happens to rain or
shine; birds troll out their songs, the oldest national melodies I have yet
heard, if not the best ; the air is made fragrant with perfumes which no
pastilles can imitate; fields, leading to some rural resting-place, invite
me to tread their primrose paths ; banks, rendered soft with moss, tempt
me to repose in the shade. I agree not with the lamentable poet, who
said that “the sun shone not for him;” on the contrary, I assert that
that respectable luminary shines emphatically for me; the stars are
equally good, and the moon lends me “ all her light,” and borrows more
when that is insufficient. These marks of attention to my wants and

188 Maxims, by a middle-aged Gentleman. [ August,

wishes, in town and out of town, breed in me, who am easily pleased and
grateful withal, such serious reasons for content, that I envy not the man
who can travel from Dan to Beersheba, and still be discontented.

Vice.—Whatever disgusts us at first in vice is not so disagreeable as
it seems to be; but, like the most nauseous medicines, goes down glibly
at last, though we make wry faces over it. Let us hear or see the thing
that disgusts us, twice or thrice, or oftener, and we shal] find that there
is a closer affinity in our antipathy to it than we wot of; and that the
most coarse and ugly vice becomes

“« Fine by degrees and beautifully less.”

PickProcKkETs.—Every street, within a pretty wide circle of a theatre,
has its own proper and peculiar pickpocket. I consider a genteel man
to be somewhat neglected if he be not, at the least, tried in his way to
either house : it is his own fault if he goes beyond this very pardonable
liberty. If one of these gentry succeed in lightening you of purse
or pocket-handkerchief, by all means let him go about his business—you
will find it the readiest mode of getting rid of him ; but if he only half
succeeds, and you are not anxious about hearing the overture or witness-
ing the opening scene, in this case have no mercy on him: clutch him
fast by the collar, and if he is of a convenient size, dedicate ten minutes
to shaking him—then let him go ; and you will find himsneak off, a per-
fectly well-satisfied scoundrel. This is all that is needful. I do not
wish to affect singularity, but I never suffer a pickpocket to be pumped
upon on my account.

ADVERTISEMENTS EXTRAORDINARY !

Wantep—by the Lord of London,
Ere his next November rout,

Ere he finds his twelvemonth’s fun done,
Two illustrious Diners-out.

Kings and queens don’t live on flowers,
Yet his Feast hath no delights ;

Both the royal guests ‘‘ are ours ;”
True—“ but not their appetites.”

Wants—a courtly situation,
One Sir Joseph Surface Peel ;
Anything to serve the nation,
Any place—not ungenteel.
Terms no object—advertiser
Is as harmless as a mouse;
Owns (with candour) that he’s wiser
Than his friend at Apsly House.

1831.]

Advertisements Extraordinary !

Character is more than spotless,
Does not mind the dirty work ;
Thinks (with candour) that he’s not less
Than a Chatham or a Burke.
Begs to recommend his cousin,
Several—who have not succeeded ;
Knows (with candour) there’s a dozen
Who would do—whatever he did.

WantEep—by a noble lordling
(Able to translate with ease),
Poems and romances maudlin,
Irish, German, or Chinese.
Idly now his lordship’s lute hangs ;
Every subject seems so silly,
Since his friends, the Orang-Outangs,
Have retired from Piccadilly.

WanTED—by a city Member,
Some new ministerial stay,
To sustain him, when each ember
Of his strength has burnt away.
Nightcaps and narcotics now
Are at discount in the city ;
Since the times no nap allow
When the House is in committee.

WantTEep—by the Oxford bard—
Late upset, though first of leaders,
By a friend, who drove too hard—
Just a few admiring readers.
To a score the number’s stinted,
Sworn to praise his measures pearly ;
Twelve are wanting—it is hinted
Applications should be early.

Wantep—for reforming uses,

Aiding ministerial steerage,
Twenty haters of abuses—

Raw material for the peerage.
WanrTep—wit and eloquence,

Both for Goulbourn, prone to stammer ;
For the Duke, a dash of sense ;

And for Hunt—oh! Cobbett’s grammar.

189

190

Advertisements Extraordinary !

Wants a place, a drowsy Speaker,
(Nightly tired of trash called wit)
In some office, where the seeker
Might as sleeping-partner sit.
Also, for the House next session,
Knavyes, to call the press a spy,
And to vote for its suppression—
None but Liberals need apply.

Wantep, by unfettered Poland,
Loans, not lyres, to light her way ;
And by Ellenborough—Rowland,
Lest his ringlets turn to Grey.
Wants a duke, that little glistener,
Cawse, who flirts in fifty rings ;
And a persevering listener
For Miss Sydney (when she sings).

Wantep—by the Nation—pensions,
Power, and places, long the spoil
Of a race of small pretensions—
« Lilies,” not designed for ‘ toil.”
Wantep—this at least is true—
Statesmen sound, and sages rare,
Here and there a King or two,
Wits and Patriots every where.

[A veust,

1831.] f il J

NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL.

In the present period of panic, from the cholera, and all other kinds
of things, we deem it a duty to diminish all the various features of public
alarm. A paragraph in one of the Scotch journals is terrifying all the
northern masons, friendly brothers, militia colonels, parliamentary can-
didates, &c. to an indefinite extent.

Dispray or Fracs.—A curious clause in the new bill “ for Amending the
Laws concerning Turnpike Roads in Scotland,” printed by order of the House
of Commons, 27th June, 1831, (page 40), among other nuisances, prohibits,
under a penalty, the display of flags within 100 feet from the centre of any
turnpike road.

We are happy to say the whole is a misconception, the act being hos-
tile only to superseding the ancient mire and sand, which form the sub-
stantiality of a turnpike road. It merely asserts that no flags shall be
used in their stead ; that no road shall be flagged.

Another terrible, and so far, we think, very reprehensible paragraph,
made its way into the papers last week.

The fleet under the command of Sir E. Codrington sailed on Thursday, fully
equipped in every way with their war complement. The fleet consisted of the
following :—Caledonian and Prince Regent, flag-ships; Asia, Talavera, Done-
gal, Revenge, Wellesley, Alfred, Barham, Curacoa, and Pearl. Commodore
Lord Yarborough in the Falcon ship yacht, and 25 of the Royal Yacht Club
vessels, and nearly 200 other sail, accompanied the fleet. Some of the ships
were so hard pressed for men that midshipmen were on shore recruiting.

From this, war was conjectured to be’ the direct result, and many
worthy journalists and others were kept awake, discovering the object
of those preparations. Some decided that the offence given by the Queen
of Madagascar to Dr. Lyall was to be instantly revenged, and her ma-
jesty to undergo a bombardment, or be flogged with the same individual
bunch of nettles which perpetrated her barbarian vengeance on the un-
fortunate doctor. Others had settled that the expedition was for the
purpose of sailing up the Brussels canal, and throwing shells into the
city to make Prince Leopold’s arrival popular. The fact is, that it is
only a trial expedition after all, and as Sir Edward is celebrated for his
conduct of trials, there is every reason to hope that it will end as it
began. But a not less serious alarm was excited by the idea that some
of the yacht club might be sea-sick, or might even be blown out of sight
of land. The insidious suggestions certainly of individuals, hostile to the
personal safety of the members of this distinguished body of well-bred
sailors, have been lately turned to advise somewhat more adventurous
displays of seamanship, than from Cowes to Ryde, and from Ryde to
Cowes. But against this we protest in the name of the national glory.
Basil Hall is one of those conspirators against the muslin neckcloths and
— trowsers of these heroic tars; he recommends a voyage to the

zores, or at least down Channel, as if any thing else could be produced
by such rashness, but coughs, colds, and the loss of cigars.

Another source of terror is the creation of peers, which we are told in
all the papers is to take place in a few days to an unlimited extent. Let
us appease the alarm so unduly raised. The report has arisen from the
king’s visit to London Bridge, and the only peers in question are the
piers thereof. Whether giving them a name can be called creation is

192 Notes of the Month on [ Aveust,

not within our knowledge; but the number actually concerned is so far
from being unlimited that it does not exceed ten, and they are so far
from being detrimental to the constitution, that there is no obstacle
which the public will so easily get over.

« That well-beloved man, our cousin,” whom Sir R. Peel so modestly
recommended to the care of Sir George Murray, when colonial secre-
tary, has, we lament to say, not altogether prospered at the Swan River.
His subjects are angry, his royal domains turn out to be sand, and his
revenues are a fac-simile of Sir Robert’s merits—nothing at all.

Recent letters from the Swan River settlement confirm the intelligence of the
breaking up of Mr. Peel’s establishment, and state, that the flourishing colony
of Clarence now only consists of a few families. Mr. Peel himself was farming
on the Murray River in a small way, and the people whom he brought out with
him had been distributed by the Government throughout the colony. In other
respects the various settlements were in a thriving condition.

Poor cousin Peel! he was “ farming on the Murray River in a small
way.” We have no doubt of its smallness. He had been farming on
the Murray interest before, and found the enterprise no bad one ; if he
had continued his original farming, he might have been one of the props
of the family name in the House by this time, and contrived some snug
sinecure for himself. But the kingdom of Australia was tempting, and
the future dynasty of Peel summoned his ambition to the Swan River,
which, we understand, is henceforth to change its name to that of “an
inferior bird, not distinguished for its brains,” as the polite of speech say.

The course of law has not run smooth with the Reverend Robert
Taylor—better known by the name of the Devil’s Chaplain. He has
at the late Surrey sessions been tried on a charge of having, on Good
Friday last, in the Rotunda, Blackfriars-road, performed a most dis-
gusting burlesque of the Lord’s Supper. He was found guilty ; and
sentenced to be imprisoned two years in the county gaol, to pay a fine of
£200, to enter into his own recognizance in the sum of £500 for his good
behaviour, and to find two sureties of £250 for the next five years.

We believe that no one will deplore the results of the law in the
punishment of a criminal so utterly beyond the reach of any milder ap-
plication. But this wretched being has not even the poor excuse of being
an enthusiast. He is, like his friend Carlisle, a mere speculator. Carlisle
was a travelling tinman, who thinking that he could make. more money
by selling infidel tracts, than by crying pots and kettles, sold the tracts,
and after due discovery of the profits of the pursuit, set up as an
author in the same line. The culprit on the present occasion finding
that he could make money by collecting a mob of ragamuffins at two-
pence a head, adopted the expedient forthwith, and made the money. If
his trade is now stopped for a while, we can have no sorrows for the
deficiency of his purse. The speculation has failed, and there is an end
of all that can be said touching the manager.

But on the general question of bringing men into court for their
personal opinions, there is this tobe said—certainly no law can compel
any man to believe but according to his own will, and as certainly no
law that punishes for adopting any opinion, be it what it may, can be
justified. But as all laws are intended to preserve the peace of society,
a peace even to be disturbed very seriously by the propagation of

1831.] : Affairs in General. 193

opinions contrary to either reason or the national belief, the country
‘must have in itself a right to punish the disturber. He is welcome to
‘have any opinion he likes, but he is not welcome to insult, or infect the
public mind by labouring to gain proselytes to opinions repulsive to the
settled state of things and the dictates of the national religion. He may
think corrosive sublimate a pleasant stimulant for his palate, or murder
the simplest way of getting rid of an opponent, and no law can prevent
‘his thinking so. But if he exerts his powers of either influence or
oratory to the extent of persuading the people to poison themselves or
slay their neighbours, we must stop his progress as soon as we can.

But there is still another and a higher reason—by suffering absolute
and palpable blasphemy to go unmarked through the land, we share the
offence against heaven. Common sense and christianity alike protest
against the desperate wickedness of insulting the person and attributes
of the Deity; and if we suffer the insults to be offered, when we have
the means of repelling it, we are undoubtedly blasphemers in one degree
‘just as the man, who with the power in his hands to prevent treason yet
‘permits the treason to go undivulged and unarrested, is by law and rea-
son a traitor himself. It is thus, on the simplest principles, we are
under a moral obligation to restrain blasphemy, for by neglecting it, we
‘participate in the guilt, and bring down the wrath of heaven on the
‘country.

How oddly fame flies about the world. A year or two since, Greece
‘was the universal theme. And the world was full of astonishment at its
red caps, its sabres, its capitani, and its fireships. Libel and laudation
were busy with all their brushes, and Leicester Stanhope was alternately
lifted to the skies as an abettor of the new printing press, and plunged
into the deepest profound for the bad quality of his Greek, his razors,
and his Jesuit’s bark. Sir Francis Burdett was weekly put upon his
trial for building steam-boats by the help of a gas-pipe man, who
naturally thought that gas and steam were one and the same thing ; and
Bowring and his financial friends were tossed and gored, much to the
public pleasantry, for the many thousands of pounds which they cleared
by their patriotism and the Greek loan. And now, who hears a syllable
about Greece. Even Bowring himself has turned the cock of his peren-
nial fount of poesy upon the Esquemaux, and Hume never condescends
so much as to ask whether Greek stock is at a discount of a hundred per
cent. Prince Leopold himself has bade adieu to the chance of rivalling
Pericles or Themistocles ; and Capo d’Istria, to whose crafty soul, Rus-
sian packet, and Italian lady, we have a hearty aversion, is left at his
ease to viceroy it over the sons of the sons of Hercules and Homer. All
that all the records of the day furnish is the story of a torrent of insur-
rectionary water in one of the islands. Let it be an omen of washing
out the stains of the land, including Turk, Russian, and Capo d’Istria
together.

Samos has lately been visited by an earthquake of an extraordinary nature,
for it produced a large opening in one of the highest mountains of the isiand,
from which suddenly issued an enormous torrent of water, overflowing the
country, and making its way to the sea. By degrees the inundation subsided,
and terminated in forming a river, which has its source at the opening formed
in the mountain. Ifthe river should continue to flow with the same abundance,
it will be a great benefit to the country.

M.M. New Series—Vou. XII. No. 68. x

194 Noles of the Month on [Aveust,

Alderman Thompson has become a historical character. We should
have believed that no possible combination of circumstances could have
ever raised the simplicity of this most innocent of city members into
public notice. But such actually is the case, and Alderman Thompson
has been the subject of a debate in the city, and of a conversation in the
West End. The common council has resounded with his name, and he has
furnished the subject of a sneer of Lord John “in another place.” Our
wonder is first, that the alderman, sleeping or waking, could have ven-
tured to excuse the monstrosity of his exhibition by the monstrosity of
his apology. In what we say, we of course allude only to the city lec-
ture, for we bow before the supremacy of the House, and take it for
granted that every thing said or done there is the perfection of human
wisdom. But how could his constituents stomach his contemptible ex-
cuse? He was asleep, for he knew nothing of the subject; he acted
inadvertently and so forth. Can any man with brains above a donkey, or
impudence below Ancient Pistol, comprehend this? Did not the in-
nocent alderman at least know that he was voting against the men with
whom he had pledged himself to vote? Or did he mistake Lord John’s
little, eager Whig visage, for the smiling, shining, solemn physiognomy
of Sir Robert Blifil Peel ; what the sailors call the trim of the honour-
able Baronet’s visage? impossible. The alderman might blunder about
the question, or any question: he might no more understand “ the
Bill,” than a problem in fluxions. But, not to know one side of the
House from the other, is below even our estimate of the Thompson capa-
city. On the contrary, we are perfectly satisfied that he knew perfectly
well what he was about, and if his constituents did not laugh at his ex-
cuses, they know very little what they were about. If we were among
them, we should have turned the worthy alderman out in the next quarter
of an hour.

Our opinion of the Reform is not altered even by the blunders of the
worthy alderman ; we look upon it as a highly dangerous and_ hasty
measure. But, we say, let all our opposition to it be fair and above
board ; let us beat the Whigs by argument, and let us take no men as
partizans, whom as associates we should despise.

It is with literature as with our lives. One half is spent reprobating
the errors of the other, probably, with little correction after all, in either
case. An ingenious work, lately published, makes a gathering of literary
anomalies curious enough in their way.

“To commence with the Ancient Poets.—The ghosts in Homer are afraid of
swords; yet Sibylla tells Auneas, in Virgil, that the thin habit of spirits was
beyond the force of weapons. In painting alone we have a rich harvest. Bur-
goyne, in his Travels, notices a painting in Spain where Abraham is preparing
to shoot Isaac with a pistel! There is a painting at Windsor of Antonio Verrio,
in which he has introduced himself, Sir Godfrey Kneller, and Bap. May, sur-
veyor of the works, in long periwigs, as spectators of Christ’s healing the sick.
In the Luxenbourg is a picture of Reubens, in which are the queen-mother in
council, with two Cardinals and Mercury. There was also in the Haughton Hall
Collection, Velvet Brughel’s Adoration of the Magi, in which were a multitude
of figures, all finished with the greatest Dutch exactness. The Ethiopian king
is dressed in a surplice with boots and spurs, and brings for a present a gold model
of a modern ship. N. Poussin’s celebrated painting of Rebecca at the Well,. has
the whole back ground decorated with Grecian architecture. ‘The same artist, in

1831.] Affairs in General. 195

his picture of the Deluge, has painted boats, not then invented. St. Jerome, in
another place with a clock by his side, a thing unknown in that saint’s days. A
painter of Toledo represented the three wise men of the East coming to worship,
and bringing their presents to our Lord upon his birth at Bethlehem, and three
Arabian or Indian kings ; two of them are white, and one of them black; but,
unhappily, when he drew the latter part of them kneeling, their legs being
‘necessarily a little intermixed, he made three black feet for the negro king, and
but three white feet for the two white kings ; and yet never discovered the mistake
till the piece was presented to the king, and hung up in the great church. —The
monks of a certain monastery at Messina exhibited, with great triumph, a /e¢ter
written by the Virgin Mary with her own hand. Unluckily, this was not, as it
might have been, written: on the ancient papyrus, but on paper made of rags.
On some occasion a visitor, to whom this was shewn, observed, with affected
solemnity, that the letter involved also a miracle, for the paper on which it was
“written was not in existence till several hundred years after the Virgin had ascended
ito Heaven.—In the church of St. Zacharia, at Venice, is the picture of a Virgin
and Child, whom an angel is entertaining with an air upon the violin! So alsoin
the College Library of Aberdeen, toa very neat Dutch missal are appended elegant
paintings on the margin, of angels appearing to the shepherds, with one of them
playing on the bay-pipes.—There isa picture in a church of Bruges, that puts not
only all chronology, but every thing else out of countenance. It is the marriage
of our Saviour with St. Catherine of Sienna. St. Deminic the Patron of the Church,
marries them! the Virgin Mary joins their hands ; and, to crown the anachronism,
‘King David plays the harp at the wedding.”

How oddly fame is distributed in this world. Old Major Cartwright,
-who never did any thing “ good, bad, or indifferent,” as the Irish
category of life says; who prased the very soul out of Reform by his
long-winded essays, and who was neither imprisoned, banished, nor
hanged, for his illustrious cause, has actually been remembered by his
no renaeig omg and flourishes in copperplate and bronze. The newspapers
tell us

“« A faithful portrait of this distinguished reformer has been published. Ata
time when the principles which, throughout a life of lengthened consistency, the
individual whose features are here presented to us advocated, are on the eve of
completing their resistless triumph, such a portrait is endeared to all who hold
the same principles and opinions.”

We have no desire to dispute about the taste of this matter, and those
wwho thought the Major a Cato-Major, are welcome to purchase the plate.
But political gratitude has gone even the length of erecting a statue to
the Reformer ; and Burton Crescent has the honour of its reception. It is
odd enough that the vicinage of Russell Square should be the only part of
the town in which any attempt has been made to erect public memorials
to the dead, for the royal effigies which adorn the squares in the West End
had but little connection with any public impulse, however they might
have gratified either the taste or the loyalty of the people. But it is
equally odd, that if royalty takes possession of the West End, Whiggery,
‘with its darker associate Radicalism, should have taken possession of the
north ; and we have within a few streets of each other, Charles Fox, the
late Duke of Bedford, the Duke of Kent, and Major Cartwright. The
scale could not be more completely graduated.

Yet in speaking with utter contempt of the Major’s political views,
we would separate the man from the politician. The Major was a gen-
tlenan; and was thus incapable of the shiftings, supplenesses, and
miserable trimming of the traders in politics. He adopted his views on

X 2

196 Notes of the Month on [Aveust,

principle, blind and foolish principle ; but as he adopted them without
hypocrisy, he adhered to them with honour. Such a man might go
wrong; but his errors were connected with no baseness of heart: he
was not looking from side to side, at the moment when he gave his
pledge, for a loophole to creep out at: he was not swearing to one party,
while he was thinking how he could make the best bargain of his be-
trayal of that party to another; he was not moving heaven and earth to
gain the entire confidence of men, with the express purpose of infamous
treachery ; he had not wormed himself into trust, until his treachery not
simply ruined the cause, but ruined the reputation of every public mah
of the day, and ruined the reputation of all public men, until the me-
mory of his baseness shall have perished. We infinitely prefer the old
Major, with his endless fooleries on Ballot, Universal Suffrage, and An-
nual Parliaments,—“ to be held once a-year, or oftener, if necessary !”

to the smooth, soft-tongued, and false-hearted slave, who has shewit'ws us
the weight of evils that may be wrought by meanness and mediocrity
combined.

Weare afraid that the fame of that pre-eminent personage, Sir Richard
Birnie! is a good deal clouded ; and we should not be surprised at hear-
ing speedily that he had gone to complete his studies in the classic retire-
ment of Lambeth Marsh. Ata late meeting of the parishioners of St.
Martin’s, Sir Francis Burdett in the chair, it was*resolved, that “ it was
necessary and expedient that a petition should be presented to Lord
Melbourne, the Secretary for the Home Department, praying him to
dismiss Sir Richard Birnie from the magistracy.” The cause of the
petition was some alleged act strongly inconsistent with his magisterial
functions. With this charge we have nothing to do. But we come at
once to the general question ; what qualification has this personage, or can
this personage have, for the magistracy? Is some knowledge of law essen-
tial for the exercise of the magistracy? Has he had the opportunity of
acquiring any knowledge of law, or of any thing else? Is some degree
of education necessary to give a man the decent use of his mother tongue?
Has he had the opportunity of obtaining such education? Cases of great
importance are liable to come under the decision of Bow- street, and there
sits Sir Richard as the great expounder of the law! We heartily wish
that the Home Secretary will immediately assent to the prayer of the
petition.

The French boast of their adroitness.

““Custom cannot stale his infinite variety.”” Over the stall of a public writer
in La rue du Bac, at Paris, is the following inscription :—‘‘ M. Renard, public
writer, advising compiler, translates the tongues, explains the language of
flowers, and sells fried potatoes.”

This is tolerably well. But we can surpass, in a hundred instances ;
for example, Lady J——, what a placard would hers be !—*“ Superin-
tends all the routs from Piccadilly to the Regent’s Park, keeps Almacks
above water, keeps my lord’s racing-book, the ‘ fiery duke’s’ secrets, the
premier’s heart, and the levee-moustaches of the Earl of Munster ; makes
mirth for the royal circle, character for the Whigs, friends for his Grace
of Devonshire, smiles for Lord Palmerston, speeches for Lord King, and
wit for the peers in general.”—Before the Herculean, or the Protean

1831.) Affairs in General. 197

labours of this indefatigable beauty, what is the dull and, narrow, versa-
tility of all the Renards unhanged ?

Elliston gone, at last! gay, clever, impudent, giddy Elliston! The
man of contradictions, the best and the worst comedian of his time ; the
best and the worst manager ; the best and the worst companion ; the
best and the worst schemer, dead or alive ; a man who was ruined by his
own dexterity ; and who, if he had but half his talent for doing every
thing, and could have escaped his determination to do every thing at
once, might have been among the opulent of the age.

He was born in Bloomsbury, in the year 1774, and his uncle, Doctor
Elliston, Master of Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, charged himself
with his education,— but the stage, which has been the pleasing cause of
ruin to so many others, lured him from the University, and brought him
before the public—he having, with Mathews and several other votaries
of the drama, performed in private, much to their own satisfaction, long
previously.

The field of his early fame was Bath, where he became the reigning
favourite, and where he married Miss Rundell, a dancing-mistress of _
great beauty—by her he had nine children. She died in 1821.

His first London appearance was at the Haymarket, where he run
through all the favourite comic characters triumphantly. He then tried
tragedy, and played some things capitally, failed desperately in others,
but was not the less a favourite. He had a spirit that dashed at all kinds
of the drama, and we have seen him play Macheath, and play it shewily,
though he had a yoice which might have been engendered. between
Munden. and Macready. But he had vivacity, a front, and an inex-
haustible self-possession, which carried him through all. He died of his
contempt for the common rules of life, and might have lived a hundred
years, if he had exhibited common care of an iron constitution. The
«John Bull,” in an article on the deceased manager, says, strikingly and
truly, of his talents and his career :

“There was a joyousness in his manner, a vivacity in his action, and a
humourousness of expression in his eye and countenance, which combined to
place him in the first ranks of the corps dramatique.

*« Elliston, however, would rule; and accordingly he took a lease of that
overwhelming calamity, Drury-lane Theatre, which, in due course of time, ex-
hausted his means, and he eventually fell to the Surrey Theatre, which he
managed, after his way, for seven years ; but we apprehend with very little bene-
ficial result to himself. He had his follies, perhaps his vices—but not more than
fall to the lot of thousands of others; and there was a certain degree of inflation
in his manner of treating small matters, which, no doubt, will hereafter furnish
food for the theatrical historian—at present we have only to record his death,
which, in common with the rest of his admirers, of which class we profess our-
selves to be, we most sincerely lament,

Professor Southey is the literary Briareus of his day; only that he
has five hundred hands for the old proportion. He is the Pythagorean
philosopher, who made music infinite out of the hammer and anvil.
He is the alchymist, who turns saw-dust into lignum vite, ladies’ slip-
pers into sandal-wood, the Sermons of Tillotson, over which our great-
grandmothers died of yawning, into capital articles on existing politics ;
and plays Dr. Sacheverel incognito, without the fear of the Commons
before his eye, or of finding a William Dolben in any Bishop, or Epis-

198 Notes of the Month on LAueusr,

copal-looking personage, from Sir Robert Peel upwards, to the “ Mem-
ber for the Missionaries.” ‘ Heni soit qui mal y pense.” We honour
aman of talents for his industry, a man of character for his keeping
his pen clear of the fashionable that “sells’’ and does nothing else, and
a man of virtue for his doing his best to turn the vulgar-great to decent
studies. All the three is Southey. But we cannot abide his extra-
ordinary passion for paradoxes. No man alive feels so much delight at
astounding the bond fide believer in his pen, by the metempsychosis of
a cobbler into a poet. The village scribe who has delivered his genius
down to a laughing posterity, in the shape of those horrible specimens
of verse, which figure in our church-yards, becomes, under the Doctor’s
transforming fingers, a genius of the first water ; a little neglected, ’tis
true ; and from “the unhappy taste of the time,” now and then sus-
pected of Sternhold and Hopkinsism, but a true genius after all: sub-
lime upon sign-posts, and profound upon workhouse walls; memorable,
if he had been remembered ; and distinguished, if he had not, by nature
and by fate, quietly sunk into the mire in which he was born. From
this “fount and origin of evil’ has proceeded all the prose poetry of
our late inspired tailors, hedgers, and washerwomen. Somebody or
other is, at this hour, publishing (so far has the mania extended, of
which the Doctor inflicted the first bite) “The Scattered Thoughts,
epic, tragic, and otherwise, of a Journeyman Bricklayer, who has never
learned to read or write.” In Southey’s new compilation of the British
Poets, he has begun on the same principle, and we have, amongst the
rest, a desperate attempt to lift Skelton, the totally unknown author of
some hundred verses worse than any thing in the world, except all the
Drury-lane and Covent-garden tragedies of the last ten years. For a
slight sketch of this Bard’s life, we are told,

«« Skelton was curate of Trompington, near Cambridge, the well-known scene
of the Miller’s Tale, and rector of gloomy Dis, in Norfolk, in the diocese of that
infamous persecutor, Bishop Nix. The prelate, in his own atrocious language,
might well have considered Skelton as one savouring of the frying-pan, for the
poet had directed his merciless satire in full force against the friars and the
clergy ; but he seems to have balanced the account by attacking the reformers in
the same strain. The bishop suspended him for keeping a concubine. On his
death-bed, he declared that he conscientiously considered her as his wife, but that
cowardliness had prevented him from acknowledging her in that character ; for
that he would rather have confessed adultery than marriage.”

So much for the Bard’s notion of “the Graces.” We find a quota-

tion, which we must believe to be a specimen of Skelton.

‘ Though my rhyme be ragged,

Tattered and jagged,

Radely rain-beaten,

Rusty and moth-eaten,

If ye take well therewith

It hath in it some pith.”
The power, the strangeness, the volubility of his language,. the intre-
pidity of his satire, and the perfect originality of his manner, render
Skelton one of the most extraordinary poets of any age or country.
Like “ Moshes” in the School for Scandal, “we will shwear to it.”
Extraordinary indeed: barbarous beyond any human pronunciation ;
or to be rivalled in that point only by the modern and “much admired”
translation of Aristophanes, of whose verses a single page would be of

1831.] Affairs in General. 199

more difficult management in the mouth, than three courses and a dessert
of Bristol. stones. But what did the genius to rescue him from the
claws of time ?

« The first moralities in our language which bear the name of their author, are
by Skelton; one of these, entitled Magnificence, was in Garrick’s collection, and
is still preserved. The Nigromanser, (which is the name of the other) it is to be
feared, is irrecoverably lost. It was in the possession of Collins the poet, who
shewed it not long before his death to Warton, as a very rare and valuable
curiosity: and ‘Warton read and has described the piece. Ritson afterwards
declared it to be utterly incredible that this work ever existed.”

The Doctor writes all this, knowing in his soul, that he would rather
cut off his pen-finger, than have written the best syllable that this
barbarian ever attempted to write: knowing, and nobody knows better,
that the moralities bear the same relation to poetry, that the Saracen’s
head upon Snow-hill bears to Titian’s Venus ; and knowing, nobody has
a right to know it better too, that his dictum will send a legion of block-
heads to probe the pages of this barbarian for sense, and what is worse,
to make them in their blundering infatuation, dream that the pages were
worth the printing. Yet far be from us to doubt the vis poelica of our
beloved Isle. We too have our poet in petto, and having swept away
the presumptuous panegyric of the ancient pretender, we have now
nothing to do, but to introduce the merits of the modern son of Apollo.
We, however, must acknowledge, that the discovery is not altogether
our own; we are deeply indebted to a Scotch paper, distinguished for
wit and whiggery, which indeed are synonymous.

A Poem composed on the Illumination Night, in Edinburgh, on the 28th of
March, 1831.

On the twenty-eighth of March at night,

The windows in the city were i!luminated with light ;

The light did so beautifully shine,

That the sight of it looked elegantly fine,

And a great number of people did in seeing it incline,

And a person might see in the streets to dine.

Plenty of rockets were up in the air heaved,

And many of them were by the spectators perceived ;

The rockets did fast up in the air run,

Until they were all dissolved and done,

When they could no higher up won ;

A great number of boys did the rockets out of their hands heave,
When they made them up into the air cleave,

What great number of people were in the streets walking, —
And many among themselves about the illumination talking !
What a great number of boys were in the streets noising,
When they were at that greatly rejoicing.

After those general and merely preliminary observations, those sportings
and ludibria of the muse, the Bard plunges into action:

But by all the tapers, we read the Newspapers,

There was Jeffrey’s fine speech, he who stood in the breach,
To oppose that old joker, Ex-Secretary Croker,

Who in spite of his sneer, (he writes in the Courier),

Soon found that my lord, though not great at the sword,
And as soft as a pullet, at pistol or bullet, .
Tho, 'twixt English and Scotch, he was rather hotchpotch,
Yet contrived to take down, that ex-slave of the crown.

200 Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. [Aueusts

Then we read of Lord John, how he stood up alone;

And talked for two hours, drawing tears down in showers,
From Hume, Hunt, and Wood, a grim brotherhood ;
Who, like thieves in a storm, swore they’d go and reform.
There shone young Tommy Metaphor, all fuss and vigour,
And Stanley as quick as an Irishman’s trigger ;

And he who talks verse, and prose too by the yard,

Lord Nugent, the jovial-faced Portugal’s bard.

This we believe no man can deny to be extraordinary: we will pit
our Bard against a bushel of Skeltons. We conclude with a touch of
nature: it is in the very finest spirit of observation.

It’s surprising how the steam vessels go,

Without either wind or tide, I know ;

Supported with engines of many horse-power,

That makes them sail at the rate of so many knots an hour.
From Glasgow to Liverpool they do fly,

And calls at Portpatrick, Isle of Man, as they pass by.

What will the Doctor say to this. ‘ Where,” as the Scotchman in
the English pit, said on seeing Douglas, ‘‘ where’s your Wully Shaks-
peare noo ?”

The Coronation is, like Hamlet’s notion of death, “To be, and not to
be ;”’ or like Taglioni’s petticoat, invisible, yet existing, a delicate mys-
tery of which nobody would suspect the existence. Or like the witch’s
promise, “kept to the ear, but broken to the hope:” or like the Reform
Bill, an affair voted useless without ceremony. On this point spoke the
Oracle. .

“The affair of the coronation was a subject of some difficulty. The form
seemed necessary, the expense fearful. We hope that a compromise, through
the kind consideration of his Majesty, between the jarring elements, has been
effected. It is rumoured that the day for the ceremony, on which less parade
will be attendant than usual, is fixed for the 23d of September. Our amiable
Queen, will, no doubt, be crowned along with her royal husband.”

So said the great ministerial paper a month ago, It is now, however,
decided that the whole affair is to be quite “ an entre nous sort of thing,”’
or as the Marquis of the Regent’s Park would say, a half-hour’s téte é
téte, dry as a Methodist lecture, and not attended with the national
expense of a new pair of breeches, nor a bottle of Cape wine to the
nation. But all is right in this best of all possible worlds. We have
got rid of the Coronation, for the first tame, be it observed: we hope the
getting-rid system will stop there.

Y

183).] c 201 J

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Sir Epwarp SrEawarp’s NARRATIVE OF HIS SHIPWRECK, AND CONSEQUENT
DiscovERY OF CERTAIN ISLANDS IN THE CARRIBEAN SEA, WITH A DeE-
TAIL OF MANY EXTRAORDINARY AND HIGHLY-INTERESTING EVENTS IN
His Lire, FRoM 1733 To 1749, AS WRITTEN IN HIS OWN Diary. Edited
by Miss J. Porter. 3 yols. 12mo.

”?

This is truly a “ romance of real life,’”? and, in point of interest, and even
of detail, realizes, and more than realizes, the imaginations of Defoe. It
is the self-told tale of a young man, who, with his wife and a little dog,
was wrecked on a reef of rocks inclosing and protecting two small, unoc-
cupied islands—and of his residence there for ten or twelve years. Mr. Sea-
ward left England when about twenty-thtee, as the supercargo of a vessel
bound for the bay of Honduras, in 1733—accompanied by his new-married
wife, three or four years younger than himself. The vessel was driven by
a storm upon the rocks—the crew took to the boat, which was swamped—
and Seaward and his wife, who adhered to the wreck, were the sole survivors.
The return of the tide lifted the vessel off the rocks, and enabled him to get it
into a creek, and thus secure it against future storms. With the stores of the
vessel they were in no danger of starving; and, in a spirit of thankfulness for
their preservation, they quickly bestirred themselves to provide, as far as they
could, for their personal security and comfort. The island was very small; but
they were the lords of it, and had no conflicting interests to contend with. Igu-
anas, peccaries, and armadillos were the only animals they met with : the first
their little dog killed—but the peccaries made fight, and gave them some trouble.
The shore supplied them with mullets and crabs, and turtle abounded. The
stranded vessel was their home; and on the island they sowed and planted, and
domiciliated the ducks, and fowls, and goats which they had on board. Seaward
laboured hard with the planks, which fortunately had formed part of the cargo,
at building a house, and making enclosures for his fruits, and corn, and stock.
Fondly attached as were Seaward and his bride, their lone situation drew the
chords of affection the closer; and the island, in a blissful climate, was their
paradise. It is impossible for the coldest heart to read and not melt at the
details of their attachment. ;

In the island they found a cave—the retreat of large flocks of pigeons—where
their attention was one day attracted by the appearance of artificial brick-work.
They removed the bricks, and discovered a mass of treasure—doubloons—to the
extent of forty or fifty thousand pounds, with vessels of gold and silver in great
abundance, chiefly church plate. Though, apparently, all this was of no more
value to them than the diamond to Aisop’s cock, they carefully closed up the
aperture, and, after some scruples, resolved to appropriate the prize—they might
not stay there for ever. At the end of about six months, a boat, with five
negroes—two men and three women—run-a-way Spanish slaves—landed, and,
being kindly welcomed, proved themselves faithfully devoted to their service.
Seaward was thus relieved from severe personal labour, and had nothing further
to do than direct the willing industry of his new friends. A few more months
rolled away, when an American vessel appeared off the»rocks, pursued by a
Spanish guarda-costa. Seaward and his negroes assisted i elling the Spa-
niard; and in the American, which remained some weeks epairs, he finally
took a passage for himself, his wife, and the treasure to Jamaica—leaving
behind him the negroes, with directions till his return. At Jamaica he took
measures for securely transferring his doubloons, &c. to a London banker, with
a prudence and caution quite exemplary.

Instead of following his treasures, he had resolved to return to the island;
and purchasing a vessel, and fitting it out with a cargo of useful matters, and
a crew of negroes and labourers, and a naval officer to command—furnishing
himself also with a commission from the commandant at Jamaica—he soon reached

202 Monthly Review of Literature. LAveusr,

again the new settlement. Soon some relations from England joined them—
more negroes were obtained from Jamaica—his plans prospered—and he resolved
to go to England, to visit his friends, and make preparations for extending the
colony.

‘Tn England he found his money growing at Perry and Child’s, the bankers ;
and Mrs. Child introduced the wealthy strangers to her fashionable society, for
which neither Seaward nor his wife had much taste. Intent upon his purpose,
Seaward.lost no time in opening a negociation with the government for the
purchase of the two islands, of which he had. himself taken possession for the
crown; but met with great and apparently insuperable difficulties—chiefly, as
it turned out, from not understanding the minister’s particular mode of transact -
ing business. He did not readily comprehend the necessity of contributing to
Sir Robert’s bribe-purse. A curious scene of ministerial tactics is laid open, for
which we have unluckily no space. Meanwhile Mrs. Seaward had employed
Mrs. Child’s mantua-maker, and shewn her some beautiful gold stuff, quite
unparalleled in England. Mrs. Child’s mantua-maker happened to be the
queen’s also, and the tale of the gold stuffs quickly reached the royal ears. A
visit from the mistress of the robes, Lady Sundon, followed. Mrs. Seaward
presented the stuffs to the queen, and was introduced to the royal presence. The
adventures of herself and husband became naturally the topic of conversation.
The queen was delighted with the story, and with the simple manners of
Mrs. Seaward; and all difficulties in the husband’s negociation vanished like
lightning. His demands were granted, and himself knighted, to the amazement
and vexation of Sir Robert, who could not comprehend the mancuvre, The
queen was at that time regent (1736).

All impediments being thus removed, the new knight accelerated the supplies
for his colony, engaged a surgeon and a chaplain, and took under his protection
a dozen German families recommended by the queen—investing, before he set
out, a portion of his moncy in the purchase of the Hartland estate in Gloucester-
shire, where he established his sisters, &c. Then returning to the colony, he
prosecuted his purposes with activity; and both islands were soon in a populous
and thriving condition. At home, however, Sir Robert Walpole had not for-
gotten him, and took ample revenge for the mortifications he had sustained. He
employed Seaward in troublesome negociations with the Spanish commanders on
the Spanish main, and finally singled him out to apologize, in the name of the
government, for some injuries said to have been committed by British vessels.
This was a perilous service. He refused to accede to the humiliating démands
of the Spanish commander, was thrown into prison, and only rescued by Ver-
non’s capture of the fort. Again returning to the settlements, he found every
thing prospering; but soon finding himself involved in more business and con-
flicts than was agreeable—the same necessity no longer continuing, and perhaps
he himself wearying—he finally quitted it for his estate in England. A gap here
occurs in the MS.; but a few closing pages have escaped, which contain his
spirited remonstrance with the government relative to their cession of the two
little islands to the Spaniards. The Dialogue with the Duke of Newcastle is
most characteristic of that addle-headed but obstinate personage. Sir Edward
was compelled to submit, and accept of a very inadequate compensation for him-
self and his friends. This was in 1749; and “‘ now, my dear Edward,” said
his beloved Eliza; atthe close of this decisive interview with the Duke of New-
castle, “ let us return to Hartland, and finish our days in peace.” The excel-
lent lady died a few months after; Sir Edward survived till 1774. The MS.
was placed, by his representative, in the hands of Miss J. Porter, by whose
advice—and nothing could be better—it has been printed. ‘The details are occa-
sionally too minute ; but the story carries with it throughout a deep and a touch-
ing interest sufficient to cover more serious faults,

.

Rerorm, A Porm, spy H. I. Pau tt.

Hunt told the House the other day. that a servant refused to hire herself for
more than three months, because, by that time, the Reform Bill would pass,

1831.] Monthly Review of Lilerature. 203

and then there would be no occasion for going into service at all—every-
body would keep holiday, and be their own masters and mistresses. The
writer’s anticipations, apparently, are pretty much of the same cast; nothing
. short of the golden age will satisfy him.

« England ! too long the sternly bursting cloud

Hath wrapt thy brightness in its midnight shroud ;

And when some patriot light has strove to pierce

The leaden darkness, gathering dense and fierce,

Scarce might it twinkle ere Corruption’s storm

Urged its foul murk, and quenched the glowing form.”
(Mr. Paull has‘a desperate struggle with his metaphor !)

“ But now rejoice! the long-wished birth is nigh ;

His herald-streamer burns along the sky.

That sun shall rise, and glorious put to flight

The lingering mists and shadows of the night.

Beam, dlonidtess day ! where triumphed night and storm—

That night, Corruprron—and that day, Rerorm!

Gild thy high places, glad thy lowliest spot—

The throne majestic, and the peasant’s cot ;

And teach a world the blessings that can spring

From patriot councils and a patriot king,” &c.

Nothing can well be more ludicrous than Mr. Paull’s declaration that party
feeling has had no influence on his production. He deifies the Whigs, and
demonizes the Tories, in utter contempt of the modus in rebus. He may depend
upon it, the Reformed House will have guite enough of the aristocratic and
exclusive spirit to spoil all his brilliant anticipations. In a few months it will
be seen that the Whigs have only closed one door to open another—extinguished
one set of nominee boroughs, and created another.

Some of his versification Mr. Paull packs skilfully enough, and with the tone
of his sentiments we can sometimes cordially sympathize. After descanting
with some little extravagance, and not in the best taste, upon the blessings of
England, he adds :—

“ But spite of all that Heaven has lavish dene—
Despite of seasons, ripening shower, or sun—
To the poor peasant—to thy poor, alas!

The earth is iron, and the sky is brass.”

This is true enough; but what will reform—the mere transfer of power from
one set to another—do for him? It is not political, but individual power—
the selfish spirit of the age—which does the mischief. Nobody who has any-
thing, or can by possibility clutch any thing, lets go his hold. Ifa reformed
parliament could expatriate the economists, and extinguish their books, we.
might tread back our steps to a condition of more contentment, and less ambi-
tion—as in the time when individuals thought less of themselves, and more of
their neighbours—were more willing to live, and let live,

JACQUELINE oF Howtanp, sy THE AvuTHoR or ‘“ Highways anp By-
ways,” 3 vols. 12mo.—

Mr. Grattan’s familiarity with the country and story of the Netherlands
secures jim, at least, an undisturbed and undivided sovereignty over those
regions. Seldom can much be said for the interest of his tales—the wings
of his fancy are of necessity clipt by adherence to facts; but for dilatation
and development—for supplying the lacune of dry history from the sources of
his own vigorous conception—few excel him. Jacqueline was the Countess of
Holland and Hainault in her own right—an historical personage of the early
part of the fifteenth century. She was married to her cousin, John, Duke of
Brabant, whose imbecility threw him successively into the hands of the secu-
larized Bishop of Leige, and her cousin, the Duke of Burgundy. To escape from
the tyranny of her husband and Burgundy, she fled to England. There, with

204 Monthly Review of Literature. [ Aveust,

the aid of Humpbry of Gloucester, then protector, she negotiated with one of
the rival popes for a divorce. A compact had been entered into between them—
he was to solicit the divorce with all his influence, and she was to give him her’
hand, and a title to her possessions on the receipt of it. Before this was
accomplished, his well-known intrigue with Ellenor Cobham commenced, and
his zeal in favour of Jacqneline’s wishes cooled. In the meanwhile she returned
to Holland to make what friends she could, to repel the continued aggressions
of Burgundy—waiting, with equal anxiety, for the arrival of Duke Humphry
with the divorce from the pope, and the forces from England to enforce her
rights.

The piece opens in Zealand, with a scene between Jacqueline and Gloucester,
where she detects Gloucester’s alienated feelings; and a hunting-match, in
which she is exposed to great danger from the attack of a formidable orox, and
rescued by a young gentleman, with whom she falls desperately in love, and he
with her. Large space is then occupied with the factions of Holland—the
Hoeks and the Kabblejaws—the former the partizans of Jacqueline, and the
latter of Burgundy. Hoeks and Kabblejaws mean hooks and cod-fish; and the
nick-names originated in a memorable dispute, a century before, among the
learned Hollanders, whether the hook catches the cod, or the cod the hook.
Much, as usual, could be said on both sides, and the Dutch would take part in
the squabble. Parties once generated, do not readily breax up; and when one
subject of dispute fails, another is readily discovered. It was so with the Hoeks
and Kabblejaws ; and when they had done quarrelling about hooks and bites,
they went to loggerheads about Jacqueline and Burgundy. Burgundy was
finally triumphant; Gloucester was bewitched into a marriage with Ellenor;
Jacqueline lost her sovereign rights, and married the youth who had rescued her
from the orox—twice the size of the largest bull—of the Dutch swamps and
forests. The scene in which Ellenor Cobham’s agents—Bolingbroke and Mother
' Jourdain, whom Shakspeare has made familiar—work up the philter for Glou-
cester, though one of the most elaborate in the story, is all but a failure. The
details are too distinct, precisely where vagueness was especially demanded.
Generally, there is a want of distinctness. The author, like many other novel-
ists, depends too much upon scenes, and is too apt to leave them to connect
and dove-tail, as they may, in the mind of the reader. Humphry, who seems
destined to play a conspicuous part, is, after the first scene, as good as forgotten.
But Mr. Grattan has qualities to counterbalance all his defects, and will yet
find admirers—and ourselves among them—for half a score more Dutch and
Flemish pictures. ‘

Essays AND Orations, BY Sir Henry Hatrorp, Bart.

Sir Henry makes but a poor figure as a writer in these days of voluminous
scribble. A man, however, is nobody now, unless he writes a book of some
sort—it matters very little what; and Sir Henry, as might be expected, partakes
of the vulgar ambition of being enrolled among the Jiteratiores. In the course
of along life of distinction he has had some half-dozen occasions for reading
speeches or papers before the College of Physicians; and these speeches and
papers, collected together, make, by the cunning of the printer, a nice little:
volume of something short of 200 pages, (one page of our own would take in
half a score,) not enough to weary his most fastidious patients, and quite enough
to convince them he wants only leisure to be as voluminous as he is decorous.
The first scrap is to shew that what are known as the climacteric changes, and
usually regarded as steps of decay, are not the effects of decay, but symptoms of
disease, accessible to remedial measures. Another, on the tic-douleureux,
amounts to a suggestion, that this torturing disease is the effect of some ‘‘ pre-
ternatural growth of bone, or a deposition of bone in a part of the animal eco-
nomy, where it is not usually found, in a sound and healthy condition of it, or
with a diseased bone’’—that is, Sir Henry has in a few cases found some bony
excrescence, or some unusual ossification, in the regions falling within the range
of the disease—the jaws, or the frontal bones. A third enjoins, with great

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 205

solemnity, caution in the estimate of symptoms in the last stage of some diseases,
(precisely when they become of least importance,) communicating only what
appears.to us, who are only medical readers, already familiar almost as house-
hold words. The fourth paper, entitled ‘‘ Popular and Classical Illustrations
of Insanity,’’ shews the learned physician’s admiration of Shakspeare and
Horace, implying, at the same time, something like wonderment, on his part,
that either of them could talk like men of sense or observation. The same sort
of surprise betrays itself in his comments on_a scrap from Aratzus’ description
of the brain-fever.

To eke out the dandy volume, follow two Orutiones, one commemorating, as
usual, the benefactors of the college (1800), and the other on the opening of the
new college in 1825, both full of idle compliment and maudling sentiment,
expressed in the Latin of a youngster just fresh from school—a mere string of
familiar phrases. On the latter occasion the Duke of York appears to have been
present—‘‘ Cum tot,” says the orator, ‘‘ apud nos, (is this Latin or French ?)
conspicio utriusque senatus lumina, tot publici consilii auctores, tot Reyie pro-
sapie principis—atque, hos inter, illustrissimum illum principem, rei militaris
nostre presidium et decus—pertimiscere me, confiteor, et parum abesse, quin me
muneris hodie suscepti peniteat!’? Conceive the folly of this—Sir Henry’s
alarm at the Duke of York’s criticism of his Latin!

The precious volume closes with his account of the opening of Charles I.’s
coffin in the vault of Henry VIII.,in St. George’s chapel, Windsor, 1813, accom-
panied with a “ faithful representation of the countenance of the king at the
time,” and a fac-simile of the Prince Regent’s signature and seal, in attestation
of its correctness.

Tue Srarr-OFrricER, OR THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE, A TALE OF REAL LIFE, BY
Oxtver Moorg, 3 vols. 12mo.

This will never do for a novel, for it has no plot or complexity; nor for the
adventures of a soldier, for it is confined mainly to the private adventures of the
man. Oliver Moore has linked his story with no points of interest, and for
himself the reader cannot care a button. The first may be the fault of his
fortune, but the last must be his own. When he found he had nothing of
interest to tell, he might have thrown down the pen, or if he must write, it did
not follow that he must print. It was probably the dearth of imagination that
compelled him to obey the order of facts, and tell only of what he had seen,
consoling himself the while, perhaps, with some old hereditary maxim, that facts
were better than fancies. We have no doubt whatever of the very truth of his
relations—they bear the stamp of realities—they are as dull, and insignificant,
and jog-trot, as the subordinate rank of the writer, and the common track he
moved in, could make them. ‘he best portions of his book are the sketches he
gives of the chief authorities in Ireland in the memorable reign of Lord West-
moreland, but this was when the writer was a boy, and, of course, all he says
is mere hear-say, or book-say, and of no more value than an extract from an
old newspaper.

The hero was the son ofan Irishman, in some equivocal position between a
gentleman and acourt-dependant. What was to be done with the youth wasa
puzzle, as usual in Irish families of this ambiguous station. At length, but, of
course, too late for success, the sea was tried, at least as far as the Thames; but
not finding it to his liking, a commission, by hook or crook, was got for him in
a new-raised regiment of foot. He commenced soldiering, as a recruiting
officer, in his own Ireland, and met with prodigious success not only in seducing
recruits, but in kissing the women. His next step was obtained by playing
warming-pan a few months to a young sprig of nobility in a cavalry regiment—
a service which was rewarded with a lieutenancy in some regiment filled with
‘scamps. By the favour of the commander he was despatched again on the
recruiting service, where, if he had less success than before with the men, he
had greater with the women. One young lady, the sole daughter and heiress
of a wealthy innkeeper in the north, fell in love with him, and he only escaped

205 Monthly Review of Literature, [Avueust,

instant marriage by pledging himself to return and take the damsel and all her
treasures in two years. The lady, however, could not wait, and within the first
year married a gallant captain, who in two years made way for another. ‘‘ The
captain and her worthy father both paid the debt of nature in 1798, in the —
autumn of which year my little Anna, with High Cliff, (the estate,) and £40,000,
became Lady M ’s, the last and boldest horsewoman in the palatine, the
gayest of the gay in the vortex of fashionable life, the idol of the veteran hus-
band, and the envy of all the six feet ladies of the north.”” Then follows some-
thing intended still more decidedly to identify the lady—we know nothing of
the county of Durham, and this part may be sheer invention; but if not, there is
an indelicacy, which nothing can excuse, in the publication.

To while away the lagging hours, at some garrison town, he volunteered his
services to the drill serjeant. His activity fell under the notice of the com-
mander of the district, who gave him some deputy’s appointment, and finally
recommended him as aide-de-camp to a General Mordaunt, then on the point
of embarking for the West Indies. There the general soon died, but the aide-
de-camp got some new appointment, and after two years left the country before
Sir Ralph Abercrombie returned, on account of ill health.- No military details are
given—though he could not have been without opportunities of collecting, and
the story of that fatal expedition has been but imperfectly told. Returning to
England, the staff-officer finds a wife, and the curtain drops upon the scene.

One little anecdote we will copy to compensate for our own dull story. It is
of an Irish officer who got into a scrape, and was cashiered. After a time,
desirous of an active life again, he drew upa petition to the Irish House of
Commons, praying for employment. After urging his manifold services to the
state, (in his own peculiar style of language,) he concluded his petition with the
bold assertion, that he had received seven wounds at Bunker’s Hill, five of which
were mortal. After the rears of laughter, which the reading of this part of his
petition excited, had in some degree subsided, the late Vice Admiral Tom Pack-
ington, (uncle to the late Duchess of Wellington,) with.the utmost gravity, stood
up, and, first withdrawing the quid of tobacco from his starboard cheek, moved,
“that the House, taking into its serious consideration the petition of the im-
mortal James Darcus, do humbly recommend his case to his majesty’s most
gracious favour.”

Opps AND Enps, sy W. H. Mertz, Esa.

Mr. Merle is known to readers of modern poetry, if there be any such persons
besides reviewers, as the author of Costanc¢a, which never fell into our hands,
but which we have been assured, with some emphasis, Joanna Baillie spoke of
in terms of admiration. The Odds and Ends before us are the merest trifles,
chiefly of the gayer caste—not including the frequent punning upon his own
name—‘as easy as ’tis for blackbird to whistle.” Some of the morsels, how-
ever, are not without humour, though most of it has passed into the designs in
which Cruikshank has had a hand. Leaving the poetry, we notice a short
paper, entitled Chartley Castle, and Mary, Queen of Scots’ Glass. Chartley
Castle, or rather the ruins of it, as every body knows, is-in Staffordshire, and
belongs to the Ferrers’ family. It was for a short time the scene of Mary’s
imprisonment. A few years ago the moat which surrounded it was drained,
and the accumulated mud of ages was thrown upon the neighbouring fields,
where, as it dried up, a small drinking glass drew the eyes of Mr. Merle, then
on a visit to the late Lord Tamworth. On this glass was written—

‘¢ Je songe tous jours a vous
Je suis tout a fait sensible.”

The poet’s imagination flew forthwith to Queen Mary; and, it appears, the
writing actually accords with the undoubted specimens of her own hand-writing.
Beneath these two lines are two others—

“ Blessed be the hand which wrote it,
I with you may be thought it.”

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 207

Which Mr. Merle makes no difficulty in understanding.- He has no doubt the -
words are those of the gaoler, touched to softness; and he feels a happiness in
believing (that is, in persuading himself to believe,) that he possesses the glass
which had been pressed by the loveliest lips that ever spoke—meaning sipped—
and does not wish to be undeceived. The circumstances are worth recording,
and the glass of being preserved.

MemoriAts oF THE StuarT Dynasty, &C., INCLUDING THE CONSTITUTIONAL
AND EcciesrasticAL History or ENGLAND, FROM THE DECEASE OF
ELIZABETH TO THE ABDICATION OF James II., sy RospertT VAUGHAN.
2 vols. Svo.

Mr. Vaughan is the author of the Life and Opinions of Wicliffe—a work
published two or three years ago, remarkable for the qualities, which will be
found to distinguish the present perfurmance—research, clearness, and candour.
The publication before us is one of a more arduous and complicated character :
it embraces the History, constitutional and ecclesiastical, of England, during the
troubled reigns of the Stuarts, in all its leading points. It is, though a con-
tinuous narrative, not one of details—they are for the most part passed over,
and the principles only of events are discussed, together with the conduct and
the motives of the leading actors of the times. Mr. Vaughan is himself a non-
conformist—of which class of dissenters we do not precisely know—the cast
of his sentiments relative to the ‘‘ Independents” seems to betray his personal
ones.

The revolution of 1688—the acknowledged epoch of our civil and religious
liberties—was the result of a protracted struggle in favour of popular rights—
a struggle maintained chiefly by religious men. In its earlier stages, the Puri-
tans were the instruments, undoubtedly the main instruments, and, to the last,
when others, even the Establishment, were in effective activity, their efforts were
steadily exerted. We agree with Mr. Vaughan, that there can be no hazard in
affirming, that it was the weight of the Nonconformists which turned the scale
to the better side. The influence of these parties, and especially of the Puritans
and their descendants, on the great questions of civil and religious freedom,
though often alluded to, often even acknowledged, and never quite forgotten,
has never been fairly and adequately appreciated. For the most part, the wri-
ters of British history have sympathised little with these men ;. and with many,
the object has been to exhibit their conduct in colours of ridicule. No Non-
conformist, in fact, has ever attempted that separate and continuous. investiga-
tion of the subject which its interest and importance clearly demand. To supply
this deficiency is the author’s leading design, and he has done it ina manly
spirit and a temperate tone,

It is not to be expected, nor does he expect, that he will give satisfaction to
the Establishment—his exhibitions of Bancroft, Laud, and others, whose object
was the ascendancy of a party, and the suppression of all opponents by almost
any means, must preclude all hopes of that kind. Neither, on the other hand,
will he be thought by the ultras among Nonconformists to have extended his cen-
sures far enough, or with severity enough. But there exists a large party in the
country, and one whose ranks, happily, are increasing every day, who care little
about the interests of mere parties, or sects, or establishments—who are dis-
posed to judge of things by their utilities, and of persons by their conduct, and,
so that truth be got at, and justice prevail, are indifferent who it is that are
censured, or eulogized. Among these Mr. Vaughan will find some who will
think he has done the state some service.

It is probably D’Isracli’s recent book to which we are indebted for Mr.
Vaughan’s. D’Israeli has little of the historian in him—he is fond of an epi-
gram, and to tell a good thing is an object of more importance than the fair
estimate of facts. Mr. Vaughan is a grave man, and does not understand jest-
ing with grave matters. But, though indignation may have spurred him to his
undertaking, there are no symptoms that he has permitted that feeling to guide
his pen. The contempt he entertains for misrepresentation is too cool to hurry

208 Monthly Review of Literature, [ Aueust,

him into the commission of the same fault. It is obvious that our limits forbid
even a glance at particulars to justify our opinions; but we can safely recom-
mend the work as an able one—the result of great industry, and of deep con-
-viction.

Caspinet CycLtopmpi1a, You. XX.—History or PoLanp,

Dr. Lardner, as purveyor-general of the day, has timed his volume on the
History of Poland well. The book is written with more care and research than
Mr. Fletcher’s, but in a spirit less likely to harmonize with the prevailing sen-
timents. Though deprecating the charge of being the apologist of Russia, the
writer thinks justice has not been done to her; and as an advocate of justice,
he resolves she shall, like the devil, have her due. The said writer—whose
name is not given—assures us, on his own authority, that Nicholas enjoined
his troops not merely to refrain from the slightest wanton ravage, but to shew
themselves the protectors and friends of the peasantry. These orders, according
to him, have not been in the main infringed, and the few instances of infraction
which have been heard of, are probably all attributable to the public press.
‘No sovereign in Europe is more averse to oppression or cruelty than Nicholas,
nor more disposed to better the condition of his people. Throughout his con-
nection with Poland (and the case is equally true of Alexander) he has omitted
no opportunity of confirming the prosperity of the country, &c. Of the just
complaints brought against his government by the Poles, he has since said, and
the author sees no reason to doubt his sincerity, that he was ignorant. The author,
then, ‘still farther to excuse the autocrat, tells us of the extreme difficulty com-
plaints have of reaching the imperial ear—it is little less than miraculous that
they reach it at ali! To be sure, this is curious advocacy—call you this back-
ing your friends? The government cannot surely be good, when the governor
knows not what is going on ; norcan there be ground of applause for good inten-
tions, where no pains are taken to carry them into execution. The fault was
in Constantine—but that only shews that Poland cannot be governed at Peters-
burgh, and therefore Poland, if for no other reason, justly demands her inde-
"pendence.

The writer has no notion—and he claims the weight due to personal know-
ledge of the country—that Poland will be able to accomplish her independence.
He scarcely thinks it desirable, for he believes it may be bought at too high a
price —and even doubts if the Poles wish for it. He knows the result is
regarded with apprehension by the Poles themselves.

“«The philanthropist must grieve,’’ he adds, ‘at the contrast exhibited by
Poland during the last and the present year. Her plains are covered with ruins,
or washed with blood [is the writer really ignorant over how small a space the
devastations of war have spread?] her resources are exhausted, her industry
destroyed—her abundance has given way to wretcheduess—the countenances of
her children, once so happy, are now wan, squalid, and despairing—her pea-
sants, her landowners, and not a few of the chief nobles, now curse the
thoughtless precipitation which hurried the nation into so awful a contest before
her means of defence were well organized. The majority of the Poles are
heartily sick of the war, however anxious the army, the youths of the military
schools, and the students of the university, may be to continue it.”

All this is probably much too lacrymose—it may be very good painting, but
the pencil is obviously dipt in bilious colours.

A chapter on the society, constitution, manners, &c. of the Ancient Poles,
is well written, and will supply what is wanting in Mr. Fletcher’s book.

Tue Sunnay Lisrary, BY Dr. Dippin.

The fourth volume of Dr. Dibdin’s collection contains a few more of what he
regards as the chef-d’euvres of modern theologians. Among them are two ser-
mons of Bishop Huntingford’s, three of Bishop J.B. Summers, two of Arch-
bishop Lawrence’s (Armagh), two of Bishop Hobart’s (of New York), who
died a few months ago, and one of N. P. Shuttleworth’s, whom, of course, Dr.

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 209

Dibdin regards as a bishop in futuro—we had one or two of his in the first
volume. But the jewel of the batch is Bishop Huntingford’s Sermon on False
Philosophy, which, the false philosophy we mean, as whatever is false, de-
serves, of course, no quarter. But what does the Bishop brand with this same
epithet? Sundry shadows of his own raising, apparently. Look at some of
the points. It is false, because it (the Bishop’s false philosophy) asserts that man
in society retains all his natural rights—that all men are equal—that man is
perfect—that human institutions can be perfect—that, because the use of a thing
is good, the abuse is so—that men are to obey their passions instead of their
reason—that nothing is to be admitted as true but on mathematical demonstra-
tion, &c. ;—giants, the reader sees, which the good Bishop sets up, to Tom-
Thumb down again, while Dr. Dibdin shouts Io Triumphe !

LarpNErR’s Cabinet Lisprary, Georce [V.

The second volume of this animated sketch of the late king’s life and reign,
brings the story down to the peace of 1814. The work is written in a spirit of
ultra whiggism—which still means only aristocratic whiggism—as far from
radicalism as the poles asunder—but who, of whatever party he be, scruples
now-a-days about turning inside-out the conduct and motives of public men,
from the king to the constable? The author, like his friends, the whigs, has a
strong disposition to be decisive and dictatorial, and writes occasionally with more
point and piquancy than authority. Erskine gets roughly handled. When the
Grenville ministry was patched up in 1806, there was a friendly contention
between Lords EHenborough and Erskine—each claiming the chief-justiceship,
and yielding to the other the higher honours of the chancellorship. Lord
Erskine’s personal vanity would have preferred the seals, precarious as they
were; but, with the consciousness that he was ignorant both of the principles
and practice of equity, he trembled for his fame, and affected the modesty of
concession. Lord Ellenborough, with his characteristic frankness, cut the
imatter short, by saying, ‘‘ Why, Erskine, I know as little of equity as you do
yourself.” Frequent and recent instances prove that a mere common lawyer
may be suddenly transformed into an equity judge; but at the same time it
follows as a corollary, that the learned profession has its share of charlatanry,
when, with the notorious want of previous study and experience in that
branch of jurisprudence, these sudden transitions can be made with safety and
advantage.

After the breaking up ef this ministry, expressly on the Catholic Question,
Lord Erskine took the first opportunity of making his profession of protestant
faith. The writer thus notices it :—

“« Lord Erskine, in the House of Peers, in a strain of distempered folly, which
excites wonder, coming from one who had been chancellor and a cabinet minister,
mixed up the history of the military and naval service bill with that: of his
own religious education, and made his confession of faith in a tone of drivelling
or canting egotism. ‘Iam one,’ said he, ‘ who really entertains the pro-
foundest reverence for God, religion, and all professors of the christian pro-
testunt faith. No man, my lords, can be more religious than Iam. 1 need not
except the worthy and pious prelates in whose presence I speak. I glory in
this declaration—would to God my life were as pure as my faith. I hope to
see all nations collected under the benign shade of the gospel. I regard the
Romish religion as a gross superstition, now visibly on the decline, aud so far
from being indulgent to it, I wish that inconvenience should be felt, though no
injustice suffered, by its professors.’ It would be hard to say whether this dis-
tinction savours more of pettifogging or of persecution. Lord Erskine was one
of the many men over-rated, as others are under-rated, in their day. He was a
sort of shining ephemeron. His faculties never reached the views or the elo-
quence of political deliberation. Even his speeches at the bar, preconised as they
have been, will not save him from oblivion. His rhetoric, as preserved i in them,
is so superficial, that his power must have consisted in the contagious fervour of

M M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No: 68. ¥

210, Monthly Review of Literature. [Aveuss

delivery and temperament with which he applied himself to juries, whose minds
were of the same stature with his own.”

Famiry Lisrary—Scortisu Worrtuiss, py P. F. Tytizr, Esa.

These worthies are Alexander III., Michael Scott, and, the eternals, Wallace
and Bruce. The lives are written with spirit, and especially that of Alexander
III. The details of the invasion from Norway form a piece of very distinct and
picturesque description, which stands apart, like an episode, in Scottish history.
Michael Scott, stripped of his necromantic robes, makes a respectable scholar,
statesman, and courtier; while Wallace and Bruce are what they were—extra-
ordinary men, doubtless, but familiar to every body—too much so to read over
again in a new set, and scarcely a new set of phrases.

Tue Noveuist’s Lisrary—Humpury CLinKer.

Nothing in the getting up of the “ Libraries’ will match this edition of the
old novels, which comes forth under the auspices of the new and spirited pub-
lishers, Cochrane and Pickersgill. Four Sketches by Cruikshank, a portrait
of Smollett, and a memoir of him by Mr. Roscoe, add to the value of a volume,
the externals of which are worthy of the jewel they enclose. It will require an
extensive sale to redeem the adventurous outlay, and we only hope the attempt
will meet with the encouragement it deserves.

ENcycLopa&pIa BRITANNICA, NEW EDITION, Part XVI,

Monthly publications are now so numerous, that we find it impracticable to
notice them all, or at least all of them month by month, without suffering
other works to fall too much in arrear. An occasional glance, therefore, is ‘all
that must be expected from us. The Encyclopedia Britannica, however, is one
of those publications, which, by its well-considered and independent articles, par-
takes of a permanent character, and calls for more frequent notice. The editor
is punctually fulfilling his engagements. The sixteenth portion is before us;
and we have not observed one article, on any subject of importance, throughout
the work hitherto, which does not bear marks of recent and careful revisal.
The main article of the present part, entitled ‘‘ Army,” extends to 44 pages, and
is as comprehensive a thing of the kind as we have ever looked into... In the
section dedicated to the ancient state of military matters, the description of the
Roman army, as to its composition and tactics, is remarkable for its precision
and intelligibleness, whilst the review of the military system of every portion of
the civilized world (that there should be occasion to make use of such a term in
such a matter!) will be found more complete and instructive, as to statistical
points, than any similar attempt to be met with elsewhere. Modern factics are
probably reserved for their alphabetical position. It is but justice to notice the
plates which accompany the work—they are of the first quality.

Wavertey Novens, Vou. XXVI.—Fortunes or NIGEL.

The success with which the author, in the Heart of Mid-Lothian, awakened
an interest for one who had none of the common accomplishments of the
heroine, prompted him to make a similar attempt with a hero of the same
stamp. Worth of character, goodness of heart, and rectitude of principle, were
of course the only qualities which could compensate the lack of high birth and
romantic positions, and he accordingly looked among the realities of life, till he
finally pitched upon George Heriot, a man who had left proofs in the gude
town of Edinburgh of benevolence and charity, sufficient to warrant the exten-
sion of them into the interior of private life. These qualities he brought to bear
upon the amendment of a young nobleman misguided by the aristocratic
haughtiness of his class, and the seductions of pleasure; ‘‘ and though,” adds
the author, at once truly and gracefully, ‘I am, I own, no great believer in the
moral utility to be derived from fictitious composition, yet, if in any case a word
spoken in season may be of advantage to a young person, it. must surely be

1831.) _ Monthly Review of Literature. 214

when it calls upon him to attend-to the voice of principle and self-denial, instead
of that of precipitate passion.” 3

For exhibiting the tone and conduct of the court of James the First there
exist abundant materials, and Sir Walter has made a fair and ample use of
them ; and for the truth of his description of the sanctuary of White Friars, or
inthe cant term of the day, Alsatia, he appeals to Shadwell’s “ Squire of
Alsatia.” It is from that source he learned the footing on which the bullies
and thieves of the sanctuary stood with their neighbours—the fiery young stu-
dents of the temple.

Stanparp NoveEus, Vou. V.—Gopwin’s Sr. Leon.

At the solicitation of the publishers Mr. Godwin follows in the path struck
out by Sir Walter Scott, and accouuts, step’ by step, for his doings. Reaching,
as Mr. Godwin had done, the summit of expectation in his Caleb Williams, he
was quickly urged to try his hand at a second attempt. He hesitated long, and
deliberated longer—not then conceiving, that instead of occupying a life with
two or three of these productions, the same writer might spin twenty or thirty,
and still retain his hold upon the partiality of his cotemporaries. To whom the
discovery is due need not be told—enow will follow the track. Years of diffi-
dence and hesitation had elapsed, when Mr. Godwin bethought himself of
mixing up ‘‘-human feelings and passions with incredible passions,’’? as a
novelty which might conciliate the patience of the severest judges. The history
of fiction will shew, however, this was no new manceuvre, though never perhars
carried into,execution so much in detail. In St. Leon the ‘‘ Charities of Life’’
were, every, where topics of the warmest eulogium—the affections precisely
which, in his political justice, had been treated with least indulgence. The
contrast was striking; but Mr. Godwin had studiously sought the opportunity
of modifying the sentiments expressed in the earlier chapters of that memorable
work, and found it in prosecuting the adventures of St. Leon—not for the pur-
pose of changing the principles or foundations of justice, but to shew, that after
all, whatever he might once have seemed to say, the ‘‘ culture of the heart’’
_ Was not incompatible with them.

A ’Memot1r’ oF Sesastian Casot, witH A REVIEW oF THE HisTory oF
‘ Maritime Discovery.

_ Over the story of the Cabots, and the employment of them by Henry VII.,
with their voyages and discoveries, there has always hung a thick cloud—the
detection, in the Rolls-Court, of a second patent, granted by the same monarch,
has helped to disperse this cloud, and cleared up much of the confusion which
pervades all the geographical histories down to our own days. The firs! patent;
the existence of which was well known, though the terms of it have been little
regarded, was granted 5th March, 1496, to John Cabot and his three sons, of
whom Sebastian was the second. The object was discovery, and the commis-
sion extended east, west, and north. In this patent no previous discovery of
Cabot’s'is alluded to; nor does there exist the slightest evidence of any voyage
of discovery undertaken by father or son before that period. Of the results we
have little direct information: “It is from the second patent (the one recently dug
out’of ‘the’ depths of the Rolls-Court, and now published for the first time), we
learn what was done under the first. This second patent, dated 3rd February,
1498, and granted exclusively to John Cabot, empowers him, on certain condi-
tions, to ‘* convey and lede to the Lande and Isles of late found by the seid John,
in our name and by our commandemente.”” In the same patent occurs a ‘‘ Lande
or isles,” as if if were doubtful whether the lands discovered were isles or a
continent. That Newfowndland was a part of the discovery there can be no
doubt. The probability also is, that the Cabots touched at Labrador, and on
other parts of the coast of North America down to the Floridas., But the
. point—the point of historical importance is, that the discoveries made by the

Cahots took place between March, 7 and February, 1498—thus confirming

-_

212 Monthly Review of Literature. [Aueust,

the date noted in the old map of Queen Elizabeth’s gallery, which recorded, that
the first discovery of land, whether of Newfoundland or Labrador, occurred on
the 24th June, 1497—two years before ever Amerigo Vespucci crossed the
Atlantic.

Though Sebastian appears to have been the hero of the voyage of discovery
under the first patent—he must have been very young, for he was living sixty-
one years after—there is no good reason for quite throwing John, the father,
overboard, as the writer, who is furiously critical, is disposed to do. He doubts
if he ever accompanied the expedition; but till we have further evidence, we
must abide by the words of the second patent, which expressly ascribe the
discovery to John. Of what was done under the second patent little is known
beyond the fact of the sailing of an expedition under the command of Sebastian.
John, the father, died before it sailed. There are reports of his being stopped
by the want of provisions in his career to the southward.

From 1498 there appears a gap in the story of Sebastian till 1512, in which ~
latter year he is known to have entered the service of Spain. The writer,
indeed, eager to find employment for his protégé, sends him on a voyage to
Maracaibo in 1499—building, apparently, entirely upon the fact, that Hojeda,
who sailed from Spain that year in compauy with Amerigo Vespucci, met with
some English in the neighbourhood of Caquibacao, who could, it seems, be

‘nobody but Sebastian and his crews. In an old Bristol Calendar occurs—* 1499:
This year Sebastian Cabot, borne in Bristoll, proferred his services to King
Henry for discovering new countries, which had noe greate or favourable enter-
tainment of the king, but he, with no extraordinary preparation, sett forth from
Bristoll, and made greate discoveries.” But we may readily believe here is some
confusion of date and circumstances—for of ‘‘ these great discoveries” nothing
whatever is known.

In short, Sebastian’s history is a blank till 1512. In 1516 he returned to
England, and was the following year employed to discover the N. W. passage,

~ of which voyage scarcely any thing is known but its failure. It was in this
voyage, and not in that of 1496, the writer concludes with some reason, that
Sebastian reached the latitude of 67}. The failure of this expedition seems to
have shut him out from further engagements in English service. The next year
he was again in Spain, and continued in her service for thirty years, for the
most part actively employed in prosecuting discoveries, and establishing colonies
in South America. About the time of the accession of Edward VI. he came
finally to England, as to his native land, for though generally regarded as a
foreigner, it appears, on his own testimony, he was born in Bristol. Through
the whole of that reign he was in high favour with the court, was consulted on
naval matters, and had a considerable pension: and in equal respect with the
merchant adventurers, for he was appointed governor of the company. He lost
ground in Mary’s time—Philip, it seems, resented his quitting the Spanish
service. The time of his death is not ascertained, nor is it known where he
was buried.

As. a-memoir the book is, on the whole, but a puzzled account, though
brilliant in parts. The thorough industry of the writer has produced useful
results. Nothing can exceed the absurdities into which historians have run for
want of a little research. _ The author is a shrewd and searching person, and
may do much real good in the path he has selected, and which he seems
inclined to pursue. He is apt to be precipitate, and has shewn want of temper.
Let him be upon his guard, otherwise it will quickly plunge him into more
blunders than he corrects—like the tinker, he will stop one hole and make two.

Lonpon AND Paris, A Noven, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE CASTILIAN, THE
ExquisiTEs, &c.

This clever and observant Spaniard is a perfect camelion, reflecting with
enviable facility every shade and hut with which he comes in contact. London,
Paris, Madrid—he is every where at home; and his object here is to delineate
a few of the more remarkable peculiarities, in certain classes, which have struck

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 213

his fancy. The tone is every where satirical, but the scenes are often too
strictly true to be thus fairly characterised. Nevertheless, caricature is insepa-
rable from an attempt prompted by a love of the ludicrous, and a desire to
produce effect. The scenes are almost wholly referable to profligacy in high
life and low life, and some of them border too close upon the coarse, to be
redeemed by the humour, which, itself, partakes too much of levity, whatever
be the subject it touches. Among the scenes of happiest execution are a case
of Bastardy—Crim-con—the Fire King—Popular Preachers—Body-Snatching
—Burkeing—Poaching—Fighting—St. John Long—Robert Taylor, &c. Next
to the exhibition of the ludicrous, a favourite object is to expose the absurdity
of certain laws of the country for the administration of them—not occasionally
without good ground, though the caricature is generally something too broad.
Few, we take it, have children fathered upon them without pretty good reason ;
and as children cannot yet be'legally smothered, when they come mal-a-propos,
and must therefore be maintained, whose evidence would the author recommend
in preference to the mother’s? The scenes in Paris consist chiefly of gaming-
houses and intrigues, and present nothing very attractive, and are certainly
detailed less humorously than the London ones. Among the best portions of
the volumes is a chapter entitled Vocabulary of Ton—LKnglish Ton—on which
the writer defines and describes the Rage—Lion—Tiger—Tuft-hunter, (not
forgetting Tommy Tuft, the poet)—Toad-eater—Chaperon—Kligible—Objec-
tionable—Exclusive—Exquisite—Dandy—Parvenu— Intrinsic— Nobody— Bore
—Eccentric—Twaddler—AImack’s—Terra Incognita, &c. Some of these, both
names and things, are getting out of date, but the portraits are often well
sketched, and furnish the best proofs of the author’s powers.

Something of a story runs through the volume, so as just to bring the book
within the class of novels. The hero is a Spaniard, who, visiting England, gets
entrapped into marriage with a courtezan; and going to France, to escape her,
is followed, and eternally bothered by her.

Tue History or POLAND FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE PRESENT TIME,
By James FLetcuer, Esq., or TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

A sketch of the History of Poland, published very opportunely, to refresh
the memories of some, and communicate to others, to whom Poland is new, so
much of the general story as will serve to screen gross ignorance, by a few
glances at the subject, and coloured with the hues of modern sentiments. <A’
generation has passed since the final partition, and till now, for many years,
no stirring motive has presented itself for thinking of Poland at all, and of
course the subject has been lost sight of by publishers. The early history of
the country is lost in the fog of distant ages—impenetrable to the sharpest eye
—and sifting and guessing are for mere antiquaries. Mr. Fletcher accordingly
cuts the difficulty, and commences his book with establishment of the Piast
family in 830, whose authority, with some few interruptions, continued to 1386.
The Jaquilons succeeded—the first of whom married the last female of the
Piasts—till 1572; from which period the crown became elective, and, of course,
gave occasion to tumults and turmoils at every succession from the elective
epoch, to the final partition of Poland. Mr. F. tells the story in considerable
detail, without appealing directly to authorities, but with much general truth,
and in a liberal spirit. The marks of youth are upon the performance—but of
Vigorous youth—the quotations and the flowers are the outpourings of recent
acquirement, and of recent conception, and may very well be tolerated. The
glance at the present state of affairs is taken from the “‘ Metropolitan.”

Nothing can be more distressing for the novice than the pronunciation of
Polish names. Mr. Fletcher has considerately collected a few directions to
relieve the common embarrassment.

All vowels are sounded as in French and Italian, and there are no diphthongs,
every vowel being pronounced separately. The consonants are the same as in
English, except—

214 Monthly Review of Literature. [Aveustr,

w, which is sounded like v, at the beginning of a word, and like f, in the
middle or at the end of one. Thus Warsawa is Varsafa, and Narew is
Nareff.

c, like. é, and never like k; thus Pac is Patz.

g, like g in Gibbon; thus Oginski.

ch, like k; thus Lech is Lek.

cz, like tch in pitch; thus Czartoryski is Tchartoryski.

sz, like sh in shape; thus Staszyc is Stashytz.

szez, like shtch; thus Szczerbiec is Shtcherbietz.

rz, like j, with a slight sound of r ; thus Rzewuski is Rjevuski,

Tue PrincipeLes oF Eneiisu Composition, &c., By Davin Bootu, AuTHOR
or THE ANALYTICAL DICTIONARY.

This little volume is distinguishable for the independent view which the author
has taken of his subject—the distinctness and facility with which he decom-
poses and recomposes the details, and the good and well-reasoned principles
which direct his critiques. For our own parts we should as soon think of
teaching common sense, as the art of writing ; and art, no doubt,.it is in more
senses than one, if it be to be taught. Nevertheless, there is no harm in point-
ing out the technical informalities, or essential blunders, or in. tracing the
sources of correctness, or even in attempting to fix a standard of taste, and
direct the efforts of aspirants—for none but common, minds require such aids,
or will be influenced by such rules, . The tendency of such books .is to, produce
a cold and decorous correctness—a not undesirable. result, for, the class which
alone will make use. of them. t x

Asa proof of Mr. Booth’s perfect qualification for his undertaking we quote
his “Shall and Will.’’ No Englishman is ever puzzled about the use of these
words, though he never subjects himself to the torture of analysis. Mr.. Booth,
himself a Scotchman, has devised a rule, perhaps a successful one, in accord-
ance with English practice ; but it is evidently one which requires closer thinking
at the moment than can ever be brought into play at the moment, to work it
into a habit.

“* General Rule.—If the speaker is the nominative to the verb, and also determines
its accomplishment ;—or, if he is neither the nominative to the verb nor determines
its accomplishment,—the proper auxiliary is witL:—in every other case it is
SHALL.”

*« Miscellaneous Evamples.—‘ I will speak.’ Here I is the nominative.and also
determines the act to speak, which therefore requires will. Had the speaker simply
declared the act as a futwre, without alluding to his determination, the phrase
should have been ‘ I shall speak.’

“¢ He says that James will be hanged.’ This is a compound sentence, and will be
better understood by reversing the clauses thus: ‘ James wil/ be hanged,—he says
that.’ We have then only to consider the simple sentence, ‘ James will be hanged,’
in which James is the nominative, but the speaker is not James, neither does he
determine James’s death; and, therefore, according to the Rule, will is the proper
auxiliary. Had the speaker been a judge, and pronouncing his fiat from the judg-
ment seat, he would, then, have determined James’s death, and the expression
would have been. ‘ He says that, James shail be hanged.’

‘¢ ¢ My master desires me to tell you that,—he wid/ call upon you to-morrow.’ Here
it is the servant (not the master) who speaks; and he is neither the nominative of
the verb cal/, nor possessed of power over the action; will is, therefore, the proper
auxiliary.”

1831.) [ 215 4

FINE ARTS’ PUBLICATIONS.

Robinson Crusoe, illustrated with Wood Engravings.—The designs and engrav-
ings to this new and cheap edition of Robinson Crusoe are of a nature that must
render them equally desirable to the man of taste, the artist, and the uninitiated
child. Let no one despise the title of wood-cuts when applied to such little
pictures as these. We laugh at some of the humble embellishments with which
our childhood was amused, and used to think a wood-cut merely a lame apo-
logy for the want of something better ; but our artists are convincing the public,
that the imagination of a poet, and the taste of a painter, can be displayed upon
two inches of wood as well as upon two feet of copper, or twenty feet of can-
vass ; and that all varieties of tasteful invention, including composition of forms,
expressive action, and effect of chiaroscuro, may be faithfully reflected amidst
the type of a volume—assisting language in the same manner as the look of an
intelligent eye will sometimes speak plainer than the tongue itself. When
wood-cuts are executed with the feeling and skill of these before us, they are
much more to our taste than small copper-plates as illustrations—they are more
like the pen and ink sketches of the artist, they are more spirited and firm in
the drawing, and, besides, are more a part of the book—when printed with the
type they cannot be extracted without injury to the text. The artist and author
are inseparable. Mr. Harvey, whose invention and taste have been most suc-
cessfully exercised in illustrating this elegant volume, has headed each chapter
of Crusoe’s adventures with a small vignette, exhibiting his hero in the most
picturesque situations, and under the most varied circumstances the subject
would admit of—now lying senseless on a dark rock, the white sea-foam dashing
about him with the fury of an implacable enemy—in another place we see him
floating on the raft, the water beneath him calm, and shining with friendly
looks—then wandering in his goat-skins solitarily on the beach, the wide and
melancholy sea stretched out for miles in the distance, blending with the misty
clouds—more lonely still, and the sea more melancholy still, in another page,
with the dead body, flung like a weed on the sand—then after these solitary
figures we suddenly turn upon the wild fantastic group of savages dancing round
a fire. This is one of the most spirited designs we have seen for a long while ;
the twisting of the bodies, and free play of limbs, are drawn with knowledge and
power.

The engraver, Mr. Smith, has executed the drawings with corresponding
feeling and taste; there is an attention to the varied textures of objects which
we do not often perceive ia wood-engravers—they generally appear more intent
upon cutting their lines cleverly, and leaving a polished surface, than in repre-
senting the object with a painter’s touch and feeling—we may be gratified with
a tasteful design, with skilful drawing, richness of effect, elegance of action, &c.,
and yet the whole subject may appear of one hard texture—flesh, drapery, rock,
wood, and water. This is what artists call a hard style, and offends the eye
accustomed to observe nature, and to the enjoyment of the best productions of
art.

In some of these cuts there is great tenderness in the sky tints—the distance
melts away from the sight—the water looks watery, and the sands level—the
edges of objects are softened and rounded, and on the principal figures bold bits
of black contrasted with dashes of white. We particularly like the Ship on
Fire—Crusoe with his Family—Chinese Feeding—Friday and his Gun—and
the Sea and Shipping.

The Spirit of the Plays of Shakspeare eahibited in a Series of Outlines, by
Frank Howard, No. X XI.—Richard the Third and Henry the Eighth form the
subjects of this number, and supply a full proportion of striking and effective
points for illustration—all of an equal, or very nearly equal degree of merit.
These outlines, though of no great value to the admirers of the great poet as
illustrations of Shakspeare—for a single good head would be worth them all—
will find favour in the eyes of the artist and the antiquarian, and furnish abun-

216 Fine Arts’ Publications. LAveusr,

dant hints to actors in the adoption of costume. Richard the Third, produced
in this style, would be a new play.

History and Topography of the United States of America.—America will have
reason to be satisfied with her history and its embellishments. The work is
now half completed, having reached its fifteenth part. The promises held out
are likely to be realized—a consummation less usual than desirable. The nar-
rative, besides comprising a great deal of useful information, has the rare merit
of being impartial ; and the engravings are worthy of the text.

Four-and-twenty Designs, intended for transferring upon white Wood.—Acker-
mann’s caustic-varnish is to accomplish this object, and it could scarcely transfer
two dozen prettier little decorations.

Characteristic Sketches of Animals, drawn and engraved by Thomas Lundseer.—
Mr. Landseer’s masterly hand is observable in every horn and hoof of this
splendid zoological collection. His quadrupeds are all spirit, action, and nature.
The texture of the coats of the different animals is admirably preserved. The
Llama (a picturesque likeness), thé Wapiti, and the Nil-ghau, in the number
before us, appear the work of different hands, each being treated (as it ought to
be) in a style quite distinct from that of its companions, and all being equally
characteristic. The vignettes are little miniatures worthy of the full-lengths.

The English School.—This beautiful series of outlines, illustrative of the
English school of art, requires no further commendation from us than a mere
notice of its continuance; the latter numbers partake of the same interest, and
are marked by the same care and fidelity, that formed the excellence of those
previously before the public. It is a work which merits every encouragement,
and ought to be in the possession (it is very cheap) of every admirer of
English painting and sculpture. Our recollections of the most favoured pro-
ductions of art are vividly awakened as we turn over the pages of this small
outline edition of them.

The Biblical Series of the Family Cabinet Atlas is upon the same plan as that
of the work from which it takes its name. It is a production of much ingenuity,
and will undoubtedly have its use, though if regarded merely as a curiosity we
could scarcely pronounce it dear. Those who value their eyes, however, ought
to be cautious how they inquire too closely into maps so minute as these.
Admirably as they may be adapted for binding up with the ‘‘ Family Library,”
we think it a pity that they were not engraved upon a somewhat larger scale.

Landscape Illustrations of the Waverley Novels, Parts XIV. and XV.—These
eight views are equal, in interest of subject and in excellence of execution, to
the best of the now numerous landscapes that have preceded them. The hills,
rivers, inns, and bridges, answer both to nature and the descriptions, which is
much more than can be said of the un-Scott-like creations that we sometimes see
submitted to the world as illustrations of the characters of the Waverley Novels.
The drawings for these eight engravings bear the names of Copley Fielding,
Roberts, Evans, Prout, Cattermole, W. Westall, &c.

Illustrated Road Book of the Route from London to Naples, Part I.—The first
of five parts, intended to complete the work, gives token of a production of no
common beauty and value. It will contain twenty-four engravings, by the two
Findens, after drawings by Prout, Stanfield, and Brockedon. Each part will
comprise a distinct portion of the route, with illustrations to accompany it—as_
from London to Paris, and thence to Turin, Florence, Rome, and Naples. The
work will thus present a succession of the most romantic and-remarkable views
of English, French, and Italian scenery, in the whole line of road from London
to Naples. Those here given are of the highest order, and at once stamp the
publication as one that will have charms and attractions alike for the eyes of
those who travel, as for those who are satisfied (or condemned) to admire nature
at home through the medium of art.. The views are, Dover, by Stanfield—
Calais, by Prout—Abbeville, Stanfield again, in a new way—Beauyais, Prout,
finer than before—and, certainly not the least lovely, Place Louis XVI., by
Brockedon. The Messrs. Finden have seldom exercised their talents with better
effect. The editor also undertakes to correct the errors and mis-statements of

1831.] Fine Arts’ Publications. 217

other tourists, in which, though he will have a great deal to do, he will be very
usefully employed.

The Views in the East.—India, Canton, and the shores of the Red Sea, are not
likely to be soon exhausted ; they continue to supply a beautiful succession of
subjects for the talents of the eminent artists engaged upon this work. Captain
Elliot’s sketches have received ample justice at their hands. Of the three
engravings in’ this number we scarcely know which to prefer; the last is cer-
tainly not the least—a view of the Water Palace at Mandoo; but beautiful as it
is, we cannot pronounce the others inferior to it.

National Portrait Gallery, Parts X XVI. and VII.—The gallery is here
enriched with several valuable and interesting accessions to its illustrious list.
At the head of them stands the portrait of the King, and then follows a monarch
of a different order—Sir Walter Scott. For the accuracy of the likeness we
cannot say much, but the biographer has done him better justice than the
artist. The other portraits are those of Viscount Exmouth, Lord Lynedoch, the
Earl of Albemarle, and the Bishop of Bristol—well engraved, and worthy of
the rest.

Illustrations of Don Quixote.—These illustrations are ‘‘ dedicated to the
memory of Cervantes ;’’ we wish they were more worthy of it. Mr. Alken is
a clever man, and he has got his designs cleverly engraved; but if the glorious
old knight were precisely the personage here figured, the world would not have
laughed at him for so many years, and would very soon close his history for
ever. As portraits of a thin man and a thin horse, they are successful enough ;
as Quixotes and Rosinantes, they are unspiritual and commonplace.

Of Man, Six Monograms, by David Scott, S.A.—These monograms require
a key to render them generally intelligible. We detect glimpses of grandeur in
them, and indications of philosophical meaning, boldly shadowed forth. They
treat of Life, of Relation, of Knowledge, of Intellect, of Power, and of Death;
the last forming a group that Fuselli might have painted, or Shelley clothed in
the colours of poetry.

4 concise Description of selected Apples, by Hugh Ronalds, F.H.S. Witha
Figure of each Sort, drawn from Nature, upon Stone, by his Daughter.—We never
imagined that any thing half so beautiful or interesting could be painted, or
said, about apples. We congratulate the learned horticulturalist, and all
who seek to cultivate this excellent and useful fruit, upon a publication which
treats not only of the management of orchards, but, to use the words of the
preface, “‘ of extensive and smaller gardens, for paradise stocks, for the purpose
of sale, and for walls.”” The drawings are beautifully executed, and possess all
the richness and colouring of nature. We recommend Miss Ronalds to
pursue the path she has entered upon, assured that full success must attend her
labours.

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PRESS.

By Miss IF. Kemble: Francis the
First, an Historical Drama.

_ By Messrs. Lander: A Journal of an

Hampden, his Party, and his Times,

with Portraits and Autograph Letters.
The Sketch of Venetian History, of

which one volume has been published,

Expedition to explore the Course and
Termination of the Niger, embellished
with illustrative Engravings, and a Map
of the Route.

By Dr. Southey: a second Series of
Colloquies on the Progress and Pros-
pects of Society. The third volume
of his History of the Peninsular War
will appear this season: and Essays,
Moral and Political, in two volumes.

By Lord Nugént: Memorials of

will be completed in a second, to appear
in the Family Library.

By Allan Cunningham : the fifth (and
final) volume of Lives of the Painters.
It will contain twelve lives; viz.— Jame-
son, Ramsay, Romney, Runieman,
Copley (father of Lord Lyndhurst),
Mortimore, Raeburn, Hoppner, Owen,
Lawrence, Harlow, and Bonnington.

A Life of Sir Isaac Newton, by Dr.
Brewster ;aTour through South Holland,

218

with designs by Lieutenant-Col. Batty,
who also engraves them; a detailed
History of the Mutiny in the Bounty
(which has supplied a subject for Lord
Byron’s Island) ; the second volume of
the Sketches of Venetian History ; and
a work on Chemistry, are among the
volumes of the Family Library now in
the press.

A Picturesque Annual has been an-
nounced, embellished by Stanfield, and
to be edited by Leitch Richie.

By James Prinsep, Esq.: the Holy
City of Benares, illustrated in a series
of beautifully finished plates.

By the Rey. William Liddiard: a
Tour in Switzerland, in one volume,
interspersed with Poetry.

By Captain Head: a series of Views
to illustrate the very interesting Scenery
met with in the Overland Journey from
Europe to India, by way of the Red Sea,
throu ee &e.

By Lord Dover: a Life of Frederic
the Great, King of Prussia. It is ex-
pected that this work will appear in the
course of the Autumn.

By the Baron Heurteloup: Principles
of Lithotrity, or, a Treatise on the Art
of Curing the Stone without Incision.

A Key to Bernay’s Familiar German
Exercises.

By Bisset Hawkins, M.D.: Sum-
mary of Facts hitherto ascertained re-
specting the Cholera of Russia, with a
detail of its Progress from Asia to
Europe.

By Mr. Gould: Ornithological De-
lineations, in Continuation ofhis Century
of Birds, from the Himalaya Mountains,
never previously figured. ‘The descrip-
tions will be supplied by N. A. Vigors,
Esq- F.R.S.

By Mr. Britton : the History of Wor-
cester Cathedral, uniform with that of
Hereford, &c. And bythe same Au-
thor, Descriptive Sketches of Tunbridge
Wells, and the Improvements on the
Calverley Estate; also of the Pic-
turesque Scenery, Seats, and Antiqui-
ties in the Vicinity.

LIST OF NEW WORKS.
BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

A Memoir of Sebastian Cabot, with a
Review of the History of Maritime Dis-
covery. 8vo. 10s.

The Speeches of the Right Hon. W.
Huskisson, with a Biographical Memoir.
3 vols. 8vo. £2. 2s.

State Papers, published under the
Authority of His Majesty’s Commis-
sioners. Vol. 1. 4te. King Henry VIII.
£3. 3s.

List of New Works.

[Aueusr,

Tytler’s History of Scotland. Vol.
IV. 8vo. 12s,

An Historical Inquiry into the Pro-
duction of the Precious Metals. By
Wm. Jacob, Esq. 2 vols. 8vo. 24s.

Annals of some of the British Norman
Isles, constituting the Bailewick of
Guernsy. By John Jacobs, Esq. Royal
8vo. Plates. £1. 2s. 6d.

History of the Northmen, or Danes
and Normans, from the earliest Time to
the Conquest of England, by William
of Normandy. By Henry Wheaton.
8vo. 8s.

MEDICAL.

A Manual of Materia Medica and
Pharmacy ; comprising a concise des-
cription of the Articles used in Medi-
cine. Translated from the French of
H. M. Edwards, M.D., and P. Vavas-
oe M.D. By John Davies. 8vo.
2s.

A Treatise on Cholera, as it appeared
in Asia, and more recently in Europe.
By Geo. Hamilton Bell. 8vo. 5. 6d.
as Cocks’s Pathological Anatomy. 32mo.
S.

MISCELLANEOUS.

An Explanation of the Nature and-
Properties of Logarithms. By the Rev.
James Little. 8vo. 8s.

Facts Illustrative of the Administra-
tion and Consequences of the Punish-
ment of Death in the Metropolis. By
Edward Gibbonn Wakefield, Esq. 12mo.

Past and Present Times. By a Lady.
12mo. 5s. 6d.

Kidd’s Picturesque Pocket Companion
is Margate and Ramsgate, &c. 12mo.

Se

Lanzi’s History of Painting. 2 vols.
crown 8vo. 16s.

Van Diemen’s Land Almanack for

1831. 12mo. 5s.

Philosophy in Sport. By Dr. Paris.
3 vols. 12mo. lds.

Knowledge for the People, Zoological
Series. I8mo. 4s.

Planta’s New Picture of Paris.
edition enlarged. 9s.

Eight introductory Lectures at the
London University Sessions, 1829-30

16th

and 3l. 8vo. Qs.

A Preparation for Euclid. 12mo.
3s. 6d.

Chance’s Treatise on Powers. Vol. I.
royal 8vo. 2ls.

A Concise Description of selected
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Britton’s History, &c. of Hereford
Cathedral, No. 3. to complete the Ac-
count of that Cathedral.

De la Beche’s Manual of Geology.
12mo. 18s.

1831.

Booth’s Principles of English Com-
position. 12mo, 7s. 6d.

Britton’s Architectural Dictionary,
with ten Engravings.

NOVELS AND TALES.

The Dutchman’s Fireside. A Tale
by the Author of “ Letters from the

South.” 2 vols. post 8vo. 2ls.
Harrison’sTales ofa Physician, second
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Ben Howard, or the Pedlar and the
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The Club Book,- consisting of Original
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The Staff-Officer, or the Soldier of
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3 vols, post 8vo. 24s,

Rustum Khan, or, Fourteen Nights’
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Roscoe’s Novelist Library. Vol. III.
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Standard Novels. Vol. V.. Godwin’s
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POETRY.

Specimens of Macaronic Poetry, with
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Osmin and Leila, a Turkish Tale,
with other Poems. By P. E. Byrne.
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The German Muse; the Worth of
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Ritson’s Fairy Tales. crown 8vo. 9s.

RELIGION AND MORALS,

The Popular Evidence of Christianity
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Sermons Preached to a Country Con-
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odes. 12mo. 5s.

The Works of the late Rev. Robert

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List of New Works.

219
Hall. Edited by Dr. O. Gregory.
Vol.I. 8vo. 12s, :
Marshall on Ecclesiastical Establish-
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Carson on Baptism. 8vo. 7s.

Selections from the Works of Hooker.
By the Rev. H. Clipold. 12mo. 3s.

Trinitarian and Unitarian Sermons,
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Ryan’s Lectures for Religious In-
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The Pious Christian’s Daily Prepara-
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Sermons on Various Subjeets of Chris-
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VOYAGES AND TRAVELS.

Beechey’s Voyage to the, Pacific.
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Family Library. Vol. XXIII. Bein
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5s.

Dates and Distances, shewing what
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New Estate, or Young Travellers in
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BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

Boswell’s Life of Dr. Johnson, a new
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The Life of Bishop Kerr. Vol. II.
By the Rev. W. L. Bowles. 8vo. 15s.

The Life and Death of Lord Edward
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2 vols. post 8vo.

Life and Adventures of Nathaniel
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The Lives of Celebrated Travellers,
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tional Library. 12mo. 6s.

[ 220 J

[ Aueusr,

PATENTS FOR MECHANICAL AND CHEMICAL INVENTIONS.

To William Geofrey Kneller, Hack.
ney, Middlesex, Esq., for certain im-
provements on stills or apparatus for
distilling.—29th June ; 6 months.

‘To Jacob Perkins, Fleet-street, Lon-
don, engineer, for improvements in

‘generating steam.—2d July ; 6 months.

To Baron Charles Wetterstedt,
Whitechapel-road, Middlesex, for a com-
position or combination of materials for
sheathing, painting, or preserving ships’
bottoms, and for other purposes.—G6th
July ; 6 months.

Yo Robert Hicks, Wimpole-street,
Middlesex, surgeon, for certain im-
provements in culinary apparatus.—6th
July ; 6 months.

To Adolphe Jacquessou, Leicester-
square, Middlesex, Esq., for certain im-
provements in machinery or apparatus
applicable to lithographic and other
ee ae July ; 6 months.

To Richard Prosser, Birmingham,
Warwick, civil engineer, for certain
improvements in manufacturing nails
or tacks for ornamenting boxes and arti-
cles of furniture.—13th July ; 2 months.

To John Milne, Shaw, Oldham, Lan-
caster, cotton spinner, for improve-
ments on certain instruments or ma-
chines commonly called roving frames

“and slubbing frames, used for preparing

cotton wool for spinning.—l3th July ;
2 months.

To Moses Poole, of the. Patent Office,
Lincoln’s-inn, Middlesex, gentleman,
for certain improvements in steam en-
rei and in propelling boats and other

oating bodies, parts of which improve-
ments are applicable to other purposes.
—13th July; 6 months.

To Augustus Demondion, Old Fish-
street-hill, London, tor certain improve-
ments on guns, muskets, and other fire-
arms, and in cartridges to be used there-
with, and method of priming the same,
and in the machinery for making the
said guns, muskets, and fire-arms, also
the cartridges and priming, which im-
provements are also applicable to other
purposes.—13th July ; 6 months.

To James Pycroft, Rolleston, near
Burton-on-Trent, Staffordshire, gentle-
man, for certain improvements con-
nected with grates and other fire-places.
—13th July ; 6 months.

To Sampson Mordau, Castle-street,
East Finsbury, Middlesex, engineer,
for certain improvements in writing and
drawing pens and penholders, and in
the method of using them.—13th July ;
2 months.

To William Batten, Rochester, Kent,
gentleman, for an apparatus for check-
ing or stopping chain cables, which
apparatus may be applied to other pur-
poses.—13th July ; 6 months.

To John De Burgh, Marquess of
Clanricarde, for certain improvements
in fire-arms and in the projectiles to be
used therewith.—15th July ; 6 months.
List of Patents which having been granted

in the month of August, 1817, expire in

the present month of August, 1831.

5. Louis Felix Vallet, London, for
his new ornamental surface to metals, or
metallic compositions.

— George Stratton, London, for his
improved fire-places, and method of ven-
tilating buildings.

— Charles Atwood, London, for his
improved manufacture of glass.

— John Hawks, Gateshead, Durham,
for his new iron rails for rail-ways.

— Ludvid Granhdern, London, for
his method of preserving animal and vege-
table food for stores.

— Anthony Hill, Plymouth, for his
improvements in the working of iron.

— John Dickinson, Abbots-Langley,
Hertfordshire, for his improved method of
manufacturing paper.

— Dennis MacCarthy, London, for
his improvements on ploughs of various
descriptions.

— John Perks, Westminster, for his
apparatus for purifying and storing gas.

— Thomas Taft, Birmingham, for his
improved bridle and reins. ‘

7. Samuel Mersey, London, for his
improved method of making livery and coach
lace.

9. Edmund Richard Ball, Albury,
Surrey, for his improved paper.

12. Edward Biggs, Birmingham, for
his improved method of making pans and
stails.

— James Bounsall, London, for his
machine for tarring, reeling, and twisting
yarn and improved cordage.

— William Geldart, and John Sewant,
Leeds, for their improvements in man-
gles.

23. Jeptha Avery Wilkinson, London,
Sor machinery for making weavers’ reeds.

26. George Medhurst, London, for an
hydraulic balance.

28. James Mason Champness, and
Henry Binks, Cheshunt-street, Hert-
fordshire, for their improved aaletrees for
carriages,

1831.]

[ 221 J

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BANKRUPTCIES,
Announced from June 20th, to July 22d, 1831, in the London Gazette.

[Errata in last Number—In place of “« Bankrupts from May 23 to June 23"—read, from May 20 to
June 20, &e.]

BANKRUPTCIES SUPERSEDED.

J. J. Seagood, Bread-street, table-linen manu-
facturer,

A. Woodhead, Salford, common-brewer.

'T. P. Lansdown, Chitton, victualler.

D. Lodge, Poole, ironmonger.

S. Ramsden, Calne, cotton-manufacturer.

R. Monteith, Sloane-street, merchant.

J. Williams, Manchester, chemist.

T. F. Dronght, Ilminster, druggist.

J. Toms, Kensington, grocer.

J. Shuttleworth, Liverpool, farmer.

W. Richardson, Clementhorp, Yorkshire, farmer,

BANKRUPTCIES.
[ This Month 116.]

Solicitors’ Names are in Parentheses.
Atkin, D. and D. Wheeler, Lambeth, Southwark,
brewers. (Teesdale and Co,, Fenchurch-street.

Alves, J., Norton-street, bill-broker. (Roberts,
Milman-street.
Ablett, J., Hollen-street, builder. (Williams,

Aifred-place.

Adams, M. Atherstone, hat-manufacturer, (Bur-
foot, King’s-bench-walk, Temple.

Armitage, W.H.,hop-merchant. (Wilksand Co.,
Finsbury-place.

Bernard, C., late of Calcutta, merchant. (Til-
leard and Co., Old Jewry.

Bassett, W., Dean-street, builder.
street.

Bugg, J. and H. Bugg, the younger, and G. Bugg,
Spalding, bankers, (Bonner, Spalding.

Brown, J., Sheerness and Tenby, oyster-merchant.
(Smith and Co., Cooper’s-ball.

Bishop, E. W., Pentonville, builder.
and Co., Furnival’s-inn.

Birch, R.,Shrewsbury, grocer.

(Bird, Adam-

(Sylvester
(Watson, Shrews-

bury.

Beckett, S. Hodge, cotton-spinner, (Walmsley
and Cu,, Chancery-lane.

Burton, B. Cartworth, plumber. (Bignoldand Co.,
Bridge-street.

Clark, W., Ilford, victualler.
poul-street.

Cash, J., Liverpool, tailor.
pool; Chester, Staple-inn.
Couchman, W., Bishopsgate-street, linen-draper.

~ (Ashurst, Newgate-street.

Crowther, S. Bradford, worsted-spinner, (Lister,
Cleckeaton.

Cuoper, J., Aylesbury-street, oilman. (Berkley,
New-square, Lincoln’s-inn.

Chapman, J. N., Bridgewater,
(Gregory and Sinith, Bristol.

Carter, J., Poppin’s-coust, victualler,
Fleet-street.

Chandler, C. Poulshot, Wiltshire, cattle salesman.
(Jeyes, Chancery-lane.

Dobson, T., elder, T. Dobson, younger, Kidder-
minster and City-road, carpet-manufacturers,

- (Brinton, Kidderminster.

Drakelford, D., Austin-friars, broker. (Hudson,
King-street,

Dauglitrey, W. C. and J., Kidderminster and
Bartlett’s-buildings, carpet-manutacturers.
(Dangerfield, Lincoln’s-inn-tields.

Davison and Nouaillie, Star-court, Bread-street,
silkmen. (Crowether and Maynard, Lothbary.

Emery, W., Bristol, cornfactor. (Cary and Co.,

' Bristol.

Edge, J., New-mills, Glossop, Derbyshire, calico-
rinter. (Adlington and Uo., Bedford-row.
Filton, J., Somer’s-town and Brighton, leather-

cutter. (Davies and Co,, Princes-street,

(Woolley, Liver-

(Moreeroft, Liver-

linen-draper,

(Brough,

Featham, R.., Islington, builder.
Co., Lombard-street.
Flint, H., Liverpool, boarding-house-keeper.
(Watson and Co., Faleon-square.
Faux, R., Bordesley, hop-merchant.
Birmingham.

Fairclough, J., Rdgworth, calico-printer. (Win-
der, Bolton-le-Moors,

Flint, P., Burlington-arcade, bookseller,
ton, Mildred’s-court, Poultry,

Giles, W., Lad-lane, ribbon-warehouseman.
(Fisher, Walbrook.
Gibbs, W., Savage-gardens,
(Willey and Co., Lothbury.
Goode, J., Wilderness-row, engineer. (Faweett,
Jewin-street.

Goldsmid, L. P., Carburton-street, bill-broker,
(Howard, Norfolk-street, Strand.

Hodson, S., Portland-town, victaaller. (Lyle,
Mecklenburg-square.

Hill, J., Little Pulteney-street, dyer. (Rightley,
Argyle-chambers, Regent-street.

Harral, J. H., Kirkgate, fruiterer. (Frost, Hall.

Hodson, S., Glossop, cotton-spinner. (Morris
and Co., Manchester.

Hookey, J., Portsea, draper. . (Long, Portsea.

Honghbton,W.T., Lambeth, coal-merchant. (Dods,
Northumberland-street.

a J.€., Iver-heath, miller. (Burn, Fineh-
ane,

Hooper, J., elder, and E, Franklin, Westbury,
bankers. (Tilby, Devizes.
Huxtable, J., Bristol, factor.

Bristol.
Hartwell, T., Derby, . silk-throwster.

(Brooking and
(Capper,
(Par-

wine-merchant.

(Bevan and Co.,
(Dalby,

Derby.

Harris, L. R., St.Giles’s, grocer, (Glynes,Ame-
rican-square, is

Johnson, R., Liverpool, glazier. (Rowson, Pres-

cot.

Jenkins, J., Drayton and J. Pillgwenlly, coal-
merchants. (lower, Lincoln’s-inn-tields ; Le-
man and Son, Bristol. ng

Jenks, J., Bromyard, tanner. (Collins, Ledbury.

Jones, D., St. Woollos, draper. (Mason, Liver-
pool,

Isaacson, R. A. and §.,Strand, printers.

Jones, J., Well-street, engineer. (Wright, Hart-
street, Bloomsbury.

Kitehing,S., Leeds, victualler. (Hoden, Leeds.

Kent, M. Andover, Hants,, draper. (Aslurst,
Newgate-street.

Lloyd, G., Stingo-lane, brewer. (Reynolds, Kings-
land-road,

Litt, W. P., and J. J. Harrison and W. Harrison,
Lime street, merchants. (Haddan and Co.,
Angel-court.

Lodge, D., Poole, ironmonger. (Holme and Co.,
Now-inn ; Parr, Poole.

Luke, J., Mark-lane, wine-merchant, (Cruick-
shank, King's-arms-yard,

Law, G., Liverpool, builder. -(Holme and Co.,
New-inn,

Lewis, W., Reading, brewer. (Pittman, Padding-
ton-green.

Mareh, J. Tutbury, grocer.
‘Throgmorton-street,

Morn J.,Sculcoate and Hull, dealer.
Hall.

Moore, J. M., Ashbourne, innkeeper. (Flint, Ut-
tuxeter,

Moore, W. and J. M‘Creight, Liverpool, corn-
merchants, (Bardswell, Liverpool.

Moses, ‘I. M., Stockton-upon-'Tees, joiner, &c.
(Marshall, Durham.

Merryweather,S,, Manchester, brewer. (Mallock,
Southampton-street,

(Amory and Co.,

(Frost,

222

Marsh, J., Manchester, inn-keeper.
and Co., Manchester.

Martin, T., and F. Richard, Lordon-wall and
Leeds, wool-brokers. (Hindman and Co., Ba-
singhall-street.

Muddell, J., New-street, hosier.
Broad street.

Morville, J., Wakefield, horse-dealer, (Rathbone,
Crown-court; Janson, Wakefield.

Mackenzie, A.,sen., Liverpool, liquor-merchant.
(Cuvelje, Great James-street.

Mott, F. O. P., King-street, Bloomsbury, coach-
maker, (Baker and Hodson, Lincoln’s inn-
fields.

Naylor, J., Milk-street, woollen-warehouseman.
(Hisher, 162, Aldersgate-street.

Needham, E., Stockport, currier. (Milne and Co.,
Temple.

(Crossley

(Aston, Old

Osborn, J., Gainsborough, iroumonger. (Shep-
herd, Great Driffield.
Owen, J., Chiswell-street, victualler, (Glynes,

America-square.

Overton, J. L., Leamington Priors, builder.
(Haynes, Warwick.

Phillips, J., Brook-street, tobacconist.
Jewin-street.

Pattison, W., Wetherby, spirit-merchant. (Bail-
lie, Tadcaster.

Payne, D. B., H. Hope, and G. H. Hope, Wells,
bankers. (Brookes, Wells.

Palmer, J., Birmingham, scrivener.
Birmingham,

Phipp, P., Union-court, auctioneer. (Taylor, Kinge
street, Cheapside.

Poutin, J. M., ‘Turnmill-street, wire-weaver.
(Rush, Crown-court, Threadnecdle-street.

(Norton,

(Parker,

Richardson, W., Clementhorpe, tanner. (Blan-
ehaid and Co., York.
Rayen, J. S., Skinner-street, grocer. (Wigley,

Essex-street, Strand.
Riley, T., Coventry, dyer.
Gray’s inn. :
Sawbridge, W., Coventry, ribbon-manufacturer.
(Austen and Co., Gray’s-inn.
Smith, J., Blackman-street,linen-draper. (Ashurst,
Newgate: street.
Salter, J., Tiverton, stationer-
stone-buildings,

(Austen and Co.,

(Bennett, Feather-

Bankrupts.

[August,

Saywell, A,, Queenborough, ‘linen-draper (Ed-
meades, Sheerness. "

Smith, W., Welwyn, grocer. (Grover and Co.,,
Bedford-row.

Sale, S. H.,Glossup,cotton-spinner. (Morris and
Co., Manchester. ;

Smith, W., Turnham-green, draper. (Brooks,
New-inn.

Staton, R., Carlton street, tailor. (Constable and
Co., Symond’s-inn.

Spcaine, D., Carlisle, butcher. (Hodgson, Car-
isle.

Smith, J. C., Lower Deptford-road, ship-owner.
(Long, Staple-inn.

Sutton, J., Andover, seedsman. (Everest, Epsom.

Solomon, E., Bath, jeweller. (Hellings, Bath.

Statham, T. jun., Clunton, cattle-dealer, (Kough,
Shrewsbury.

Tilsley, W., and W. Jones, Newtown, bankers,
(Drew, Newtown. f

Tosker, W., Waterhead mill, Oldham, inn-keeper.
(Shuttleworth, Rochdale.

Tapper, H., ‘Titchfield, innkeeper. (Paddon,
Fareham,

Triggs,H.,Sol’s-row, copper-plate-printer. (Stur-
my, Southwark,

Timbrell, T., Trowbridge, banker, (Egan and
Co., Essex-street; Luxford and Co., Bradford.

Viney; C. Brodsley, Warwickshire, victualler.
(Tooke and Carr, Bedford-row,

Williams,W., St.Woollos, coal-merchant. (M‘Don-
nell and Co., Usk; Prothero and Co., Newport.

Willsaire, W., elder, and G, Willshire, Oxford-
street, bakers. (Young, Mark-lane.

West, T., and A. Brain, younger, Conham, coal-
miners. (Meredith, Birmingham.

White, W., Newent, corn-dealer, (Henderson and
Co., Lancaster-place.

Wright, J. 1. B., Liverpool, druggist.
Liverpool.

Watkins, J.,Old Kent-road, victualler. (Gaitskell,
Southwark.

Wigston, W , Derby, !ace-manufacturer.

West, J., Froome, Selwood, banker and ironmon-
ger. (Jessop, Derby.

Yewens, W., Copthall-court or Pentonville, mine-
agent. (Holt, Threadneedle-street.

(Williams,

MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

Tut process of flowering in the wheats, that most critical advance towards matu-
rity, has, according to the whole tenor of our information, passed off in a healthful
and natural state, and the ears, upon rich lands, are long, full and exuberant. The
drawback as to this crop of crops, 1s, of course, upon aan and foul clay lands, chilled
to the heart by the long and continued moisture of past seasons, and the want of re-
freshment by that first of improvements on all such, under-draining. On these
soils, the corn stands thin, and both the stalk and the ear are short. -On middling
soils also, the ears, though numerous and healthy, which may be looked upon as a
balance, are small, thence not superabundant in kernel. As a consequence of the
few days of rigid and unseasonable frost in May, we, from old experience, foresaw
the foundation of at least a partial blight, which is now confirmed—its well known
indications, to a greater or less degree, being apparent in most crops; in some, that
most dreaded malady the smut, which may be either propagated by smutty seed,
or originate primarily from the atmospheric stroke, however pure the seed sown.
This we painfully experimented and ascertained long since. The Scots are reiterat-
ing their complaints against the fy, as the devourer of their wheats during the last
four years, of which, as lately observed, we have no experience, having always
found the damages to arise from the aphis, in its pediculous, not its winged state.
Nor are we aware, so far as our experience extends, that, the aphis fly survives the
winter, though we do not deny the possibility. The same rule holds, so far as we
know, in reference to the turnip crop—no blight, no fly ; though some letters state
the smail damage which during the present season has been done to those plants, to
have been occasioned by last year’s flies, or even those of several seasons old. The
wheat, indeed all the culmiferous crops on the poorest and thinnest light lands, were
subjected to a variety, some of them incurable defects, from the long drought, and

1831. ] Agricultural Report. 223

the beans are partially injured by the insect; but in general, though short in the
haulm, it is fully podded. As a whole, wheat, rye, barley, oats, potatoes, turnips,
are sanguinely expected to produce a full average crop; but to repeat our last
year’s caution, we say aspice finem, let us wait the event; we shall determine with
more accuracy, after the harvest shall have been got in, and the articles submitted
to the test of measure and value. In Ireland, they speak most decisively of the
luxuriance of their crops; in Scotland, with less assurance; and on many parts of
the continent they apprehend considerable failure, the drought probably having
been there more severe and continuous, than in our insular climate.

The late heavy storms of wind and rain, fortunately of short duration, battered
down the bulkiest and most luxuriant crops in exposed quarters. The grain must
be thence subject to certain degrees of damage, and the former to an additional
expence in harvesting. ‘The period since has been almost diurnally showery, but
the temperature mild, yet to a degree influensal, the wind generally in the S. W.,
but almost daily and temporarily verging towards the N.,and precluding the access
of any excessive dog-day heats. Our ancient acquaintance Swithin, who by patent
is Sanctus pluviosus, has been daily exercising his privilege of either moistening or
drenching us, and should he proceed to the full length of his tether, namely, forty
days, he will add considerably to the labour and expense of the harvest, the com-
mencement of which upon the forwardest lands is matter of daily expectation. On
such, considerable quantities of peas have been already harvested in fine condition.
On some lands, the vermin have made great havoc with this crop. All the
grasses have failed in point of quantity, ant we have another greatly deficient crop
of clover. The hay, however, is generally well got up, and the quality excellent, a
great calgon to those stock breeders, in the North particularly, who hold such
numerous herds from the impossibility of obtaining a remunerating price for their
store cattle. On the head of live stock, there seems to be nothing new. Horned
cattle and horses at the fairs, are generally quoted lower, but with frequent excep-
tions, chiefly in the South. As to the élite of saddle and coach horses, they have,
for years past, defied all market variation or decline; and in Norfolk, and some other
counties, high quality in the cattle has commanded a brisk sale, and high price.
Pig stock, particularly the young, are quoted dearer, yet we have been of late much
surprised to hear several farmers assert, that there is no profit attached to pig
breeding. All speculation is on the side of an advance on wool, which nevertheless
is yet tardy. The hops are in somewhat of a dubious state, from the various ap-
ipa of blight upon them, though the bine is exceedingly strong and luxuriant.

Worcester and Herefordshire are said to be most fortunate with this precarious
crop. The few crops of flax grown, chiefly in the S. W., are most beautiful and
flourishing. Of hemp, another ornamental as well as useful crop, we have heard little
of late years, even in Norfolk; and saffron, we suppose, has been long extinct, even
at Saffron Walden. The great demand for bread corn has long since nearly extin-
guished all crops of those extra kinds, which we willingly import, as the great de-
claimers against importation are in the constant habit of doing with all sorts of seeds.
From the constant rains, the second crop of grass must prove abundant ; thence, from
the fine quality of the one and the quantity of the other, it may yet prove a fortunate
hay and grass season. In Scotland, they complain of a disease in thé oats, there
styled the leg or tulip root, of which we have no experience, at least, under that
nick-name ; they also say, that their land has grown tired of clover, a very com-
mon complaint with us in former days, which, however, we then supposed to origi-
nate chiefly in an improper management of that crop. We have seen in this
country the stoutest and heaviest crops of clover we ever witnessed. ie the
fruits were so generally cut off in quantity, there has yet been no scarcity of those
in season, but at an advanced price.

The following is a wonderful evidence of the immense powers of multiplication in
seeds. A single rye-grass seed produced 278 stems. ‘There were 15 joints in each
stem, each joint containing 10 seeds, making the extraordinary total of 41,70@ seeds.
The plant was grown, and the account taken by Mr. Reeve, of Yalding.

Smithfield.— Beef, 3s. 8d. to 4s. 4d.—Mutton, 3s. 8d. to 4s. 6d.— Veal, ds. to 5s.
—Lamb, 4s. @d. to 5s. 6d.—Dairy-Pork, 5s.—Rough fat, 2s. 7d.

Corn Exchange.—W heat, 55s. to 72s.—Barley, 263. to 34s.—Oats, 21s. to 32s.—
Bread, 4lb. London loaf, 10d.—Hay, 50s. to 84s.—Clover ditto, 70s. to 120s.—
Straw, 27s. to 38s.

Coal Exchange.—Coals, in the Pool, 31s. 6d, to 328. 3d. per chaldron.

Middlesex, July 25th,

[ 224 j

[Aveusz,

ECCLESIASTICAL PREFERMENTS, MARRIAGES, DEATHS, ETC.

Rev. W.S. Phillips to be Chaplain to
Bishop of Gloucester —Rev. W. Knight
to the perpetual Curacy of St. James’s,
Myton.—Reyv. T. G. Parr, to the per-
petual Curacy of St. Michael’s, Lich-
field.—Rev. C. F. Millard, to the Vi-
carage of Sedgeford, Norfolk.—Rev. C.
Underwood, to the Vicarage of Upton
Bishop, Herefordshire.—Rev. 5
Luteridge, to the perpetual Curacy of
St. Paul, Huddersfield—Rev. C. Clut-
ton, to the Vicarage of Lugwardine,
Herefordshire.—Rev. A. Matthews, to
‘be Canon Residentiary of Hereford.—
Rev. H. Huntingford, to the office of
Protector in Divinity in the cathedral
church of Hereford.—Rev. Sir G. W.
Bishop, Bart., to the Deanery of Liss-
more.—Rev. 8. V. L. Hammick, to the
Ministry of Brunswick chapel, St.
Marylebone.-—Rev. H. W. Cottle to
the Vicarage of Watford, Northampton.
—Rev. S. Hudson, jun., to the Rectory
of Castle Carrock, Cumberland.—Rev.
G. Mason, to the Rectory of Whitwell,
Derbyshire.—Rev. G. Woods, to the
Rectory of Westdean-cum-Singleton,
Sussex._Rev. J. Clifton, to the Vicarage
of Willoughby-on-the-Wolds, Notting-
-ham.—Rev. J. F. Woodham, to be Chap-
lain to the County Jail, Hants.—Rev.
.C. Sympson, to the Rectory of 'Teversall,
Notts.—Rev. G. H. Bowen, to the Rec-
tory of St. Paul, Covent Garden.—
Rev. J. Vaughan, to be afternoon Lec-
turer of St. Clement Danes, London.—
-Rev. C. Swan, to the Rectory of St.
-Michael's, Stamford.—Rev. J. White,
to the Vicarage of Saxilly, Lincolnshire.
—Rev. W. Dusatoy, to the Rectory of
Exton, Hants.—Rev. T. R. Wolcome,
to be Rural Dean of the Deanery of
Castle Martin.—Rev. H. Nicholls, of
-Barnstaple, to the Vicarage of Rock-
-bear, Devon.—Rev. W. Ford, to the
perpetual Curacy of Cumwhitton.

HOME MARRIAGES.

_ Sir B. R. Graham, Bart., to Harriet,
fifth daughter of the Rev. R. Cottam.
—J. Stuckey, Esq., to Monique, niece
of the late Sir W. Bellingham, Bart.—
E. Tremayne, Esq.. to Sarah Henrietta,
only daughter of Rear Admiral Wat-
kins.— J. Webber, Esq., to Susan, fourth
daughter of General Churchill.—Rev.
R. Berners, youngest son of Archdeacon
Berners, to Eliza, third daughter of the
late General Sir C. Cuyler, Bart.—Rev.

K. C. Bayley, to Miss Charlotte Brock-
man.—Rev. W. Horne, eldest son of
Sir W. Horne, his Majesty’s Solicitor
General, to Miss Elizabeth Busk.—
Lieut. Col. Hughes, to Eliza Luther,
daughter of J. Taylor, Esq., late phy-
sicilan to the King.—Sir John Ogilvey,
Bart., to Juliana Barbara, youngest
daughter of the late Lord Henry
Howard, and niece to the Duke 6f
Norfolk.—M. T. Smith, Esq., M. P., to
Louisa, third daughter of Sir M W.
Ridley, Bart., M.P.—Rev. C. I. Glyn,
son of Sir. R. C. Glyn, Bart., to Miss
Augusta Granville.

HOME DEATHS.

Admiral Sir John Knight, 83.—W.
Roscoe, Esq., 77. — Lady Eldon, 76,
wife of the Earl of Eldon.—Lord Grey,
son of Earl Wilton.— Vice-Admiral
Viscount ‘Torrington, 64.—Rev. Dr.
Randolph, 77.—At Plymouth, Anna,
Baroness Trimlestoun, 73, widow of
Robert, Lord 'Frimlestoun.—At Bath,
Hon. Eliza Baillie, relict of Colonel W.
A. Baillie, and daughter of Viscount
Doneraile.—In Arlington-street, Lord
Robert Spencer, 83.—Very Rev. J.
Bayly, Dean of Lissmore.—Lady Ka-
tharine Walpole, 82.—At Merton Ab-
bey, Rear Admiral Isaac Smith, 79.—
At Derrymore, Mathew Greany, 107.—
At Trowell, in which village he was born,
Mr. John Bacon, 100.—In the World’s-
end-passage, Chelsea, Charles Patrick
Gibson, 111.—Rev. John Gutch, 86.—
R. W. Elliston, Esq., 58.—At Bath, C.
Phillott, Esq., 85. — At Roehampton,
Lord Augustus Hill, fourth son of the
late Marquess of Downshire.—Sir. G.
Montgomery, Bart., M.P., Peebles.

MARRIAGES ABROAD.

At Malta, the Earl of Rothes, to
Louisa, third daughter of Col. Mors-
head.—At Leghorn, A. Homfray, Esq.,
son of Sir J. Homftray, to Kustatia,
daughter of Vice-Admiral Donnelly, and
sister of Lady Audley.—At Jersey, C.
Franklyn, Esq., to Emily H. Torrens,
daughter of the late Lieutenant Colonel
Popham.

DEATHS ABROAD.

At Paris, Earl of Dundonnald, 83.— _
At Kleizewo, General Diebitsch Sabal-
kansky, commander in chief of the Rus-
sian forces in Poland.— At Sidney,
(Australia), Dr. Halloran, 65.— 'The
Grand Duke Constantine.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

Vou. KIT.) SEPTEMBER, 1831. [ No. 69.

THE CONFERENCE, AND THE FIVE GREAT POWERS.

Ir is impossible to doubt that the condition of those governments
which attempt to keep Europe from coming to blows, is one of increas-
ing difficulty ; that the political relations of the continent are becoming
more hazardous hour by hour; and that the whole aspect of public
affairs, both abroad and at home, teems with revolution. :

We by no means join in the parliamentary oratory against the foreign
policy, even of the Whigs. Sinners as they openly are against the stabi-
lity of the constitution, we have no ground for suspecting them of ill-will
to the external strength of the empire. With all the administrations that
have governed the country since the Hanover accession, the policy has
been, directly, to act as arbiter between the continental powers, to be
the general peace-maker, and by throwing the weight of England on
the weaker side, to preserve the general equality of the balance.

This was Pitt’s successful policy, and for which he entered into the
war with France, in 1793. This was Fox’s unsuccessful policy, and for
which he plunged into the negociation with France, in 1806. This was
the Perceval policy, for which the minister aided Spain ; this was the
Canning policy, for which, different as the administrations were in all
other points, the minister aided Portugal; and this is the policy for
which Wellington, the enemy of Reform, rescued Turkey from the
grasp of Russia; and for which Grey, the enthusiast for Reform, now
struggles to save Belgium from being the prey of France, Prussia, and
Holland, and the source of an universal war. The unquestionable fact
is, that the foreign policy of all the successive administrations has been
their strong-hold, and that it is guided by such obvious and necessary
principles, that no administration can go tar wide of the mark. As a
proof of this, we ask, what administration, forthe last fifty years, has
ever been beaten on the ground of its foreign policy ? Motions, innu-
merable, have been made to shake them, on every casualty abroad, but
they have cleared themselves with such ease, that the assailants have

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No.69. y

226 The Conference, and [Serr.

always lost ground with the country !—No. If ministers are to be
attacked effectually, the attack must be brought in to their own quar-
ters ; they must be attacked for their insults to the rights of the subject,
and their tamperings with the constitution.

Still, we by no means give Lord Grey’s cabinet credit for the part
which they have acted in the present convulsion. The Belgian revolt
is now almost a year old. The British Government ought to have as-
certained, in that time, the true feeling of the leading governments on
this subject, a point which they have evidently not ascertained at this
hour ; and we question whether our foreign minister now knows more
of the actual mind of Austria, Prussia, or Russia, relative to Belgium,
than he did on the first announcement that Belgium was free. In this
we say nothing of the mind of Metternich, for we do not expect that
cautious and profound statesman to lay his mind open to any man’s
inspection. Yet there are circumstances which make a peculiar policy
imperative on nations, let their ministers be as subtle as the serpent ;
and it is by judging of those circumstances that a man of ability acts
with decision and success. But the whole state of Europe, during the
last twelve months, is a lesson against our putting faith in high names.
The French insurrection took every cabinet of Europe by surprise ; yet
it might have been conjectured by every man who drank a cup of coffee
ina Parisian cabaret. The Belgian insurrection startled every potentate
from the Volga to the Tagus; yet it might have been conjectured by every
lounger over a Flemish Gazette ; or, if he did not find it in the para-
graphs of the paper, he might have found it in the editor’s announce-
ment, that he wrote in a dungeon, and that he was one of a dozen or
twenty editors who were in dungeons at the same time for speaking
their minds. The Polish insurrection was wondered at, till the rescripts
of the German courts had no other language ; and yet it was notorious
to every drummer in Poland, three years ago, that the Russian govern-
ment dared not give the Polish regiments a round of ball-cartridge, for
fear of their firing it down the throats of Constantine and his aides-de-
camp. It was notorieus that Russia dared not march a single Polish
regiment to the Turkish war, and that Poland cursed Constantine, and
those who delivered it into the hands of that savage, every day the sun
rose. And yet men wondered when Poland made one wild and despe-
rate effort to break the Russian chain.

The labours of the five powers to secure the quiet of Belgium have been
more than unlucky, and it is inconceivable how they could have expected
that Prince-Leopold’s simple presence would have quieted Holland, at
the moment when Holland distinctly proclaimed that it would be a
declaration of war ; and the Dutchman kept his word. No sooner had
the unlucky Prince arrived, than he was saluted with the bellowing of
the Belgic boors running away from the Dutch bayonets. He was
roused from his Belgic bed, at two in the morning, to look upon his
villages blazing for fifty miles round. His next royal indulgence was to
fight a battle, in which all his heroes ran away, and the exulting Gazet-
teer of his exploits, details them all in the words that “ the King did not
run away.” After this unequalled triumph, he had still another oppor-
tunity of adding verdure to his laurels ; for he was caught, aye, even by
Dutch alacrity, cooped up in the City of Louvain, and his heroes who,
a month ago, were to have pelted King William of Nassau and all his

1631.] the Five Great Powers. 227

host, with apples, out of their “ glorious Brabant,” were delighted to
make a bargain for their lives, and quietly evacuate Louvain. What
became of poor Leopold during this brilliant business is still hidden
from history. But he is alive, to receive his pension, and we shall have
him receiving it at Claremont yet. Never was unlucky Prince so
plumped over head and ears into a sea of troubles; and this too, after
the soft life that he has been leading among us for fifteen idle and
well-fed, and prodigiously well-pensioned years. Well may he cry—

«*O happy, lowly clown!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”’

But King William of Nassau, too, has shewn himself an obstinate
blockhead on the occasion. Out of Brussels his troops and his sons had
been as fairly beaten as ever men were. The Belgians had achieved the
honour of beating the Dutch, such as it was, and the affair was at an
end. There was just retribution in this, for the Belgians had been
handed over like sheep to King William, and they complained that he
clipped the fleece with Dutch shears, and fairly told him that they did
not like the mode of conveyance nor the style of shearing. Of course,
as is the manner of continental kings, he only clipped them the closer,
threw their newspaper-writers into jail, and ordered them, as a national
punishment, to learn Dutch. This was the final aggravation; to a
man, the Belgians refused to learn the jargon of the Hollanders ; they
threw off the yoke, and that yoke they will never again wear, while the
Nassaus live on this side of the Tropics.

The quarrel about Luxemburg was more doubtful, but this too was
one of the purchases ; a cession for a territoyy on the Rhine, altoge-
ther without any question being asked of the wills of the people who
were thus handed from sovereign to sovereign, as a man would make
over a mortgage of so many fish-ponds full stocked, or transfer the
allegiance of so many swine. But, even the Luxemburgers were human
beings, though the knowledge of that fact escaped the royal salesmen
on both sides; and they followed the example of the Belges, and swore
that they would have no more to do with William of Nassau. And
what else could the Dutchman expect, if a Dutchman can know any
thing of human feeling? We shall soon see all those purchases nullified
in the same easy manner, and the bargainers of “ souls’ stripped at
once of their purchases, and their money.

The Dutch troops began their campaign fiercely, and the unlucky
Belges have had that taste of the cup of glory which may cure them of
any inclination to drink deeper for a while. Their rout seems to have
been of a very consummate kind; they not merely ran away, but they
threw away every thing belonging to their soldiership ; muskets, knap-
sacks, cartridges, the caps off their heads, and the shoes off their feet ;
waggons and cannon they naturally left to the Dutch for their trouble
in running after them, and the campaign being over, the volunteers
gave themselves their conge. We shall yet see the effect of triumph in
the bogs of Holland itself, and even a Dutch Epic may be among the
miracles of the nineteenth century. .

But the Hollander was a blockhead after all: in his eagerness to
frighten Leopold out of his uneasy throne, he seems to have utterly for-
gotten that France was within a hundred yards of Belgium, and that

the first shot fired would awaken all France to the game that she loves
Z 2

228 he Conference, and [Sepr,

better than even dancing or flirtation. The first shot was fired, and
instantly the French rushed to the spot, like boys to a pastime, jor
hounds to a view-halloo. Before the news was in Paris five minutes,
King Philip was in council, sword in hand. Before the sun reached
his noon, the telegraph had sent the news from Paris to Bayonne, to Lisle,
and every where. Before dinner-time, all France was in an ecstacy at
the hope of going to war at last; and, before supper, the two young
dukes and future Charlemagnes, were escorted, in triumph, by the
rabble out of Paris, exulting, “to make their first campaign.” Fifty
thousand gallant Gauls were on foot in twenty-four hours, and marching
in full gaiety on Belgium. For this the Hollander was unprepared, and
the Gauls would have made bouilli of his cavalry and infantry, beaten his
cannon into camp-kettles, and turned his baggage into bonfires, if he
had waited for them till another sunset. But the news extinguished his
military ardour at once, and the war of Dutch glory was at an end; and
it is the absurdity of having been unprepared for this, that makes us
think contemptuously of the brains of King William. There was not a
smuggler of schiedam, in all his borders, who could not have told his
majesty that the French were longing only for an opportunity of
pouncing on Holland, or Belgium, or any thing that came in the way ;
that not a French dragoon had blacked his boots, for the last six months,
but with a hope that before night he would be bemiring them on the
march to Belgium ; that the hope of beating the Dutch first and the
world afterwards, has been the solitary and the social thought of the
French garrisons for the last year; that it has made their chansons,
raised their spirits, and filled every man of them, from the drummer to
the duke, with hallucinations of full pay, double rations, plunder, and
new ribbons at their button-holes. Yet King William and all his coun-
cillors, within a few leagues of them, were as ignorant of all this as new-
born babes. And when the fact flashed upon them at last, and they
saw the French cavalry running out to plant their pickets on the hills,
like school-boys broke loose for the holidays, they fancied that though
such a contingency was possible, they ‘ could never have looked upon
it as probable.” So much for the grave wisdom of the Mynheers!

But a heavier charge lies against the Dutch. There can be no doubt
that they broke faith, and broke it with an attempt at saving character,
which is, in all cases, only the stronger evidence of conscious deception.
It is acknowledged that there was an armistice with the Belgians, and
an arinistice opened expressly for the purpose of negociation with the
« Conference.”’ That armistice was broken by the Dutch, at the moment
while they were sending their envoy to negociate. What could be the
impression of those to whom that minister of peace was sent, but that
while the end, negociation, was obviously pursued, the means, the
armistice, would be pursued too? Or what could be the King of
Holland’s impression, but that, the moment the news of his invasion
reached England, all negociation must be at anend? Can we believe
that he sent an envoy with the bond fide intention to make peace, while
he knew that within three days all peace-making would be nullified by
his own act of making war? Let the Dutchman deny the conclusion if
he will—it is irresistible. Again, he clears his conscience by sending a
letter to the British ministry to warn them of his hostilities. And for
this purpose he sends a letter which cannot reach London before
Wednesday, to warn them of hostilities which he was to begin on

1831.] the Five Great Powers. - 229

Tuesday, This warning, after the event, may be diplomatic and Dutch,
but all men of common sense will know the name for it. The results
of this rash and ungenerous attempt are, already—that the Dutch King
has been forced to abandon all the fruits of his expedition in a moment—
that he has for ever extinguished the hope of having partizans in Bel-
gium—that he has roused the French soldiery, and enfeebled the peace-
party in France, a measure which may yet terminate in the extinction of
his dynasty—and that he has actually compelled England to take part
against an ally to which she has at all times been the most active and
powerful protector. In this there is no enumeration of the villages
burned, the property destroyed, the families beggared, and the lives
lost. Those are considerations too un-royal for conquerors. But they
are high considerations notwithstanding ; and the government which
rushes into war without the most irresistible necessity, without that
necessity which would make a man start from his bed and take his
pistols to repel a robber, has seldom failed of being taught the lesson of
fearful retribution. The French are on his haunches still, and there
they will stay /

The state of Poland has long excited the most painful anticipations.
From the beginning, every man knew that Russia was too powerful for
her, and the first feeling of all Europe was terror for the ruin which her
gallant spirit was bringing on itself. But that spirit exhibited -a
gallantry so much beyond all that Europe had expected, so high a
determination to resist the tyrant, and so noble a courage displayed
alike in the senate and the field, that the general hope revived ; men
rejoiced to think that one victim more was rescued from the grasp of a
fierce and barbarian despotism, and the world looked upon the struggle
of Poland and Russia as they would upon a contest of the principles of
light and darkness.

In all this there was no mixture of revolutionary feeling, no delight
in the triumph of the populace over established authority ; it was the
rising of the slave against a master more ignorant and brutal than the
lowest condition of servitude—the rightful demand of an ancient people
to possess the enjoyment of their own laws and properties—a justified
wrath against the domination of a savage rejected by his own country,
and finding the best excuse for his capricious violences in his being half
mad. Against Russia and her viceroy, Poland has made out a case
which would justify revolt in any age of the world.

But her rights and her valour have earned for her only the sympathy
of Europe—they have not roused its interposition. The Russian armies,
however defeated by the impetuous patriotism of the Poles, rest on too
populous and powerful a country to be finally worn out ; their defeats
have produced fresh levies, and the storm of war seems to be at last
gathering round Warsaw. The latest accounts state that the Russians
under Paskewitch were within a few leagues of the capital, and that the
remaining leaders and troops of the patriots were concentrating round
the last hold of national freedom.

In lamenting that no European interposition had been available, we can
scarcely blame England and France, so much as we regret the result.
They are both bound by treaties to Russia, and treaties are not to be
broken. No contingency of national advantage, nor even of national
humanity, can countenance a breach of faith. That tie among nations

230 The Conference, and the Five Great Powers. [Serr.

must be sacred under all circumstances ; and we believe, that it might
be easily ascertained, from a slight review of history, that few nations,
perhaps none, ever committed a determined breach of treaty, let the
motive be what it might, without being deeply scourged for it by the
retributive hand of Heaven. France, and her breach of treaty in the
American war, is amemorable example, and should be perpetually before
the eyes of kings. If Poland is to be saved, it must be by other acts than
the violation of public faith.

But let the consequence be what it may, Poland has infinitely exalted
her own character ; if her soldiers and statesmen should at last be
forced to abandon the struggle, they will be received in every part of
Europe with honour ; a generous sympathy will attend them wherever
they go; and the time may not be distant when they shall be summoned
under more powerful auspices, and with a happier fortune, to achieve
the independence of their country.

The debates in the British parliament on the French attack on Don
Miguel have passed away without effect. We have no great respect for
the Duke of Wellington’s sincerity im public affairs, and as little for
Lord Aberdeen’s wisdom. His lordship, in the eagerness of his opposi-
tion, forgot that he himself was one of the most virulent, the most
personally virulent, accusers of Don Miguel, and that there was no
language in the vocabulary of contempt which he did not lavish on the
unlucky usurper. The Duke chose to forget that the policy which
made all alliance with Don Miguel impossible, was his own, and that
the Wellington cabinet treated the Portuguese with the most inflexible
haughtiness. Of course Lord Grey forgot none of those things, and the
Lord and the Duke were equally laughed at, and with equal justice.
France has chastised this contemptible prince—and why not? He
insulted her, and in the spirit of the same folly which had offered the
ipsult, he refused the compensation. She forced the Tagus, seized his
fleet, which seems to have behaved most miserably, and is now com-
pelling him to pay £40,000 for the trouble of punishing him. He is
evidently a wretched coxcomb.

But what cares England about the difference between him and Don
Pedro, or the little Donna Maria. What fitness has any one of them
exhibited for being at the head of a people? Don Pedro has been turned
out of his kingship, and now, instead of retiring into that solitude which
would be the only thing congenial to a great mind fallen undeservedly
from power, is nightly flourishing about ball-rooms and dinner-parties,
bedizened like an ambassador’s footman—the only thing such fellows
are fit for. Such are not the beings for whom the manly people of
England will ever interest themselves, much less go to war. Let them
have their mazurkas and gallopades, their coats daubed with lace, and
their faces covered with moustaches—and they have all they can want.
British gold or British blood would be thrown away criminally, if either
the one or the other were hazarded in the quarrels of dandyism.

1831.] [ 231 J

COACHES, CABS, AND OMNIBUSES.

_ Tue indignation of an injured people, too long driven against their
wills, and what aggravates the injury, forced to pay for being so driven,
has at length risen to a conflux—and hackney-coaches must be new
horsed, new lined, and new painted, “or the patience of a suffering
-nation will explode,” and Heaven alone knows what will be the conse-
quence. The Cabinet have promised a reform in the vehicular adminis-
tration, and a general four-footed and four-wheeled change is at this
moment organizing in an attic of the Home Department. We shall
give all our assistance to this great reform; in the meantime we are
told that—

«« A bill has been brought in to alter and amend the Hackney Coach Laws—
not before it was wanted. The absurdity of ‘ no half-crown fare,’ and the mon-
strous nonsense of allowing a Jarvey to plunder his inexperienced customer of
two shillings for driving him a quarter of a mile off the stones, after sunset, under
the name of ‘ back carriage,’ we expect will now be done away. The middle
classes (though Mr. Twiss would perhaps deny that they can understand the
merits of the case) have long considered these to be great nuisances.”

However, this much must be said for the hackney-coaches that, bad as
they are, they are much better than the cabs, which are ta the full as
dirty, and a hundred times more dangerous. The coach trade is a poor
one, and the outfits are so heavy that xo profit is made unless the coach
takes fifteen shillings a day, while its gains are often not half the money.
But why not establish omnibuses in the streets, and thus get rid of the
whole crazy system at once? The French have omnibuses running
through the streets of Paris, tothe great convenience of the public. Why
have we not the same here? In London they are confined to the City-
road, and the line from Piccadilly to the Mansion-house (and in that line
they can take nothing but the fare for the whole), not the five-hundredth
part of the conveyance that the people want every day. There was
some promise by Mr. Goulburn of a Bill on the subject, and now the
whole sinks into a mere change in licencing, which adds to the burthens
of the coach-owner, and he is poor enough already, without adding in
the slightest degree to the convenience of the public. The breaking up
of the Hackney Coach Board will be rather an inconvenience than a
good, for the commissioners were gentlemen, and they treated the com-
plainants before them with attention and civility. We suppose that the
complaints must now be carried to Bow-street, that brilliant seminary
where Sir Richard Birnie, one of the most renowned of human vulga-
rians, a person whose law we must suppose equal to his chances for
acquiring knowledge of any kind, is the grand professor of courtesy
and jurisprudence.

What if we have dearer licences, there is no great improvement in
the increase of a tax. Or if these licences generate more cabriolets,
what is this but to multiply broken bones? The plain fact is, that the
whole system of street-vehicles must be changed. The hackney-coach
is too expensive to its owner, to be given at a rate cheap enough for the
people. It, therefore, becomes a crazy and a filthy vehicle, with the
harness rotten, the horses’ starved,.and the coachman drunk, insolent,
and a thief. The cabs are cheap by comparison, but cheating goes on
there too in abundance, and the cab is, after all, not much safer than a

232 Coaches, Cabs, and Omnibuses. [Serr.

balloon ; decayed wheels, broken-kneed horses, and the immediate contact
of a driver covered with filth, smelling of gin, and perhaps carrying
about disease with him, are the charms of the cab. The only rational
contrivance hitherto, is the omnibus or the stage; and if they were al-
lowed to ply through the streets as they do on the road, at a fixed price,
according to the time—which would probably be better than the distance,
in so large a city as London—for instance, at a shilling an hour, and with
smaller sums for the half hour and the quarter—a very remarkable addi-
tion would be made to the comforts of the multitude, who are now com-
pelled to trudge through the streets, in heat and cold, or be cheated by the
ruffians of the whip, and insulted into the bargain.

PAGANINI'S INTERVIEW WITH SATAN.

The Deil came fiddlin’ thro’ our town,—Burns.

THERE Was a man—a solitary man—
Stood in the depths of a dark night alone,
And ever and anon his fingers ran
Along an instrument of dulcet tone.
”Twas in a dreary room,
Or dungeon, where the gloom
Looked still more gloomy in the shadowy night,
From the fast-failing glare of one poor candle’s light,
’Twas said he was confined
Within that prison for some unknown crime—
Some dark mysterious act of vengeance or of shame,
So damnable, that holy men resigned
So great a sinner to a place and time
Where torture punishes with burning flame
Those whom their blessed prayers forget to name.
But there was he adjudged for years and years,
To wash away his errors in his tears.
Some said he had a most unhappy case, é
That he had shrunk from all his guilt disclosing ;
Some said the fenor of his life was bass,
For he’d been found with others’ goods transposing :
And some in a mysterious manner hinted
That he’d been known so very high to play,
He couldn’t keep it up, unless he printed
And gave false notes away.
Then others, who were more mysterious still,
Swore he had been the leader of a band,
Who made some shake, and other people thrill,
With many a fearful instrument in hand ;
And some were sure ’twas treason, for of late
He had been seen holding communications
With many people of another state,
And made strange overtures to other nations.
But these are all pretences
Got up by Rumour in her many shapes ;

1831.]

Paganini’s Interview mith Satan.

’Tis true, he had committed some offences ;
But then, I’m sure, they were the merest scrapes.
He was a little cracked, it might be said,
And always had some “ crotchet’’ in his head.
What was his crime, I know not—what his story,
In very truth I know as little more.
It might be some false movement con amore,
Or he con spirito run up a score ;
And then his creditors had thought it best
To place him in a rest,
Perhaps he was a man of some ambition,
Who wished the world to think him a musician.
Perhaps he might have loved the flats to diddle ;
* In that, I say, there’s neither guilt nor shame ;
He might at times desire to play first fiddle—
And who the deuce don’t like to do the same?
But there, poor soul, was he to curse his stars,
Within so many bars.

No voice came near him in his Ioneliness—
Wo sounds, save chains and their infernal din,
He had no friend to cheer him in distress,
He had no pleasure—save his violin.
And there all day
He worked away,
And all the livelong night he still was playing ;
He never thought of sleep,
And ate but little—just enough to keep

From his thin form his dreamless soul from straying.

Oh! how delicious was the sound
That from the walls reverberated round !
The creeping things came from their holes,
Looking as if they too had souls ;
And spiders on their slender threads were there,
Listening, delighted, in the midway air.
But, oh! those sounds too soon were past,
For they were far too sweet to last.
Alas! no joy can last for ever,
For still some care its sorrow brings ;
Time can the stoutest cable sever,
And even fiddlers break their strings !
Yes, one by one they broke,
Worn by his rapid stroke,
Snapt quite asunder to his grief and woe ;
And there alone he stood,
: As many others would,
Trying to do with “ two strings to his bow.”

«« Ah, me!” he thought,
“Tis dearly bought,
This skill for which I have such dangers run.”
When, oh !—the thing—
Crack went the string,
And left his fiddle bare of all but one!
This was a monstrous bore, all will allow—
Enough to make an angel raise a bother ;
He could not play upon his fiddle now—
Could any other?

233

234 Paganini’s Interview with Satan. _ (Serr.

Save some professor which the laws may bring,
That honest folks their judgment may applaud,
Who makes a flourish on a single string,
And exits with a chord.
He raged, he stamped, he swore,
His long and jetty hair to rags he tore,
And got in such a passion,
That all at once around about his middle
His dress was hanging somewhat Wetherell-fashion ;
And then he wished the Devil had his fiddle.

Alone—alone he stood!
And felt a something creeping o’er his blood ;
The candle in the socket burnt more blue,
The air seemed growing of a sulphur hue ;
He looked, and looked again, and gave a groan,
For he was not alone :
There right before him, on the self-same level,
He saw the Devil!
I will not now describe how he was drest ;
I merely say ’twas with respectability—
Such as would mark the Devil of gentility.
His claws looked just as clever,
His tail seemed much the same as ever °
Ask Cruikshank for the rest.

With graceful bow, and look paternal,
And gentle voice, he said But stay :
That voice was really then not so infernal
As many poets say.
«« Mortal !’’ he said,
And bowed his head,
« Give me your fiddle !”—and then he took it ;
(Now this I know
Has happened s0 ;
I'd say it before a judge—and book it).
And then—as if the young winds from their sleep
‘Arose refreshed to journey o’er the earth,
Sweeping the echoes from the billowy deep,
And calling all sweet voices into birth—
There came such soft delicious tones around,
Filling the air with such melodious tune,
As if a charm was borne in every sound,
Sweet as the fragrance in the flowers of June.
Now high, now low it went,
In sounds so full of richness, that it bred
A world of wonder in the fiddler’s head,
To know from what divinest instrument
Those tones arose :
His dark eye brightened,
His soul began to feel less frightened ;
A look
He took,
And squinted o’er his nose!
Oh! the amazement which he felt to see
The Devil there with fiddle in his hand,
Playing a concerto piece so fine and grand,
That e’en Viotti could not play, or any great as he;
And then the tone

1831.]

Paganini's Interview with Satan.

Came sweet, and full, and rich, and clear,
Upon his so-astonished ear,
He scarcely could believe it might be played
Upon the best Cremona ever made ;
Yet ’twas all brought from that one string alone.
Indeed, ’twas so divine,
That I must say,
Doubt it who may,
*Twas really devilish fine!
Down went the fiddler on his knees,
With clasped hands, and pleasure-beaming eye;
His look grew more ecstatic by degrees,
As the soft notes in cadences went by ;
At last, he said—

“‘ Oh, thou most heavenly devil! let me play
With half the glory by thy music shed,
And I will be thy slave for ever and a day!”
The Devil, either in scorn or pride,
First laid the one-stringed fiddle aside ;
And with a grin satanic laughed aloud—
Oh! what a horrid sound
That laugh prolonged-around!
’Twas worse than Milton’s Pandemonium crowd,

And seemed as like 0. Smith’s as anything could be—

Then thus spoke he :—

“« Mortal ! I will give thee skill

O’er the world the soul to thrill ;

By my art and magic power,

Live unrivalled from this hour.

Take thy violin, and soon,

Whether in or out of tune,

There shall sweeter sounds arise
Than were wafted from the skies.
When thy bow shall touch the string,
Any sound that touch shall bring,
Which thy genius may inspire,

Or thy audience may require ;

But all shall come so sweet and clear,
As ne’er was heard by mortal ear.
Thou shalt soon have gained more fame,
Than the glorious dead may claim ;
All the windows shall possess
Full-lengths of thy form and dress ;
And thou’lt get from many a master
Immortality in plaster.

Gold shall come to thee in showers,
To delight thy leisure hours ;
Wheresoe’er thou shalt appear,
Crowds shall come thy skill to hear ;
Theatres at such a crisis

Shall be filled at double prices,
Where the world shall bow before thee,
And the women shall-adore thee ;

All most fair and most divine

Leave their beaux to gaze on thine.
Say, mortal! say, dost thou agree ?
If so, this moment thou art free.”

The fiddler swore a horrid oath,
And wrote it in the blood of both,

236

Paganini’s Interview with Satan. (Serr.

And gaye his soul
Upon a scroll,
With evidence no law could sever,
Unto the Devil and his heirs for ever,
Then, to his thinking,
In a winking
The doors flew open with a bang,
The Devil vanished with a twang,
Or flower of brimstone kind of smell,
Which, in some regions, does as well
As eau-de-Cologne, musk, or rose,
Or other perfume for the nose.

He was again alone!
And seeing all the doors were open wide,
He made a stride,
Snatched up his violin, and—he was gone!
The Devil in his promise did not fail;
But at the end, ah me! there hangs a éail.
Where’er he went,
His instrument
Produced such wondrous tones, that soon his name
Got puffed in all the journals,
The monthly and diurnals ;
And all the continental world proclaimed his fame.
Musicians hid their heads,
Took to their beds ;
Some said the cholera-morbus had been near ’em ;
But ah! ’twas seen too soon
What put them out of tune—
The “ publico respectabile’”’ would not hear ’em.
And then it is a fact he did appear
Even here,

And tried to do John Bull out of his guineas.

He doubled all,
Pit, boxes, gallery, and stall,

To all who thither went to hear or see;
Yet though so well he planned it,
They wouldn’t stand it ;

None like to pay so much to any ninnies ;
And so he was obliged to lower his key.

But oh! that night,
With what delight,
After escaping from the rush and squeeze,
1 saw the length of back,
The suit of black,
And heard this fiddling Mephistophiles !
To paint him, who would dare
His look, his gesture, and his hair,
The long black hair that hangs upon his shoulders,
To the surprise and terror of beholders ?
And then his squint,
Put it in print
Who can!
Who is so mad to think
A little drop of ink
Can mark the man?

1831.]

Paganini’s Interview nith Satan.

But ah! the sound—the sweet and gentle sound,
That fell upon the ear like Alpine snow,
Touching with feathery lightness all around,

And then dissolving in a liquid flow.
Oh! so delicious was the strain,
It moved the heart, and stirred the brain,
And made the soul feel young again.
Enough—the boxes and the pit
Saw he had made a hit ;
And the reporters, every day and week,
Gave him a long critique.
Since then the stranger
Has been in danger ;
For, oh! the magazines, in literary strife,
Each month have made attempts upon his life.

The world got in a phrenzy, and a passion,
To see and hear him;
And in a week he was so much the fashion,
Hundreds were freely given to get near him.
The famous St. John Long rubbed in his lotions,

Without being half so killing to some lady’s notions.

Reform was voted stale—the cholera-morbus,
Which did with thoughts of fear so long absorb us,
Was given over, like a plague or bore ;
Even the Siamese
Had failed to please,
And the brave Polanders thought of no more.
The revolutions long ago
Were getting low—
They made some fruit so scarce without a reason:
In France, e’en to this hour, ,
The Orleans fruit looks sour ;
In Belgium, Oranges are out of season.
But here the folks thought little of the matter;
While all the world was ringing with the clatter,
They cared not for a war by land or sea,
Though they kept talking of a piece in D;
And then, alas!
It came to such a pass,
No music, old or new,
Would do,
By Spohr or Bishop, Auber or Rossini—
For all were mad to hear the wond’rous Paganini!

R.F. W.

237

[ . 238 1 [Seps.

RECOLLECTIONS OF SCENES AND CITIES :—N®, IT.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “‘ SPAIN IN 1830.”

Ir is no new observation to say, that the melody of a bird, or the
perfume of a flower, may change the current of one’s thoughts, annihi-
late the realities of time and space, and deliver us over to the dominion
of wild fancy—that sweet will-o’-the-wisp that blinds us to ‘all but our
own bright delusions. The cloudless brilliancy of yesterday, and the
fine autumnal breeze that had swept over the golden harvest, had set-
tled into one of those quiet balmy evenings that are but too rare in this
uncertain climate. I sauntered leisurely among the beautiful knolls
that lie by the banks of Wye, thinking neither of the past nor of the
future, but open to all the sweet influences of the present scene--the
gleam upon the trembling river—the cattle, with their quiet contempla-
tive look, lying in the meadow, or standing reflected in the chrystal
stream—the sheep, “ forty feeding like one,” scattered upon the neigh-
bouring slope—when suddenly I found myself at the foot of the valley
of Heas, in the midst of the Pyrenees. What was it that had in an
instant carried me a thousand miles from the banks of the Wye, and
made me blind to all the sweet images that lay around !—it was a little
hedge-row of mingled box and privet that encircled a cottage garden—it
wafted to me a Pyrenean odour, and before I was sensible of the cause,
I stood in the valley of Heas, gazing upon the mountain slopes, covered
with the blue iris and its yellow eyes ; listening to the bleat of the
sheep “ upon a thousand hills ;” watching the long patriarchal trains of
shepherds and shepherd families, with their cattle, their goats, and their
horses, winding along the side of the Gave, and inhaling, with the
mountain air, the wild fragrance of mountain shrubs. It is a pleasant
law of our nature by which recollections are so easily revived ; for it is
scarcely possible to walk through the fields, but some trifle—it may be a
sight—a sound—an odour—gives to our walk a charming variety, chequer-
ing our evening’s stroll by short excursions into far distant countries,
and mingling with present scenes, the memory, scarcely less vivid, of
half-forgotten images and adventures, that we would not willingly let
slip from our stock of recollections. For my own part, the smell of a
plantation of young firs places me in Norway, by the margin of the
river Glommen; the scream of the jay carries me into the forest of
Ardennes ; the tinkle of a sheep-bell sends me straight to Switzerland ;
the odour of geranium transports me to the Moorish gardens of Se-
ville ; the sight of a narcissus seats me in a nook of the rock of Gibral-
tar ; and the.smell of the box-tree never fails to lay me on some flowery
slope in the midst of the Pyrenees. Once I had a narrow escape from
lying among these mountains for ever.

In the valley of the Aure, and at but a short distance from Arreau,
stands the ruined castle of Armagnac. It was full moon, the night I
reached Arreau, and the fine irregular outline of the ruin, upon its
wood-belted mount, standing in relief against the dark blue sky, and
its broken walls white in the moonshine, tempted me to visit it. It is
but the imagination that lends beauty to a moonlight view ; the fantastic
peaks of the Pyrenees—the green meadows that skirt the stream—the
old forests hanging on the mountain sides, were then all undistinguish-

1831.] Recollections of Scenes and Cities. 239

able ; but the solitude and silence, and deep shadows within the walls,
had their own peculiar charms, and I walked through the dusky courts,
and in and out among the shadows, and the streams of moonlight that
fell through the arches. I little thought then how great a providence
it was that I slept that night at Arreau. Next day, with the sun for
my guide, I returned to the ruin, and saw, in the inner court, over
which a deep shadow had been thrown the night before, my foot-prints
on the long grass, and that I had stepped over the corner of a well,
whose dusky depth the eye was unable to fathom! I experienced a
strange pleasure in visiting this spot, once, at least, every day, while I
remained in its neighbourhood. ;

The Pyrenees I had always figured to myself as widely differing from
the Alps, and so I found it to be; but the difference does not arise
solely from the diversity in the features of nature, but more from the
one being a travelled, the other an untravelled country—instead of the
wide smooth roads, along which the nervous may roll in their cushioned
carriages, it is well if, in the Pyrenees, the road affords picking for the
wary foot of the mule. In place of the stately hotel, with its luxurious
beds, recherché dinners, and scrupulous cleanliness, the Pyrenees offer
to the traveller the house of reception, which holds a rank somewhere
between the low French auberge and the Spanish venta. A brick floor,
upon which one walks knee-deep in fleas, a clothless table, a curtainless
mattrass, and a bit of smoked izard, come in place of the luxuries that
are found in the Epeé at Zurich, the Fancon at Berne, or the T'rois Cou-
ronnes of Vevay. In the Pyrenees no snug boxes—half villas, are to
be seen, as in the Alpine valleys; the abodes of those absentees who
have transplanted the detached cottage from Clapham to the valley of
Interlaken, or the sloping banks of fair Leman. Nor do we meet any
where in the Pyrenees, as we do at every turn in the Alps, those tra-
velling Messteurs Anglais who cut so conspicuous a figure, with their
broad straw hats, knapsacks, guides, and pointed staves. The lover of
nature is well quit of all these. But let me cross the Pyrenees without
the aid of guide or stave, and glean some images from the land of wild
fancies and dreaming thoughts.

In all the countries of Europe, save Spain and Turkey, our recollec-
tions are in a great measure similar—in all of them one meets horses
and carriages, and travellers—in all of them we find good inns, and
comfortable dinners, and obsequious attendance, and in all of them
women wear hats or bonnets, coloured dresses, and shew their faces.
But our recollections of Spain are of a peculiar and totally distinct cha-
racter. Trains of mules winding down a mountain path, and in and out
among the thickets of Ilex and Algarobo; silky milk-white goats, and
the goatherd asleep, beneath a edge of aloes or prickly pear; ragged
urchins, with bare feet and brown shaven hair, lying under a cork-tree,
eating a loaf; brown visaged men, with tattered cloaks, sitting in the
shadow of a high wall, slicing melons ; pairs, or groups of Franciscans,
loitering about their convent gates ; the strange odour wafted among
the wilds from fields of aromatic plants; the thrum of the guitar,
and the tic-a-tic-tic of the castanet; dark-eyed women, with mantilla
and veil, glancing from the saint at whose altar they kneel to the
stranger who enters the church ; tall peasants trampling among roses
mary bushes, with long gun and lank dog ; bright green and golden.
speckled orange-groves, and their delicious fragrance ; clumps of the

240 Recollections of Scenes and Cities. [Srrr.

fan-like palm ; the odour of myrtle hedges, and of geranium thickets,
one blow of crimson and lilac blossoms ; Moorish gardens and fountains,
and oriental usages. These are some of the images that eke out our
recollections of Spain.

It will be observed that these images belong chiefly to the pic-
turesque. There is little in Spain of what is called beauty of natural
scenery. Our recollections are pleasing, vivid, and most interesting ;
but not from the general beauty of the pictures which they recal to the
mind, but from their novelty chiefly, and in some degree from their
individual beauty. Wide prospects of verdant meadows, hill and dale,
deep foliage, glittering streams and embowered cottages, are no where
to be seen in Spain—these must be sought for in England, Switzerland,
and in parts of Germany. The beauty of a Spanish landscape is not in
the whole, but in its parts; there is no grouping of beauty ; the images,
often exquisitely beautiful in themselves, stand single ; so that when we
think of Spanish scenery, it is not of the magnificent prospect enjoyed
from this or that height, but of the single images that belong to the
dominion of natural beauty. An orange grove is doubtless beautiful,
but it is not beauty in the mass ; its perfect greenness, and the bright
and many-tinted fruit peeping beneath the foliage, render it an object
of great beauty ; but it requires that one be near it, for it wants the
breadth and- majesty of a forest. Clumps of palms, with their broad
canopy, giant stem, and golden clusters of fruit, are as graceful as they
are novel to the eye of the traveller, but still they do not group with
the other features of a landscape, and excepting in the neighbourhood
of Elche, “ the city of dates,’ palms are seldom seen in greater num-
bers than two or three hundred ‘in one spot. And as for the thousand
aromatic, flowering and beautiful shrubs, as well as the minuter flowers
which thickly carpet the sierras of Andalusia and Grenada—the rose-
mary, the sweet marjoram, the balm of Gilead, the gumcistus, the
oleander, and the infinity of heaths—these, beautiful as to waken
*« thoughts that lie too deep for tears,’ yet add nothing to the general
effect of a landscape. The view-hunter will be most pleased with Bis-
cay. The mention of Biscay brings to my recollection a scene that
never until this moment has chanced to recur to my memory. :

One of the few Spanish bathing-places is Portagaletz, a very small
village, at the mouth of the river, the name of which I forget, that forms
the Port of Bilbao. It is a common. thing to make a day’s excursion
from Bilbao to Portagaletz, and when the tide answers boats go down
with the ebb, and return in the evening with the flowing tide. I de-
voted one day to this amusement, and have much reason to remember
the novelty of the scene which I witnessed. The boat dropped gently
down the river, between the lofty Biscayan hills, and we reached Porta-
galetz and the Fonda (hotel) de los Tres Reyes, about ten o’clock. Here
a substantial breakfast, in the Spanish style, was laid out, and the party
that sat down to it consisted of two very ill-favoured Castilian ladies,
of a certain age; the wife and daughter of a Bilbao citizen, the latter,
a well-grown, coarse-featured, but rather comely Biscayan ; a Jew and
his Jew daughter, Iraelite all over, young and interesting ; two cabal-
leros, from what part of Spain I cannot tell ; two very pretty French
demoiselles, tres gentils, and one of them, as the French would say, jolie
comme un ange; a Carmelite friar, his Swedish Majesty’s. consul, and—
myself. Breakfast went off tolerably well, though the soup, which had

1831.7 Recollections of Scenes and Cities. 241

a layer of oil upon it half an inch deep, elicited two or three Mon Dieus !
from the little Frangaises, as well as from his Swedish Majesty's consul ;
but the Sardinas were delicious, and that may redeem much ; the Cas-
tilian and Biscayan ladies were affable, as all Spanish women are; the
Caballeros, somewhat reserved, as they always are when foreigners are
present ; the Jewess silent, but slyly making an impression in her own
way, and the French girls full of gaieté de ceur. I had forgotten to
say that the friar was a man of the world, and seemed for that day to
have quite forgotten his convent, and that he did extraordinary execu-
tion upon the oily soup.

The feast ended—every one rose, as I imagined, to amuse themselves,
each according to his inclination ; but to my infinite surprise, as I stood
at the window, looking out upon the sea-beach, I saw first one, and then
another, stepout of the house, and trip across the sand in bathing-
dresses. These were the Castilian ladies; then followed the Biscayan
lady and her daughter ; next, out stepped the two Caballeres, breeched
in drawers, and carrying huge bladders; then the Jewess; then his
Swedish Majesty’s consul, attired like the Caballeros ; and lastly, the
piquantes Frangaises, holding down their heads, and rather shaming at the
thing. As for the Jew and the friar, they had seated themselves at the
door, with their cigars, to enjoy this exhibition of the Nereides ; and,
as for me, I followed the example of the majority, provided myself
with small-clothes, and was soon one of the party. In fact it was
merely an adjournment from the breakfast-room to the sea. The ladies
were becomingly dressed, wearing straw bonnets, for nobody wetted
the head, but promenaded up to the waist, sometimes swimming a little,
by the aid of bladders. Conversation continued as before, but was
more general, compliments became more pointed, and gallantry waxed
warmer, notwithstanding the element in which it was carried on. The
Spanish ladies appeared to be entirely at their ease, but the Frangaises
seemed rather to decline a flirtation with the half-naked Caballeros.:
This continued at least an hour, and then every one returned to the fonda.
I inquired of the friar why he kept aloof, and did not join the Paseo.
His answer was, that it would not have been décente—he did not scruple,
however, to sit at the door of the fonda while the Senoras and Senoritas,
almost so many Musidoras, passed by.

Let me pass to a very different scene, and a very different part of
Spain. I had returned to my quarto (bed-chamber), at Guadex, a town
in the kingdom of Granada, and some hours after I had fallen asleep
I was awoke by the sound of angry voices underneath my window. It
was a bright moonlight, and as there was no glass in the windows, I
had only to rise, and step stealthily across the floor. I saw two men
standing—there had been a pause of a few seconds, and just as I looked
out, one said to the other, in a contemptuous tone, Hngano! (cheat)
_ and the next moment the long blade of a Gaudex knife was plunged in
his body—a groan—“ oh ! Deos’”—and the heavy fall of the dead man,
were all that were heard. The murderer deliberately wiped his bloody
knife upon his crimson girdle (a convenient colour, by the bye, in those
parts), muttered something to himself, in which I could only hear
“ Santa Maria,” and walked away. The murdered man lay within’
four yards of my window, and the bright moonlight fell white upon his
ghastly countenance, and shewed me also the dark stain upon the’
ground, from the blood that had gushed from the wound. ‘To have fol-

M.M. New Series—Vou. XII. No. 69. 2A

242 Recollections of Scenes and Cities. [Serr.

lowed the murderer would have been madness. I stole from my quarto,
gained the kitchen, and waking a muleteer, who was asleep on one of
the benches, told him what I had seen. He roused the innkeeper, and
the dead man was brought into the posada. I know nothing more of
the affair. I asked the innkeeper, in the morning, whether the mur-
derer was likely to be punished, and his answer was “ segun,” which
has the same meaning as that very significant French expression, “ ¢a
depend,” and which, in English, meant, “ If the murderer be richer
than the relations of the man he killed he will hear nothing more about it;
if he be poorer he will be hanged”—for so these things are managed in
Spain.

Fhe most ruffian countenance I ever saw in Spain, was seen under
somewhat startling circumstances. I had lingered till long after sunset,
in the Al-hambra of Granada, and foolishly resolved to explore a new
path in returning ; but not being sufficiently acquainted with the locality,
it led me a long circuit behind the mount, upon which stands the convent
of Hieronomites, and to the bankeof the Xenil ; and it fell dark when I
was yet half a league from the city. The towns in Spain are not like
those in England, stretching in suburb a mile or two on every road ; it
is as perfect solitude half a league out of Granada, as in the midst of the
Sierea Nevada. There is a deep and low dell about the spot I speak of,
in and out of which the road winds; and in the heart of it, stands a
small chapel dedicated to the Virgin ; before reaching the spot, I saw a
gleam of light thrown across the road, from the candle that burnt before
the altar. The door was open ; and I stopped an instant, and cast my eyes
within, Prostrate upon the floor, lay a man, in the attitude of devotion ;
his face appeared to touch the ground, and his brown sinewy hands
were half hid in his black curly hair; the dead silence was impres-
sively broken by a half audible prayer in the deep-toned voice of the
worshipper. The light shone full on his countenance, as he slowly
raised himself from the ground, and never before, or since that time, did
my eyesrest upon so ruffian a face. I started aside, knowing that no-
thing was more likely than that such devotion was the result of some
dark deed, perhaps newly committed, and might be the precursor to
another, and I stole round the building till he should leave the chapel
and precede me on the road ; that he did immediately, and it was with
no small satisfaction that I soon afterwards heard the tinkling bells that
announced the approach of a train of mules, going towards Granada ;
but I can never forget the countenance of the single worshipper, in that
lone spot and dimly lighted chapel.

Of all the cities in Spain, my favourite is Seville.

Quien no ha visto Sevilla,
No ha visto una maravilla.

Which may be.translated—

He who hath not in Seville been,
Hath never yet a marvel seen.

This is perhaps going too far, and is an Andalusian gasconade. But
still, of all the cities I have ever seen, my favourite is Seville. From
earliest youth, Seville had been enshrined in my imagination as a place
far distant ; a place of romance and mystery, where the guitar was never
mute, and where masks and mirth divided the empire with love and

1831-] Recollections of Scenes and Cities. 243

gallantry: in short, almost a fabulous city, holding in my mind the
next rank after Bagdat in the days of Haroun Alraschid. And in fact,
I found Seville pretty much in aceordance with my vision of it. Seville
has nothing of the sombreness and parade of Madrid, nor the wn-
Spanish air of Cadiz, or Barcelona; there is not, about the population,
that bravo-look, that in Malaga makes one fancy a shining blade within
an inch of one’s heart; nor that business air that is seen in Alicant
and other commercial towns. The gaieté de ceur of Paris, is a jest to
Seville—it is always a holiday: one cannot say in Seville, “there is a
time for every thing’’—there is no time there for any thing but the ter-
tulia, the serenade, and the paseo; if there be any thing like trade, it
is kept out of sight. Vivid as my recollections are of the cool marble-
paved court, the gushing fountain, the fragrant flowers, the brilliant
dresses of the men, and the brilliant eyes of the women; the dance, the
song, the guitar, and the castanet, there is one recollection that takes
place of all these—a recollection of the imperishable works of “ the
divine art’ with which the genius of that master of all excellences,
Murillo, has endowed his own courtly Seville. These are worth a pil-
grimage to Seville—these alone. Some pearls of great price require to
be sought out: they do not hang on the walls of La Caridad, they are
not in the convent of the Capuchins, nor in the niches of the Cathedral;
they are where nobody could expect to find them ; and of one such dis-
covery I have a glorious recollection.

A shrewd sort of fellow, an Irishman in origin, now an officer of
police, and a kind of bailiff in Seville, was my valet de place ; and one
day, after having returned from a visit to a private collection, he told
me, that in a certain obscure part of Seville, lived an old clothesman,
who was a picture fancier, and that a walk to his house might probably
be repaid. “ He is an odd sort of man,” said my companion, “ he won't
shew his pictures unless to true amateurs.” Upon the hint I acted, and
followed the guide along an endless succession of narrow streets, to a
part of the town where I had never been before; at the door of a
shop, like a pawnbroker’s, we stopped. I introduced my business by a
polite salutation, following this up by some inquiries as to the price of
a pair of red morocco and gold-inlaid slippers, of which I made pur-
chase. I then glanced round the shop and its heterogeneous stock.—
“I see no pictures among your preciosidades,” said I.

“ They’re worth no man’s while now,” said he.

“ Well but,” said I, “ something ancient ; a bit of Cano, or Juanes,
or Murillo, perhaps ?’”

« Murillo!” returned he, in a tone of derision, as if I had blas-
phemed in tacking Murillo to the fag-end of a sentence.

« Ay!” said I, “ Murillo; I would any day walk round Seville, on
my knees, to see an inch square of that divine master’s handiwork.”

The man turned towards me ; laid his hat upon a stool, and fixing his
old twinkling eyes upon me, said, “‘ You understand Murillo, then?”

“I feel his excellences,” said I, “ and worship him as the prince of
painters.”

“ Follow me,” said he, and displacing some old cloaks that hung
against the wall, he pushed open a small door, and ascended a steep
narrow stair, up which I followed him. When we reached the top of
the stair, he preceded me along a dark passage, and opening a door,
walked on tiptoe across the floor of a small room towards the window,

2 A 2’

244 Recollections of Scenes and Cities. (Sept.

evidently shewing that he felt himself in the presence of something su-
perior. He motioned me to sit down, and then withdrawing the cur-
tain from the window, pointed to the wall. There hung two pictures—
Murillo’s—of the most glorious days of Murillo. One represented what
I had never before seen transferred to canvass—the “ Young Man” who
“went away sorrowful.” Murillo had made the countenance of Christ
as sorrowful as that of the young man, and yet, how different was the
sorrow ; the one, heavenly sorrow, pity for the loss of a soul—the other,
worldly sorrow, that to gain entrance into Heaven earthly possessions
were to be sacrificed. Never can I forget the expression of that Christ ;
it possessed, in an extraordinary degree, that for which Murillo is dis-
tinguished above all other painters—the power of blending the human
with the divine character. With the “love toward men” which ap-
peared in the expression of the Deity, was mingled that human sympathy
with our infirmities, which He, as partaking our nature, may be sup-
posed to have felt, when the “ young man” rejected Heaven because
“he had great possessions.” The other picture was of a different cha-
racter. It represented a Magdalen. There again what genius is
needed ! for there, too, Heaven and earth must be blended. It is no
less difficult to paint a repentant sinner than a fallen angel. Human pas-
sions. were there, but they were dethroned ; earth was there, but Hea-
ven more; an angel, and yet a woman—a sinner, and yet a saint. It
was indeed apicture! The old Spaniard spoke not a word while I
looked at his pictures. Nearly an hour passed without a syllable being
exchanged, and when at the door, I thanked him for the delightful
hour I had spent, he said, “ Tell them in England and France, that in
spite of their robbery and bribery, Seville has the best Murillos yet.”
I gave the promise, which I now redeem. Seville has the best Murillos
yet. For this, I will vouch; notwithstanding the collections of Earl
this, and Mr. that, and the Louvre, and the Dulwich Gallery beside.
I would not give the old clothesman’s Magdalen for all the Murillos in
England.

I conclude these sketches with one very brief reminiscence of Sardi-
nia. I took my passage in an English vessel from Port Mahon to Civita
Vechia. About six o’clock the third evening, for the airs had been light,
and our progress slow, we dropped anchor under the north-west coast
of Sardinia. Our water had proved bad; and a boat and four seamen
were sent on shore to endeavour to procure a fresh supply. The boat
returned a little after dark, with only three seamen—one was missing ;‘
they could give no other account of him than that he had separated from
the rest, and that they had waited two hours for his return. Many fears
were entertained of his safety, and it was resolved that next morning
the greater part of the crew should go in search of him, and I deter-
mined to accompany the party. A more lovely morning never dawned
upon the Mediterranean than when our boat rowed under the shadow of
the great rocks, and ran up the little creek on the shore of which we
landed. It was not yet sunrise ; all was deep tranquillity, disturbed by
nothing but the plash of our oars. We climbed up among the tangled
shrubs and wild olives, and soon reached the general level above the
coast. Here a rugged country presented itself, deep dells and rocky
heights, covered in many parts with wood of various kinds, and with a
thick matting of heaths and wild thyme. No village or house was
visible. We separated into three parties, and that which I accompanied

1831. ] Recollections of Scenes and Cities. 245

took a direct line from the coast... We had not proceeded more than a
mile, when in a hollow on our left, we perceived a house, and at al-
most the same moment, two men, each armed with a long gun, issued
from it, and strode hurriedly away in an opposite direction. We turned
in a direct line, and at a quick pace towards the house, and soon reached
it. The door had been left open, and there seemed to be perfect quiet
within. There was scarcely any furniture: two matrasses on the floor,
three stools, and a small table, composed it all. Upon the table stood a
wooden bowl, with the debris of some rabbits; some skins of animals
were hung up, and a few pistol-bullets lay on the floor. Concluding
that no discovery was to be made here, we were about to leave the place,
when one of our number, lifting up one of the matrasses, disclosed the
jacket of the seaman. We had now no doubt that he had been mur-
dered, and leaving the house, we searched diligently in the surrounding
hollow. It was my fortune first to make the appalling discovery. His
grave was among the flowery heath ; there he lay, almost covered by it,
and naked. A bullet had entered his breast; it had been enough, for
no other mark of violence was seen. Pursuit was useless, and would
only have endangered more lives. We carried the unfortunate seaman
to the creek, collected our companions, and buried him beneath the
rocks. I cuta branch froma wild olive, and having fashioned a cross,
planted it on the grave. This will command respect even from the
bandits who killed him ; they will uncover their heads as they pass by,
and speak low.

DON MIGUEL, AND THE STATE OF PORTUGAL.

THERE is no people who display more ingenuity in heaping oblo-
quy on the character of their rulers than the Portuguese. The scan-
dalous anecdotes of the court, which pass current in the saloons: of
Lisbon, would fill volumes. Some of these fabrications have been re-
echoed in certain quarters in England, either with the view of grati-
fying the popular credulity, or with the more culpable object of fur-
thering some nefarious scheme concocted in that Pandemonium of the
British empire, the Stock Exchange.

We hope it is needless for us to say that we are no advocates of des-
potism. We do not stand forward on this occasion as the apologists of
the present ruler of Portugal, much as he may require one; but we
cannot close our eyes to the conviction, that both in this country and in
his own, even he has been made, through an organized system of mis-
representation, the victim of unmerited odium.

While the work of delusion is so systematically, and we may say so
successfully carried on, it is remarkable how singularly ignorant we are
in this country of the real state of public feeling in Portugal, and the
character of her people. There, the long and intimate union of
a despotic and corrupt court, with a sanguinary and ambitious priest-
hood, has studiously repressed every glimmering of knowledge, con-
tracted within the narrowest limits the public mind, and effectually
struck at the root of every virtue, civil as well as military. This is no
distorted picture of Portuguese life. The venality and corruption of
the higher orders keep pace with the ignorance and bigoted super-
stition of the multitude. And yet it was upon such a soil that, in the
year 182], the experiment of planting free institutions was made—an

246 Don Miguel, and the State of Portugal. [Serr.

experiment which, in the minds of all rational men, was from its birth
pronounced a chimera.

« How ineffectual,” said the Roman moralist, “ are the wisest laws, if
they be not supported by good morals.” How fully is this observa-
tion illustrated in Portugal! The violent revolutions which, at different
times have convulsed modern Europe, we are ready to allow, have arisen,
not from a spirit of innovation in sovereigns and statesmen, but from
their bigoted attachment to antiquated forms, and to principles bor-
rowed from less enlightened ages. But it is possible also to fall into
the opposite extreme, and to bring upon society the very evils we are
anxious to avoid, by prematurely forcing on a country, institutions which
it is utterly incapable of receiving :—this was precisely the case in Por-
tugal. All the acts of the Portuguese Cortes displayed an indiscrimi-
nate zeal in abolishing the ancient institutions of the monarchy—and
that too in a country where the people are distinguished for their
devoted attachment and deep-rooted reverence for ancient usages—
while they left untouched all those flagrant abuses which so powerfully
influence the humble happiness of the million. When so wide a field
presented itself for their labours, it must be in the recollection of all,
that the subject of their debates was some abstruse metaphysical doc~
trine on the rights of man, and the dignity of human nature ; or on the
more important question, of what should be the colour of the national
cockade. Like an exotic transplanted from its native clime, the Portu-
guese constitution soon withered and died—it fell without a blow, and
by a singular refinement in national degeneracy, some of the very men
who first unfurled its banner were instrumental in its overthrow.

On the demise of Don Joao the Sixth—surnamed by his subjects the
most amiable of sovereigns, but to whom, with much greater justice,
the term “ most imbecile” might have been applied—a new constitution,
of Brazilian fabrication, was sent to Portugal. This political document
was accompanied by the act of abdication of Don Pedro in favour of
his daughter, and the appointment of Don Miguel to the Regency.

The promulgation of this constitution was immediately followed by
the insurrection of the Marquis de Chaves in the north, a movement
which the Marquis de Palmella succeeded in imposing on Mr. Canning
as the van-guard of a formidable Spanish invasion. When Don Miguel,
a few months afterwards, set his foot on the shores of Portugal, the
elements of a counter-revolution were ready to burst forth in the capital
itself. It is not our intention, we repeat, to stand forward as the defend-
ers of this prince: but the cries of outraged humanity which burst from
the crowded prisons of Lisbon, invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his
head, should be with greater justice hurled against the leaders of the
ultra party, in whose hands Miguel is but a puppet skilfully played off.
It is the cause he upholds so in unison with the feelings of the people,
and not the person of Don Miguel, which is popular in Portugal—and
hence the stability of his government.

The right of every nation to choose its own form of government, has
now become a received political axiom. In proclaiming Don Miguel as
their king, the Portuguese people have only exercised a right
inherent in the nation. If they have chosen to relinquish liberty, and
prefer the chains of the most degrading despotism, we may pity
that prostration of intellect, which adds another example to the annals
of human imbecility and degradation—but we certainly have no right

1831.] Don Miguel, and the State of Portugal. 247

to quarrel with their choice. To denounce Don Miguel’s government
as unpopular, is to reason in the face of the plain evidence of facts ; for
no government can stand, whose measures are not in unison with the tide
of public opinion. It has now existed for upwards of three years under
circumstances that would try the stability of any government—disaffec-
tion at home—foreign invasion from without. During the recent visit
of the French squadron, when a sense of national disgrace, it was natu-
ral to suppose, would have kindled a flame of discontent and produced
a powerful reaction—even with this powerful diversion, it is notorious
that, far from any demonstration having been made in favour of the
constitution, not even a single viva was given for Donna Maria. It
may be urged that the people were overawed by the presence of a large
military force devoted to the government ; but it is now a hackneyed ob-
servation, that the most powerful and scientific military combinations
are insufficient to repress the aspiring efforts of freedom—and_ the
recent examples of Paris and Brussels are quoted as triumphant illus-
trations of this doctrine. Now the population of Lisbon is upwards of
300,000 souls, while the garrison during the late events barely amounted
to 5000 men. Had there then existed a general spirit of disaffection to
the government, could it have been effectually repressed by so incon-
siderable a military force ?

There is a very general opinion abroad, that were the ex-Emperor,
Don Pedro, to land on any part of the shores of Portugal, there would
be an immediate rising of the whole country in his favour. How far
the Portuguese bond-holders may share in this opinion, and how far it
may operate on them in inducing a further loan to the constitutional
party, ignorant as we are of their feelings, we have not the means of
judging. But we have strong reasons for deeming this opinion utterly
baseless. ‘The Emperor Don Pedro, it must be recollected, left Portu-
gal when quite a child, when the family of Braganza abandoned that
kingdom to the victorious arms of the French Emperor. Since that
period he is known to the people of Portugal, but by an event, which
in the mind of every Portuguese (to whatever political party he may
belong) produces feelings of grief and indignation—the loss of Brazil, of
those vast possessions which alone gave to Portugal her political im-
portance ; while the recollection of the indignity he heaped on the Por-
tuguese troops in that country, still rankles in the bosom of the army.
Should Don Pedro be mad enough to make such an attempt, unless
backed by an imposing foree—which he has not the means of raising—
instead of a triumphant career like that of Napoleon, when he landed
at Frejus, the ex-emperor would probably meet with the more melan-
choly fate of Murat.

On what definable principle, we would ask, is the recognition of the
« de facto” government of Don Miguel withheld by the British Cabi-
net? By our vacillating policy, we have at last alienated even the
moderate party in Portugal, and it is indeed lamentable to reflect, that
in a country where the influence of England was once paramount, the
English name is now held in universal execration. The government of
Don Miguel it is clear owes nothing to this country, while the hopes of
the constitutional party have been, by turns, raised and depressed,
flattered and deceived. There is probably no class of men throughout
the world who bear a more deadly hatred to this country than the Por-
tuguese constitutionalists ; the ruin of their country they lay at the door

248 Don Miguel, and the State of Portugal. (Serr.

of Great Britain, and execrate, to a man, the commercial treaty of
1810, which, they allege, struck a fatal blow at their commerce and
manufactures, and led to the separation of their immense transatlantic
possessions. We heartily wish that we could persuade ourselves that
this opinion is altogether founded in error. Portugal: owes nothing
to England but her national independence ; a boon, which, if we well
reflect on the course the political events of that distracted country have
taken since the defence of Torres Vedras, she may justly deem un-
worthy of her gratitude. Should the constitutional party, therefore,
become predominant, we may prepare ourselves for a vigorous system
of exclusion to every thing English. We do not urge as a necessary
consequence of this view of the subject, that we should seek to conci-
liate the present ruling party in Portugal; the foreign policy of this
country should be founded on nobler principles than the sordid views
of commercial advantage. ~But in the name of political consistency—if
such a virtue does really exist—why do we hesitate to recognize Don
Miguel? We have recognized Louis Philip, who is seated on the
throne of the family, in whose cause we lavished so much blood and
treasure. We have recognized, again, the Revolution of Belgium, whose
union with Holland we were chiefly instrumental in cementing. But
by a refinement of political inconsistency, we refuse to recognise the
present ruler of Portugal, who holds his throne by the self-same tenure
as both Louis Philip and Leopold—a tenure, we admit, arising from a far
less pure and elevated principle of action than that which produced the
French and Belgian Revolutions—held, too, by a prince for whom no
man can entertain the slightest personal sympathy ; but which, never-
theless, emanates from the same source, the legitimate source of all
right—the will of the nation.

THE MAGIC OF NIGHT.

Marpewn, arise from the darkness of sleep,
The night is enchanted, the silence is deep ;
Open thine eyelids—awake to a gleam
Brighter than ever yet burst on a dream.

Sweet though thy vision be, fair as a star,
Here is a vision more exquisite far.

Oh! look at yon hill, while the blue mist above
Is wreathing around it—an image of love.

Now glance below o’er the sparkling bay,

And the ship that severs its star-led way ;
And the moon that stops, like a beautiful bride,
To look at her face in the tranquil tide.

And mark how far the heaven is strewn

With courtier-clouds that worship the moon ;
While others lie snowy and still through the night,
Like a myriad wings all ready for flight.

Earth seems an Eden unstained by crime,

So pure is the scene, and so holy the time!
Tempest is now with the winds upcurled,
And Nature and Night are alone in the world.

The numbered sands of time seem run,

And Earth and her Heaven are mingling in one.

The light, like love, is silent and deep—

Maiden, is this an hour for sleep? B.

1831.] : [ 249 J

THE TUTOR-FIEND AND HIS THREE PUPILS.

' Turee fathers had each a son—they were determined, come what
might, that the boys should be wisely taught—in other words, should
be instructed in the mode of getling on. They made all inquiries after a
teacher, but, for some time, with no success: one was too poor, and
therefore incapable of instruction ; another, too merry ; good-nature was
a losing quality. At length they heard of a person anxious, and, they
believed, well-fitted to take charge of youth. The parents hastened to
the scholar’s abode ; it was a miserable hut in the middle of a marsh:
the croak of frogs and buzz of flies were the only sounds heard about
the master’s dwelling, which was guarded by a little ugly cur, that,
yelping at the approach of the visitors, caused its master to throw open
the casement, and reveal himself tothe view of those who sought him.

He was a man of about sixty ; his whole appearance wild and meagre.
His face seemed sharp and bloodless—the dry, yellow skin, tightened
over his high cheek-bones, came into more ghastly relief from a dead-
black eye. His brow was seamed with wrinkles. His hair, of speckled
black and grey, drooped in unsocial lankness. His beard seemed half-
rusted wire. His long, naked arms were fearfully muscular ; and _his
nails, hooked as the bill of a parrot. He was employed feeding a nest
of owlets, with some crushed snails before him. Looking up at his
visitors, he smiled, and displayed two rows of huge teeth, of pearly
whiteness. He opened the door, and the visitors entered the tutor’s
habitation. It consisted of one room, grotesquely furnished ; Indian
flies were pinned to the walls—here was the jaw of a shark—there a
tiger’s skin—with snakes of all sorts, wreathed in knots, hanging around.
In one corner of the hovel was the miser’s bed—a heap of rags, with an
account-book for a pillow. A mess of adder-broth was on the fire, to
which old Rapax (for so was the tutor called) invited the appetites of his
visitors. “There are eels,” said he ; “ but adders go the farthest.”

The bargain was soon closed, Rapax was to have the children; and,
next morning, Scowl, Topaz, and Blitheheart set out for their future
master’s dwelling. Topaz laughed as he stood on the other side of a
ditch fronting the tutor’s hut; then springing over, he relapsed into a
gloom as he approached the habitation. Scowl neither paused nor
smiled; but dashed sulkily over, following his companion in silence.
Blitheheart had tarried behind, gathering a water-lily—now, he comes,
skipping along, bounds across, and arrives at his future school almost
ere he sees it. Rapax was leaning through the window, pursuing his
occupation of yesterday.

“ You are welcome,” said he; “ enter.—And you, sir” (addressing
himself to Scowl), “ come, feed my owlets.”

“ Feed owlets! Not I, by the rusty holiness of your beard. Feed
owlets !”

“ You, young sir” (to Topaz), “ will perhaps take the office ?”

“ An’ they were a nest of linnets for a pretty daughter of your’s,
indeed would I ; but owlets are not young men’s birds.”

“Gentle youth,” said Rapax, turning to Blitheheart, “ will you
assist me ?”

“ Willingly, sir,” replied the boy,—“ but shew me the fashion.”

The old man muttered to himself, “ Humph!—scornful, jesting, and
ingenuous! Well, well—the same end by different ways.” Then to

250 The Tutor-Fiend and his three Pupils. (Serr:

the youths—“ But to our business. Enter ; here we must lose nothing,
and we have squandered away ten minutes without a purchase.”

«I marvel,” said Topaz, “ at your exact calculation—for I see no
dial here.”

« Nature’s clock, young man—thus,” answered Rapax, as he placed
his finger to his wrist. ‘‘ Can there be a better monitor than our pulse ?
—spurs it not to action ?>—clamours it not against idleness ?”

« No,” replied Scowl ; “ it rather tells us of the uselessness of employ-
ment, for every pulsation is but the knell of life gone by.”

« Prithee, good father, what are you to teach us? Come, whistle for
your dragon, and let us to the moon.”

«« My business is not in the clouds, young man.”

“ Shall we sail with you in a cockle-shell? Are you a sea-magician ?
I should like to string pearls with mermaids mightily,’ said Blithe-
heart.

« Nor can I fathom the ocean,” observed Rapax.

*« Will you then take us into the mines of earth? Shall we play at
hustle-cap with diamonds? Shall we go into the earth?” asked
Scowl.

« Ay, in good time.”

“ Truly, yes,” sneered Topaz, “ and without your necromancy.—
Come, what will you teach us ?”

« To be rich.”

« Then why art not rich thyself?” said Scowl.

* How know you that Iam not? I am rich.”

« Are you so?” answered Scowl, with bitterness.—“ Poor man !” and
he looked sneeringly at the wretched abode.

« He who hoards gold,” replied Rapax, “ does it not for the insensi-
ble love of its glitter ; but he looks abroad—he sees of what the emi-
nence of human flesh is composed—he scrapes together wealth—and
knowing that he can be splendid when he may, caresnot tobeso. Such
am I.”

« And this mystery,” said Scowl, “ you are to teach us ?—How ?”

« Enter, and learn.”

The youths entered the hut, and they seemed as though struck with
sudden plague. The old man took from a little box a piece of brilliant
gold, impressed with cabalistic figures ; and, throwing it upon the table,
desired the youths to look at it. ‘“‘ What think you of this metal? Each
answer me. What is it?”

Scowl unceremoniously took it from the table, and throwing it up,
and catching it in his hand, again cast it down scornfully, muttering,
«© Gold—the price of human brains !”

«« But do you not value it?” demanded Rapax.

“JT hate myself and all the world, that I must sometimes value this
piece of ore beyond the flower or pebble trodden under foot. I value it
not—but scorn it as I bow to it.”

« And you, young man?” said Rapax, glancing at Topaz.

« T look on this metal,” answered the youth, “ and I say to myself—
‘ This life is a mockery ; man hath made it a miserable one; and then
he forms a partial antidote to its wretchedness, to be obtained by guilt,
folly, or craft.’ Well, I have this antidote. I ask, ‘ How can I use it
to pleasure me?’ Fancy gives the answer, and—farewell gold !”

« For me,” said Blitheheart, “ were I in a meadow, or by a road-

1831.) The Tutor-Fiend and his three Pupils. 251

side, with this gold in my hand, and some miserable wretch, with pistol
at my head, should ask me for the coin, I’d freely give it him; and,
pitying his poverty who made gold his only wealth, I’d raise my empty
hands towards heaven, and, in the lasting beauty of creation, count me
beyond all princes—rich !”

* Look on this gold,” cried Rapax, ina deep, commanding voice.—
There was fascination in the metal. The youths looked silently and
intensely ; their souls were in their eyes, and they were spell-bound.
Their bosoms heaved, their mouths gaped, their fingers clutched the
air, and tears rolled down their cheeks. The fiend had entered their
hearts. The old man’s face was wrinkled with delight, and a ghastly
smile lurked at his shrivelled lips. The youths were changed, as if by
magic—they were the bondsmen of sin and rapine !

It was evening when the scholars quitted the hut. The old man gave
to each a piece of coin. They had not proceeded far ere they were
accosted by a wretched, starving woman, with a half-naked babe. She
first addressed herself to Scowl.—“ In the name of Heaven, young sir,
and as you hope to change this miserable world for one where sorrow
never enters, give me charity for the sake of my poor babe !”

« And will you live to beg ?—in the grave there is independence.
Seek it !’—and Scowl passed onward.

The woman then turned to Topaz.—‘ You are merry, my good
woman ; you would but try us !—Have beauty, yet ask for charity?
Go to cities—go to cities !”

She then appeared to Blitheheart. He was about to speak—then
paused, and at length stammered an excuse—“ he had no money.”

The youths proceeded on their way. For a time they were silent.
At length Scowl observed, “ Surely our master works by magic—else I
had not denied that woman. But a short time, and though I frowned at
man and all his wants, yet would I have taken out my purse, and,
laughing at the abjectness of nature, emptied its contents to the crowd,
to see them—like hungry fowls for barley—fight, and peck, and sidle
for the grain. Now, I would dash among the feeders, and, scaring them
hence, fill my own pouch with their corn, even though it grew mouldy
whilst its rightful owners starved. A short time since, I scorned the
world’s misery and corruption—now, I will prey upon them. My heart
is, on a sudden, hard and moistureless. Good thoughts have vanished
from my brain—tears are dried up in mine eyes.”

« And where I would have smiled or meditated,” said Topaz, “ now
I would sneer and answer groans with gibes.”

« Never before,” cried Blitheheart, “could I have resisted that
woman’s appeal, I told a lie, and yet I did not blush. Surely we are
bewitched !”

« But awakened to reason,” replied Scowl. “ The film is taken from
our eyes. The eye of worldly reason looks further into earth than the
vision of romantic youth pierces the heavens.”

« How long,” asked Blitheheart, “do our wise fathers propose to
keep us at this academy? When are we to enter the world ?”

“ IT know not—but soon, I hope,” said Topaz ; “ for I long to have a
match with its cunning creatures.”

“ All in good time,” remarked Scowl. “We are awhile to look on
the game before we play. Farewell ; the night is coming on—and now

252 The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. [Serr.

her gewgaws have no charms for me. Good night !”—and each betook
him to a different route, although one road led to their several habitations.

Every morning brought the scholars to Rapax. The fathers—though
they complained of a growing lack of obedience in their children—could
find no fault. with the progress of their education. Indeed, they were
charmed with their scholarship—they had grown so subtle and so dis-
putative! Rapax was a rare master !

One morning, as Scowl was about to visit the pedagogue, a girl—a
young and beautiful girl—stood in the pupil’s path“ Jane!” he ex-
claimed, in a tone of mingled wonder and remorse. He glared fiercely
at the girl, and her lineaments, searched by his eyes, awakened thoughts
and images maddening and confounding. He threw himself upon a
bank, and groaned heavily. “ Jane!” he repeated. The girl was. at
his side. His manner became more composed and solemn. He shook
his head, as the eyes of Jane seemed eagerly to penetrate his mystery
—he shook his head, and with a sickly smile exclaimed, ‘‘ You seek
in vain.” f

* Alas! have you not happiness?” mournfully inquired the girl.

“ What is that”—answered Scowl—“ that same enigma, happi-
ness ?—that common jilt—that sound of all lips—that mockery of all
hearts? Fools lisp its name, and grey-bearded men crimp their wrinkled
visages, and clasp their yellow hands, and look at the sky when this
happiness is named: What is it? I would learn—thou arta fair teacher.
Have you known it ?>—what was it like >—how was it called ?”

“ Once I thought it bore the lineaments of your affection ; I thought
its name was your—your love !”

“ My love! Psha! I have neither face nor form for woman’s
sublimer fancies. On my brow there are no curls to catch fair ladies’
hearts ; my lips are not honied, but steeped in gall ; I am puny—mis-
shapen—not at all the creature for a fair one’s love.”

“ Thou knowest my heart—thou knowest it wholly thine !”

“I might have loved you once—but now Away, girl! Seek some
pliant, thoughtless fool, who marries from fashion, because his neigh-
bour weds, or his own blood burns. Shew not to me Love’s wreath of
flowers—my breath would taint the buds—my eye wither them!”

“ Oh! what a change is this!” exclaimed the heart-broken girl.—
“ T ask not for myself—do as you will. But your parents—why are
you thus changed towards them ?”

“ Parents! I have none—they divorced me from them—they drove
me from their hearth, and placed me with another. He has taught me
to scorn them—or at least to value them but as the common mass
around me.—Yet there is one I loye—thanks to my good master !—
whom I love—dearly, fiercely love ; to whom I would sacrifice father,
mother, thee—all ties that keep me to the world—all thoughts of man
and man’s affection —”

« And who—what is it hath this fearful love ?”

« Self!” That is my god! I make all else bow down and worship
it! Farewell—we part for ever. When you see me turn yonder hedge,
think me fallen into an unfathomable gulf—Farewell !”

Stay !” exclaimed the girl ; and then, in speechless agony, she held
forth her clasped hands, looking imploringly at Scowl, who retreated a
pace or two, and, with calm brutality, surveyed her posture of phrenzy
and despair.

1831.] The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils.. 253

“ Truly,” said he, “ an inspired modern sybil! Your attitude has all
the eloquence of speechless misery ; and yet, I think, the neck is too—
(she shrunk back.)—So—well improved! Now, would I were a sculp-
tor! I would carve your image thus, to say my. ha! ha! my
prayers to—a stone! You would be a fitting partner for my heart.
Seek you a human husband. All affections are dead within me—all
feeling save one—an eternal and all-consuming pang—the pang of hun-
ger—the longing after gold !”

« You ambitious of such dross !—you who have

* Laughed, mocked at it. My master hath taught me better. Mark
me, girl—then shun me. So wild, so universal, is this craving after
wealth, that, did I think these yellow locks could, by chemical art, be
made to yield one grain of gold—could your heart’s last drop be petrified
by death into a gem, although I saw beseeching angels kneel around
you, I’d lock my hand within your hair—tear forth your living heart—
and leave you, tombless, to the birds. Have I not said enough ?”

He spoke to a senseless image. The girl fell, stricken by misery, to
the earth ; and the student pursued his way to the hut of the school-
master.

“ How now, son!” said Rapax; “ why thus late? What have you
to shew in exchange for so much time ?”

« A woman’s broken heart,” returned Scowl.

“ Ha! ha!’—and the haggard fiend crowed in the laugh— put it
by with the baubles.—But come, what say you, my lads?—we have tar-
ried long enough here? Are you for moving? . Will you all follow
me ?” ‘

“ We will!” was the sudden and unanimous response. .

« Then,” said the master, “ prepare to meet meat twelve to-night
upon the beach. I have skiff, sail, and compass. By my art'1 have
learned, that where the sun sets is gold ; and thither we will steer. Bid
adieu to your friends, and be punctual.”

« Adieu!” muttered Scowl. “ As surely as the wave breaks upon the
beach, so surely will I be there. For adieus!—But no matter. I say
I will be there.”

“ And I,” said Topaz.

« And I,” cried Blitheheart, “ will but run home to see what I may
pick up to help me on the voyage, and then for the ocean.”

The young men departed from the hut ; and the master busied him-
self securing his bags of gold, his jewels, with provisions, and all else
needful for the enterprize.

The night came. Scowl was the first at the appointed spot. It was
a narrow point, jutting into the sea, which beat over vast fragments of
rocks fallen from the surrounding precipices.. The night was chilly ;
the moon and stars.were in the skies—yet there seemed a desolation in
the heavens. The heavy beating of the waves was in monotonous
accordance with the apathy of his soul, who, seated on the rock, raised
his eyes from the deep to the cloud-veiled moon, as though they
asked, “ Why moves this water?” 'The moon returns him in mystery to
the wave; and the sea-weed, that listlessly he plucks from the rock,
adds to the whole riddle, and all is darkness: His existence seemed to
pause in the question of “ What is existence?” Night seemed again
to shed some part of its former influence over him. After vainly ven-
turing to search the hidden springs of nature—the wave’s motion, the

”

254 The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. [Serr.

wind’s chamber, the moon’s glorious light—he wept at his darkness.
He lay, for a time, the smarting penitent to nature, stricken down by
self-accusation, whilst compunction triumphed over him, and, like the
scorpion near the flame, he writhed, stung with his own venom, He
prayed for the rock to yawn and swallow him ; he asked for annihila-
tion, or to change his being with the weed or shell-fish clinging to the
eliff. His prayers were scoffed—he still must live, and bear the human
stamp.

Thus for a time he lay, passively suffering the embraces of one, who
had watched and followed his steps where even the nest-seeking school-
boy had feared to tread. By degrees, the vacant look of Scowl changed
from its wandering dulness, and his eyes flashed fire. He looked with
a demon’s glances at the girl; and, his voice rattling in his throat, he
cried —“ Have I not said enough ?”

The girl answered not. She sunk upon her knees, and, pale and
trembling, with outstretched hands and averted head, in silence waited
her destiny. Scowl, raising himself from the rock, hurried to and fro
on the little space allowed by the uneven surface—then stopping, and
looking at the girl, he exclaimed, “ Jane!” She turned her face to-
wards his, but rose not. “ Jane! you have seen me weep—have heard
me groan; you have beheld me snatch in hope at the fruits of heaven,
and heard my teeth gnash at finding them ashes; you have twisted a
shining serpent in my path ; you have And he approached her
with madness in his features.

«Oh, God! and will you?” shrieked the girl, as, trembling, she
seized the arm that grasped her.

« What! fear you death? Look at the beach beneath. But a mo-
ment, and, when your fragile form shall dash upon its bed, you will be
as insensible as the pebble you displace. The rising tide will bear you
to the ocean’s vault ; and—ha! ha!—sighing nymphs will mourn the
love-murdered maid. Why have you hunted me? Was it not enough
that I gave up heaven, man’s social feelings—pity, love, benevolence ?
Did I not already stand the grim, uncouth image of man?—must the
mockery be painted with blood?”

«« Are your wishes blood?” replied the girl, for a moment nerved
beyond herself; “‘ I thought they were gold!”

** And gold is blood!” fiercely answered Scowl. “Could gold weep
for the means by which men obtain it, a new Red Sea would swallow
misers in their homes.”

“I have gold.—Here” (and she presented to Scowl a small, well-
filled leathern bag)—“ here is gold—madness—infamy eternal! Ask
not how I gained it !”

“ Girl! what have you done?”

“ Loved you—lost myself !”

« That woman so should fall! — But, come, let me know your story—
else, unwittingly, I may want gratitude.”

« This gold—I thought my heart would stop, my arm be palsied, as I
touched it—was my father’s. It is—oh! shall I say—it is my hus-
band’s !”

«“ Husband! I must trudge and sneak about the world, filching
from all men. A wife is an incumbrance to a social rufian. Were I
a proclaimed bandit, then you should be my robber-queen—should kiss
my sword for good fortune when I went forth, and wash my hands from

1831.) The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. 255

blood at my return. But I cannot war so. I take your offering, but
leave your hand for another.”

* Oh, Heaven! you cannot mean !—Scowl! I have lost all for you!
I must—I will follow you !—Oh! look not so, for you cannot madden
me.—Be merciful !”

“JT will. Jane, this is your dying hour! Say, is not death sweet
amid these rocks, with the waves and the stars to witness the fleeting
soul ?”

“ Death !—oh ! to die with guilt so newly on me! Heaven have
mercy! Save me—save me!”

Scowl seized the shrieking girl, who, after a short struggle, broke
from his grasp, and rushed to a higher point of the rock. He follows
her—she falls—and the next moment the beach bears a mangled
corse !

A low, long whistle echoed among the rocks. Scowl leapt from point
to point, gained the beach, and there beheld his master and his com-
rades. He threw himself into the skiff, and plied violently at the oar,
as though he would numb the mind’s action by bodily exertion.

For a time they proceeded in silence. At length Rapax exclaimed—
* What! lads, home-sick already ? What! Scowl—dull ?”

« Have I proved dull since we first met ?”

“ In truth, no; you are an apt scholar.”

Tis well you had me. Had I learned from another master, I might
have been as great a spendthrift as I will now be miser.—But whither
are we bound, and with whom are we to mingle ?”

« Our destined land,” replied the master, “is a fruitful one, and the
inhabitants as nature made them. They worship the stars, and offer
fruits, flowers, and shells to the spirits of air, earth, and ocean. Their
land is a bloodless one, and their lives pass in the constant intercourse of
what civilization calls benevolence !”

* What !” said Scowl, “ have they no holiness >—holiness, that burns
and tortures one another? So, then, be my trade hypocrisy !”

“T,” said Topaz, “ will teach them to divide and subdivide their
lands. I will shew them how to make man-traps and spring-guns, and
how (blest art!) to make a mystery of common-sense!”

“ And I,” cried Blitheheart, “ will create disease, and then be phy-
sician infallible.”

“ Truly,” said Scowl, “ our vessel hath a goodly freight—supersti-
tion, law-making, and physic !”

“ Welcome to your inheritance! I give this land to your practices !”
exclaimed Rapax, as he pointed to the shore, which, with miraculous
speed, they had already approached.

Followed by his pupils, he pursued his way into the island. At length
they beheld a multitude of people seated on the grass. The women were
lovely, and the men seemed worthy of their partners ; their limbs indi-
cated a pliant vigour, and in their features was that dauntless inde-
pendence which surely adorned men in the early day.

It were long and vain to tell the means by which the strangers lured
the people from their happiness and independence—by which they set
parent ugainst child, and child against father. In fine, the land was
civilized ; slaves were made, and taxes were levied; some few fed to
repletion, whilst thousands pined and died with hunger. Rapax and
his scholars controlled the work. ‘Trees were felled—houses built—the

256 The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. [Srrr.

earth ransacked for iron for locks and bars, and swords and bayonets.
Palaces arose—then an inquisition, halls of justice, and a school of ana-
tomy. There were several prisons, and some admirable powder-manu-
factories. There were likewise tax-gatherers and executioners. The
people were civilized.

At length the seeming divinity of the task-masters became a question.
Some brave hearts spoke out—* What!” said they, “ are millions to be
fools and wretches, that some two or three may be idlers and knaves ?”

At length King Rapax—for king he was—approached the crisis of
mortality. He ordered his riches to be displayed about his chamber,
and his blood-shot eye gleamed with horrible delight, as he beheld the
glittering heaps to which his soul was yet adhering ; and he grasped a
handful of gold even whilst its tinkling was responded to by the con-
vulsive rattle in the miser’s throat. When death gave the last charge,
Rapax screamed and groaned, as though he would fight him still; and,
in the agony, he crushed the metal in his hand till the blood started
from the withered flesh. Tearing away his vestments, he threw him-
self amidst a heap of gold, as though there he could defy his follower ;
and as he writhed among the ore, he scrambled for the jewels and the
vessels that were about him, supplicating the assistance of the beholders
to stand before him and his foe. A terrific laugh of triumph extended
his jaws, as he stretched forth his hand to seize a massive piece of gold
to hide his head from the attack. Just as, with almost supernatural
force, he poised the weight above him, his eyes start—his tongue works
in his mouth—the ore rattles with the struggle of his limbs—and the
uplifted mass, falling with a crash, thunders the knell of the miser!

The ministers paused not a moment. The ghastly corse, heaped
round about by gold, appalled them not. Each was rushing on to take
possession—when shouts were heard—-then the trample of multitudes.
The doors were burst open, and the people, thronging onward, recoiled
as they beheld the naked body of their dead enslaver. The pupils, one
and all, pounced upon a-small casket still held in the gripe of the corse:
Scowl was master of the prize, and, in an instant, eluding the vigilance
of the populace, disappeared. Topaz and Blitheheart likewise escaped.
The streets were empty—the houses deserted: the old men, women, and
children had been removed, under a strong guard, to a secure retreat,
whilst the attack was made upon Rapax and the younger despots. Scowl;
with two or three of his minions, tossed burning brands into the un-
guarded habitation: the winds rose, the flames raged, and destruction
seemed to hover over the devoted city. Again Scowl led on his mer-
cenaries—again he was defeated. The dwellings consecrated to the fair
stranger-deities (for such Rapax and his pupils had been deemed) were
consumed to ashes—nearly all who fought for the bad cause, relentlessly
slaughtered. A few, faithful in adversity, by Scowl’s orders launched
the boat which had first touched the island, and which had been vene-
rated as something little less than sacred. There was no other refuge
save the howling sea for the gold-worshipper. All day he lay hidden ;
and, when night came, he hurried timidly to the spot where, ‘in an
obscure creek, lay the beat. His attendants were waiting his arrival!
Scowl, unwilling to venture with such a number in so fragile a bark;
despatched all, save one, to his late hiding-place, in the excuse of having
left there a treasure of great value. No sooner had the party quitted
him, than he leapt into a boat, and, bidding the man follow, was

1831.} The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. 257

launching the craft into the sea, when his name was called, and, looking
round, he observed his companions, Topaz and Blitheheart, rise from a
pit which they had dug in the sand.

«« My brother !” said Blitheheart, ““ we have watched for you. Let
us away from this cursed spot !” and, approaching, they were about to
enter the boat.

“ Stay !” said Scowl, “ this is all mine. Shall I not be rewarded for
my work? What do you give for your passage?”

“ You do but jest! What! friends barter for an act of grace!”

«I jest not. Pay me, and you shall make the voyage. Offer to
palter, or to touch the gunwale of the craft, and i

As he spoke out, he seized the oar, and stood in the act to strike.

«J will humour you, though you do but jest,” groaned Blitheheart ;
and he gave him some twenty gems.

« More !—more !” exclaimed the insatiate Scowl. Blitheheart fairly
quivered with hate, as he surrendered up all jhis hoard to the griping
hand of Scowl, who then permitted him to take his seat in the boat.

«« Surely you will not leave me!” cried Topaz, in an agony of fear.

_“ Ay, will I,” replied Scowl, “ unless you pay.”

« Alas! I have no means. I have lost all—all! But my future
profits shall be yours.”

«I am no speculator, brother,” answered Scowl, with malicious cool-
ness, at the same time pushing the boat from the strand.

« Blitheheart ! will you pay my passage?” screamed Topaz, as he
waded into the sea, stretching his hand towards the drifting skiff.

Blitheheart turned aside his head. Topaz, in madness, seized the
boat. Scowl, catching up a sword, struck at the petitioner just above
the wrist. With a piercing howl, he let go his hold—his hand hung
but by the slightest filament! His shrieks were lost in a sudden shout.
The party of Scowl were seen rushing down the beach, followed by the
enraged multitude. His followers begged Scowl to return—he laughed !
One of the men, seizing a musket, fired ; but, missing his aim, wounded
the innocent companion of Scowl and Blitheheart. The man was, in an
instant, tossed into the sea—the sail was hoisted—the wind sprang up—
and on the boat flew from the island. The passengers heard the tumult
of the affray—clash of swords—groans and maledictions. The boat sailed
on; they were shortly girted round by the wild and dreary sea.

And the islanders were civilized. They knew the value of gold and
iron: they bought slaves with the one, and made war with the other.
They had prisons for debtors; and they could kill at two hundred .
paces. They were civilized !

* *

* *

The old pilgrim quitted the companions of his travel when he reached
the city. He looked at every house with suspicion. There was in his
face the assumed meekness of devotion; but his eyes had, at times, a
wolfish glare, that made the beholder gasp as it flashed upon him. The
devotee appeared aged and travel-worn—he seemed to walk and move
from the impulse of some deep, unquenchable passion, rather than from
the ease of natural motion. Frequently he paused as he slunk through
the streets, and then hurried from the door he was about to knock at.
He arrived at a mosque, and, as if instinctively, bowed his head. He
sat upon the steps, and, wearied with travel, slept. His old limbs were
crouched all night upon the marble. When the morning came, numbers

M.M, New Series.—Vou. XIL. No. 69. 2B

258 The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. (Serr.

stood about, looking at the sleeper, who, according to the charity of the
beholder, seemed something more or less than human. To some he
appeared a sleeping fiend. His black, distended eyelids were in strong
contrast to the bloodless paler of his cheeks; his sharp nose, as though
protruding through the skin; his fallen jaw, discovering his firm-set
teeth ; and his arms, hugging his breast, gave him, with different minds,
the appearance of a saint or devil.

At length a youth approached the sleeper, and pulled his garment.
The pilgrim, as under the influence of some dream, sprang up, and seiz-
ing the affrighted youth, shouted, “ Where—where ?”—then, with the
rapidity of thought, felt at his breast, and smiled as he seemed to grasp
something. Then, a sudden cramp, the effect of his cold bed and the
night-air, shooting through his legs, he fell ; and his forehead striking
against the edge of the step, the blood gushed from the wound. The
people closed about him to render assistance ; but, although stunned, he
threw forth his legs to keep off ‘the multitude, and never once loosened
his grasp from his garment. At length the people resolved to carry him
to a neighbouring surgeon ; and the pilgrim, fainting from the loss of
blood, was borne to a low hovel in an obscure lane.

Here dwelt the leech, a rare compound of quaint humour, cheerful-
ness, and avarice. The wounded man was left alone with the surgeon,
who bound up the hurt, and strove to unclench the pilgrim’s hands.
Insensibility gave the patient greater strength ; and already the man of
healing trembled for his fee. He administered violent restoratives to
the patient, who, at length, breathed more freely—he panted, and his
hands fell for an instant upon his knees. The surgeon thrust his arm
into the sick man’s bosom—a deep snar] rattled in the pilgrim’s throat,
as, recovering his consciousness, he grasped the arm at his breast, and
threw back his head to confront the danger that menaced him. There
was a terrific interchange of look: eye flashed on eye—the face of each
was distended—their lips worked—as though in disgust and hatred of
the name they uttered—as “ Scowl,” “ Blitheheart,” fell, like venom,
from them.

The companions were again united. The hunters had again met. A
hatred of each other in youth had become more deadly in age: but
dissimulation could give a seeming sanctity to the purpose of a fiend.

“ Dear brother,” cried Scowl, “ you have a good trade.”

«¢ Poor, wretchedly poor,” answered Blitheheart. ‘ What then, I am
not what I was. Now wealth hath no charms for me—(Scowl glanced
about the hut.) Believe it—I have more silver in my beard than my
bag. But come, you are wearied. Though we wear turbans we can
drink wine—come, come, we are too old to be choked with a grape-
stone. I have no money, but I have credit—we will have wine, boy ;
and drink to the memory of our old master!” So saying, Blitheheart
left the hut on his liberal errand.

Scowl had well scanned his early companion. He had read him with
eyes of distrust and hate. No sooner then had Blitheheart quitted the
hovel, than Scowl cast his greedy looks around—every corner, every
cranny, was ransacked—the search was unsuccessful. Waiting his
companion’s return, Scowl took up a knife to cut a thorn from his foot—
he cut, and still his face was cold and colourless: he whetted the knife
upon the stone floor—it stuck at a small iron ring. Scowl seized it,
and bending every nerve to the effort, lifted up a huge granite slab.

1831.] The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. 259

He staggered half blinded from the spot, and the low roof echoed the
rejoicing of the demon. A blaze of gold and jewels shone upon him.
At this moment the door opened, and Blitheheart entered. Scowl
threw himself before the treasure, and, with the knife firmly grasped in
his extended hand, dared the approach of his “ dear brother,’ who,
wildered at the discovery, moved not, spoke not—but breathed a deep
groan of agony, let the pitcher fall, and, subdued to utter imbecility,
threw himself upon his knees: he held out his clasped, trembling hands
—the tears rolled down his withered cheeks—he tried to speak—but
articulation was lost in guttural moanings.

« What! I have found a treasure!” exclaimed Scowl.

« My all-—my all!” sobbed Blitheheart, tremulously.

«« All!” echoed Scowl, and drawing his finger down the edge of the
knife, and his eyes flashing with triumph, he cried, in a mingled tone of
mockery and menace, “ Halves, brother !”

The lips of Blitheheart quivered as though struck with sudden ague.
The veins worked, like young snakes, in his brow. Still, he strove to
call up a ghastly smile into his face—< Halves—aye, aye—we'll see—
but the wine is gone—we must have more—we ‘s

“ Regale yourself—here is my banquet. Brother (by which dear
name I claim half your substance)—I say, halves! Why so,” he pur-
sued, as he searched among the treasure—“ this is well ; a good trade,
in faith, this physic. Brother, how many men died in this?” and he
held up a piece of coin, and then again turned over the store. The
tinkling of every peice of metal added torture to Blitheheart—his
clenched hands struck each other in impotent frenzy, and he rushed
forward. Scowl] dashed back the terrified wretch—a struggle ensued—
and the tenant of the hut lay dumb and insensible. Scowl searched
amongst the heap of weaith: he was speedily loaded—indeed, he was
almost held to the spot by the weight of his pilferings. He took up a
large golden vase—twice he put it down, and then resumed it. It could
not be, he must relinquish it—with hate and selfish disappointment he
dashed it from him, and the metal tinkled against the bald skull of the
dumb and prostrate man. Blitheheart groaned heavily, and Scowl,

with a fiendish chuckle, crossed the threshold.
* * %*

*

«« Ts there no mercy ?”? asked a manacled wretch ; and the rattling of
his chains seemed to answer—“ None.” The prisoner was a thin old
man, whose face, though meagre, was animated with strong, con-
temptuous feeling: his lips seemed festering with satire. He slunk
to a corner of his dungeon, and lifting a stone, took from under it a
small bag: it was filled with precious gems. He sat down, and taking
up a loose pebble, drove the jewels between the crannies of the dungeon
walls. “If they kill the bird, they shall not have the plumes,” he
muttered, as he studded the cell of death with gems fitting a diadem.
* T fix them thus low, that they shall not glare upon men’s eyes: for
even in a dungeon man does not look down: his hopes will fly up-
wards, even though they lose their pinions through the bars.” As he
accomplished his work the gaoler entered—a friend was at the gate.
“ Friend !” echoed the captive, sneeringly—“ Say I have no legacies.”

The visitor would take no denial: it was Scowl who came to console
the captive Topaz. Scowl held forth his hand. “ What!” cried Topaz,

2B2

260 The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. (Serr.

with a malignant grin, ‘‘ have you another sword behind you ?—nay,
leave one hand for the cord of the hangman.”

Scowl approached Topaz, and touching his chains, cried, “ Death,
ha?”

«“ Yes, a little sleep after a long walk.”

«« And these are the men we cultivated. We taught them to dig for
gold, and they hang you for usury. “Tis a jest, though not a blithe
one. Come, no bequest for a friend ?>—no wealth ?”

« Wealth, I have none: though these fools hunt me for it. They
surely think I have a vein of gold where other men have marrow. Yet
I will bequeath you something !”

«© What ?”

« The rope that hangs me: ’twill serve you for a penitential cord.”

The gaoler entered—the friends must separate. They approached
each other with outstretched arms. “ Think, brother, do you give
nothing?” cried Scowl.

« Nothing,” was the answer. Scowl, turning his back on his com-
panion, quitted the cell, and the usurer was led forth to death.

Scowl, as his vesse] sailed from the land, beheld the carcase of the
miser hanging to the winds.

* * * * * *

All was bustle at the village of — Scowl had returned to his
native home. He had built a stately and gorgeous palace, yet the
edifice had but few inhabitants. Two or three palsied old men from
the poor-house tottered in the halls ; and the roofs that might have shel-
tered monarchs echoed the shambling tread of the pauper. Here Scowl
would live in solitude, as though he communed with his riches, giving
them natures and dispositions. He would talk to them, for his mind
was sinking, as they were his ministers and friends.

At length he ventured upon a task imposed upon him by his late
master. It was a dark wintry night when he hobbled to the marsh
where once stood the cottage of old: Rapax. Scowl began to dig the
earth, and after a long and wearisome toil, he beheld the buried riches
of his master. Here night after night he toiled, removing the treasure
stealthily to his mansion. One night, he beheld a man moving slowly
towards the pit—he saw him leap into it, and heard him rattle his
wealth. Scowl sprang upon the robber, seized a bag, and swinging it
with all his strength, dashed it against the head of his opponent, who
fell, screaming inarticulate sounds. Scowl repeated the blows, then
throwing in the earth, buried the unknown corse of Blitheheart with
his idol. Scowl caught up the bag, and hastened to his mansion.

«It must be,” exclaimed Scowl, “ none else could know the spot!”
And then he sought to place the bag with his stores: he felt in his
bosom—groaned, and let the bag fall. The noise awakened his ser-
vants: the old men ran to their master, whom they found aghast and
trembling. Scowl wildly cried, “ My keys! my keys! gone—buried!”
One of the old men took up the bag—Scowl darted forth to seize it,
then staggered back as he beheld it wet with the blood of his victim.
The servants cut it open, and the gold fell about the floor. Scowl
stamped and shrieked as he saw the old men fighting and struggling for -
the coin. He rushed to the iron door of his treasures, forbidding all
approach. Here, in madness, he raved for hours. The old men terri-

1831.] The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. 261

fied, and their suspicions awakened by the appearance of the bag, soon
gave tongue to their fears. The civil authorities, with a crowd of vil-
lagers, were in attendance. They burst open the bolted door of the
apartment which led to the retreat of the miser, and beheld him stretched
at the door of histreasury. They raised him up—he was dead. In his
madness, he had flung himself violently against the door, and a deep
wound on his brow shewed the indention of one of the iron rivets with
which it was studded.

These are the deaths of the three pupils of Rapax. One was gibbetted
—the other murdered by his fellow—the third fractured his own skull
against the barrier of his wealth. They all got on in the world.

J.

SONNETS:
ON A SET OF GEMS FROM THE ANTIQUE.

I.
Wuar forms are these, touched by the silver hand
Of honoring Time? Methinks I see the face
Of Genius, smiling on the radiant race
That crowned old Greece with glory, and command
Even now the love and praise of every land!
The Beauty of the Dead herein we trace ;
Their very minds seem moulded into grace—
Nay, their most fixed affections may be scanned
In these life-printed pages. Who may tell
How thought hath been inspired! Perchance this form
Was fashioned in the heart’s mysterious cell,
An image which young Passion worshipped well ;
Or haply in a dream, a. visioned storm,
First on the mind it rose, a rainbow bright and warm.

Il.
’Twas subtle Nature’s ever-working skill
That gave these graces life. Most calm and white
They lie, like clouds. In some enchanted night,
When sleep had sealed up every earthly ill,
The mind, awakening like a miracle,
First in the purple shade, the starry light,
The glory, and the marvel, and the might,
Found fine Realities, diviner still
Than its own Dreams—shapes wonderfully fair,
And faces full of heaven. Or from the sea
In its proud flow—the peaks, sublime and bare—
The woods, wind-shaken—from the shell-strewn lea,
Were these creations caught, that breathe, and bear
Old Nature’s likeness—still, profound, and free. B.

[ 262 ] (Serr.

THE EXECUTIONER OF PARIS.

Noruine of the sublimity of horror is associated in the mind of an
Englishman with the mention of “ Jack Ketch ;” we even denote him by
a pleasant sobriquet : we feel no convulsive shudder when we hear of his
whereabout ; we do not cross over the way when we meet him in Fleet-
street. We regard him, with the exception of the vice of: drunkenness—
some trifling brutality of manner—a rather too prominent expression of
contempt for the refinements of society, “ taste, Shakspeare, and the
musical-glasses,” as a mighty respectable professor—in his way. Per-
haps the familiarity which our laws permit, between him and the public,
may have detracted from all that should have been imposing or impres-~
sive about him. But “ l’executeur des hautes wuvres” is regarded in
France in a far different and more formidable light. Although a re-
sident in the centre of the French capital, he is never seen but in the
public performance of his dreadful duty :—a degree of cautious and not
impolitic mystery is attached to him; and such are the feelings his very
name excites, that the mere announcement of his presence, in the common
walks of life, would render the very Boulevards sacred to himself alone ;
would disperse the myriads of barricaders in the noontide of their patrio-
tic travail ;—would calm the tremendous clamours of the Chamber of
Deputies, and prorogue or dissolve it without the solemnity of proclama-
tion. Should he deign to usher in the Duc de Bourdeaux he might clear
a way for him to the Tuileries and the throne without dread of compe-
tition or resistance. The mandates of the Procureur-generale himself,
which summon him to his duty, are deposited in a bouche de fer, inserted
in the large and massive iron grating that guards the entrance to his
dwelling ; for perhaps not one could be found, daring and reckless
enough of popular opinion, to consign them in person to their terrible
address.—He reads and obeys. In the darkness and depth of night,
with his assistants, he arranges the materials of death: no word is spoken
as he labours in his awful calling ; the feeble light, which enables him to
prepare the machinery, glimmering on the scaffold, renders the guards
that surround it barely discernible: while they, motionless and dumb,
seem rather phantoms of the night than breathing men. If allowed to
trace such an official to the solitude of his shunned domicile—to see him
seated, Crusoe-like, beside his hearth, and to consider the economy of his
unprofessional hours—something might be learned of good or ill which
might point a moral, if it would not adorn a tale. To him it has
been given to know the last words, looks, and actions of many, unob-
scured by affectation or deceit :—the secret affections of numbers long
concealed from the world’s view have been laid open, once and briefly,
yet prominently, to his sight. He has witnessed the eloquence of re-
morse or of innocence, at the hour of death, when the retrospect of a
lengthened life of sin or misfortune has been comprehended perhaps in
one last sentence, one parting word or look, more emphatic than all that
“* saint or sophist ever writ.”

Grave reflections these ; but they were passing through my mind as I
rung at the bell of a small neat house in the Rue des Marais du Temple ;
the door being opened, I was ushered into a low well - furnished
room, wherein a man, of the age of sixty, was employed touching the
keys of a piano with his right hand, while his left arm embraced a child

1831.] The Executioner of Paris. 263

about ten years old, of remarkable beauty, whose features strongly
resembled those of him who held her. The old man was Henri Sanson,
the public executioner of Paris! Having previously adapted my address
to one whom IJ had imaged in my mind as bearing in his traits the repulsive
record of his trade, I had to re-order my ideas, and assume a different
manner. For, as I contemplated his mild and open countenance, in
which manly beauty was not wanting, I felt myself bound to acknow-
ledge, by a corresponding courtesy of demeanour, the salutations of a man
of the world, wholly free from embarrassment or affectation. The in-
tention of composing a treatise on the various public punishments
adopted at different epochs of French legislation, was offered by me as
an apology for the unaccustomed intrusion to which he was subjected.
He politely acceded to my request for information, and conducted me to
a chamber, containing a large and well-selected library. Here, all the
awkwardness I had previously felt, as to discourse with the singular being
who stood before me, was at once dismissed ; and the titles of the vari-
ous volumes which I examined soon led to free conversation, during
which my host displayed great taste and judgment in his observations
on the various works I brought under his notice: expressing himself as
one would do, who had profited largely by what he had read. It was
clear that his books formed his chief society : abandoned by the world,
he can here hold converse with the illustrious dead, and can render
himself familiar with the sentiments of the good and great, of the pre-
sent or a past age, without dread of the expression of that scorn, disgust,
and horror that would attend any attempt at personal communication
with his fellow-men. Sanson loves to talk, and talks exceedingly well:
but, in the whole course of a visit of two hours, which was prolonged by
the interest excited in me by this extraordinary person, he forgot not for
a moment the distance placed between him and society in general: he
shewed that he was fully aware of his situation, and does not affect to
despise the feeling it is calculated to produce in others; but, having
made up his mind to sustain it, calls up all his philosophy (for it may
well be termed so) to support him in an existence without the pale of
social intercourse. Among his books my eye fell on “ Le dernier Jour
d'un Condamné.”

Reverting, however, to the professed object of my visit, he unlocked
the door of another chamber, in which the various instruments of ex-
treme punishment, formerly used, are yet preserved by him. It is,
truly, afearful museum: and the examination of its contents gave rise
to many inquiries on my part, which led to many curious anecdotes
which he recounted, particularly as to the last moments of the con-
demned. I could not but feel the contrast, of the office of the man with
the sensibility he displayed in his narration, and the humanity which he
evinced as he adverted to the dreadful circumstances in which he had
borne so prominent a part. It is unnecessary to quote them; but all he
related of the sufferers, in the hour of death, had something singularly
forced, unnatural, and painful. Castaing was believed generally to be
innocent of the crime for which he was condemned, yet, as Sanson told
me, he confessed his guilt upon the scaffold. He shewed me the sabre
with which the Marquis de Lally had been beheaded. It was prepared
for the occasion, and three were cast before one could be found likely
to answer the purpose. It was usual at that period for young men of

264 The Executioner of Paris. [Serr.

fashion to assist* (as the term is) on the scaffold at the last hour of the
condemned, as they did on the stage at theatrical -performances. The
crowd upon that occasion was great, and the space limited, the arm
of the executioner was jostled, at the moment the sabre was balanced
above his head, the blow was diverted from the neck of the unhappy
victim, and a common cutlass was resorted to, by one of the execu-
tioner’s assistants, to end the agonies of the sufferer. A notch in the
blade of the sabre is exactly of the size and in the form of a human
tooth.

I have said that Sanson, during the conversation, gave proofs of no
ordinary humanity. He summons up his resolution to the dreadful task
he has to perform, and his firmness fails him not at the moment of
duty. Yet, as soon as he receives the fatal order of the Procureur-
generale, he has always a visible and violent struggle with his feelings
ere he brings himself to obey. He at length proceeds to prepare, with
apparent coolness, the machine of destruction and all the apparatus of
death, but as soon as his sad work is finished his countenance becomes
pale and death-like—he returns to his solitary home and shuts himself
in his chamber, where he long refuses nourishment or conversation, and
tears start from his eyes when induced to advert to the circumstances
of an execution.

The man had impressed me with feelings decidedly distinct from
those which I anticipated as the result of my communication with him,
and as I took leave of him (I know not whether from forgetfulness or
otherwise) I held out my hand. His countenance suddenly changed
as he drew back several steps from me; it expressed astonishment and
confusion—-all his ease of manner had fled at once, and I was again re-
minded of “ la Main Sanglante.”

To save the subject of this paper from a charge of vulgarity, by the
world in general, let it be remembered that, during the Irish rebellion,
a gentleman of name, family, and fortune, and the high sheriff of a
county, had, if I recollect, the thanks of both houses of Parliament
voted to him for acting as executioner, when no other could be found,
to a formidable criminal; that in the year 1790, on the proposition of
Maton Delavarenne, seconded by Mirabeau himself, it was especially
decreed, by the French legislature, that the public executioner should
be comprehended in the number of citizens, and that, formerly, in the
state of Wurtemburg, after having exercised his profession a certain
number of years, the headsman was honoured, by having conferred
upen him the degree of Doctor of Laws.

* This extraordinary taste was much indulged in at the time. The celebrated
George Selwyn travelled from London to Paris, day and night, to be present at
the execution of Damiens. He was repulsed, at first, by the guards who sur-
rounded the scaffold, until he stated that he had come from London expressly to
witness the ceremony. ‘‘Make room for the gentleman, he is an Englishman
and an amateur,” was the bitter observation of a gen-d’arme as he civilly made
way for the stranger.

1831.] [ 265 J
STORIES OF LIVING MUSICIANS.

If an exaggerated degree of veneration was accorded, by the ancient
Greeks, to musicians as men, we, perhaps, are too prone to consider them
more in their professional than their personal character. No son of song
ever yet acquired fame or honour in his art, without possessing an en-

usiasm which, though chiefly directed to musical science, could not
fail to tinge his thoughts and actions on points unconnected with har-
mony. Braham rather regales his mind upon the recollections of royalty
than the reminiscences of popular applause ; Catalani muses less on her
miracles of voice than on the compliments of the soldier Swede ; and
poor Charley Dignum’s glee was but the consequence and product of
mock-turtle and malmsey-madeira. It might be difficult to define in
what manner “the concord of sweet sounds” operates on the moral
character of him whom they inspire; yet it will be assented to, that
musical taste often wars with the ordinary pursuits of life, and induces
apathy in the common concerns of active society :—and it is a freedom
from the cares and anxieties of the world, thus produced, which has
assured longevity to singers in a number of remarkable instances, little
as their avocations would seem favourable to advanced age.

It is but a few years since Madame Mara, after the interval of half a
century, re-appeared upon the London boards,undoubtedly with diminished
powers of execution, but with all the taste and enthusiasm for the art
that she possessed when she enchanted a by-gone generation. She was
then more aged than the oldest of her admirers ;—on the scene of her
early glories, where once the proud and the influential struggled for her
notice, and with all the deceitful reminiscences of her former fame alive
in her mind, she found herself alone—a stranger in the assembly ; the
walls had lost their echo, and the mute respect with which the audience
listened to her later accents, eloquently told her what she had been, and
what she was. She wept bitterly at the wholesome but humbling lesson.
Barbarini, once so celebrated as a singer, was discovered but last year, by
a traveller, still living, in a retired town of Russia; where, at the age
of 106, he was in the active performance of the homely duties of a
lowly innkeeper at Voronoge, and, notwithstanding his weight of years,
walked daily a league and a half for the benefit of his health ; each
evening reverting to his guitar, and singing the songs of his fair Italy
with a feeble voice. Court-favour failed him, and, reduced to poverty,
he was obliged to seek subsistence by manual labour in that distasteful
clime. -

Catarina Gabrieli, who had been in her infant years the companion of
poor Barbarini, who had shared with him the best of his fame (being his
junior by five years only), and whose musical talent was the boast of her
native Italy, also still survives. She is upwards of 100. But, two years
since, she could delight her friends by evidence of yet extraordinary
powers. In the meridian of her renown the most splendid offers were
made her to proceed to foreign shores, and from London golden argu-
ments were profusely lavished to induce her to visit us.“ I can never do
there as I like,” was the honest answer of the celebrated cantatrice. ‘ If
I do not choose to sing I shall be insulted—No! no!—I would rather
live in my own Italy, were it a jail.” The Empress Catherine, about the
year 1765, exerted all her influence to have Gabrieli at Saint Peters~
burg, until, wearied by the assiduous persuasion of the autocrat’s ambas-

266 Stories of Living Musicians. [Sepr.

sador, she consented to sing at the Russian court for two short months, on
condition of having five thousand ducats, and all the expences of her resi-
dence in the northern capital,with those of her voyage thither and return,
fully paid. “ Tell the Italian,” replied the Empress to her minister,
« that I do not pay my field-marshals so much.” “ Tell your mistress,”
answered Gabrieli, on the message being conveyed to her, “ that she
may set her field-marshals to sing.’ Unused as she was to concession,
the haughty empress acceded to the terms of the Roman, and so de-
lighted was she by her performance, that jewels, far exceeding the
amount of her salary, were presented to the enchantress. Yet Gabrieli
was any thing but covetous: indeed she was munificently generous
on occasions, and ever charitable ; but sometimes, as we have seen, she
indulged in freaks of independence which were not always so happy in
their results as that practised upon Catherine. Invited to visit Palermo
she reached the shores of Sicily, when her fame was at its acmé, and
her arrival caused as great a “ sensation” in the capital of the island as
Paganini’s has created among us. For once, in Neapolitan govern-
ment, the feelings of the Viceroy ran parallel with the enthusiasm of
the people. A splendid repast was furnished by him to the nobility of
Palermo, on the day of her first appearance—the proudest of the land
were in attendance, and the banquet waited—yet she came not. Mes-
sengers were despatched to remind the prima-donna of her promise
and her host’s expectation.—“ La Signora sends to say that she had entirely
forgotten the invitation—is in bed, and desires not to be disturbed,” was
the easy answer which he bore; and it was much—as my Lord Pembroke,
or any of our countrymen cognizant of the sweetnesses of Sicilian rule,
will admit. The promised airs of the evening, however, would, it was
thought, recompence the disappointed Viceroy for the less grateful
ones thus exhibited, and he repaired to the theatre, followed by an illus-
trious cortege. Those who have endured long hours of suffocation in
the gallery of the House of Commons to hear the motion of some cele-
brated orator postponed—those who have read a fashionable novel to
the end, in the hope of extracting some little particle of pleasure—may
appreciate the horror of his Highness, to hear the shrew-like songstress
perversely setting all harmony and measure at defiance—stultifying the
laborious efforts of the astonished orchestra, and giving her “ native
wood-notes wild” with a generous disdain of rule, that would have
startled the classical ears of the Master of the Rolls, and thrown my
Lord Mount-Edgecombe into a swoon. This was really too much for
vice-regal forbearance ; the contempt of authority was construed into a
crime of the deepest dye, and the intractable syren was, on the termina-
tion of her performance, safely consigned to a prison, to pay the penalty
of the insult. Handsome. apartments were however afforded her; she
adopted a sumptuous table ; was “ at home” to all, and at all times, and
the prison became a scene of attraction perfectly unprecedented. As
the term of the audacious culprit’s confinement approached, she ordered
a list of those detained for debt to be laid before her, and discharged all
claims upon them! <A vessel was prepared to bear her to her beloved
Italy ; and as she issued from her prison-walls, she was borne in pro-
cession by the congregated inhabitants of Palermo, past the Viceroy’s
palace, to the Marina, where she embarked amidst shouts of triumph
from the grateful multitude.

The professional career of Rossini has not always been coleur de rose.

1831.] Stories of Living Musicians. 267

The strings of his destiny were not always golden ones, nor was the
science of sound continually that of harmony to the ears of the great
master. Jl Barbiere di Siviglia had a singular fate on its earliest repre-
sentations at the Theatre d’Argentina at Rome, where it was produced
in 1816. A variety of unlucky accidents attended the first performance.
Conscious of the merits of the piece, and sensible of the high support
promised by the ability of the actors, the elated composer assumed a
prominent station in the orchestra ; and that he might not be confounded
in the eye of the audience with the vulgar mass of symphoniaci, he had
invested himself with a vermillion-coloured coat—a garb which, however
it might dazzle the eyes of some, produced the most discordant laughter
in others, and sadly deranged the effect of the overture. The poor
maestro’s features became identified with the colour of his habit. The part
of Almaviva having been assigned to Garcia, as he attempted to commence
the serenade, the various chords of his guitar, with an unanimity
somewhat remarkable, suddenly snapped, and hisses pursued the un-
happy minstrel as he fled the stage. The nerves of the composer were
fearfully shaken, and his confidence in his work was gradually lessening,
when all his hopes were at once crushed by a luckless adventure that oc-
curred to Figaro, in the person of Zamboni ; who by some accident or other
made a false step as he entered, and, falling upon his face, struck the most
prominent feature of it so violently, as to produce from it a crimson stream.
Forgetful, in his terror, of his handkerchief, Zamboni hurriedly ap-
plied the skirts of his dress to stop the blushing torrent, while shouts of
laughter spoke more the fastidious taste, than the humanity, of the audi-
ence. In the confusion that ensued, the humbled but indignant com-
positore fled the theatre, while the opera was terminated amidst signs of
contempt and disapprobation. The pride of Rossini was humbled ; all
his better hopes were destroyed. Could he have withdrawn the piece,
he would have been comparatively happy ; but it was necessary that it
should undergo a renewed ordeal on the succeeding evening. Well
aware of the violent passions of a Roman audience, and the uncompli-
mentary mode of giving them expression, when the fatal hour ap-
proached he locked himself in his chamber. Alone, and trembling for
his fame and person, the weary hours of that eventful evening passed
by no means pleasantly, until the neighbouring bells sounded the hour
of midnight—when a distant rumour, as of numerous voices, reached his
ear. He opened his casement with a nervous hand, and it became more
distinct each moment, until, at a turning of the street, “ Rossini !
Rossini!” was vehemently ejaculated. Closing his window in affright,
he sank despairing on a seat, until the repetition of the cry at the very
door of his dwelling recalled him to a sense of danger, and the necessity
of averting it. Confused murmurs and many steps were heard upon the
stairs; “ Rossini! Rossini!” was shouted simultaneously with repeated
knocks at his chamber-door ; but Rossini answered not. The outcry
and battery became yet more violent, until, to his horror, he heard the

ortal give way, and “Signore Maestro!” and “Rossini! Rossini!”
formed the chorus that accompanied the violation of his domicile. He
was not there. ‘“ Where could he be?” was the general inquiry, until
one of more acute vision than the rest discerned, beneath the bed, some
of the vestiary appendages of the concealed musician. With a yell of
triumph he was dragged forth ; “ Santa Maria! Signora Compatevole !”
ejaculated the affrighted harmonist ; when it was announced to him that

268 Stories of Living Musicians. [Sepr-.

the performance had redeemed the ill-fortune of the previous evening—
that Rome was in ecstacies, and that the audience had adjourned en
masse to do honour al divino maestro. They bore him in triumph from
his house, amid the blaze of a thousand torches and the vociferations of
la bocca Romana. He was carried past balconies, crowded with fair
spectators and beaming with lights, to the theatre, where he was
crowned upon the stage. The deep silence of old Rome was fearfully
profaned, as the multitude subsequently accompanied him to an osteria,
where a magnificent entertainment had been provided ; and morning
dawned ere he and his admirers had terminated the orgies of his
ovation.

Rossini is an inveterate musician ; his whole soul is wrapt in harmony :
he thinks, dreams, eats, and drinks music ; it is to him what ale was to
Boniface, or what Dr. Johnson was to Boswell. It was late at night,
in the summer of 1629, that, on his way to Italy, a foreigner arrived at
the inn Les Trois Couronnes, in the lovely town of Vevay, with his cara
sposa, wearied both by travel and the excessive heats of the day. It
was the season for the transmigration of the northern hordes to the south,
and Money (the master of the hotel) could but afford them his private
sitting-room, and a hastily prepared bed to repose on. Supper was or-
dered, but, ere it came, the eye of the guest had fallen on the piano of
Madame M. which was, however, locked. In vain Money repre-
sented the lateness of the hour—the number of his guests, who had all
retired to rest. No excuse would serve, and the peremptory gentleman
attained his end. His fingers swept the keys, and the door being
opened to let in air, the sounds penetrated to every quarter of the hotel.
The performer had finished one of the airs of Guillaume Tell, when his
attention was called to those around him. This second Orpheus was
encircled by a group composed of persons of various nations: men,
women, waiters, ostlers, all night-capped, bonnetted, silk-handker-
chiefed, or uncoifed, were listening to him, open-mouthed and mute with
delight—Swiss, Germans, English, French and Italians. “ Der Teu-
fel’? —« Diu lai Vouarde”—«< Superbe! Divin!”—“< Who can he be ?”—
« Egli e Italiano Sicuramente !” were the cries of his enraptured audi-
tors, in their various tongues. The Ranz des Faches followed—Henri
Quatre—Che bello clima e questo, and “God save the King,” were
successively played, and every listener felt prouder of his fatherland
as le hearkened to that piano magico. The police-book next morning
bore the name of “ Rossini,” and explained to all, the mystery of the
preceding night.

The genius of Rossini is inexhaustible, but his learning slight. The
sweet and flowing melodies of Tancredi were produced by him at the
age of eighteen, and at once gave evidence of his taste; while all his
subsequent compositions, numerous as they are, have the Redgauntlet
brand of origin on their foreheads. Flattered, caressed, and féted as
he has been, it would be strange were the man not affected by the merits
ofthe author. Elevated rapidly to distinction and public notice, his
simple nature was scarcely calculated for the weight of honours with
which he has been laden ; and vanity and presumption took place of the
homelier and honester qualities of character. Yet he is said to be more .
sensible to reprehension than to adulation, and if his share of the former
has been trifling in amount, in two instances it derived a factitious im-
portance from the sources it sprang from. ‘“ The Siege of Corinth” was

1831.] Stories of Living Musicians. 269

forbidden to be performed on the Venetian stage by Metternich ; and his
Majesty of Spain, having been present at the first performance of Ofello
at Madrid, interdicted its repetition on the ground of its wnmoralily.
The propriety of a man’s taking away the life of his lady, may abstract-
edly be questionable ; but it must be recollected that the Moor was not
a Christian, a circumstance that might have pleaded for him with the
tender conscience of the Most Catholic King.

The transition from parts of dramatic dignity to the character she
supported in private life, was never more easy than in the case of Ma-
dame Catalani. In person, manner, and discourse, she was noble: and
one was too often disposed to confound Catalani with Semiramide. The
unusual respect shewn to her by crowned heads, seemed less accorded
to the actress than the woman; and whether on the stage or at court, it
ever seemed that elle aspirait d descendre. The last word pronounced, it
is said, by the King of Bavaria, was the name of the Roman songstress.
The Grand Duke of Hesse Darmstadt took his seat in the orchestra of
his theatre, as leader of the band, in honour of her genius; and even
the Emperor of Austria forgot all meaner arts in admiration of Catalani.
Charles John of Sweden himself conducted her through the Royal
Museum at Stockholm, in 1827, where two magnificent vases of por-
phyry attracted her admiration ; and some time after a similar pair was for-
warded to her, at Paris, by the gallant prince, who deemed twenty-
thousand francs a not too costly tribute to the enchanting actress. Yet
all her sympathies were not devoted to royalty ; for having visited Cra-
cow, and consented to sing for one night at the public theatre, when
the enormous amount of her engagement was tendered her, she returned
more than the moiety of the sum in aid of the erection of the monument
in memory of the patriot Kosciusko.

At Weimar it was Catalani’s good or ill fortune to be placed at table
next to the venerable Goéthe. It was intended by her illustrious host
as a mark of respect to the fair Italian ; but the lady was little acquainted
with literature in general, or any other poetry than that which the fair
translator to the King’s Theatre murders so exquisitely for the benefit
of its British frequenters. The peculiar attention paid to her neigh-
bour, added to his imposing appearance, attracted the curiosity of the
syren ; and she inquired his name. ‘“ The celebrated Goéthe, Madam.”
« Pray on what instrument does he play?” was the next interrogation.
“ Madam, it is the renowned author of Werther.” “ Oh! yes, yes, I
recollect.” Then turning to Goéthe, resolved in her turn to compliment
the aged poet, “ Ah! Monsieur,” she exclaimed, “ how greatly do I
admire Werther.” A low bow answered the distinguished eulogist.
“ T never read any thing so truly laughable in my life. What acom-
plete farce, Sir!’ “ Madame! The Sorrows of Werther?” “ Ah, Sir,
was anything ever more truly ridiculous!” continued the laughing lady,
as she recalled to memory—What? a Parody upon Werther, produced
at one of the minor theatres at Paris, where all the sentimentality of
the Teutonic swain had been cruelly, but laughably burlesqued. The
poet’s nerves were sadly affected by the applause so equivocally lavished
on his unsuspected talent, and the lady’s credit was sensibly diminished
at the court of Weimar, by her ignorance of Werther and Goéthe-
sentimentality.

, [ 270 ] [Sepr.
SPANISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. WN», Iv.*

AFTER my late bivouac on the plains, I pursued my way, none the
worse, to Villa Franca, and thence to Merida. Large flocks of merino
diversify the face of the country through which I passed ; it is likewise
rich in corn and oil. The good people in this part of Spain seem to
entertain a particular veneration for the stork, which rears its young
throughout this district in undisturbed security. With good reason,
however, are these creatures unmolested ; for they save their protectors
the irksome duties of cleanliness, by becoming, after a fashion, their
scavengers. They are recommended, moreover, by their strong Mal-.
thusian principles, which correct the evil tendency of a superabundant
population in the marshes, adjoining Villa Franca and Merida. Merida
contains innumerable relics of ancient Roman magnificence. It was
once a favourite spot of such of the ancient conquerors, who exchanged
the fertile fields of Italy for a more extensive share of those of Spain.
Nor can it be wondered at, when we consider the temptations which
the climate and soil of this luxuriant district afforded. Like all other
places which the Romans honoured by their preference, it rapidly grew
in greatness, and Merida became the envy of the neighbouring bar-
barous districts, by its splendid palaces, its stately temples, its aqueducts,
baths, and amphitheatres. The remains of many of these stupendous
and admirable works of art are yet in existence, surviving the revolu-
tions of time and of kingdoms, and still exhibit, in their slow decay, that
majestic grandeur, which gained for their projectors the wonder and
admiration of succeeding ages. The very pavement which we trod
upon, the inscriptions on the walls, the broken columns, capitals, bas-
reliefs, and statues, all speak a tale of other times—nay, the very churches
now devoted to christian worship, borrowing their splendour from the
wrecks of paganism, convey forcibly to the mind an image of those days
when the stately edifice, now responding to the voice of the true
religion, once echoed with the rites of another—a barbarous, though
imposing creed. Merida, though a considerable town, sinks into insig-
nificance when viewed in comparison with its former splendour. One
of the ancient aqueducts yet supplies the town with water, while the
stupendous remains of the other only afford to the stork a secure
asylum to rear its young. Within a short distance are the remains of a
temple once dedicated to Diana, but now the residence of an anchorite.
The bridge crossing the Guadiana is of great extent, and is likewise of
Roman origin. Not far from the town are seen the remains of two
ancient theatres, one adapted for scenic representation, and the other for
the celebration of games, gladiatorial combats, and spectacles in which
the ancient Romans took such delight. The remains of the amphi-
theatre lie scattered about in huge disjointed masses, so strongly joined
with cement, as to form a solid and almost impenetrable body. Build-
ings so constructed might have bid defiance to time, had not man with
a more unsparing hand hastened their destruction. This fine edifice
has been undermined and pulled to pieces for the sake of the granite
which formed the foundations, and faced the walls ; thus proving, that
the barbarians of a civilized era could not be taught to respect what the
Goths of former ages spared. The epigram written on the family of the’

* Extracted from the Note-Book of Sir Paul Baghott.

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 271

Barberini at Rome—who took such a conspicuous part in the plunder of
the materials of the ancient Coliseum, their palace being almost entirely

built of the spoil—might apply with equal justice to the modern barba-
rians of Merida—

“* Quod non faciebant Barbari fecerunt Barberini!”

The other theatre is not so much fallen, owing, perhaps, to its still more
solid construction—the walls being nearly forty feet in thickness at the
base, and gradually diminishing towards the top. There are seven
rows of stone seats, still perfect, which in former times marked the
different ranks of the audience. It is now converted into a plaza for
bull-fighting. The public entrances are but little damaged, though
partly buried in earth from the accumulation of the rubbish of ages.
The town is adorned with many modern churches and convents, and
forms an agreeable and desirable residence, from the mildness of its
climate and the abundance of every necessary of life with which it is
supplied.

_ Badajos, which occupies so conspicuous a place in British military
annals, is one of the frontier towns of Portugal, and within a day’s ride
of Merida. It was with regret that I left this town, where there is so
much to tempt the traveller to stay ; but my time was short; bidding
adieu, therefore, to Merida, and all its vestiges of fallen greatness, I
hastened onwards to the capital.

_ It was betimes in the morning that I was fairly on my route, when,
passing through the village of San Pedro, but a short distance from
Merida, and without any intention of halting, my attention was excited
by seeing a handkerchief waved towards me, by a female hand, from the
balcony of a very respectable-looking house. On looking up I heard a
voice, in very soft and gentle accents, inquire whether I was an English-
man, and on my replying in the affirmative, I was invited in. This
invitation, couched as it was in pleasant terms, and conveyed in so
gentle a tone, I was not backward in accepting ; and on ascending the
stairs and entering the room, which I judged to be that adjoining the
balcony, I discovered a young lady of a very prepossessing appearance,
and a priest, who I conjectured, from a certain resemblance between
them, to be a relation. I was not deceived ; for the old man, apologiz-
ing for the liberty his niece had taken, informed me that she took a
great interest in English people, and, on seeing me pass, recognizing: me
to be of that nation, could not forbear accosting me. The lady—who
had before this time drawn a chair for me, and placed herself by my
side, was not able to bear the lengthy apology and narrative of her
reverent and garrulous relative, which, though given by me in a few
words, it must be confessed, was somewhat prolix in the original—now
overwhelmed me with a dozen questions in a breath about England, and
more particularly London. She informed me that she had been induced
to accompany an English officer to London, where he married her. His
regiment was then unfortunately ordered off to India, when she was in
so delicate a state of health that she was not able to proceed with him.
He left her with instructions to follow him, when, on his arrival in
India, he might be able to send her favourable accounts. After an
anxious year the promised communication arrived, but not from her
husband ; it was the announcement of his death! She subsequently
procured the arrears of pay, and a widow’s pension. Her child (for she

272 Spanish Highways and Byways. [Sepr.

had been left a mother,) died before she quitted England ; and the last
spot she visited, on leaving London, was its grave, in St. Martin’s
church-yard. She prepared me some chocolate, and gave me fruit, of
which I partook ; before we parted I made her a present of some tea,
with which she seemed highly delighted.

Leaving the village of San Pedro, I pursued a by-road to Almorin, as
I wished to pay a visit to my friend Don Ignacio de Vargas, but with all
my exertion I was not able to reach it that night; I was therefore
obliged to put up at a miserable and solitary vinta of the very worst
description ; and had the mortification of finding, the next morning, on
reaching my destination, that my friend was gone from home to Madrid,
and his return was quite uncertain. There was no remedy but patience,
therefore I set about regaining my route, which I accomplished by
scrambling over a most intricate cross-country, and reached Truxillo
about eleven o'clock at night. I did not, however, much improve my
condition of the preceding night, for on my arrival I found every place
of shelter closed, and I had determined on a bivouac, when I discovered
alight in the cottage of a peasant, who very hospitably gave us what ac-
commodation he was able.

Truxillo is an ancient town of some consequence, and is cele-
brated as being the birth-place of Pizarro. It is very pleasantly
situated on a hill, commanded by a castle, now in a state of decay, and
surrounded by walls flanked by high towers and bastions—like all old
towns, the streets are inconveniently narrow, though the plaza is suffici-
ently spacious. I happened to arrive on the king’s birth-day, and some
appearance of festivity was displayed; the town was illuminated, and a
body of cuirassiers, with a troop of the Guadalaxara cavalry, were drawn
up in the plaza. They had just returned from a skirmish with the insur-
gents, which, it must be understood, was the term applied to the parti-
zans of the king, when the Cortes possessed the government of Spain.
The insurgents, it appeared, had attempted to carry off the lapida—a
stone, affixed in the plaza, of similar import to the tree of liberty—but
were defeated by the gallant gentlemen I had then the honour of in-
specting, and had retreated into the forests, of which they held posses-
sion. I waited on the Marquis of Conquesta, who was unfortunately
from home, attending his sheep-shearing. The wool from their immense
flocks, as I have before observed, produces large revenues to the grandees
of Spain. The porch and hall of this nobleman’s mansion are decorated
with the spoils of the chase —I counted seventeen wild-boars of enormous
size, stuffed ; the heads of stags and other animals were scattered about
in profusion. Leaving Truxillo, reached Jaracejo about mid-day, when, '
having refreshed ourselves under an open shed, with some muleteers,
I proposed proceeding to Almaraz, and inquired of my companions the
way. The areros replied that it was impossible to proceed thither at’
that time, for the insurgents infested the road, and to be secure it was
necessary to go in a strong body, and early in the morning: they added,
that if I persisted in going, we should assuredly be robbed of our horses’
and property. The landlord likewise informed me that two mules had
been stolen from him the night before; which piece of information,
though intended as a detainer, at once determined me to proceed ; for, if
we were not safe under the sorry shelter of his roof, it was worth a little
additional risk for the chance of better accommodation—“ Va usted con
Dios!” cried the whole party shrugging their shoulders, as we returned

=

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 273

them their benison, and trotted off, as they confidently expected, to court
our fate.

It was not without good reason that my friends, the muleteers, warned
me of danger, and it was not long before I had reason to repent my
temerity. We had not proceeded more than a league and a half from
the posada, when I observed three men of most suspicious appearance,
coming down on us in an oblique direction from the hills, evidently
with the intention of taking us in flank, whichever way we might feel
disposed to attempt a retreat. I had hardly time to communicate my
apprehensions to my servant, when they called aloud to us to halt. My
servant being unfortunately of a nervous temperament, was about to
comply ; but I, not seeing the necessity for such over-civility, applied
the thong pretty sharply to his horse, and calling on him to fly for his
life, put spurs to my own, and fairly tried the merit of our heels. The
fellows, shouting, pursued us; but not gaining ground, one of them
drew up, and levelling his carbine fired—I heard the ball whistle past
me. This so far from having the effect desired, only lent an additional
energy to my heels, which communicating in an increased ratio with
those of my horse, soon made the distance greater between us, and I
overtook my servant, who having the swifter steed, was most gallantly
leaving me behind. He was in a terrible state of agitation, and I con-
fess I looked for a repetition of the last favour, with no little anxiety.
I told him, however, to reserve his fire in case they should succeed in
nearing us, as, on our defensive system, we could not afford time to re-
load. Looking over my shoulder, I had the pleasure of finding only
two in pursuit, the other having stopped, as I supposed, to reload ; but
seeing that I could expect no help from my comrade, I determined to
effect our retreat, if possible, without risking an engagement. We were
now ascending a steep hill, and our horses being heavily laden, and
urged beyond their proper speed, began to shew evident symptoms of
distress. My servant’s horse, though the fleetest at first, now but sulkily
obeyed his repeated and nervous application of the whip; and, Hen-
riquez, casting a glance of terror behind, beheld our pursuers now gain-
ing ground, and steadily tracking their prey. “ We must fight, Henri-
quez,” said I, “ looking to my pistols. In an agony of apprehension he
crossed himself repeatedly, and most fervently, and called on all the
saints in heaven, by name, to effect a miracle in his behalf. ‘That
won't serve you, my friend,” said I, “look to your priming.” The man-
ner in which I spoke seemed only to increase his fear, so that seeing no
assistance could be expected of him, I looked about for a position to
strengthen my defence. On the summit of the hill stood the scattered
ruins of an old castle, and by the management of whip and spur, I
reached the friendly cover of its now delapidated walls. There, standing
in the breach, which had, in its time, been defended by many a braver
man, I awaited the coming of the enemy. This manceuvre seemed to
stagger them, for they had evidently calculated on our failing strength.
They were within a good rifle-shot of us, and they halted, as I suppose,
to determine their movements. ‘To assist their consultation, I now low-
ered my piece, which I had previously charged with ball, and taking a
steady aim, fired. The distance was too great for execution with a fowl-
ing-piece ; but I had the satisfaction of seeing them widen the distance
between us. Here they turned and consulted again, and I gave them
an additional hint, when shaking their fists ferociously towards us, and

M. M. New Series.—Vou. XII, No. 69. 2C

274 Spanish Highways and Byways. (Serr.

firing their carbines in impotent anger, they gallopped back down the
hill. As Henriquez saw the danger diminish, his valour proportionately
increased ; and 1 had some difficulty in persuading him that it would be
better to pursue our route than to follow them across the hills, whither
we had the pleasure of seeing them direct their course. Our horses
were so completely jaded that we drove them before us down the hill,
and pushed on as hard as we could for the Tagus, across which there
was a ferry, and hoped to indemnify ourselves for our toil by a good
supper and a night’s rest at Almaraz. It was just dark when we reached
the ferry.

The raft was on the opposite side, but we saw no signs of a ferryman.
We called loudly for some time, and at last saw a light glimmer from
the opening door of a cabin on the,summit of a small hill on the opposite
shore. This was from the functionary himself who, instead of coming to
our assistance, inquired, in no very gentle terms, what we were bawling
about. This being speedily made known to him, he informed us that he
never descended the hill but once, having made a vow to that effect,
when he was, one night, defrauded of his fare, by late travellers like
ourselves. We implored him to dispense for once with so inhuman a
resolve ; for that we were almost dead with hunger and toil, and -were,
moreover, pursued by robbers. “ I can’t help that,” coolly replied this
modern edition of the Stygian ferryman, “it is far better that they should
cut your throats, than that I should break my vow ;” with which conso-
latory remark he slammed the door of his hut, and left us to our medita-
tions. These were not of the most agreeable kind—our horses were in a
most distressed condition, and to add to the distress, my servant was
taken seriously ill. There was a wretched hovel near, under which I
placed the horse-furniture, and tying the animals together, I commended
them to their fare. Never did I pass so miserable a night, for though
wrapped in our cloaks, beneath the hovel, no sleep closed our eyelids.
My servant did nothing but sigh and groan, and my occasional ejacula-
tions were neither of so submissive, nor so innocent a character. At last
daylight, in some measure, relieved our sufferings, by bringing the ferry-
raft, by which we and our horses, they having had nothing to eat but a
few prickly thistles, were quickly conveyed across. I was compelled to
walk to Almaraz to breakfast, my horse not being able to carry me, and
my servant being too ill to dismount.

Having recruited our strength at Almaraz, we pursued our route to
Talavera de la Reyna, and passed the villages of La Calzada and Oro-
paza, at which latter place, on an eminence, stood an old castle, as I
understood, a royal residence, commanding a most beautiful and exten-
sive prospect over the adjacent country. Indeed the neighbourhood of
our whole route from Almaraz was exceedingly fertile, and abounded
with corn, wine and oil. At night we reached Torrabella, and the next
day passed over a flat country, covered with oak timber and corn fields,
until we arrived at the range of small hills which form part of the site
of the celebrated battle of Talavera. It was a sanguinary day, and the
success of the action was so equivocal that it was confidently claimed by
both parties. Our cavalry suffered greatly from a covered ravine, into
which the foremost ranks were precipitated at the charge. It is said
that Lord Portarlington, then in the 23d Dragoons, saved his life by the
gallantry of his charger, who cleared the foss at a single leap, and
taking a short course on the other side, rejoined the remains of his regi-

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 275

ment by the same desperate means, amidst a shower of shot from the
enemy. Many hundreds of our brave fellows, under that treacherous
footing, found a grave ; and it was not without emotion that I beheld
the yellow cornfield, and the teeming vineyard, waving their treasures
peacefully over their place of rest—fertilized by the blood of the brave!
The city was outspread before us, as on a huge map, in the midst of an
extensive plain, and nearly encircled by the Tagus. On our approach I
found it was encompassed by an old Roman wall, to which were attached
the ruins of several towers. The bridge by which we entered the town
bore evidence of Roman construction; but it is in a sadly dilapidated
state. The town is ancient, and has nothing remarkable in it. It con-
tains some good houses, has a plaza for bull-fighting, and two public
walks. There is a royal establishment for the manufacture of silk,
which is now inactive ; but a considerable trade is carried on by the
inhabitants in silk, hats, and common ware.

During my short stay, I was present at a religious festival, and was
much edified by witnessing a few acts of practical devotion, the prin-
cipal of which consisted in burning an effigy of Judas, which was con-
signed to the flames amidst a burst of pious indignation. Various
offerings was then made to the Virgin, in corn, wine, oil, fruit, and
flowers. Asses and lambs were likewise driven into the churches, and
placed before the altar ; which the priests rendering an excellent account
of, and the people being extremely well satisfied with, all parties retired
from the festival in the most joyous and contented mood imaginable.
The climate is very mild, and provisions are in great abundance. I
obtained excellent red wine at one penny a bottle. The posadas are
indifferent ; I was obliged to purchase in the town every thing I had
occasion for, and paid the host only for the shelter of his roof. Being
rather fatigued with walking during the last two days, I took the ad-
vantage of a gallero going from Lisbon to Madrid, and engaged a place.
This is a conveyance intended for merchandize and passengers, resem-
bling a light waggon, and travelling at the rate of about four miles an
hour. The passengers were not of a description to suit an exclusive,
but they were civil and good humoured, and endeavoured to make
themselves agreeable to each other, by singing and playing the guitar,
occasionally introducing a merry story. It was not from want of enter-
tainment, that at the end of the first day I left the gallero ; but I found
the motion rather more fatiguing than the ambling of my little horse,
which I again mounted, having, during my short journey, tied him to
the gallero, and left my baggage to the care of the conductor. At
night I reached Mostoles, where I had the luxury of a bed on the
. floor, and the next day arrived at Madrid.

Political dissensions were for a time forgotten at the moment I entered
the capital, in consequence of the celebration of the splendid festival of
Corpus Christi. The principal streets were covered with an awning of
blue and white striped canvass, placed at a considerable elevation, that
the view from the balconies and the principal windows might not be
interrupted. The ground was strewn with sand, and the streets lined
with troops. Eleven thousand men were on duty. All the valuables of
the inhabitants, of such a nature as tapestry, carpets, and stuffs of costly
description, were exhibited on this occasion, and hanging from the win-
dows in such profusion as almost to cover the walls of the houses, pro-

2C2

276 Spanish Highways aud Byways. [Serrt.

duced a very lively and agreeable effect. The procession commenced
by a line of the public authorities, followed by the bishops and clergy ;
after these dignitaries was borne the Host, on a magnificent custodia of
silver, enriched with gold; and succeeded by a swarm of friars and
members of the different orders of priesthood. At these festivals the
presence of the king is expected, but on this occasion he disappointed
the loyal and faithful. The day is devoted to pleasure and amusement,
and before its close becomes a sort of saturnalia. At that period the
royal power was completely shorn of its former despotic sway by the
Cortes, who, in their turn, usurping too much, caused the interference
by which they fell. The hall wherein they held their discussions is not
a large building, but is exceedingly chaste and beautiful in its decora-
tions. On the walls of the interior are placed tablets of black marble,
whereon are engraved, in letters of gold, the names of those heroes who
perished for the constitutional liberty of Spain, viz. :—Porlier, Lacy,
Bertrand de Lis, and others who want no such memorial to perpetuate
their fame. At the grand entrance stood two pages, attired in white
satin robes, and wearing turbans on their heads, ornamented with large
plumes of ostrich feathers. Two lions couchant were placed on pedes-
tals on each side of the door. The interior is divided into two com-
partments, each of which is lined with rows of benches, cushioned and
covered with purple velvet, and a considerable space is left between,
which is tastefully carpeted for the entrance of members. The presi-
dent takes his seat at the upper end, in a magnificent chair, attended by
two pages, dressed like the others, in white satin. On one side is a
balcony, appropriated to ambassadors and strangers of distinction, in ad-
dition to which there is a gallery capable of holding three hundred per-
sons, which is cpen to the public without a fee. The throne is very
splendid, and is placed in the extremity of the hall. It consists of a
chair of state, supported by bronze gilt lions, on its summit is a helmet,
surmounted by a large drooping ostrich feather ; on each side this chair
are figures supporting a canopy of purple velvet, festooned with golden
ropes and tassels. When I was present, the subject under discussion
was that of dividing the provinces into districts, for the more equal
return of deputies. The debate was conducted with great decorum, and
a strict attention to outward observations. Maps and plans were placed
on the table, and others were handed about to the several deputies who
wished for further information on the subject. Notwithstanding the
house and gallery was crowded, every member obtained a patient hear-
ing, and a respectful silence was observed throughout the debate. The
conclusion is highly favourable to the Spanish Chamber of Deputies,
when brought into comparison with a similar branch of legislature of
their neighbours the French, and approaches in rationality and dignity*
nearer to our own senate—on the model of which, doubtless, its ob-
servances have been founded.

* Is our correspondent satirical ?—Ep,

1831.] ey |

THE STEAM-BOAT. A PAPER OF MY UNCLE’S.

_ I can generally tell a traveller of much experience, by his system and
tranquillity. He is uniformly in good time—avoids all superfluity of
language, and is well provided with the absolute essentials for a journey.
On the other hand, the symptoms are as visible in those whose sedentary
habits have “ still confined them to their homes.” Every thing, with them,
is hurry and confusion ; the objects of their journeys are frequently de-
feated by absurd omissions ; the want of method multiplies the troubles
of their preparation, and makes the simple act of packing up a complete
labour of distraction. A man in haste will cut himself in shaving, and
lose an hour in staunching his wound, before he can venture to put on
his shirt and cravat. He takes his breakfast in a constant trot from box
to bag ; swallows masses of unmasticated food, and scalds his mouth—
in many instances, to be too late; or else, to catch his vehicle by run-
ning half a mile, and hallooing till speech has left him ; when, perhaps,
he mounts the coach, with all the liquid honours of a river god; and,
after the enjoyment of a three hours’ indigestion, finds himself possessed
of an insuperable rheumatism, or a six months’ cold. Similar and equal
evils attend the raw or dilatory traveller, who goes by steam ; indeed,
where procrastination is “ part and parcel’? of a man’s own nature, he
will find himself deplorably unfitted for the duties, and the pleasures
even, of a locomotive life.

I could not resist the wishes of a schoolfellow—whom I had lost for
many years—to join him on a trip to Dunkirk, in a steamer, which was
puritanically designated, in the notice of its sailing, as a vessel worthy
the attention, and adapted to the comforts of the religious public. I
found many martyrs, but no evangelists, on board ; and I was glad to
see that such a despicable clap-trap had not denuded pleasure of its gaiety,
or brought hypocrisy to offer insult to the sanctity of undissembled
holiness.

I felt a curious disposition to speculate on all the characters I saw
aroand me ; but, why and wherefore I recorded what I thought, I know
not. Can the more pretending give a wholesome reason for the utter-
ance of what they write? Can critics give a proof of their infallibility ?
or dogmatists, who dictate their opinions to the world, produce an ho-
nest vindication of their high authority ?

My friend and I were not the first on board. A party of exclusives
occupied a bench upon the larboard side ; and, by way of ensuring the
uninterrupted pleasures of their select society, were confronted by a row
of élégantes and beaux, on stools—an arrangement destined to repel in-
trusion, and assert the consequence of all the party, though highly detri-
mental to the humbler travellers, who naturally looked for the free
passage of the deck.

By dint of casual inquiries, I ascertained the real grade of these su-
perlatives. The leader of the party was heiress to incalculable wealth ;
and, being ever in the leading-strings of jealous monitors, had rejected
eyery,offer made her, as a scheme upon her fortune. Her importance
was augmented by a string of toad-eaters, who found their benefit in the
perpetuation of her maidenhood, and earned their living by advice, on
all occasions, as their tyro sojourned in the realms of Bishopsgate-
within, or in the rural cells of Hornsey-wood, where Fauns and Dryads,
Dians, Cupids and Apollos, were stuck as thick and permanently, as old

278 The Steam-Boat ; a Paper of my Uncle’s. (Serr.

lieutenants of the navy, without interest, at a levy of Lord Melville’s—
when in office. Miss Biddlecombe was a pretty girl enough, but the
wealth of her papa inspired her with a morbid rage for fashion; which,
actuated with that ambition for attire, too prevalent among the middling
classes of society in England, exhibits the purest specimens of genuine
vulgarity ; and the young lady had, on this occasion, issued, in the glory
of her wardrobe, from Norton Falgate; resolved on the concealment of
that unnameable abode, by the highest airs of an exclusive, and the
flippant tone of West-end folly and presumption. She was reposing in
an attitude well adapted to the exhibition of a pretty foot and ankle, and
well-turned leg. Her bonnet was adjusted so as to disclose that beau-
tiful and indicative portion of a female — the neck, where a fair
skin and rich dark hair were beautifully blended and contrasted, at the
same time ; a handsome volume in her hand, on which she rather gazed
than read. The book was open at the play of “ Love’s last shift.” A
handsome Frenchman, who, with the facility of good address, had
violated the cordon, which the mauvaise honte of all the Englishmen
respected—encountered the fair candidate for admiration. “ Mais, ilne
semble, Mademoiselle, que vous vous amusez la, d’une maniére assez
triste. Puis-je me permettre la liberte de vous demander qu’est ce que
vous lisez la?” <“ C’est, Monsieur,” replied Miss Biddlecombe, “la
derniére chémise de l'amour.”

Among the many members of Miss Biddlecombe’s élite, the most pro-
minent, by far, was Mr. Botherby, a gentleman of sixty years, that, to
all appearance, had been devoted to the acquirement of facetious tales,
bons mots, and epigrams ; of which he was considered, by far, the largest
extant repository. He was, in his way, a kind of bazaar, where the hu-
mour of an audience might be suited with narratives and jokes at choice.
No man was better known on town; he was conversant in the pro-
prieties of every sort of esculation, from a frescati pic-nic, or a sprat
supper, to the banquet of the noble and urbane; and his nose served as
an annual register of these Apician festivities, which were regularly, in
the remembrance of his friends, recorded by a full-blown addition to the
carbuncular glories of that blushing organ—in the summer-season,
rivalling the hue of the deepest peony ; and, in the wintry months, pre-
senting the darker and more tempestuous colour of a thunder-cloud.
Mr. Botherby was charged to the brim with anecdote and pun, epigram, and
rhebus ; and it took a full day’s exercise to exhaust his fund ; though a se-
cond day as certainly reduced him to the “ crambe repetita.”” He stood
in no need of preparation—of no economy of matter—in boat or coach—
walking or sitting, he opened the narrative store of his remembrance,
like pulling up a sluice, and away went the torrent of farrago, in turbu-
lent rhapsody, till the vessel of his memory was dry, and the operation
of the wine or spirit had silenced the laborious member, which served in
the obstetric duty of its delivery. His style, at length, assumed the
character of mannerism—all things were introduced with a succinct, but
proper preface; “ the anecdote just mentioned, reminded him of one,
which he would, in a few words, relate.” Another was narrated “ as a
singular coincidence ;” a third, “in illustration of the former ;” “being
on such a subject, he could not refrain from mentioning an interesting
fact—a similar occurrence—a miraculous escape—an incomparable re-
partee.”” In short, he could meet a party even-handed, with a fellow to
every story, pun, or accident—a rival for every prodigy, a companion for

1831.) The Steam-Boat ; a Paper of my Uncle's. 279

every jest, and a glass of wine to each. Repetition had conferred on
him peculiar volubility, and I know few of his acquaintances who can-
not relate, in word and gesture, the greater portion of his superlative
extravaganzas.

The rare endowment of so much memory, such complying aptitude,
and indefatigable loquacity, had fairly conferred on Mr. Guy Botherby,
the well-known distinction of a man of “ infinite anecdote, and a fund of
inexhaustible amusement.’? Few will be surprised that such a “ host
within himself,’ should be selected by a numerous and vulgar party,
which delighted in the attentions of a gentleman of notoriety, as the lion
of their party, at the least—if not, of the extensive crew.

The pretensions of Mr. Botherby were, however, somewhat lowered,
or, at all events, approached, by the appearance of an Irish major, who
rejoiced in the indicative denomination of O'Gorman; a name of most
inflammable and deadly import; for the major, in the sportive recrea-
tions of his youth, had killed a man or two, and triumphed in the
reputation of a fire-eater. This was an imposing circumstance. An
unlimited acquaintance with all peers, from the dukes of Horam, Edom,
and the Midianites, down to the last creations of the Cacique of Poyais,
invested the gallant officer with a reverend importance; to which the
vulgar, with all their affectation of contempt, attach the meanest, most
absurd, and most infatuated homage. This distinguished intimate of all
the greatness of our sphere, had learned the coffee-house decorum of
calling peers by an abbreviated designation, to mark the freedom which
existed between him and his superb acquaintance; though he usually
appended, lest his own importance should be underrated, the titular

_ distinction of his friends; something on the system of an alphabetical
list, in which you find the name preceding, and the style and title
afterwards. The splash of so much unexpected grandeur was a bonne
fortune, that none but tuft-hunters can adequately estimate. With all
these sovereign claims to supercilious impudence the gallant officer
possessed the wit and gaiety peculiar to his country—all its gallantry
and persenable quality—together with a brogue, on which a joke pre-
vailed among the major’s friends, that it was so pre-eminently influential
as to benefit the growth of a potatoe-bed by its vernacular euphony.

Miss Biddlecombe was violently smitten with the gallant officer’s
unbounded intimacy with the great; and she, in general, herself dis-
played the ensign of her consequence, by mentioning her pa’s acquaint-
ance with certain hopeful honours of the peerage, who frequent the
table of some plebeian Croesus, whom they flatter to his face, and
ridicule among their noble friends. The daughter of such opulence (for
that is the connection after all,) does wonders with impatient tradesmen.
The rumour of a match between a lord, and some devoted heiress whom
he most professedly contemns, enables him to carry on his course of
profligate imposture—for a host of creditors are fed with trumped-up
probabilities of fortune, should patrician pride descend to an alliance, in
which the glorious blood of the nobility is to be bartered for the wealth
of despicable honesty and frugal toil.

Nor were these irreverent notions of mendicant aristocrats withheld
from the reflections of Miss Biddlecombe herself. The zeal of private
friendship, which is always so disinterested between the wealthy patron
and the poor dependent, had placed incessantly before the affluent
young lady’s eyes the horror of so sad a marriage. And every argu-

280 The Steam-Boat ; a Paper of my Uncle's. [Sepr.

ment against mankind, that ingenuity and rancour could suggest, had
been most skilfully developed to Miss B., (as her acquaintance called
her,) by the person I am just about to specify, and who figured in the
present coterie.

Miss Jack, a woman thirty years of age, possessed no personal attrac-
tions, but a monstrous stock of vanity, which experience had, however,
disabused. The succession of her disappointments in various “ enter-
prises on the heart of man,” had totally converted all the sweetness of
the female disposition into its acetous opposite. She had, at length,
adopted a common refuge of the “unbeloved,” affected to despise the
charms that were denied her, and arrogated to herself the attributes of
a superior understanding, aiming at the conduct of masculine peculiarity.
She was, therefore, licensed (so she thought,) to be impertinent and
rude, and in the privilege of ugliness and waning years, united with the
impunity belonging to no, not her female, but her neuter gender,
would incessantly make witless, pert, unfeeling, coarse remarks ; for
which, if she had been aman, her nose would have been pulled, and if,
in all respects, a woman, the gentleness of nature would have shocked
her, had they issued from the lips of any other even of her sex. The
fear of her companions had conferred the character of cleverness on her
unamiable pertness—her spite had been denoted satire—her unfeminine
audacity was strength of mind. In short, flattery, founded upon terror
of her tongue, did more for the revenge of all her friends, who cordially
detested her, than any other species of dislike could possibly have done.
She thought herself a perfect wit. She made war on her opponents
with the artillery of adages and maxims—had always an ill-natured
misconstruction to apply to every act, however laudable or harmless—
was a splendid liar, a perennial fountain of malignity and slander, and
last, not least, the attendant toad-eater and guardian-dragon of the rich
Miss Biddlecombe.

Wherry after wherry reached the steam-boat, and all was bustle and
confusion save myself and my old acquaintance, Colonel Peregrine, an
officer who had visited most regions of the globe, and who had quietly
selected, in good time, the seat which, under every likely circumstance
of wind, and weather, and society, was least objectionable to a gentleman.
of his contemplative and tranquil character. As we sat together we were
able to observe the strange diversity as well as the remarkable coinci-
dence of various characters, as they successively appeared. The grandeur
of some clerks and swaggering apprentices, who paid, with a pretending
air, a larger fare than was required by the insatiable watermen, who
throng the stairs ; the bickering of others, who resolved on a resistance
to all imposition, and who threatened, on returning, to chastise the
insolence of such extortions as were levied in the bustle of departure.
Then again was the distraction of young ladies, who had left behind a
parasol, a ring, or reticule—in coaches, inns, or boats—in short, a medley
of peculiarities, which any one accustomed to a steamer may now
remember, though perhaps he never thought them worthy of remark.
An attorney was excessively severe in his denunciation of exaction—and
referred with true professional precaution to his book of fares; in doing
which the breeze, that, like the tide, pays no respect to persons, wafted
from the various papers in his hand — a writ! which, after having
hovered for a moment in the air above the vessel, was calmly borne by
certiorari to the shore.

1831.] The Steam-Boat ; a Paper of my Uncle's. 281

The next cargo which came alongside was the family of the Gobble-
tons, being seven in number. Mr. Gobbleton, a selfish, dull, opinionated
ignoramus—a kind of oracle among his own peculiar clique—a man of
maxims, whose first of duties was to himself—the idol of Mrs. G.—the
disgust of most other persons—and an unprecedented glutton. The fair
two-thirds of Mr. Gobbleton—for she was twice his size, was an
unusually simple, acquiescent, vulgar, good soul, who doated on dress,
her progeny, and Mr. Gobbleton ; a woman who was, however, always
in what is elegantly termed “ between a fluster and a muck.” This
disposition was considerably augmented by the bustle of the embarka-
tion ; and Mrs. G., who had taken, with her ponderous dimensions, the
seat of honour most appropriately at the stern, conferred a ludicrous
appearance on the boat, the after-part of which was well nigh sub-
merged, while the head was erected in the river like an alligator’s on a
midnight survey. The “ little loves’—in number five—were the
universal horror of their whole acquaintance ; so much so, they were
always named expressively “those Gobbletons !” a phalanx of ill-bred,
petted, petulant, unruly gormandizers. The loves inherited the great
perfection of the father ; and nature had kindly anticipated their darling
predilection, by gifting the uncomely curmudgeons with a stupendous
range of mouth, which, in its impression on a cake, or slice of bread and
butter, left such an elliptic gap, as antiquarians would, on any piece of
petrified comestible, have learnedly assigned to the redoubted jaws of the
gigantic ages.

The approach was admirable. Mr. G., the model of sapient tacitur-
nity; his lady, scattering the zephyrs round a bonnet—which might
well have formed a fellow to the helmet of Otranto—with a fan, in all
respects a rival of a Malabar cajan—and the “ proles Gobbletoniana”
sitting round and setting at their hares, in the shape of a prodigious
basket, stored to superfluity with such alluring preparations, as would
link together the ordinary meals appointed for the day’s support. When
they reached the steam-boat, Mr. Gobbleton was seriously employed in
settling a dispute among “the loves;” originated, it appears, by an
incipient distribution on the Tower stairs, by which the flagrant injury
had been inflicted on a pet of eight years old, of having had a pie
with one plum less in its enclosure than his younger brother’s. This
arrival in the vessel was notified, in no long time, by the screams of
these delightful children ; some of whom had tumbled over ropes or
packages, or otherwise incurred the inconvenience of a vessel in disorder,
by scampering about, and looking everlastingly behind them.

Every variety almost of human nature was on board. An enormous
man and his long slender wife were the last accession to our party. The
male was the summum maximum of corpulence, his lady the tenue
exemplum of exility—the gentleman asleep ; his mate a lynx, all watch-
fulness and care. Miss Biddlecombe, looking on the slumbering mass,
declared it was a case of syncope—Mr. Botherby, all point as usual, re-
plied “ in his opinion, it was much more like the figure of antithesis!”
«I have heard that twenty times before,” said Miss Jack. Mr. Lark,
the name of the stout gentleman, as we afterwards learned from his own
narrative, was a very early riser; he was rather the original than the
picture of somnolency and contentment. His posture was always such
as to invite his old antagonist—sleep. His legs were crossed about the
ancle, and his hands, which he with difficulty brought to meet above the

282 The Steam-Boai ; a Paper of my Uncle's. [Sepr.

spacious realm between them, were intertwined and resting on the edge
of his abdominal protuberance. The forepart of his cravat, which was
barely visible elsewhere, and not above an inch in width, was absolutely
buried underneath the volumes of his double chin ; and, as his head re-
clined against his shoulder, the pressure gave his mouth the shape and
property of a spout, by which the aqueous saliva, attendant on a heavy
sleep, was bounteously effused into his waistcoat pocket. Mr. Lark was
now entranced in the luxury of a sixteenth doze since morning ; and yet,
so strange are the conclusions of mankind, that nothing could have led
him to believe himself a man of sleepy habits, because he made a point
of rising about four—to quit his bed that he might seek for easy spots
elsewhere, on which to take his quantum of repose, by different instal-
ments. With a strength of understanding, which a nature over-kind
sometimes subjected to suspicion, he comprised the essence of all good
affections, was a merry entertaining oddity—when wakeful ; beloved by
every one; the donor of good feasts, the easy dupe of any rogue who
chose to practise on his confidence: in fine, a mass of charity, sensibility,
and drollery—but devilshly disposed (as he himself observed) to nod a
little. His lady was a tall sharp-visage female, as erect and formal as a
Prussian grenadier. Indeed, their union seemed an attestation of the
adage, that marriages are made in heaven; for the mere Providence of
earth could never have combined such lean elongation with such
rotundity of fat—such vigilance of constitution with such indomitable
somnolence. If the Ashantees had taken such a prize, their cooks
would have assumed the rigid, iron figure of the wife, as a spit especially
designed, whereon to roast the vast dimensions of her lord.

At length, we had evidently started. A few large steam-drops fell like
rain—the whole fabric of the vessel trembled—the dashing paddles
spurned the foam behind and sideways—the smaller craft upon the river
were gradually rocked into a state of oscillation—the passengers, with
rare exceptions, gathered into silent groups—the captain, on the paddle-
case, with an experienced and anticipating eye, directed us through the
intricacies of our passage, through the numerous obstructions which neg-
ligence or ignorance, and often imprudence, would cast before us. The
helmsman was a picture of attention.—I pitied him. He was molested,
when thus responsibly engaged, by the trifling queries of a cockney, as
to weather and the time of our arrival. He was armed, however, with
a curt reply and a repulsive manner, which effectually stopped the pro-

ress of interrogation. He suffered one infliction only from the stately
Mr. Gobbleton, who asked him, when the dinner would be ready? “<I
a’n’t the cook, Sir,” was the laconic answer.

My old friend Peregrine, who knew my love of “ character,’ began
the series of that day’s speculation.—*< It is clear to me, but what think
you? whom and what should you suppose that dark man forward ?
Him I mean with the aquiline nose—who is rather peck-marked ; ap-
parently, too, the mirth of his surrounding friends.” The person so
denoted was no ordinary character—he had buck-shins, knock-knees,
large splay-feet with bulging bunyans, which his boots could hardly
hold within their custody. His coat was of a glossy green, with great
gold basket-buttons, his vest of variegated velvet-cut, its every flower,
in magnitude, surpassing life ; a metal chain suspended from his neck,
and carefully disposed into a labyrinth of intersections and festoons,
was fastened to an ample gaudy watch, as many-handed as the famed

1831. ] The Steam-Boat ; a Paper of my Uncle's. 283

Briareus ; a diamond upon every finger, and a swingeing garnet, set in
pearls, in the plaited frill of an uncleanly shirt. His coat behind was
monstrously distended ; a bunch of huge gold-seals descended half way
to his knee, as if it he had been the chancellor of all the states of Europe,
with the official signets hanging from his fob. With a silk hat, extra-
vagantly pointed fore and aft, and most ambitiously erected at the
sides—and the addition of a quizzing(!) glass, of the largeness of a
patent crumpet, the attire of this unknown is accurately now before
ou.

i I answered “I could venture to pronounce that man a Jew.” On
walking forward, the justice of my guess was palpable. Mr. Solomon,
with the wisdom natural to such a name, had made business the com-
panion of his pleasure ; and having calculated on the thoughtlessness of
numbers bent on an excursion—all for fun—had come profusely stored
with every sort of cheap but gaudy trinket, which could win the eye
and tax the folly of his fellow passengers. His clothes were absolutely
all pockets, outside and in; so many repertories in which his wares were
notably deposited. His magazines were rife with every bauble—rings,
scissars, tweezers, corkscrews, broaches, knives, and nut-crackers. The
last production raised a roar of laughter; but a gentleman, who asked
the owner, what the use of crackers was without the nuts, was answered
“ that there was a friend of hissen who had got some fresh ones down
below.”’ An exquisite, who volunteered to quiz the Jew, was net, however,
to be prevailed on as a purchaser ; but after an enormity of chaffering, which
shewed no hopes of sale or purchase, the Israelite amused the party by
offering in his turn to become a buyer—when he asked the disconcerted
puppy—“ if he hadn’t got no dublicates to sell?” The effect of such a
question on the grandeur of a coxcomb, who would not be thought to
understand its import, was altogether irresistible. Sectaries are unfairly
chosen as the butts cf underling wits; and here, it was quite regaling
to a looker-on to mark the triumph of the Jew. He answered all the
bantering of his Christian persecutors with a clothed acumen, with a
bitterness of jesting repartee, which the ludicrous badness of his
speech and the artifice of a coerced smile, could hardly rob of its resent-
ful character ; but the house of Issachar, with lucre in their view, have
drunk the cup of ignominious patience, under all forms of polity—in all
climes—in the midst of every faith. I believe, if the majesty of Satan
were to tempt the eagerness of speculation by erecting a bazaar within
his torrid settlements, the names of Levy, Solomons, or Isaacs, would be
the first to shine on the commercial porches of his rising factory.

The fondness and simplicity of Mrs. Gobbleton were sources of amuse-
ment all day long. Good heart! she viewed with an applauding smile
the nuisances incessantly committed by her children, and wondered any
living creature could regard them with a less indulgent eye. The names,
too, of her very ugly, and, in one or two instances, deformed produc-
tions, were adopted from the heroines and heroes or divinities of heathen-
ism. Master Hercules was rather bandy and hump-backed, particularly
feeble to appearance, with a huge head that would have suited Poly-
phemus, and the rest of his dimensions were no larger than a dwarf’s.
Miss Psyche Gobbleton was a kind of squat she-Vulcan, red-haired,
squinted, and spent her day in sucking lollypops. Endymion was the
likeness of a flat-nosed Javanese. Alcibiades, the flower of the flock,
had a paunch like an alderman, stammered frightfully, and was much

284 The Steam-Boat ; a Paper of my Unele’s. [Serr.

suspected to be born natural. Miss Minerva was remarkable for nothing
but the family-mouth—the extent of which, I think, I have already
mentioned.

This spacious ground for ridicule was not neglected by the present
wits. The highest tone of jocularity, on this occasion, proceeded from
a gentleman of much repute in that particular description of eccentric
badinage.

Mr. Medley possessed, in a fortunate degree, the talent of talking
clever nonsense—a quality of conversation both rare and valuable—a
happy go-between, where, as it will sometimes happen, the extremes of
intellect are so decidedly contrasted, that folly and philosophy, or igno-
rance and learning, constitute a party. Then is your good nonsense-
talker an inestimable interponent—an approximating isthmus between
the isolated bodies ; for, having levity, brilliance, and volubility, to
rouse the risible in the less intellectual portion of his audience, he scat-
ters, in the profusion of his colloquy, a here-and-there remark, by way
of illustration, which shews some point and tact in his frivolity: so that,
what to the inferior mind is ample and delicious fare, appears to the
fastidious understanding a kind of fanciful extravagance, in which wit
and fantasy are wantonly contorted, and which, in spite of all censorious
judgment, is tacitly applauded as a specious of anomalous accomplish-
ment. Women love that style of conversation, because it is the covert
of so much significance, which, expressed in common parlance, would
be trite and formal. It is the language of contrariety as well, replete
with the extravagance and foolery of rich imaginations. Blockheads
are charmed with it—they know not why ; and the learned and philo-
sophic affect to sneer at its unworthiness, that, under the plea of dignity,
they may avoid the perils of an encounter for which they are too un-
wieldy, and wherein they fear as much the disgraceful ridicule of a
defeat, as a huge bully, when he risks a lively castigation from a “ little
one unknown.”

« Great patience!” cried certain of the Biddlecombe élite, as they
beheld the Gobbletons, “ how those extraordinary children stuff them-
selves! They surely will be ill!”

The little darlings, when their maxillary organs were exhausted with
prolonged mastication, indulged in the innocent but languid amusement
of picking from the cavities of the bread, with the tips of their pretty
fore-fingers, the butter which had been pressed into them by the process
of its spreading ; and when the task, at length, grew irksome, and they
could not—on the common laws of space and extension—hold an atom
more—they severally held out their planks—for you could hardly call
them by so diminutive a name as slices—in a mood of petulant repletion ;
saying, “ Mother! mother! I can’t eat no more !—Father ! I can’t eat
no more—now !!”— Well,” said the father, “ lay it down then, till you
can.” So down they laid their several hunches on the bench ; and as
Mrs. Gobbleton was, at the moment, moving from the other side, a
heavy lurch precipitated her to the spot where all “ her little loves” had
placed their victorious stores, which, under her maternal pressure, were
expanded into a respectable superficies, circularly co-extensive with the
superimposed onus. Mrs. Gobbleton, though alive to the merits of her
robe, could readily forgive an accident arising from the heedless error of
her blood and bone ; and a simple exclamation, mingled with a slight
reproof, was all that marked—besides the bread and butter—the damage

1831. ] The Steam-Boat ; a Paper of my Uncle’s. 285

of a good square yard of pea-green silk‘ Oh, my gownd !” she cried,
‘«« Now, arnt I told you, Ercules and Psyche, never to lay nothing down
permiscuous 2?”

The glorious moment of repast arrived. The dinner was scarcely
announced, when a tremendous scream arose—a chorus of distress. It
was occasioned by the velocity of the sweet little family of the Gobble-
tons, who had rushed, on the utterance of these grateful tidings, to
secure themselves the preferable places at the dinner-table—in pursuit of
which decorous object they had all come into violent collision at the top
of the companion-ladder, and had settled the contested point of precedence
by tumbling down, en masse, to the savoury region of their greedy hopes.
A gouty gentleman, unfortunately seated at the bottom, whose feet
received this unexpected shower of progeny, bestowed upon the “ little
dears” a hearty d—n, and hoped their meal might choke them. The
lamentations of the Gobbletons were, however, gradually diminished as
they ogled the constituent dishes of the dinner ; and eventually, on the
uncovering of a pie of the shape and magnitude of the Life-Guards’
kettle-drum, the juvenile plorators looked at one another, wiped their
eyes and noses with their cuffs, and broke into a roar of ecstacy.
Mr. Botherby, who had taken a judicious seat, in the immediate vicinity
of a plat piquant, where he could help himself to a sufficiency, by an
experienced coup de main, before, by any possibility, a priority of appli-
cation could mar his usual plan, observed, with an accompanying
smile—

«¢ The tear on childhood’s cheek that flows
Is like the dew-drop on the rose!”

and looking to a sturdy gentleman, his neighbour, for applause, was met
by a grave face—the owner of which, by far more interested in his din-
ner than in the lyrics of Sir Walter Scott, replied, “ Is that your bread,
sir ?” putting out a finger likea kidney-potatoe. “I'll thank you for the
mustard ;’—and then, holding out his plate—‘ Some cabbage, with
gravy, and no stalk. There !—there !—there !—that'll do.—Some beer,
ou sir !” :
/ During the first burst of the attack, the motherly Mrs. Gobbleton was
assiduously occupied in guarding the attire of her keen progeny from
the danger threatened to their Sunday suits, by the usual defence of
pin-befores ; but the restive anxiety of the little gowrmands rendered
the office, in which she was engaged, as irksome as the bridling of a
colt who sees some corn before him. When < the loves’ were muffled
to the chin, in their brown-holland, the kind mother drew from her com-
panion-basket a tablier! tout ad fait ad la Frangoise, in black calico ;
which—should it descend to heirs hereafter—certain of the Old Buck
family will prove, with all the truth and perspicuity of antiquarian
erudition, to have been the fatal sail which bore the ungrateful Theseus
to the Attic shore. Thus arrayed, the mother of the cormorants as-
sumed the centre of her rank of issue, who played away on either hand
with desperate velocity, and seemed to be so many hungry emanations
of the heathen principle of plenty ; each, enviously looking at the others’
plates, to see who had the most. at.
Nothing could surpass the scene of unsophisticated greediness and
fantastic affectation of the company. Miss Biddlecombe, and all her
fashionable clique, were unacquainted with the vulgar joints, so grossly

286 The Steam-Beoat ; a Paper of my Unele’s. [Sprr.

and profusely placed before the mixed society. The less refined hun-
garians, with all the purpose of our national voracity, were fain to make
a triple visitation to the masses of their ordinary fare. Mr. Gobbleton,
with unremitting ardour, swallowed plate on plate—incessantly regard-
ing, “ with an eye askance,” the rapid diminution of the various dishes—
and performing acts of masterly despatch on peas, with the edgewise
end of an expanded knife, which few could have accomplished with a
spoon. Paganini on the fiddle! Lindley on the violoncello! Puzzi on
the horn! agreed ;—but for eating peas and gravy with a knife, the
father of the Gobbletons distinctly had it—« all the world to nothing !”

Miss Jack had “ cut her jokes” on Mr. Botherby’s proboscis, on Major
O’Gorman’s brogue, and had nearly disconcerted the voluble chatterbox
and the modest assurance of the gallant officer, by the thunderbolts of
her unjustifiable presumption. She found a capital antagonist, however,
in the only character that seemed precisely qualified to meet so privi-
leged and difficult an enemy. And this was no other than the eldest
Gobbleton ; who having, in the ardour of repast, upset a tumbler and its
contents on Miss Jack’s fine gown, was called “ an cdious greedy-gut !”
and told, she had a mind “to slap his face!” which really made that
hideous portion of the petted pest to colour so with rage, that had the
blow been given instead of menaced merely, it was hardly possible that
its consequent suffusion could have surpassed the rubicund expression
of his full-blown ire! Master Gobbleton could hardly speak from pas-
sion; but, running to his mother, pointed with extended arm to the
incensed maiden, crying, when he gained his speech, which he reco-
vered with a gulp. ‘ Maa! that there ugly old woman, says she'll
smack my face!”—‘“ My pretty!” said Mrs. G., hugging the frightful
nuisance in her arms, “ if she does, you give her a smack in hern.”—
« That I will,” said Master G. The rage of the hostile parties threw
the company into convulsions; when, Miss Jack, about to leave the
cabin, and looking hard at Major O’Gorman, who had led the laugh, said,
* Ah! one fool makes many !”—*“ Pray, Madam,” said the Major, “ be
azy, why would you reduce our number by laving such conganial com-
pany ?”—* Capital!’ said Mr. Botherby.—“ Who spoke to you 2?” said
Miss Jack, “mow you may pay for your dinner yourself,” said she, de-
parting with a flounce, as Master Gobbleton, still pointing at her, called
out “ Spitfire!”

The scene was relished by a gentleman whose countenance developed
arich and humourous capacity. He seemed to laugh internally. He
was attended by his servant, who had placed before hima slice of cold
fried Severn salmon and a cucumber, which still retained its flower and
bloom ; the succeeding plat was served in silver, with a lamp beneath
the dish, and seemed to every sensible perception a vension-hash, to
which the classical Apician drank a glass or two of Romanée. The rear
of the repast was closed with some Sardinias, confites a U’huile, with
which the skilful epicure drank hock. With the addition of some mon-
strous red-skinned filberts, a bottle of fine old oleose Paxaréte, and a
pocket Horace, the fastidious gourmand appeared to revel in the fulness
of corporeal and mental satisfaction. A reserved and supercilious clers
gyman, who ate a biscuit and drank some soda-water with some sherry,
was the only one above the folly of the scene. The reverend pomposo
exhibited the gravity of cold abstraction ; as if insensible to all around
him. His lucubrations were confined to the consistent tracts of Dr.

1831.] The Sieam-Boat ; a Paper of my Uncle's. 287

Philpotts, whose accommodating zeal and flexible sincerity should be
the everlasting study of ambitious churchmen !

An elegant gentleman of vast pretensions, in a most soprano accent,
called the steward for a spoonful of brandy in some water. “ Heavens,
fellow!” said the exquisite, “ I meant a tea-spoon; you'll absolutely-
burn out my internals !”—“« And give me another, stronger than the
last,” said a fat man of sixty, who looked like a cargo of caloric. “ How
many does that make ?”— Seventeen, Sir,” said the steward. “ Well!”
(with a thundering curse) “ anything’s better than an atrophy ;” and he
cast a sneering lock on the slender dimensions of the water-drinker.

When Mr. G. and his descendants had gone to the extreme of their
ability, an agonizing fact transpired, which none but lovers of roast
ducks, like Mr. G., can fairly estimate. Four birds of that description,
with every savoury appurtenance, appeared ; but all the G.’s were ut-
terly incapable. The father protested it was quite an imposition ; he pre-
ferred a duck to any thing, and what was meant by bringing them when
every one had done? A gentleman or two, whose time had not been so
assiduously occupied as that of the devouring family, appeared to greet
this suitable supply, and, in addition to the pain of being totally disabled,
the Gobbletons beheld, with pangs unspeakable, the enjoyments which
they could not share.

As Mr. Botherby advanced in liquor, so he advanced in marvellous
adventures and recitals; and the peace of the day was nearly disturbed
by the vociferous rudeness of an attorney’s clerk, who, as he was going
on a journey at the expense of his matter’s client, had gotten drunk and
impudent, and incessantly responded at the end of every wonderful
narrative of Mr. Botherby’s—‘‘ Walker!” This indecency was noticed
on three or four occasions, with a supercilious sneer ; but the youth was
too much accustomed professionally to contempt, to heed the contumely
of a burning nose ; and when the indefatigable Mr. B. had uttered, with
unusual brilliance, one of his crack jokes, his indignation may be
imagined at the ungovernable clerk’s exclaiming, “ Page 45!” This
reiterated insult would have drawn on the offender the instant chastise-
ment of Mr. Botherby ; but his purpose was suspended by a crash of
distant thunder, which brought the two belligerents to instant reason.
In a second, the clerk was on his knees, in prayer. The other passen-
gers looked one another mutely in the face.

I went on deck and saw the aspect of the heavens, and sea, and land,
completely changed. The distant hills were veiled with mist ; the clear
blue sky obscured by rolling masses of black cloud occasionally edged
with stormy white, from which you might, at times, discern the slight-
est flickering of lightning, followed by a shattered clap of obviously
approaching thunder. The sea had lost its gay, calm, gilded green,
and now reflected the portentous darkness brooding over it ; the waves
began to whisper with their spray; their crest grew larger, and a
shower of scanty drops, as large as bullets, splashed audibly and
visibly upon the water. It ceased and was succeeded by a low and
lingering murmur; when, for a moment, air and ocean both were
hushed, as if to gather strength for the impending conflict. The vessel
heaved and staggered, as she met the fierce succession of the billows—
simultaneously a livid sheet of lightning flashed upon the dark expanse
of either element—a volumed peal of thunder, with augmenting cla-
mour, rattled onward to the boat, its distant echoes rolling round the

288 The Steam-Boat ; a Paper of my Unele's. [Sepr.

shore ; a deafening surge broke wildly on our bows and deck, and fell
as if an ocean had submerged us with its force. The attorney’s clerk
was heard below vociferating “ murder!” The proles Gobbletoniana
were incontinently occupied in works of retribution. All the Biddle-
combe society in gay attire were drenched and drooping, like so many
summer-flowers smitten by the fury of a passing storm ; in short, the
perturbation of the changeful element had levelled all capacities and
qualities to helpless languor and abandonment. The steamer, with its
vaporous eructation, seemed like a leviathan exhausted, though its
tremor gave it all the semblance of the fury of that monster, contending
in convulsed exasperation, with the bounding waves. Any thing was
better to the Biddlecombe élite than the oppressive heat below. Num-
bers had slunk away, no soul knew whither. The feeble cry of
« steward!” fell from numerous lips, apparently oppressed by so much
utterance ; and the sound of mops and basins, was a minor adjunct to
the greater discord of the storm.

I observed a girl, of extraordinary personal charms, decline, into the
very form of death; her lips and cheeks grew pale, and cold as marble
—mortality appeared in her to have concluded all its functions—colour,
speech, pulsation—all were gone ; and there she lay, a picture of appal-
ling, desolated beauty.

Throughout the storm, a handsome Spaniard lay reclining on the poop,
apparently enjoying the tumultuary magnificence of the impressive scene.
A smile of sadness dwelt upon his noble countenance—I learned he was
a gallant refugee. ; : ;

In about three hours the anger of the elements subsided—the wind
was tranquillized—a straggling gleam of sunshine fell along the foamy
hillocks of the sea; the darkness, in masses, fleeted off and left the west
a blazing heap of castellated golden clouds, that augured the serenity of
the approaching sunset. Every thing began to manifest reanimation.
The fair beauty, 1 have mentioned, answered the inquiries made to her,
with a gentle motion of her hand and lips, and looked, at that-especial
instant, like the famous statue of Pygmalion, warming into, life and
action. saad ca

Her beauty soon became the topic of discourse ; as usual, her charms
were too provoking to the ladies to receive their due: for women will
distribute vast encomiums upon secondary beauties only, as men: are
lavish of their praises on inferior wits alone. Both hope to dim the fame
of first-rate merit, which they either envy or deiest ; and, yet while they
are bounteous in encomiums somewhere, they trust to escape from the
suspicion of a sordid jealousy, which, however, to a just observer, is as
forcibly conveyed by such a misappropriation, as if they had fallen péle-
méle upon the excellence they secretly abhor. SE cos

Our landing at the town of Dunkirk seemed to give invariable. satis-
faction. Miss Biddlecombe and her fastidious coterie, were most par-
ticular in being “ by themselves.” The ambition of the good man Lark,
who landed in a doze, was levelled at a comfortable dormitory, and the
certainty of being called betimes, because he was an early riser !—
O’Gorman had come over on a small affair of honour, which was settled
by. the interchange of six or seven shots, The Gobbletons, of course, to~
taste the cookery of France. Mr. Botherby, ‘‘ secundum morem,” crowned
the pleasures of the day by getting “ drunk as Chloe,” ashe never marred
the blessings of the cup by any thing like decent tipsiness. » When pexe

1831.] The Steam-Boat ; a Paper of my Uncle's. 289

fectly inspired, he fell foul—cominus et lat?—of all sorts and conditions
of men, and being full of most fastidious censure, he converted the “ an-
gelic creatures” of his sober rhapsodies, into “demons curst and fiends
detestable,” beneath the ban of his pot-valiant energy. The thrifty
Solomon, who had quietly disposed of all his wares on board, found out
a fellow in the faith who helped him to the cheapest stock for his return.

Miss Psyche Gobbleton and Master Hercules were taken ill, from
having swallowed an enormous quantity of plum-stones, and could hardly
be prevailed on to take such medicine as was calculated to relieve them.
But to shew what specious methods of inducement a judicious parent
can extend to children, they were told that if they took their physic
“like good loves,” they should have two puddings instead of one on
Christmas-day, a promise which the young destroyers hailed with such
alacrity, that if a double quantity of mince-pies had been added to the
prospect, the little souls would have made a hearty effort to swallow all
Apothecary’s Hall.

The Albums of the young ladies were amply stocked with the remarks
arising from their short excursion, and a mass of information, ocularly
authenticated, might be found among a host of painted butterflies, cha-
rades, and autographs of poetasters.. Dunkirk was recorded as a town
in France, with all its topographical delineations ; and indeed that fact
was left utterly indisputable.

Most of the young gentlemen returned on board with blackened eyes
and lacerated faces, the record of their vernacular politeness, in having
caught the earliest chance of being rude abroad, and calling little French-
men “ frogs ;” a piece of impudence which the Gallic youth retorted, ten
to one, by the opprobrious epithet of “ gros Jean Bull,” and a tremendous
‘drubbing, indecently provoked and bounteously bestowed.

Peregrine and I regaled ourselves with a béchamelleof soles, a pullet,
and a glass of Macon. On the ensuing morning, I was called before a
yuge de paix, of whom and of his like I have digested my remarks ;
which for the benefit of all foreigners, and for the dignity of France
herself, I shall shortly offer to the serious meditation of her chief au-
thorities.

A DAY AT THE HEAD-QUARTERS OF THE RUSSIAN ARMY
IN POLAND.

I was at St. Petersburgh when the first intelligence of the Polish
insurrection reached the Russian capital. When the first movement of
surprise caused by this unexpected political event had in some degree
subsided, but one feeling appeared to pervade both the government and
the Russian people-—a mingled feeling of indignation and pity ; violent
indignation against the men who had madly precipitated their country
into a contest so unequal—pity for the gallant but ill-fated Poles, on
whom the unsparing wrath of the northern autocrat was about to fall
with an iron hand. . Indeed, the moment chosen for the development of
the insurrectionary movement, appeared singularly ill-timed ; for the
Russian armies, for some time before, had been rapidly concentrating
on the Polish frontiers. Orders were immediately sent off to put these
troops in motion—and the campaign commenced.

The season was already far advanced; and, having no taste for the
sublimity of a hyperborean winter, I turned my back on the Russian

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No. 69. 2D

290 A Day at the Head-Quarters of [Serz.

capital early in November, with the intention of reaching Vienna. by
way of Poland. It was on a bitter cold night that I reached the, town
of Lomza, at that time the head-quarters of the Russian invading army
of Poland. The north wind howled mournfully through the pine-wood
which skirted the town ; and as I descended at the Hotel de l’ Empereur,
I mentally resolved to make that posada my own head-quarters for a day
or two, for the double purpose of recruiting from the fatigue of thir-
teen days’ and nights’ incessant travelling—and of renewmg my ac-.
quaintance with an old travelling companion, the young Count D ;
who I knew was attached to the staff of Field-Marshal Count Diebitch,

Early the following morning, I despatched a note to my military,
friend, announcing my arrival, and had scarcely finished sippimg my
second cup of coffee, when in stalked to my apartment a tall cossack
orderly, whom the count had sent to conduct me to his quarters, It was
with some difficulty, under the escort of my cossack guide, that I suc=-
ceeded in making the place d’armes ; for a superb. division of Russian
light cavalry was at the moment defiling through the town. Traversing
the square, we reached a large and ancient edifice, situated at the north-
ern extremity, formerly the residence of a Polish starate, but now, the
quarter-general of Count Diebitch. Ascending a lofty flight of steps, we.
entered a wide and. spacious hall. The scene which suddenly burst.on
my view was picturesque in the extreme.

The sides of the hall were decorated with rich and curious specimens
of ancient armour, which contrasted singularly with the arms and accous
trements of the modern warriors who were assembled beneath its lofty
roof. Standing in groups, or lounging up and down with a listless air,
their spurred heels clangoring on the marble pavement, you. beheld the
steel-clad curassier of the guard, the graceful hulan, and the cossack. of
the Don, picturesquely grouped with the sable-clad yager, or the more
gorgeously attired hussar ; while the stream of mellow light, reflected.
through the high-painted window, imparted to the whole a character, of, ,
savage grandeur, which I shall not easily forget. ya, Poe

Passing onwards, we entered a large apartment, filled. with general
and staff officers. Among the latter I immediately recognized my young
friend, who immediately introduced me to the group of officers with
whom he had been conversing. One of these—a remarkably tall, hands,
some man, with his breast covered with a profusion of decorations—was
General Count Giesmar, the quarter-master-general of the army. . The
ceremony of introduction was scarcely finished, when a door opened,
and an officer, dressed in a double-breasted green frock-coat, with scar-.,
let cuffs and collar, the shoulders surmounted with rings, similar to those
worn by the officers of our own household-troops, entered the apartment.
He wore an infantry sword, and a single ribbon decorated his button-
hole. This was the celebrated conqueror of Turkey—General Count
Diebitch. All present uncovered, and saluted him with profound respect.
Advancing to the spot where we stood, he entered into conversation
with General Geismar ; and, during a pause, my friend seized the
opportunity of introducing me to the marshal. He received me with the
most distinguished urbanity of manners—spoke of the fatigue I must .
have undergone in travelling at that inclement season—and finished by ;
inviting me, in the most condescending manner, to dine with him that
day. As I gazed on the man who had played so distinguished a part
on the theatre of events, I was struck with the absence of all those

1831. the Russian Army in Poland. 291

external indications of genius which we generally look for in great men.
Diébitch appeared to be in his fifty-second year—of a short, thick-set
figure—about five feet eight inches in height—with a rubicondity of
complexion, which, to his more glorious title of Sabalskansky, had pro- -
cured him, from the wags of the army, the less honourable one of the
“punch-bowl.” The hour of dinner was so near, that I had scarcely
time to reach my hotel to make the necessary changes which the occasion
required.

On regaining the marshal’s residence, I found my friend expatiating
on the gaieties of Paris to a young cossack officer, from the wilds of
Caucasus ; dinner was almost immediately announced. Exclusive of the
marshal’s staff, about twenty officers, all of superior grade, sat down ;
the arrangements of the table were remarkably plain—the dishes were
handed round in the French style, and a bottle of wine was placed to
each person—champagne was handed round with the dessert. I was par-
ticularly struck with the absence of that easy flow of conversation, free-
dom of opinion, and, above all, that gentlemanly feeling of equality, so
marked a feature of an English mess-table—there was no desultory con-
versation across the table. The marshal was listened to with marked
attention. He questioned me, particularly, as to the composition and
character of the South American troops, with whom he had heard that T
had served, and remarked, that the habits of the Guachos of the Pampas
resembled, in a remarkable degree, the wandering tribes of the Ukraine.
The approaching military operations were never once discussed. ‘There
was, however, a géne, which all appeared to feel, and, I believe, no one
felt sorry when the marshal rose from his chair, bowed to the company,
and retired to his apartment—this was the signal for a general break up.
I proposed, to my friend, to adjourn to my hotel to finish the evening, to
which he assented.—* Well, what think you of Sabalkansky?” said he,
pledging me in a bumper of claret.— Externally, nature has absolutely
done nothing for him,” was my reply.—“ There you are most egregi-
ously mistaken ; she has, on the contrary, done every thing for him ; for
it was his short, ungraceful figure which was the stepping-stone to his
fortune.”—“TI have heard,” I rejoined, “the anecdote to which you
allude, but, like all such stories, deemed it the offspring of a malicious jeu-
d’esprit.”—“ There again,” said the count, “you are mistaken, the anec-
dote is correct @ la lettre, for you must know that it was a maternal uncle
of mine, who, for his gigantic stature, was selected, by the Emperor
Paul, to take'the guard which it was little Sabalkansky’s turn to mount,
on ‘the occasion of the King of Prussia’s visit.” But what think you of
the Polish war?” said I, becoming, in my turn, the interlocutor.—
“Think,” he rejoined, with animation, “that it will be a mere hurrah
and a horrid butchery, which humanity shudders at contemplating even
in perspective—the Poles will fight like devils, but they will be crushed,
and bloody indeed will be their day of retribution.” —“ If the Poles,” I
answered, “do but prove true to themselves, hopeless as I confess theit
cause appears, success may crown their efforts—the game of war has
many vicissitudes, and accident often mars the most masterly combina~
tions.” —“ Detrombez vous, mon cher /—Can Polish patriotism burn with ‘a
brighter flame than when it was extinguished by the hand of Suwaroff?
Believe me, there exists not the shadow of a chance for Poland; a

2°D'2

292 A Day at the Head-Quarters of the Russian Army, Sc. (Serr.

single blow, and she is prostrate in the dust.” My own opinion was too
much in unison with that of my Russian friend, to admit of an argument.
I merely, therefore, observed, that so short a campaign held out but little
hopes of promotion.—“ I should agree with you,” said the count, “could
I persuade myself that the possession of Warsaw will terminate our
labours, but our forward movement will not stop there ; the month of
May will see Sabalkansky on the Rhine, and then, but a short campaign,
and the belles of Paris will, once more, behold the fires of the Russian
bivouaes.”—“ So, then, according to your political horoscope, we may
expect that the fierce struggle, which has so long devastated Europe,
will be repeated over again. But, mon cher Compte, with what eye do
you think that England, the arbiter gentiarum, will view these hostile
movements.”’— With the eye of neutrality, mon ami, while your aristo-
cracy will view, with complacency, our attempt to root up those noxious
principles which have again bloomed on the soil of France.—But I am no
politician,’ he continued; “ and if I were, I have no time to discuss
this matter at present. The post of aide-de-camp is, I assure you, no
sinecure—in two days we break up our quarters;—take my advice, and
break up yours also—get out of Poland as quick as possible ; avoid the
track of our army ; for, believe me, a foreigner and idler, at our head-
quarters, may excite suspicion. Your arrival has already given rise toa
host of idle conjectures.” I profited by his advice, left early the follow-
ing morning, and reached Vienna in safety.

Near a year has rolled away since I left Lomza. Poland «still shews
an unconquered front—the cholera has dissipated the ambitious dreams of
Diebitch Sabalkansky—while my friend, who, in the noon-tide-of youth
and military ardour, so confidently predicted a different result to the
campaign, perished on the bloody field of Ostrolenka. slqoog

The Polish campaign has confirmed the truth of that profound obser-
vation of Napoleon’s, that, in war, the moral is to the physicalforce,
as three parts to one—still, it is not to the powerful development of this
force that the Poles entirely owe their success—Fortune, which: rules
in war, has powerfully befriended them. Count Deibitch’s plaw of:cam-
paign was well-conceived—every chance was nicely calculated; and due
weight given to the fierce resistance which the Poles would offer ;~and
yet it failed from accidents, too capricious to be guarded against, and which
may baffle the finest combinations. The rapid and unexpected thaw,
which destroyed the roads, not only impeded the advance of his ‘co-
lumns, but prevented his supplies from coming up, and ruined his army.
The elements proved as fatal to Diebitch as to Napoleon, while the
wretched administration of the Russian commissariat consummated the
evil.

If we measure the operations of Count Diebitch by the rules of the
military art, we shall find that fortune, as Livy so finely remarked of
Hannibal, took a malicious pleasure in confounding, at once, his good
sense, his military skill, and his bravery.

1831,] [ 293. J

THE LONDON-BRIDGE LION.

(Great events are great nuisances. There is no exception to this rule—
they are all alike in their effects. Good or bad, they are the same.
Whatever the “ great event” may be—whether the coming of the
cholera, or the importation of a red-American Indian Paganini—the
turning of a statesman’s coat, or of a mayor into a baronet—the loss of
a colony, or the elopement of a countess—a new parliament, or a new
prima-donna—it affects society in the same way. No matter what occa-
sions the earthquake, the convulsion produces the same degree of an-
noyance in all cases ;—in setting people’s tongues going! Thatis all I
have to complain of—and that I shall not cease to complain of for the
rest of my listening existence—which will be short enough ; for people
whose ears are not inyeterately shut, may be talked to death, at a
sight-engendering season like this, in a surprisingly short space of time. I
have no invincible objection to “ sights” myself: on the contrary, I
would give what is called “a trifle” to be present even at an economical
coronation, and see a ceremony by which a king will gain a crown,
though it will scarcely cost the country one. I would have paid some-
thing to have seen the. patriotic running-match in Belgium—and would
most certainly have given, not “ something,” but. “ anything,” to have
had one brief, one momentary glimpse of the Hollanders, when, for the
first time since the creation of small-clothes, they took to their heels, and
ran after the illustrious racers. But this is a part of the tale of chivalry
which Ihave not yet been thoroughly able to comprehend, A running
Dutchman, or even a: walking Dutchman, is a thing that I can form no
notion of ; and) if King Leopold wishes to shew any gratitude to the
people of this country, he should try and catch one in the fact, pack
him up ina cask;and send him over here directed to the Egyptian Hall.
Him would I rush to see, though the Siamese and. Simias called to me in
vain. I repeat, that I am not naturally averse to “ sights ;” but I have
an invincible objection to the histories of them. I know no reason why
people should not see as much as they can—I only complain of their
keeping their mouths open, as well as their eyes. I can have no desire
to control their taste ; let them go every night to hear my Lord London-
derry ; but let them not break upon my balmy morning-slumber, to tell
me the “ heads” of speeches that were actually made without any. Let
them also, if they like modern comedies, abandon all other narcotics,
and doze over them till they are delighted; but why should they come
to us when they wake, and inflict “ plots” upon us, compared to the
atrocity of which Guy Fawkes’s was Howard-like and innocent !

Certainly of all talkers your sight-hunters are the worst, collectively
at least, if not individually ; because they all rush simultaneously to tell
you the same thing... The prosers, whom Cowper describes as devoting
their hours of health to minute histories of every symptom of their sick-
ness, are bad enough, taken separately ; but then they do not all come
with the same tale.

“«« They thought they should have died, they were so bad ;
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had ”’—

And if the poet had said “ quite,” I should have been disposed to
forgive the want of music in the line, for the sake of its increased moral
beauty. Your only chance with them is in a variation of the complaint. If

294 The London-Bridge Lion. (Serr,

you are worn out, fatigued down to the very depths of exhaustion, by a
biographized influenza, you may find some relief perhaps in turning to a
dropsy. If a friend forces upon you the secret-memoirs of all his
cramps and rheumatics for the last fifteen years, and chains down your
attention. to a splendid collection of colds gathered in various quarters of
the world from his infancy—you suffer a martyrdom, but then the thing
is done with ; and when he visits you again, he comes with a fit of the
gout—which of course you heartly wish him. Here there is change
and variety—but with your sight-seers you have no hope. They are
worse than the cuckoo, for they have only one note. While a wonder
lasts, you hear from the dense mass of marvellers, but one exclamation,
even to the last hour of the nine days. Like Paganini, they play upona
single string. This violin-lion, by the way, will supply an illustration.
Let the reader, whoever he may be, and in whatever class of society he
may move, consider for a quarter of an hour, and endeavour to calculate
how many times within the last three months, and by how many persons,
he has been saluted with this question—“ Have you seen Paganini ?” We
rest our argument upon his reply. He knows very well that the num-
ber,is beyond the reach of arithmetic.

There are places where you can evade the jaws of this English inqui-
sition. In company you can parry the query by upsetting some wine
over a lady’s dress, or treading on somebody’s toe, and then begging his
pardon, just by way of changing the conversation. In the street you ean
feign a creditor coming (perhaps it will not be necessary to fezgn one),
or you can see somebody turning a corner that you would not miss for
the, world, or you can have left something in a hackney-coach upon
the last stand—or you can faint and be carried into a chemist’s.
Should all these fail, and it become necessary to fight it out, begin, in-
stead of giving an answer, with Schedule A. of the Bill, and go through
it down to Colonel Sibthorpe’s thunder that Lord Chandos borrowed the
other day, The means will be desperate, but the remedy will be perfect.
Here there are outlets of escape—crannies through which you ean creep,
to the derangement only of your habitual placidity and courteousness of
demeanour. But to be edged up in a corner, to be pinned to the ‘wall,
to be placed as it were in a vice, with a sight-describer’s fangs at ‘your
button, and his “ sublimes!” and “ beautifuls!” ringing in your ear—
to know that you have heard the same story from seven other historians
since breakfast, and to feel that you are getting it by heart—that there
is no escape, and that you must resign yourself to your fate ; itis then
that the whole system of society, and the boasted purity of our laws, be-
comes most lamentably ludicrous. Why should they give one class of
the community the privilege to talk, and not protect another from the
consequences! Ifa man were to forcibly pour a glass of Cape Madeira
down my throat, I should obtain a triumphant verdict even from a jury
of wine-merchants ; yet, the very next hour, he may pour something
equally as revolting to my taste into my ear, and I have no remedy, no
consolation, but that of knowing that he has served all my friends in the
same way. People are obliged to take out licences to shoot—and why
not to talk? Many carry tongues, but few know the use of them.
They ramble about with their instruments of mischief always loaded,
destruction is scattered around them, and yet there are no coroners’ in-
quests. The year is, to them, one continued first of September—and to
us a first of April. In fact, they are more mischievous than their fellow-

1831.) The London-Bridge Lion. 295

sportsmen. of the field. We can keep at a prudent distance from the
sphere of.a Joe Manton; but from a Joe Miller there is no retreat—no
sanctuary. It would bring us down at the Antipodes. Deafness—utter
deafness—is the only coat-of-mail that can for a single instant resist the
attack of the talker.

But, if the mere spectator, the mere abstract and unoccupied looker-on
at some “ grand sight’—a review or a race-course—be thus dangerous
to the unhappy innocent, who may come within hearing of his exclama-
tions, what must be the peril of an encounter with one who has been
actually a party concerned in the “ sight””—wha has absolutely carried a
flambeau at the funeral of a king, ridden with the new sheriff to West-
minster-hall, or held Paganini’s fiddle for him behind the scenes! Of
course the torture must be multiplied a million-fold ;—and this brings
me to an incident which I cannot resist the pleasure of relating.

I must begin by asking a question ;—was the reader ever on a Pad-
dington-stage? If so, he may know something about the attributes
of a spot called the New-road; and may be aware that it is an avenue
dignified at either end with a resort of no common renown—the one
having acquired the elevating appellation of “ the Angel,” and the other
being: most emphatically and euphoniously denominated “ the Yorkshire
Stingo ;’—the two being placed at as great a distance from each other,
as their designations would seem to denote. Between these two opposite
points, I found myself the other day—seated on a Paddington-coach—
vainly endeavouring to get a glimpse of the houses, on either side, through
the clouds of dust that enveloped the vehicle. I could only just see my
neighbour, and, occasionally, as the breeze blew, a person seated next to
him, who, unchoked by the dust, was delivering an oration with such
earnestness and emphasis, that the fate of a world seemed to hang upon
eyery second syllable. One might have imagined that he had that morn-
ing arrived from the North-pole, and that his long-frozen description of
it. was undergoing a rapid thaw—that he had just met the Millenium
walking out of Mr. Irving’s chapel—that the Cholera was on the next
coach—or that he had found out a new method of paying off the National
Debt.. Any events less momentous than these, seemed to me to be un-
worthy of his energy. But, eloquent as the exordium evidently was, it
had not the faculty so common to eloquence, of “ riveting” those who
heard it to their seats; on the contrary, its effects were of a “ moving”
character. I perceived a person, on the off-side, next to the speaker, sud-
denly stop the stage, and get down, as I fancied afterwards, with some
symptoms of impatience on his countenance. However, on we went for
five-minutes, and still the lips of the speaker kept moving, as if they had
been a part of the machinery of the coach and were acted upon by the
wheels, only that they moved incalculably faster. He was now only one
removed from me, but the noise prevented my catching the subject of
his declamation. I could merely see that he was a fine Quaker-like look-
ing personage, of about fifty, and that the solitary listener between him

and myself was growing fidgetty. My suspicion of this fact was con-
firmed, when my fellow-passenger abruptly requested me to let him pass,
and descended from the coach without troubling it to stop, evidently
leaving the interrupted speaker to conclude one of his sentences at a
semicolon as well as he could. He was now, then, like that indefatigable
divine who, “ preached himself down to the bare sexton.” I was the
last rose of his summer—a solitary plank between him and silence—the

296 The London-Bridge Lion. [Sepr.

only remaining ‘straw at which his eloquence could: catch ;-umless, in«
deed;'as ‘a last and desperate resource, he had leaned ‘forward: and:un-
burthened his spirit to the coachman—whose incessant/interruptions of
“Down ‘the road, sir?’’ “ Pentonville, ma’am?”, would: have been
scarcely less annoying than the “hear, hears!” and“‘:a-laugh,” that so
courteously confound the perorations of another class of talkers.
‘Towards'me he'of course moved, by immediately | seizing upon the
vaeated “place. Little time was lost in flourishes ; he knew the value of
a moment too well. - With a polite salutation of the head, he began—
“I believe, Sir, this rather odd, but not absolutely ugly pile before us,
inthe middle of the road, is called King’s-Cross?” This was a propo-
sition easily disposed of. » “ Do you know what this spot: was originally
called, Sir ?’—* Battle-bridge,” answered I, innocently and laconically-
« Battle-bridge !—you're right, Sir—it was Battle-bridge. » By the by;
talking of bridges, did you see the ceremony of opening London
Bridge ?’ —1 started—and involuntarily moved to the utmost extremity
of the cushion. ‘There was nothing unusual in the question—Heaverr
knows [had been asked it before—but that was only a stronger) reason
why [should flinch from itnow. Here then was the key to his: orato-
rical designs~~here was a simple edition of Mystery made Easy. «He
was evidently’ a-London Bridge chronicler ;\ an. experimentalist «wha
had paida‘ guinea for a seat, or had perhaps dined with the committee
at the: city festival; in’ order to see how many people he: ‘could. destroy
with the story’ in the course of a fortnight. I felt the full peril of my
situation, but I-wanted. to-ride on to the Angel, and scorned: therefore
to retreat, even before the Dutch forces of my companion’s:prolixity:
The question was repeated... I said something about the wind running
away with apart of his observation, and leaving me only) a:syllable
here andthere. Deafness I could not assume,’ for: my curiosity: (what
a moral was now appended to it!) had seduced me to listen im: the first
instance. ‘A third time he put the question, and in that particular:tome
which there is'no evading, which you must hear. ‘ Did you'see the icere=
mony of opening London Bridge ?’’-—“< Why, really, Sir,” I stammered;
“IT can't absolutely say that I saw it; but—” His eye glistened+his
fingers were making a rapid movement towards. my ‘button—he was
about to pounce upon me like an eagle; the words were on his/lips—
« But, but,’ I interrupted, with equal ardour and impressiveness, “<I
have heard—’ “Heard! oh, my dear Sir—’ was bursting like a torrent
from his tongue, but I succeeded in stemming it—“ Yes, yes, I have heard
—besides I take in a newspaper morning and evening, I purchased two
Sunday papers, one with an engraving—and I give you. my word of
honour, asa gentleman, that I have read every line that ‘has been
written upen the subject.”—‘‘ Newspapers! heavens! why,'my good
fellow, you don’t trust to the newspapers?) | Never) was any! thing so
incorrect in this world—never—or in any other... It was nothing like it.
Really, I beg your pardon for saying so ‘to.a stranger, but: I’m afraid
you've ‘been: exceedingly culpable—yes, my dear Sir, I’m sure you’ve
been wofully deceived in this affair: Now pray let me” I despaired
of further resistance, gave up the contest; submitted myself to his.de-
seription, and he inflicted not less tham two hundred and fifty: lines,
almost a ‘column (small print) upon me. ‘But the grand feature of
the ceremony,” continued he, ‘was the Balloon, The accounts given
in the papers’ and here the coach stopped! I lamented the provok~

1831.] The London-Bridge Lion. 297.

ing shortness of\the stage, that had so cruelly abridged the ballgon-
biography, hoped somebody would bring a bill into the next parliament
for lengthening the New-road, and got down with a rapidity that, by a
sudden glance of the coachman’s eye, had, I perceived, produced a
surmise that I was walking off with his fare in my pocket.

My commission in the neighbourhood of Canonbury—(where I saw the
old tower, occupied at various times by a series of illustrious tenants, In-
cluding Oliver Goldsmith, and, “ though last, not’—yes, now I recollect,
also “ least’”—by Mr. Keeley, of Covent Garden)—my commission was
executed ; I sandwiched at “the Angel ;’. and jumped upon a stage,
“just going to start,” on my return. The most liberal translation of
“just going to start,” means twenty minutes. I began to discuss
Goldsmith within myself, and fell into a reverie about Burchell. and the
Primroses, which rendered me insensible to the circumstance that sonie-
body had taken the vacant seat beside me. We both turned our heads
at' the same instant, stared, and smiled; yes, I smiled, as one smiles at
a friend who drops in just as one is sitting down to write an article; or
at meeting a particular acquaintance whom you have been trying to
avoid: for three months, and who, you had just heard, had gone out of
town fora twelvemonth.' In short, it was the identical, London. Bridge
chronicler’ whom I-had parted from in the morning—the city-festival
historian whom I had so much reason to dread a re-encounter, with. My
firstithought: was to affect not to: know him, and to be deaf—I saw. that
wouldn't do ; my» next was to take a seat behind, or to leave the coach—
but little time was left me to think ; for the coachman, affected to crack
his apology for a whip, the horses (or what had been. horses) pretended
to start off, and in a few minutes worked themselves into, a respectable
imitation: of a trot, that deprived me of all choice but that of keeping
my place—and my ‘patience, if possible.

» Ithink Iwas speaking of the balloon, Sir, when the coach stopped
this morning,” was the first glimmering indication of the dazzling de-~
seription that was to follow. ‘“ These aéronautic excursions’—opened a
‘paragraph that lasted to St. Pancras Church, ere the expatiator paused
to'take breath. » He described all the minutiz of the matter, from So-
merset House to the centre arch, and launched into the subject of bal-
loons with a chemical acumen that would have fascinated Faraday.; He
was, in fact, filled with delight at all he had seen on that eventful day,
and his ecstacy was running over at his mouth. He had evidently obli-
terated from his mind all “fond and trivial records’—the balloon alone
was sailing through the bright mists of his imagination—and he had
talked of nothing’else, from the moment the cords were cut, to that hour
and; I may doubtless add, to this.. He seemed to have been wrought
up to that perilous pitch of excitement, that he must either die, or de-
seribe. His physician had possibly prescribed twenty listeners a day, ten
night and morning ; and in order that they should not escape from him,
he had: directed: him to take them upon stage-coaches. This was the
only way in which I could, explain the phenomenon. His mouth was
the safety-valve on which his existence, depended. On the other hand,
he seemed to regard me as “ all car:” he must have thought that: L was
born to:listen, and had never felt the most distant inclination to inter-
rupt. | Humanity kept me silent-—I bore it with exemplary meekness—
(posterity will see my portrait, as the frontispiece to the Book of Martyrs)
—but L could not, with all my philosophy, endure it beyond Park-cres-

298° The London- Bridge Lion: [Srpr.

cent: I was obliged, not to get down, but to throw, myself off the coach
+I forget whether I paid or not, in my agitation—and_as.I leaned my
head against the railing of the Park-gates—listened—and heard no. other
sound than; that of the rattling wheels of the retreating vehicle, it is im-
possible to paint my sensations. There is a pleasure in being relieved
from listening; which only those who have been relieved. from, listening
know. I had to walk home to be sure, but then the idea that I could
not by any possibility overtake the stage, was delightful.

' On the occasion of my second visit to Canonbury, I was more cauti-
ous. Never, thought I, will J risk my senses—nay, my soul itself, for
assassination might ensue—on the outside of a Paddington, stage. A
brilliant thought succeeded. “ Yes,” said I to myself, “I will get intoan
omnibus.” And I got into an omnibus, penetrating through the line of
green veils and bonnets, and walking upon feet and flounces, as you beat
down the brushwood and trample upon furze-bushes. I had been seated
two minutes when the vehicle stopped to take somebody. in... The. next
instant, a thin nervous gentleman next to me said, “ They. ought, to
repair this. road—it is very dangerous.”’—“ Very. dangerous, indeed,”
promptly responded the voice of the new comer, that seemed, moreover,
alarmingly familiar to my ear; “I don't half like these vehicles upon
such roads as. this—whatever people may say, ‘it’s much safer travelling
in’ a balloon! Vd rather go up with Green any day.”... There was no
mistaking the oracle from whose lips these last words, fell... might
have spared. myself the trouble of looking ; but I did cast: a glance
along the:line of bonnets, and became convinced of the utter. futility of
all.mortal_manceuvres. I had foresworn the Scylla of a stage, and fallen
into the Charybdis of an omnibus. There he was—my London Bridge
friend—between me and the door—nine passengers off ; eight people only
between me and his reminiscences. I heard him going word. for word
through the whole narrative, with at least a hundred-and-forty-reporter-
power. It was evidently no matter who his listeners were ;,/conse-
quently I could not interpret it into a personal design upon me: yet it
was odd that I should find him always upon the same track. Did he
devote his whole time to riding backwards and forwards to “the Angel ?”
—or was it all accidental? And who washe? Was it Mr. Jones, or
any of the committee, or aldermen, whose heads were turned at the
exceeding condescension of His Majesty, in not ordering them to be
thrown over the bridge? However, my business is with fact—not
with speculations upon it; there he was—but where were his listeners ?
We had hardly reached Euston-square, and five or six from both sides
of the vehicle had quitted it already. One or two others were taken
up, but none of them staid. at! degrees the number diminished ; and
at last I saw only three persons left between us. I now determined to
make a desperate effort to escape ; but then he was stationed, as I said,
between me and the door, and I reflected what an improvement it would
be if they were to build omnibuses with a door at each end! But I had
a still greater difficulty to struggle with. For a fat lady opposite to me,
who, probably from having connections in the city, had been perse-
veringly listening to the heterogenous history of flags, feathers, arches,
aldermen, and balloons, had at Jast fallen asleep, with one of my knees
so tightly jammed between her own, that to extricate it without a more
violent effort than my nerves were adequate to, was impossible. There
I sate—fixed. Two more retreated, and the space between us lessened.

1831.9 The London-Bridge Lion. 299

In vain did I ensconce myself behind the shadowing shelter of a bonnet,
whose magnitude I for the first time admired. A sudden bend by the
wearer of it exhibited ‘me to his recognizing eye. In another instant
his hand was stretched out, as if to drag me from my retreat. “Ha!
my dear Sir,” shouted he, as I shrank and looked round for compas-
sion, “ you are fortunate ; I suddenly lost sight of you the last time we
met—but I have something in my pocket which I must shew you—
you'll be delighted.” And, suiting the action to the word, he drew
from his pocket—let the reader guess what—a huge coloured print of the
«Ceremony of opening the New London Bridge!” The fat lady woke
with the commotion which this occasioned, and—with a mental thanks-
giving—I felt my leg liberated. The liberation came too late—my hand
was imprisoned. “Look here—here it is,’ he continued ; “ you can trace
all the different groups and positions as I explained them to you the
other day. All very good, indeed, very like—except the balloon!
That's not the thing—I must speak to Green.” —“ And pray, Sir,” said a
small sour-visaged youth, who had once or twice attempted to stem
the torrent, with an effort to be quizzical, “‘ at what part of the bridge
‘were you stationed, that you could observe all this so accurately?” The
orator turned’a supercilious eye upon him— I was not on the bridge at
‘all—I was there !”——“ There !—where, Sir ?” He pointed triumphantly
with his finger, and looked round at us all. “Terex!” he said, in a
tone that evinced his consummate satisfaction. Wei'all leaned over to
look. His finger rested upon a spot far beyond the reach of every
spectator in the picture but one. We scarcely trusted our eyes. He
actually pointed to the cAR OF THE BALLOON. “ Mr. Green!” we all
shouted simultaneously—but we were all wrong. It was not Mr.
Green—it was only “the gentleman that went up with Mr. Green !”—
the renowned Sir Claudius Stephen’s locwm-tenens.

This is my story. Whether it be worth telling or not, I hardly know.
I only know that tt is true. B.

THE FATAL SPOT.

I’m good enough myself—but, whilst I live,

Adam and Eve I never will forgive,

Who left their offspring so devoid of grace—

We would not give a button for the race ;

But listen, neighbour, to the tale I tell ;

You will not wonder, for you know us well.

The documents are scanty, I’m afraid,

And do not mention where the venu’s laid ;

But speak of one Sir Charles, a bonny knight,

Who “ came, and saw, and conquered,”’ at first sight,
The Lady Mary—bhandsome, chaste, and true—

A few years older—and she said but few.

Both parties were agreed, and, past redress,

They soon renounced their single blessedness,
Thanking the gracious gods, who linked together,
Hearts to love on through every change of weather—
Thanking, indeed !—they’d houses, lands, and carriage,
Though not the smallest infant from this marriage ;

300

The Fatal Spot. (Serr,

However, they had nephews by the score—

His holiness the Pope can have no more.

And why should some be dying in despair,

And other folks have happiness to spare ?
Perhaps they thought so—for they did not worry
Heayen with their prayers, but said there was no hurry.

Meanwhile my Lady managed the estate,
Like other noble dames of modern date ;
Ejected tenants, purchased, and resold,
And every thing she touched was turned to gold ;
Till the whole country echoed with a fame
Which quite extinguished proud Sir Charles’s name.
Delightful creature, thus to fill the purse !
But tarry, neighbour, there is something worse.
For she was dauntless, and had special care

'To hold it too, and take the lion’s share;

Whilst her astonished Lord, in his own castle,
Found himself nothing but a favourite vassal.
Pretty dilemma !—for, to speak the truth,

He was a wild young fellow during youth ;

To use a Scottish phrase—a very sorner,

And now was standing for it in the corner ;

Half mad for cash to send across the waters,

To feed a colony of sons and daughters ;

And little doubting they would traverse oceans,
If he once failed these sturdy Nova-Scotians.
Oh! what variety of wishes sprung

From his galled heart, and died upon his tongue!
Yet it must be confessed they went no further,
Than natural death, and never reached to murther.
But she was wrapped in vanity, and sure
Husband of hers must be so good and pure ;

And as for any wickedness suppressed,

He might have had a window in his breast.

But granting this, how could the man have erred,
Unless he were that very Irish bird
Which Paddy boasts of, who at once exists
Both here and there, exactly as he lists?
For she had ears so fearfully contrived,
That every sound to those dread cells arrived ;
And such a matchless sight had Lady Mary,
She’d eye the welkin like an old grey fairy.
Well with the household fair his morals stood,
Ay, watched and warded, he was special good ;
A little dull, she owned, in rainy weather,
When they had been confined some days together.
And glad enough they were one dusky morn,
No doubt, to hear the cheering postman’s horn ;
And eagerly they turned their letters over—
Most eagerly—a large one marked from Dover.
The black seal soon was broken, and they read
That Captain Dreadnought, of the Greys, ‘was dead.
It might not be the Greys—there’s many more
Valiant and brave besides that gallant corps.
But he was gallant—all the Dreadnoughts are—
And loved the battle and triumphal car; 5
Loved handsome women, too—and one he married,
Poor like himself, and her to India carried ;

1831.]

The Fatal Spot.

Fought, devil-like, as usual in our quarrels ;

Died, and bequeathed her nothing but his laurels.
And she was wending to. her native home

By the first fleet; but wherefore should she come?
Death had been busy with her kind relations,
And they were banished from their early stations.
Of all her kindred now there was but one—

The Lady Mary—whom she reckoned on ;

Their mothers were twin-sisters—for their sake
Would she the orphan to her bosom take ?

Her habits were not idle—but her grief,

In the first stage, solicited relief,

The sympathy which’ tenderness affords,

And ample leave to give her sorrow words.

The wife, the husband, stood a moment still,
As if to ascertain each other’s will ;
They both were touched (I’m glad to speak the truth),
And thought upon her poverty and youth ;
Both had their motives for a slight demurring,
And both, at last, for cordially concurring.
Yet not a moment did her words beguile them—
She was distressed, and wanted an asylum :
And soon an answer to the mourning dame
Was promptly sent, and she as promptly came—
All calm propriety and serious ease,
With features freshened by the ocean’s breeze.
Her eyes I will not liken to the dove’s—
No—let the reader paint them as he loves.
But then her voice had cadence, and a tone
Which, if she chose, would make your heart her own;
And, altogether, certainly I wonder
How, in this earthly world, those sons of 7 se re
I mean the mates and captains of the ship—
Should let so bright an oriental, slip:
But she-was clever, and might calculate,
By some bright planet, on a happier fate.
Howe’er it was, her conduct was quite wary,
And won the heart and soul of Lady Mary ;
Nor did she conjure upa moment’s strife,
As some expected, ’twixt the man and wife—
No! when the clouds were gathering, she was steady,
And, ere it thundered, had a sunbeam ready.

So time rolled on in comfort, till, at last,
My Lady withered all at once and fast.
The doctor came, of course, and heard the case,
And saw the loving cousins, face to face ;
Not one of those who live in woods and glen,
«« But populous cities and the haunts of men 4
Had studied erring mortals day by day,
And knew the composition of their clay.
He looked about him—conned the symptoms o’er—
Believed he’d seen such malady before ;
His patient had no hunger, thirst, or rest,
And very little pain she had confest ;
Her nose was peaked, and her eyes were red,
As though a thousand painful tears she’d shed ;

301

302

The Fatal Spot.

Was full of fears, and could not now-abide-

. The sweet Cecilia from her sofa’s side.

The doctor thought again, and, if *twas true,
She was Sir Charles’s sweet Cecilia too !
He might as well throw physic to the curs,

_ As give her steel in such an ill as hers.

A better course he took (for he was kind),

And gave his powerful tonics to the mind ;

"Twas quite enough—regardless of his fee,

To send his drooping patient to the sea.

And there the household tarried, till "twas plain

The dying lady rallied up again ;

«« Was grown good-natured now ;”—her waiting-maid,
And Tom the footman, to each other said, !
They liked the borders of the Brighton-sea,

And new to them its stirring revelry.

Cecilia loved her own calm seaward room

For meditation and the twilight’s gloom ;

An open lattice (think of that !) in June,

With sparkling waters, and a rising moon.

Sir Charles was somewhere—but we cannot tell,

Not being conjurors, where his footsteps fell.

Her Ladyship most likely wished a crisis—

So left the parties to their own devices.

It did so happen—for Cecilia came
One evening, smiling, to the noble dame,
And asked the favour of a little slip
Of good court-plaster—she had hurt her lip.
Her Ladyship, without a comment, took
The boon requested from her pocket-book ;
Adding, in days of yore she liked the grace
A sable spot would give her plainer face.
Cecilia dimpled, flitted off again
To breathe the fresher breezes of the main.
An hour elapsed—it might be something more—
Sir Charles strode forward from his study-door ;
His countenance adorned with a patch,
Which might, in shape and size, Cecilia’s match.
The married woman viewed his features stern,
As though she’d something from their form to learn ;
And asked—but not without a bitter smile—
What he’d been doing with his lips the while?
Just at this moment sweet Cecilia entered,
Robbed of that gem which in her face was centered,
An awful pause succeeded, and the guest
Looked round the room, astonished and distressed.
Sir Charles, unconscious how he was arrayed,
And little dreaming of the transfer made,
«« Lashed up the lion”—marched, with angry cough,
Towards the candles—when the patch fell off!

1831.] [ -303.°] :
PARAGRAPHS FROM A TRAVELLER’S PORTFOLIO.

I saw in the Superga the tomb of the Piedmontese princess, who ren-
dered herself famous by a single sentence. There was a famine in that
little kingdom. The princess was astonished. “Do they die of it?”
asked she. “In great numbers,” was the answer. “ What squeamish-
ness !” said her highness ; “ why don’t they eat beef and mutton? I’m
sure I would do so, rather than starve.”

The world has other instances of this high-life knowledge. The son
of an English duke, a guardsman, is still memorable for a sentiment of
equal ease. On his regiment’s being ordered for Holland, in the first
French war, it was observed that he must prepare for some privations.
“To be sure I must,” was his reply. “A bottle of good champagne and
a tolerable haunch, I suppose, are holiday fare among the Mynheers.
Let me have but a bottle of drinkable claret and a roast fowl, and I can
get on anywhere.”

The old Duke of Norfolk was a prodigious profligate, a prodigious
politician, and a prodigious eater—a combination of prodigies. He had
the art of throwing three dinners into one: “ I first take my fish and my
bottle of claret,” said he, “ and then I go to dinner.” All idlers and
idle nations are great eaters. The Italian will eat macaroni, as a horse
eats grass, every hour in the day, and perhaps in the night too. The
French gourmand will begin his dinner by eating a dinner. of oysters.
The Russian noble gets drunk with brandy, before he gets drunk with
wine ; and, having finished his wine, gets drunk with brandy. again.

When the mob, in the French revolution, opened the tombs of the
sovereigns in St. Denis, they tossed the bones of all the Clothaires, and
Capets, Pepins, and Valois, into one pit, and quick-limed them, I: sup-
pose, for fear that they would rise and form a counter-revolutionary
army. Henry IV. escaped a little better ; he was found intolerable
preservation, and a young soldier leaped into the coffin, took off one of
the king’s mustachios, and, clapping it on his lip, said, ““ Ah, moi aussi,
je suis un soldat Francois.” He flourished about the church with this
new badge of soldiership upon him ; exclaiming, “ that he would never
wear any other mustache.” Then finishing with a true French boast,
that he was sure, “ Avec cela, de vaincre les ennemis de la patrie, et de
marcher a la victoire.”

The English pride themselves in their nicety in wines—yet there is no
nation in the world more perpetually duped in this very point. Three-
fourths of the Bourdeaux clarets are made up of the rough hot wines of
Italy, mixed with the meagre French vintages. Half the white wines
on the English tables are made up of Cape, which the London palate
pretends to abhor.

“ Give me,” said a French merchant, “ six hours’ notice of what wine
you like, and you shall have it out of those two barrels.” There are
forty thousand pipes of Madeira sold annually in Europe, while the
island produces about ten thousand! There are thirty thousand casks
of Frontignan sent every year from the French cellars, while the vine-
yards of Frontignan produce, in the best seasons, two thousand! Con-
stantia is to be found in the hands of every dealer in Europe, yet it is

304 Paragraphs from a Traveller's Portfolio. [Serr.

produced in but one vineyard, and the vineyard produces but a few
pipes. But we have the same dexterity in almost every thing connected
with the public subsistence. The utmost importation of tea at the
India House, is thirty millions of pounds; a couple of millions more
may be allowed for smuggling, and this is scarcely more than but a pound
and a half each for the consumption of the twenty millions of British and
Irish, in a year! all of whom, with scarcely an exception, drink tea,
morning and evening.

_- The art of supplying the deficiencies of nature has descended even to
mushrooms. I remember a Parisian maker of catsup saying, on being
asked how he managed his manufacture in a peculiarly bad mushroom
season, “ Sir, I should know little of my profession if I could not make
catsup without mushrooms.”

What a volume of meaning a few words may convey. The whole
reckless spirit of the French revolution was told in the Jacobin’s answer
to the man who reproached France with the massacres of 1793.
« Croyex vous donc, Monsieur, qu’on fasse des révolutions avec de eau
de rose.”

None of our European sketches of character ever exceeded the keenness
of an Arab peasant’s description of his neighbouring town. “It has
three kinds of people,” said he, “bad Turks, bad Arabs, and bad
Christians. Three devils were sent to take the three to hell lately, and
they were immediately found out by their quietness.” ;

‘The south of France has been ridiculously overpraised, and. all the
romance of vineyards, orange-groves, and mountains covered with lilies
and roses, now live only in the rhymes of the Della Cruscan school.
Even a “ gentleman’s gentleman,” for all those fellows now contrive to
make the tour of Europe—(Forbin, the French count and dilettante,
has never recovered the shock of seeing an English nursery-maid in a
straw bonnet and London-made pelisse, reading a novel of the Minerva
press at the foot of the Great Pyramid !)—every one of those valets,
who daily advertise that “they have no objection to travel,” knows that
the best French vineyard in its best days looks like a wilderness of
gooseberry bushes, and in its worst, like a decayed turnip-field ; that the
orange-grove never is a grove, but a scattering of stumpy trees ; and that,
for nine months in the year, it would be as easy to find the crown of
Barataria on a French mountain, as either lily or rose.

Yet where there are mountains on which Frenchman has never laid a
finger, and which Nature, a much better gardener, has taken into her
own hand ; from time to time, even France herself, one of the ugliest
countries under the sun, makes a figure. I have universally found that
the spots which the regular tour-writers, the persons of wit, honour, and
common-place books, colour with all their ink, are the most abominable
spots on which description could alight, while all the pretty ones escape
them by a direct law of nature. It was on an evening, which, in Paris—
even la belle, and la superbe, and what not, Paris—would have been
dark as mist, rain and sleet mingled could have made it, for it was deep
in November ; I climbed the hills overhanging the little town to which
Napoleon’s landing from Egypt has given a niche in history.. Man

1831.) Paragraphs from a Traveller’s Portfolio. 305

luckily had nothing to do with the road, which had no other Macadam
‘than some earthquake, or burst of water at the time when the fountains
of the great deep were broken up, and Noah citcumnavigated the world
alone. But no English plantation was ever thicker of “ firm and ‘fragrant
leaf.” The road was a bower of myrtles; which, in this region, like a
‘boarding-school Miss transformed into a city-wife, lose at once their
sentiment and their shape, and are fine, broad, flourishing specimens of
““congeniality of circumstances ;” with a hundred plants and shrubs
besides, with a hundred French names, and all breathing out fresh per-
fume on every bird’s. wing that rustled through them before me ; and the
ground was a bed of thyme and flowery turf, such as all the art of man
could neyer have raised, within the precincts of the Tuilleries.

I had here three things that might fill any lover of the lovely in nature
with food for the next ten years—memory, perfect solitude, and fragrance,
undefiled; by the infernal cigarrerie that infects France by circles of
longitude and latitude, and makes every mouth a chimney. In one of
the most glorious of all possible sunsets, I had nearly forgotten, what is
indispensable to the true delight of the true tourist, that the very spot
“where I sat had been the scene of some of the most villanous perfor-
mances of robbers—I should apologize, banditti—that ever figured in the
history of the stiletto; and that on the very spot against which I leaned
my telescope, to follow the little barks that were now floating up and
down. the Mediterranean like flies in the sunbeam, was erected a cross
for the murder of a count from Naples, with his whole suite, travelling
to espouse some opulent heiress of the gay land of the Provencals. I
was making a sketch of the mountains that lay tost round me, with the
wildness of clouds after a storm, and almost with their varying lights and
shades; gold, green, and purple, were beginning to glow on my paper ;
the sea beneath was emerging in a long sweep of azure, the sun lying in
a vermeil payilion in the corner, and the moon a crescent, bright as the
diamond. circlet on the forehead of Madame la Marechale de En-bon-
point, and brighter than any thing else in the world but her eyes, when I
was startled by a rustling near me. I sprang up:—I was, however,
gradually re-assured by the sound of a voice, singing some adventure of
Roland ; the prince of the preux-chevaliers. could not have been invoked
by a bandit, and I-recevered from my “ sense of the stiletto.” But I
was in the land of the Troubadours ; the minstrel pushed forward through
the shrubs, and I was. prepared to honour the art of poetry.—He. was
the scullion of the French tavern, come out to catch frogs for a fricassee !
Ah, Romance! another such.a blow would be mortal.

a ti

— + ~s

Dot

Oh MON Serity ovo XT. No. GOL! Oo? Qu

[ 306 ] [Sxpr.

NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS, IN, GENERAL.

“The Reform Bill is going to the dogs. Who shall now doubt owr powers
of prophecy! We said so from the beginning. We said, that it was never
intended to pass. We said that Lord Grey was one of the last men in
England who wished it to pass, and that the Whigs, aye, the Whigs
theniselves were the party who would in their secret souls oppose it
tooth and nail; for we argued from fact, nature, the old'tricks of Whig-
gery, the mother and mistress of Boroughmongering, and from the
fierce aristocracy of the premier’s visage. Who that ever saw that
premier could think that, by any possible contingency, he would ever ask
the “ most sweet voices” of the rabble of cobblers, coalheayers, barbers,
and butchers, who were to make up this new legislature of ten pound
votes! Such might do very well for the Hunts or the Humes, but we
have seen how eagerly Burdett has struggled to get rid of patriotic con-
stituency in that virtuous part of the world, Westminster ; and how his
coadjutor shrinks from “ His Majesty the Mob.” With what jubila-
tion would either of these Gracchi hail the chance of a peerage, come
how it might, if it were but for the mere circumstance of escaping for
ever the adipous fondlings of their “ citizen” constituents. And what
must be the feelings of the tribe of actual Whig gentlemen, yet unused
to this embrace, at the prospect of having nothing else to do every year
of their lives, with the addition of that fever of friendship, that cholera
of canvassing, which must be gone through every two years, the late
average duration of parliaments! The thing is impossible, except by a
revolution, which would throw Whig and Tory alike into the general
mire; and is inconceivable but by such brains as are substitutes for ra-
tionality, in the crania of the Carlisles and Nugents of this silliest of silly
worlds.

But what said we, on the first mention of the matter? This Bill
will lie wnder the table within the next six months.” Else, why have so
many precautions been taken against its success? Why was “ Reform,”
such as it is, taken out of the hands of Brougham, a daring fellow, a
clever fellow, and a leading name with the House and the Reform party
throughout the country? And why, but to make assurance doubly
sure, was it put into the hands of little Lord John Russel ?—little Lord
John, of all men upon earth ; an amiable lyric poet, a gentle tragedian,
a delicate historian, and a pretty member of parliament ; and with all
these qualifications the last man in the House, or out of the House, to
carry this measure, or any other measure. We actually mean no dis-
respect, though we can feel no great love for the hero of a measure,
which would in ten years cover England with armies, fighting each other
to their last drop of blood for the ground they stood on ; send one half
of us as prisoners to the colonies, or despairing fugitives round the
earth, and raise the ten-pound legislators into the enviable condition of
tearing each other in turn. But speaking in all possible respect of Lord
John, we said then, and say now, that the measure was put into his
hands purposely to fail. Were his the Ajax shoulders to carry the
shield of Reform against the arrowy storm of vengeance and scorn, that
must pour upon it from the honest representatives of the country, and
from the empire itself? But the Bill was, from its very nature, con-
structed for a speedy mortality. Why was the clause introduced, ex-

1831.4 Affairs in General. 307:

tinguishing at a swoop more than’ a hundred and fifty members? Why,
but to make every man ,of those hundred and fifty furiously hostile ;.a
sworn and indefatigable enemy to the Bill in all its stages. Why was
that odd experiment, the Gregson clause, tried, which if the Bill had,
by accident, succeeded, would have instantly stultified its whole opera-
tions? Why has the Marquis of Chandos’s motion been suffered to pass,
which breaks at once Colonel Sibthorpe’s heart, and the principle of the
Bill? Why have the lingering decision of clause after clause, the
affected difficulty, the monotonous prolonging of the useless debate, the
changed and despairing tone of the notorious public instruments of the
ministry, been permitted, but for the most palpable of all reasons, the
original determination to throw up the Bill ?

It was otherwise in other things. When that fatal and guilty measure,
the Catholic Bill, was to be forced on the country, it was forced in the
spirit of its conception; rash, fierce, and violent in its nature, it was
driven on from day to day with a successful violence that we shall lament
as long as England is England. But then, it was intended that the
« bill do pass.” Now, when the intention is of another kind, the means
are suited to the object, and the object has been accomplished. This
we say to comfort the party. Lord Grey will not be cast out of his title,
his estate, and his place in society this session nor the next, nor until
some true “ Reformer” shall carry a bill similar to the one which the
country now triumphs in trampling under its feet. Lord Brougham
will enjoy the seals till he grows weary of them, and will go on quicken-
ing the steps of solicitors, lifting the eyes of “ leading counsel” in in-
creasing astonishment at his undue celerity, and shewing the miracle of
a Chancery-suit concluded within the term of one’s natural life. Lord
John will turn delighted from the flinty field of politics to the flowing
pastures of Parnassus, and graze there with renewed and grateful appe-
tite, having nothing to do but to whisk the critic-flies from his tender
parts with his ears and tail. All will go on well, and the wheels of the
world, now a little out of order, will return to their railroad, and
slide on with double their old anti-friction rapidity. The ten-pound
legislators will give up their dreams of making Members of Parliament,
for the nearer and dearer necessity of making shoes, pantaloons, and
puddings. We shall have a new poem on Portugal from its established
bard, and Don Miguel will be the hero of the new “ Sebastianade.”
All, we say, will go on well, and the world will wonder that it could have
been so disturbed. The grim and warlike form of Old England, leaning
on its sword, covered with scars and still smarting with its wounds, will
not bear to be longer pestered with this popinjay ; and we shall all turn
quietly to the national trade of getting rich, keeping the continent to its
duty, making its military coxcombs, its kings and khans, and sultans and
czars, know, for their good, that they have a master who can strip off
their epaulettes, pluck off their mustachios, and throw their swords into
the next river on fit occasion.

Those are our natural employments—tu, regere populos, and not pal-
uy ephemeral bills, parliamentary squabbles, and the elevation of a race
of poor devils of shopkeepers (nine-tenths of them too poor to pay their
pons ret, and actually discharged from this payment by an act of par-.,

iament), into the Lung Buia of judging of the qualities of members,
of parliament—a judgment which would be nothing more than who had
the heaviest purse, and who scattered 7 in the most shewy style.

2E 2

v

308 Notes of the Month on (Serr.

_ As for Lord Grey and his coadjutors, we wish them well. We cer-
tainly have not the slightest wish to see Sir Robert Peel and the Peels

_intheir places. For that hero of the “ atrocious bill” we have feelings
which not fifty nor. fifty millions of his anti-reform speeches can dimi-
nish. Let others praise him if they will for his repentant harangues ;
but we believe him to be still the man, who, after fifteen years of solemn
protestation for the constitution, inflicted the most deadly blow that ever
fell upon that.constitution—and until he can shift his identity we must
hold our opinion. The A:thiop cannot change his skin with such happy
facility ; and therefore, say we, let England beware of Sir Robert Peel.
We have no objection to his destroying whiggery by his alliance, but
toryism must never suffer the peril of his partizanship again.

One word more: if the bill should, by hocus-pocus, work its way to
the Lords, they need waste no time in thinking how to get rid of it.
The shortest way is to apply it to the lamp that burns under the chin of
Sir George Rose’s deputy, and throw the ashes to swell the dust that
envelopes the Marquis of Londonderry in his more energetic moments.
They may rely on the nation! To aman, the nation is sick of the whole
affair already; sick of the long speeches, the tiresome gnawing through
the alphabet, the wearisomeness of the topic at dinner, the stagnation
of business, and the general groan of bankruptcy among the legislative
landholders, from ten pounds to ten shillings per annum. Ca ira, as
singeth the Dublin candidate, with the green rope—we beg pardon,
ribbon” —about his neck.

Every one who honours literature, honours Sir Walter Scott. But
all the rescripts from his own romantic town have lately conspired to
put him to death once a week, luckily with the happy reverse of restor-
ing him to perfect health by return of post. The Edinburgh Literary
Gazette has thus delivered itself on the subject :—

«< Sir Walter Scott is about to set off on a tour to the Highlands, in company
with Mr. Lockhart. We take this opportunity to express a sentiment (enter-
tained by us in common with all our respectable contemporaries) of disgust at
the teasing and persevering folly with which certain underlings of the press have
of late kept retailing every stray lie respecting the health enjoyed by this revered
individual. Is Sir Walter to be put out of the pale of humanity, because he is
so immeasurably above these creatures, and his own and his family’s peace dis-
turbed by impertinent curiosity, which can only be fitly rewarded with a horse-
whip ?”

This is rather glowing language for the crime. But it is curious
enough that the game continues, and we are still kept in doubt whether
the baronet is to write more novels, or to be content with writing his
own epitaph.

But why do not his friends send him to travel? A tour in the High-
lands, and so forth, is very well for the Scotch or London cockney ; but
Sir Walter ought to go further. Germany may not just now be in the
happiest position for the traveller. But Italy still sleeps; all is quiet,
fat, and frolic, from the Alps to the sea. Let Sir Walter wait but till
September is past, and then go forward, trusting boldly to the protec-
tion of the Nine, conscious that the ladiés of Helicon will look to his
relays, his coach-springs, and his postillions; and in six months he will
have seen. Rome, Naples, the Pope’s toe, and the Pretender’s tomb ; will
have written “ The Red Hand of Benevento, a Romance of Italy, in

1831.] Affairs in General. 309
three vols. ;” will have become home-sick, and be in the High Street of
Edinburgh, receiving the congratulations of the Scotch world on his
return, and with a lease of ten years’ additional life in his cerebellum.
We wish the baronet well, and have given him, in this instance, advice
worth all the scribblings of the College of Physicians. J pede fausto. ©

We would not give sixpence for the brains of any man who can
hesitate a moment about the causes of the riots, rick-burning, and other
sullen savageries, that from time to time disfigure the character of
country life in England. The whole and sole cause is the same one
which would make a lord of the privy-council mutinous, or a groom of
the bed-chamber question the propriety of the civil list within ear-shot
of his sovereign: itis hunger. There is no instance on record within
these hundred years, where, when the common people were sufliciently
employed, they exhibited any discontent whatever. Give the English
labourer employment enough to clothe and feed him decently, and he
will no more rebel, not read incendiary nonsense, nor set fire to his
master’s barns, than the honest bullock that he drives afield. And this
is not the result of his silliness, but of his good sense ; and if those who
have the lives and labours of the peasantry in their hands, and who live
from hour to hour upon the industry of those poor men, were to take
but half the care of them that they do of their ox and their ass, we
should hear no more of peasant-tumult in England than we hear of it
in the Georgium Sidus.

The Hampshire Advertiser, a well informed paper upon those points,
thus states the case at present.

«The farmers are again reducing men’s wages down to the old point; and it
is feared that, unless something is done to relieve the distress, serious conse-
quences will arise during the next winter. It is asked, how can farmers afford
to give the wages demanded while they are paying such enormous high rents ?
But the fact cannot be concealed, that there is scarcely a farm or a small piece
of ground to be let, but there are from 20 to 30 applicants, bidding one against
the other, giving from 2/. to 3/. per acre for what had just let for 30s. While
the farmers pursue this course, how can they afford to pay their men adequately
for their labours ?”

For taking their lands at such rates we cannot blame the farmers,
who, we may fairly presume, would take them cheaper if they could.
But we blame the landlords, who are foolish and cruel enough to let
their lands at prices which no farmer can pay without robbing his
labourers. Of all the symptoms of national decline, that which seems to
us the most formidable is this fierce spirit of Mammon, this furious and
short-sighted avarice which makes the iandlord think only of forcing
the highest penny from the land. In the better times of England, the
yearly tenant was almost as secure of his tenure as the lord of his title.
Generation after generation flourished on the same farm, and with it
flourished a generous feeling of protection on the part of the landlord,
and a generous feeling of attachment on the part of the tenant. The case
isnow beginning to be scandalously the contrary. The landlord and his
tenant are two land-huxters, the one straining all points to secure a high
rent, the other straining all points to pay the lowest wages possible to
his labourers. The labourer must take what he can get, or he must
starve—he takes wages which scarcely keep soul and body together, he
grows sullen, and desperate, and then is ready for Captain Swing. As

310 Notes of the Month on [Serr

to patriotism, he has at least as much, as the rapacious, landlord. But
what man can feel attachment to a country which refuses, him, food,
which does not shew a single cottage that the poor man can call his own,
where day by day the commonage is curtailed, the footpath blocked up,
and the immense majority of the population are as much aliens in their
native land, as much pilgrims and wanderers, as if they were thrown
loose in Africa.

«* We have heard,” says the paper, “‘ of cases where a man has his wife and
seven or eight children to keep out of 10s. per week, when 7s. 6d. and 8s. is paid
away for bread, and they have not tasted meat for months together. In two
other parishes the men, having struck, were met by two of the principal farmers
of the parish, who asked them what they desired?. The men replied, they only
wanted the promise of a month’s harvesting, that they might not be deprived of
their bread by strangers. The farmers, immediately upon this, promised the men
that their request should be complied with, stating to them that it was a just
one. The men immediately dispersed, and went to their labours.”

For this, we allow that mere law can apply no remedy, for mere law
cannot prevent the cruelty of screwing up land to a dishonest price, nor
half starving labourers, who would rather be half starved than die of
hunger. But law should take care how it aggravates the opportunities
that guilty and cruel minds will eagerly adopt, to make money at the
expense of public good and private humanity. The use of machinery is
one of those means. It is impossible to prevent that use. It would be
unjust if it were possible ; for the inventor and the maker of the machine
has as much a title to the profit of his genius or his labour, as the
ploughman or thrasher has to the fruit of his toils. But no man is
justified, before the tribunal of common feeling, or even of common
sense, who does not provide that his labourers, whom the machine may
displace, shall previously find employment somewhere. If he must have
a thrashing machine, let him not consider himself entitled to its use,
while there is a single wretched being in the form of man looking on,
and seeing in that machine the sentence of his own dismissal and starva-
tion, A humane landlord will remember that the people about him are
men like himself, that he is accountable not merely to man, but to more
than man, for the use of his power ; and that, if he use it only to make
money, and drive his fellow creatures into famine and despair, he is
accountable in conscience for every crime that they commit in famine
and despair.

It is for this utter neglect of man as man that we abominate the whole
school of the political economists. Money, money is the principle. If
more money is to be made by grinding a man’s bones into dust for the
manure of a field of Norfolk turnips, than by keeping him alive, the
question is settled at once by the modern economists. His bones must
be ground. With these doctors, the heart of man, the soul, all the
attachments and affections, the whole nobler portion, for which the whole
fabric of society has been formed, is nothing. Unless they can grasp
the material profit with their earthly fingers, unless they can weigh it in
their scales, and sell it by the pound in their shambles, it enters not into
their elements of calculation. This gross and bitter product of infidelity,
which in France issued in Jacobinism, and here is rapidly tending to the
same result, is as unworthy of the name of philosophy as it is of
christianity ; and until we gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles, it
must be the seed of discontent, rebellion, and all shapes of individual

1831.] Affairs in General. 311

wrong and public shame. But the only healing and vigorous application
must be found in our returning, man by man, to the honest: humanity
and generous good sense of our forefathers. We must introduce into
‘our expenditure that true economy which does nothing for ostentation,
and does all things with a regard to the welfare of our fellow-men. It
is the guilty vanity of the time which has done three-fourths of the
mischief. ‘The squire must have his claret and champagne, his livery
servants and his coach, like the duke; the farmer must have his dressy
daughters, his hunters, and his pipe of port, like the squire ; so it goes
down through all the gradations of society to the miserable labourer, the
serf, who sustains all, works for all, and starves for all. But common
feeling revolts against this waste; common sense shews the folly of
thinking that wealth can be safe when the boundless majority see it
without the hope to share it, but by violence; and christianity, highest
and wisest guide of all, declares in its strongest tone, that he who forgets
in man that he is more than a mass of sinews and bones to do the work
of a master, that he is gifted with the title of a common nature, and an
equal rank in the eye of Heaven, with a right to all the enjoyment
compatible with his condition here, and to all the hopes bound up in
immortality; shall be, sooner or later, the victim of his own faithlessness,
hard-heartedness, and folly.

We were weary of the cholera from the first month, but the subject
is now coming on us in a fatal shape, under the disguise of pamphlets,
boundless in point of number, and prosy to the very verge. of dis-
solution. Whether it will ever come to England is the question. We
ask in explanation, where has it been? Only in the filthiest and the
worst fed countries of Europe, and in the worst fed, laziest, and most
habitually diseased countries of Asia. What is Russia but a human
dung-hill, saturated with train-oil?. What is Poland but a lazar-house,
proverbial for every disease that the concentration of dirt, indolence
and beggary can engender? What is the whole extent of the Russian
Asiatic provinces, but a sweep of perpetual contagion? The distinction
between the European and Indian cholera is thus obviously accounted
for. The Indian is in the air—the European in the apparel—the breath
—the body. The Indian comes with the burning sun of summer,
wastes the little blood and bone of the rice-eaters, and kills this meagre
population like flies. Not one European, who takes common care of
himself, dies, out of a thousand. It is true, the gallant dragoon who
drinks his couple of bottles a day, whether of stout port, or gay claret,
who eats as much roast beef at the mess, as if he were “a captain bold in
Halifax, put up in country quarters ;” or the bluff subaltern of infantry,
flushed with his daily four meals, his extra rations, his dozen of Hodg-
son’s pale ale, between the hours of ten in the morning and ten at night,
and his final half-pint of pure Mauritius brandy, as a cooler—will be
occasionally in danger of a “ touch of the liver,” which goes into the
general account of cholera. But the meagre Indian, the sickly native,
is the true subject, and he dies of the air. A movement of a mile to the
left or the right, a march up a hill or across a rivulet, makes all the
difference between health and massacre. wy

But the European cholera, let it originate where it will, being kept
alive by salt-fish or starvation, by train-oil, or nakedness and misery, walks
over Europe, extinguishing the guiltless of a full meal in a month, or

312 Notes of the Month on [Serr.

of soap and water, in a year. It is now raging in the aboriginal soil of
the plica polonica, and if it wanders over its border, it will be the be-
quest of the pantaloons of some dirty Jew, some industrious old clothes-
man, carrying his pack to the German fairs. There has been no symptont
of the disease in either Austria or Prussia Proper. Their Polish pro-
vinces have it, and will have more of it ; and we should almost rejoice in
the application even of this tremendous scourge, if it could compel the
two powers to give up possessions gained by acts of horrid iniquity, and
incapable of being held without a crime.

The only facts known about the European cholera, are that it is not
impeded by winter, further than intercourse is impeded ; that it may be
totally kept off from individuals by avoiding contact with the diseased ;
that all the remedies, so much boasted in the newspapers, are not worth
a straw, that three-fourths of the pamphlets are not worth the paper
they are printed on, and that our English physicians know nothing
about the matter. The true remedies are clean living, clean clothes,
temperance, and an abjuration of reading a syllable of all that has been
written on the subject. Perhaps we should propose a “ legislative
enactment,” ordering that Holywell-street, Strand, should be bricked
up at one end, and fired at the other—so that the objectionable neigh-
bourhood might be burned to the ground as speedily as possible. A
regular decimation of Duke’s-place and the Minories would be useful,
and an “ ordinance” that the Jews should be shaved periodically by
the police. A general washing would be no bad expedient for St.
Giles’s ;| and the Thames, at high water, might be let in once a week,
in the purlieus of Paddington. But the reform fills the brains of our
legislature too much at the present time, and we must wait for the
extinction of the bill before we can ablute the Irish or the Israelites —
“Tt was stated in the House of Commons, the other night, that séx
Members had already delivered one hundred and fifty speeches on the
subject. It was also stated that one Member had repeated the self
same speech fourteen times. An apt illustration of the vox et preterea
nihil. Pity that such eloquence should have been thrown away.”

The glories of the London Bridge feast’ still continue to flourish in
description, and astonish the mayors and corporations of the remoter
portions of the British Empire. One happy misprint is understood to
have produced some thousands of letters from inquiring correspondents.
A newspaper had put in the word turtles for tartlets, and the account
that “ three hundred turtles” figured on the tables, had excited a storm
of envy, hatred, and various other uncharitableness among the corpo-
rate feeders of the provinces, which may be the ultimate cause of a
rebellion.

Still there are some little anomalies in the history; ex. gr. we are told,
— The cutlery supplied for the late banquet, by Messrs. Champion
and Sons, was 4,608 ivory-handled knives, 2,472 ditto forks, 1,764 ditto
dessert knives, 768 ditto forks, 123 ditto carving knives, 123 ditto forks
—total, 9,858. The cutlery provided for the dinner at Guildhall, which
of course was to consist of many removes, was 12,998 pieces.”

Now this we cannot quite comprehend. The number of knives seem
to us about twice the number of forks. It is true the knife is the
essential, and ‘the place of the fork may be supplied’ by the fingers, if
one has prepared for the operation by sufficient practice But in our

1831.] Affairs in General. 313

simplicity we had always conceived that fork was to knife, as man
and wife, a sort of undisseverable, at least till the banquet of life, and of
the table, were alike over. We cannot understand the two knives to
one fork, any more than a plurality in marriage. We beg to be in-
formed on this endearing yet mysterious subject.

There certainly is a guardian genius of riot especially in pay for the
benefit of Irish agitation—“ a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft”—
for the perpetual O<Connelism of the “ gem of the sea.” The Dublin
election came in by “ especial desire” to keep men’s bloods in motion in
the interval, while the great agitator was making speeches here ; and it
worked well. Dublin, and with it all Ireland, was kept in a ferment
during every hour ‘of the struggle ; puffing, paragraphing, and pugna-
city—as our alliterative friend, Derry Dawson, says—were the order of
the day ; and Alderman’ Harty was the pilot that was to carry the ship,
not through, but into the storm. The spirit of O‘Connelism was victo-.
rious. The popular heroes drove out the corporation heroes, and
George Moore, the most Whiggish of Tories, and the greenest of
Orangemen, was tumbled down like another Phaéton, but with a gentler
destiny ; for, instead of breaking his bones, he dropped into the downy
pillows of a soft sinecure of three thousand a year. But the day of re-
action came, and the cold-blooded committee of the Commons merci-
lessly “ resolved,” in the following style—a style worthy of Rhadaman-
thus himself :—

« Resolved 1. That Robert Harty, Esq., the Right Hon. the Lord Mayor of
Dublin, and Lewis Perrin, Esq., were not duly elected citizens to serve in the
present Parliament.

« Resolved 2. That the last election for the city of Dublin is null and void.

« Resolved 3. That the petition against this return does not appear to this
committee either frivolous or vexatious.

«« Resolved 4. That the opposition to this petition does not appear to the com-
mittee either frivolous or vexatious.

“ Resolved 5. That R. Harty, Esq., the Right Hon. the Lord Mayor of Dublin,
and Lewis Perrin, Esq., had, through their agents, been guilty of bribery at the
last election.

“Resolved 6. That certain individuals holding official situations, who were con-
sidered to be connected with the government, did, in contravention to the orders
and rules of the House of Commons, exercise undue influence at the last election for
citizens to serve in Parliament for the city of Dublin. And,

«« Resolved, lastly. That the chairman on presenting this report be instructed
to move that the report be printed, and also the evidence upon which it is founded.”

And to obtain this point of ambition, is said to have cost the candidates
£20,000! Perrin is a clever barrister, and should have had his brains
more at his own disposal, than to be tricked into the meshes of a set of
fellows who, after all, wanted nothing but to see “a capital roaring
election,” good for the inn-keepers, the gin-shops, the five-pound voters,
and all other patriots of the same swallow. Yet Perrin, who is notori-
ously an excellent fellow, will make it up in the course of time. But
what in the name of Mammon and Belial, both orators and patriots as
they were, is to become of the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor?
Perrin still has his briefs, and long may he live to puzzle judges, seduce
juries, shield smugglers, and prey upon mankind, according to the
duties of his profession. But what is to become of his unfortunate
coadjutor patriot? The Dublin papers are lively on the occasion ; and,

314 Notes of the Month on [Sepr.

if to make the world merry with his misfortunes bé the last aggravation
of ill-luck, short of hanging, he is beyond the power of patriotism to
console.

Laporte has made his last speech, and is now, we suppose, flying off
to Paris, with £30,000.—the profits of his penurious system. Thank
Heaven, the Opera is at length wrested from his hands! Anything
more vilely, pitifully, and miserably mismanaged than this establish-
ment has been during his career, we cannot conceive—rich as we are in
records of theatrical and musical abuses. One grand good, then, has
been effected in getting Laporte out; but that, luckily, is not all; for
the directorship of the King’s Theatre has at last fallen into the hands of
a gentleman likely to make it what it is wanted to be—precisely’ the
opposite of all that it has been of late. Mr. Monck Mason, the new
lessee, is a gentleman—a word that has a very un-manager-like look—a
person of birth and education, possessing many advantages, arising from
a frequent intercourse with continental cities, a becoming ardour ‘to
improve the national taste, zeal, talent, and liberality. All this is much,
and we hope much from it.

It is odd enough that the history of the Beggar’s Opera should be still
in dispute. There is something like an acknowledgment that its first
conception was Swift's, for we have it recorded of him that, in his spirit
of burlesque, he ‘ observed one day, to Gay, what a pretty sort of a
thing a Newgate pastoral would make.’ Galt, in his pleasant book, the
* Lives of the Players,” says of the songs :—

«Tt is not generally known that the first song, ‘‘ The modes of the Court,”
was written by Lord Chesterfield, —*‘ Virgins are like the fair flower in its lustre,”
by Sir Charles Hanbury Williams,—‘‘ When you censure the age,” by Swift,—
and “‘ Gamesters and lawyers are jugglers alike,” by Mr. Fortescue, Master of the
Rolls.

We may add, that the song of “ If laws are made for every degree,”
was either written or revised and sharpened by Pope. The work, in
general, was altogether superior to Gay, as is obvious from “ Polly, an
Opera,” its second part, which is feeble in the extreme. The chief part
of the early dialogue, the Mrs. Peachum and Filch scene, with the sar-
casms of the two thieftakers, probably, belonged to Swift—the arrange-
ment was Gay’s. He went to Scotland at the time, and gave six weeks
to it in a tenth floor, in one of the wynds.

We wonder at the abortiveness of every system for governing Ireland!
yet we never wonder at the abortiveness of every government of Ire-
land.—-They scarcely average more than the life of a Lord Mayor—
Since the commencement of English rule in Ireland, from 1172 to 1831,
just 659 years, we have had no less than 396 governors, exclusive of
those who held the reins from 1677 to 1711. To these add, chief secre-
taries, &c., and during the same period, be it observed, England has
been ruled by thirty sovereigns and one lord protector. ‘This gives an
average of one year, seven months, and nineteen days for each vice-regal
reign. But the chief secretaries are the principal feature of this curi-
ously shifting government, for there have been, generally, three secreta-
ries for one lord lieutenant ; the secretary being the actual governor, and

1831.) Affairs in General. 315

-the viceroy little, more than a gentleman who held levees, and presided
at balls and suppers.. So much for policy !

No one doubts Moore’s skill as a general master of poetry ; but we
haye been always.sceptical on the point on which he has been most
studious to. excel—his amatory themes. In our apprehension, no bard
of his own or of any other day, ever knew so little about Passion, ever
less spoke its language, or ever exhibited more glaringly the glaring
error -of mistaking it for the mere work of the senses. We should be
content to let the question be tried by this brief extract from his observ-
ations in the “ Memoirs of Lord Edward Fitzgerald :— ;

“‘In natures of this kind (the warm and enthusiastic), a first love is almost

always but a rehearsal for the second; that imagination must actas a taster to
the heart before the true ‘ thirst from the soul’ is called forth—and that accord-
ingly out of this sort of inconstancy to one object is oftenest seen to spring the
most passionate and even constant devotion to another.”
Now the man who could write this, evidently has no more notion of
loye than that it is a mere thing of appetite. The experience of man-
kind is against it, for what has been the language of all poets but him-
self, on the crime of inconstancy to a first love, on the force and depth
_of its impressions, and on the almost impossibility of ever reyiving, by
a second, the fine ardour and vivid delight’ of a first passion, We
believe, that even poetry has not exaggerated this sentiment. There
may be fondness and esteem, and even a liveliness of attachment, in a
second love, capable of solacing the heart for the loss of the first ; but the
sensation of the first is never to be restored nor forgotten. _We might
as well say that the consciousness of life could be felt a second time as it
was at the moment when it first shot through the veins. No one will
dispute the beauty of sunrise, but who can see it like him who, born
blind, has his vision opened to it for the first time.

The plain conclusion from all our rhapsody is, that Moore, however
capital a lyrist, knows no more of Jove than an oyster.

Since the death of Kitchiner, “alas! poor Yorick !’”’ nothing great
has been done in the culinary line. Men eat turtle and pines without
asking, or venturing to ask, whether the callipash might not be made
more transcendant by a new patent Cayenne, or the “ Anana, best of
fruits,” touch the feelings more exquisitely by the new phusiteknicon
sauce. Still there are some efforts, some tentamina, as Apicius Hexameter
Burney would say, towards a revival of the glorious science. For in-
stance, the following receipt for making a goose what a goose should
be:—

“The first step is to wrap the goose up in linen; after which stop the ears
with peas, and hang it up in a dark place, where, neither hearing nor seeing any
thing, it remains in a state of stupidity, neither struggling nor crying. After
this preparation give three times a day pellets, made of ground malt or barley,
‘mixed with water, setting, within reach, water and gravel, in a pan. In this
manner the birds are made so fat, that, without seeing, one can scarcely form an
idea of it.”

This, we own, may be at first sight called a cruel affair. But then it
is, at the worst, kind to the eater, and the true view of the case is, that
it is kind also to the eaten, for the sooner he is fat the sooner he is put
out of all his pain inthis world. But clever as the receipt is, we must

316 Notes of the Month-on [Sepr.

announce that it is a mere plagiarism from the well-known receipt for
making an alderman of London the thing that it becomes an alderman
tobe. The original is in possession of one of the oldest ornaments of the
board, civic, and convivial.—*“ Take a citizen, and wrap him first in a fur
gown, stop his ears, shut up his other senses, wrap his legs in flannel, and
then put him in a gilt coach. Let him remain in a state of stupidity from
the November of one year to the November of another. The hanging
up may be deferred until the operation is complete. During this period,
let him have on an average fourteen dinners a-week, each of three
courses, setting within reach champaign, claret, and rose-water in a
pan. In this manner the subject will be made so fat, that without see-
ing, one could scarcely form an idea of it.. But the sight should not
be deferred, as apoplexy is considered to be the natural result of the
experiment, and many worthy aldermen have found it difficult to
weather their twelve months. At the end of that time the hanging ope-
ration may commence with great comfort to themselves, and much gra-
tification to society.”

The public have been lately astounded with the publication of what
was said to be a case of St. Vitus’s dance in one of the hospitals.

<< The appearance was that of his being possessed by ademon. I am sure, if
the boy had been seen in ancient times, he would have been brought forward as
an instance of possession of a devil. He made all sorts of horrid faces; his head
went about in all directions ; his mouth opened and shut as if he were trying to
snap at and chew the air; he grinned and gnashed his teeth ; his arms were flung
about in every way: he was in the most horrid state of perpetual motion. This
patient was cured in about three weeks, by doses of the subcarbonate of iron.”

On inquiry being made into the case, it was ascertained that the stu-
dent who had been described, had lodgings opposite toa “ young noble
lord,” not a hundred miles from Wimpole-street, who has lately exhibited
a “ House of Commons ambition,” and that he had filled up all the
picturesque of the statement from a morning’s observation of his move-
ments in repeating his speech for the evening. A committee from the
hospital were appointed to examine the fact, and being introduced by
the student to a view, declared that he had failed only in the low tones
of his picture, and that the oddity and violence of the convulsions ex-
ceeded any thing that they had ever seen, except the “ dancing duke’s”
practice for a gallopade at St. James’s.

It is remarkable how few of the Irish patriots contributed a farthing
in the late famine. They were probably too busy in securing the “ na-
tional glory,” and thought that to men dying of hunger, speeches were
more necessary than bread.

But we have mentioned this repulsive subject chiefly to shew the
good that can be done without speech-making, and with no other means
than charity and practical honesty of purpose. A statement has ap-
peared from one David Matthews, mentioning his proceedings on this
occasion.

“‘ Hearing of the wretched state of the poor in the west of Ireland, I went
among them,” says he, ‘‘a few weeks ago—I opened a soup-room, wherein 1
have been feeding 550 children daily, at the small cost of 1/. per day—I have
been feeding them on the spot, under my own superintendence,.to avoid the thou-
sand impositions which these demoralized beings practise in a time of famine,—

1831.] Affairs in General. 317

I knew the appetite could not falsify though the tongue might, and therefore I
filled the stomach, while some of the other soup-rooms, by delivering soup out,
were perhaps in many cases only filling the hog’s trough, or the ditch bottom.”

This shewed David’s good sense, at once saved his soup, and saved
his soup-eaters. But the man himself was on the spot, which in those
eases implies all the difference between charity and speech-making.
Friend David’s next steps were scarcely less necessary, and were in
the same spirit of common sense and practical benevolence.

<« Now, since the press of the famine is over, I have been turning my attention
to amore permanent good than merely feeding. I have selected 80 girls from
those whom I have been feeding, and clothed their worse than Indian nakedness,
to beget in them the virtue of decency; and have them now at work, sewing,
spinning, knitting, &c., to inculcate the good order and ingenuity of employment.
I have adopted this scheme to do away with their resorting to begging, and as a
plan of ‘ practical morality,’ since the priests will not hear of any thing in the
shape of education, fearing religious conversion amongst the children.”

So much for popery, which is all the same in every corner of the
earth, and would rather see human beings turned into brute beasts than
see the most trivial chance of the pope’s losing a slave, or their own
reverences losing a sixpence. Plague upon them! why are they afraid
of reading and writing, unless from their love of darkness, and their con-
sciousness that men cannot exert their common understandings without
discovering the tricks, basenesses, and superstitions of popery? It is
this that has been the plague of Ireland, worse than all its famines, re-
bellions, and beggaries, and itself the cause of them all. Yet we have
paid nearly a quarter of a million! to keep up a popish college in
wretched Ireland, and are at this hour paying £8000 a-year to propa-
gate this most guilty and pernicious superstition. More fools we.

The effects of friend David’s system are beginning to be felt in his
narrow sphere, and he holds it out as an evidence of what may be done,
and justly solicits the attention and benevolence of those, who, though
they may be Irishmen, are not agitators, and may be Christians, though
they are not papists, to help a design of practical good.

“ The system,” says David, “‘ has already been productive of considerable

change in the character of the girls, for, from a practice of squatting in groups
round a puddle, or manure-hill, chattering, musing, or dreaming their time away
into idiotey, they have become excited by the spur of labour to emulate our
English industry. However, I fear my establishment is on too small a scale to
become a national example, which has been my object from the first—and, there~
fore, I appeal to the benevolent to assist me with funds, according to their means,
to extend its scale. Their contributions may be sent through the relief com-
mittee, Castlebar, County Mayo, and applied under their inspection.

Westport, July 25. Davip MatrHews.”

Of this statement, we of course know nothing more, than that it has
appeared in print, and that it shews good sense and practical charity,
which are worth all the fine’ speeches and appeals to “ our suffering
country,” that ever broke from the lips of man. We wish success to
David Matthews, whoever he is.

A clever book might be written, and ought to be written, on the state
of periodical literature on the Continent. It is little known here, and
not much known there, and yet its state must form one of the elements
of that computation on which we can decide the comfort and freedom
of the people, or the security of their government. Thus in Poland

318 oles of the Month on [Seprr.

the number shews by an obvious comparison, the spirit of the people.—
« The kingdom of Poland comprises eight palatinates ; and contained in»
1830, 4,088,000 souls. In 1815, there were in Poland but 100 looms
at work ; in 1830, there were 6,000, producing annually 7,000,000 yards
of cloth of all qualities. The elementary schools are not at all sufficient
for the wants of the population ; whilst, nevertheless, one child in 100
is taught to read and write—the proportion in Russia being one in 367.
There is but one university at Warsaw, which has upwards of 800 stu-
dents. The kingdom of Poland, in 1830, had 37 journals, while Rus-
sian Poland, with 8,000,000 of inhabitants, has only 2.”

Compare the Continental system with the American, in those matters.
—‘ There are now published in the United States, 364 newspapers, of
which 158 are in the interest of the republican, and 157 in the federalist
party ; the others are neutral. Eight are printed in German, five in
French, two in Spanish, and the others in English. Nine of these.
journals were established prior to the American revolution. Their
ageregate annual sale is estimated at 25.200,000.”

Or to return to Russia :—‘ There are published in Russia 73 jour-
nals, of which the most extensively circulated are the Bee of the North,
the Patriot, and the Invalid. These journals are written in 12 dialects.
The number of elementary schools is 1,411, attended by about 70,000
pupils ; so that, compared with the number of children of an age fit to
receive instruction in Russia, there is but one in 367 receiving even
superficial instruction. There are seven universities, where 3,100 pupils
are educated, under the superintendance of 300 professors. The semi-
naries are the most frequented of the establishments for education in
Russia; the four academies of theology at Kiew, St. Petersburgh, Mos-
cow, and Korsan ; the 37 seminaries of the first class, and the 18 of the
second, belonging to the Greek Church, contain 26,000 pupils, under
the superintendance of 427 professors. The Roman Catholic Church
possesses 14 seminaries ; one of the first class, where are educated 250
young men for the priesthood.” — We are to remember that this literary
provision is for the wants of a territory nearly equal to a third of the
Old World.

France is daily throwing up new literary products of this kind, which
some term voleanoes, and which are certainly inflammable enough. But
one, at least, will set no one on fire.-—‘ A newspaper, called the Steno-
graphe des Chambres, has just been established by the Chamber of De-
puties, and is to be supported at its expence, for the purpose of reporting,
more fully than the other newspapers can afford space to do, the speeches
of the deputies. The whole of the composing and printing is to be
done in an adjoining room to the hall, and it is calculated that a full
report of each sitting may be placed in the hands of members in an
hour and a half after the adjournment of the Chamber each day. The
paper is about the size of, and promises to be just as repulsive as, the
Moniteur.”

England is going head over heels to ruin. The cobblers must rebel, for
people now wear no shoes, and, of course, have none mended. The
tailors are in despair, as within the last half-dozen years of public decay,
every one has obviously gone naked, and the poor schneiders have sat
with empty thread-cases. Every thing is going on in this unfortunate
way. People no longer buy plates and dishes, as why should they,

1831.) Affairs in General. 319

when they have no longer any thing to put inthem? We insert a cor-
roborative return from a distinguishing place, which we suppose ought
to be undone. It is from Staffordshire :—

«© The goods received into the Potteries last year, and dispatched from them,
amounted to upwards of 106,000 tons: the first price of the raw materials used in
their, manufacture was but 155,000/., and that of the same materials wrought up
was. 1,300,000/., exhibiting an amount of wealth created, of labour paid, and
profit actually reaped, hardly falling short of one million and a quarter sterling.’

To a statement so melancholy we have nothing more to add. We sup-
pose the platters must have been given away.

Field preaching is lifting up its sacred visage, and shaking its stiff
locks among us again. Irving is said to have lately “ taken the field,”
somewhere about St. Pancras, and to have greatly amused the rabble.
He has soon found a rival. A few Sundays ago, at an early hour, a
young saint, named Rachael Smithson, about 22 years of age, belonging
to a sect called “ the United Sisters,” preached a sermon in the open
air, at the foot of Putney-bridge. In the course of her exhortation she
stated that she had suffered very much on account of her religious zeal ;
that about three years ago she was in imminent danger of losing her
life, occasioned by the oversetting of a pleasure boat, in which she was
sitting with an aged mother.. In this extremity she offered up a fervent
prayer for help, and promised that if she and ker parent’s lives were
preserved she would serve her God as long as she livid. Since that time
she had given herself wholly to the work of the ministry. And so
haying made her vow, she performs it by talking nonsense, chattering
about matters of which she can have no possible knowledge, and making
graye things ridiculous, and sacred things unintelligible, for the rest of
her days. Thus runs the world away—and thus will Rachael Smithson
run, till she either runs in debt, and from that into a prison, or a mad-
house, or the Regent’s canal. How much happier and wiser if she had
made a yow to mend her stockings!

Ireland is as full of “ agitation” as ever; the agitation now, however,
not consisting in speeches made in the tea-houses and taverns of Dublin,
but in shootings, burnings, and plunderings throughout the whole
popish portion of the country. The special commissions have done
nothing —they have tried, and hanged, and transported, but the moment
the judges were taking their departure, with congratulations that they
had “ quieted,” and so forth ; the angry spirit of the people, the burnings
were behind, before them, and on each side of them. The magistrates
of the west of Ireland have just applied to have some hundreds of square
miles of those “ quieted” districts put under martial law. The Lord-Lieu-
tenant has replied by “regretting that the special commissions, procla-
mations, &c. have had no better effect ;” but promising new activity of
the same kind, which will have the same consequences. In the mean
time, though the grand agitator is in London, where he is not idle in his
vocation, another agitator, to whom O‘Connell is a dwarf in influ-
ence, is starting into action; the double-tongued J. K. L., a man
capable of great evil from his priesthood, though in all. other points con-
temptible ; a pitiful writer, and altogether an ignorant and trifling crea-
ture ; and for this character we may safely appeal to the tiresome, and
infinitely washy tirade which he has just issued against Lord Farnham,
his “ Letter” to that noble person, being such as would actually degrade

320 Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. [Sepr.

the pen of any tenth-rate pamphleteer of the day ; and, obviously, as
dull and weak a dissertation upon exhausted topics as any thing in the
annals of newspaper correspondence. .But we have more to do with
this disturber’s mischievous maxims. than his pitiful style. ‘The princi-
ples of his “ Letter” are thus analysed by the Warder, an able Irish
paper.

«‘ The maintenance of the laws, the prevention of crimes, the well-being of
society, are unworthy of the cares of a Christian legislature.

“« The residence of a protestant clergyman isa grievance inflicted on the indi-
vidual, because, not having the cure of all the souls in the parish, he should not
attend to those committed to his charge.

“The Roman Catholics of Ireland having been gradually relieved from the
penal laws, until, at length, they stand on the same civil and political level with
Protestants—being, ‘ not almost but altogether,’ the same in privilege, they are
in a worse state of slavery than any community of men in either hemisphere !

“« The law sanctions tithes, and is therefore unjust, and to be vilified, because
it once sanctioned the slave trade, which it no longer does!

“« It is criminal to coerce a government or resist the law, but perfectly innocent
to counsel that coercion and resistance !

“« Property vested in a body, either by national or private endowment, and

held successively by the individuals of that body or corporation only in life trust,
is no property at all, and may be despoiled. This maxim is applied to the pro-
perty of the church !”
_ Dr. Doyle, with the common cant of agitators, denies that a property
which goes from life to life is any body’s property. What will our
corporations say to this? Are the “ Fishmongers” immortal? if not,
away their lands must go. Are the aldermen, men of nine hundred and
ninety-nine years each? if not, away go the City lands. And, in the
same style, must go the lands for the endowment of charities, schools,
and all establishments of the kind. Neither schoolmasters, governors,
nor trustees, have yet found out the secret of defying death, and all
their lands must be at the mercy of the Doctor and the state, until they
do. Such is popish logic. Very good, no doubt, for the old popish dream
of the resumption of the estates forfeited for rebellion two hundred
years ago; but very unlike what we have been accustomed to call either
common-sense, common-law, or common-honesty. What is the church
but a great corporation, with lands transmissible from generation to
generation, for the purpose of sustaining a race of teachers of the people,
and differing from other corporations no more in its rights, than is to be
inferred from the superiority of those rights; its higher office as the
depository of religious knowledge, and its. older title, as being actually
centuries earlier than any other title to property in the empire.

We have seen this anecdote set down as Neapolitan gallantry :—

«‘ The Duke of C—p—a, brother to the King of Naples, happened to meet a
young English lady at a ball, and was greatly struck with her charms. He con-
trived to cross her path in all her morning rides, and in one of these premedi-
tated accidental meetings, the prince presented his fair companion with his por-
trait, beautifully set in brilliants. On the other side of the miniature was an in-
scription, purporting the token to be une gage d’amitie, from the Duke of C—p—a
to the beautiful Miss Re ,
The offer we call Neapolitan impudence, and the acceptance English
immodesty ; if even that be not too innocent aname. But how was the
“beautiful Miss Blank” left to run alone through ball-rooms? Had she
no father to cane the generous duke? no brother to kick the Prince of
Caprara ? * Bux

1831.] [ 321 J

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Ivan VesEEGHEN, on Lire 1n Russia, By THADDEUS BULGARIN.
2 vols. 12mo.

This is a genuine Russian novel, and a tale which, with the interest of a fic-
titious story, presents many details of a state of society of which nothing can be
learned from books of travel. It is, in every respect, equal to Hope’s Anasta-
tius; and were the Russians as likely to awaken attention as the modern Greeks
ten or twelve years ago, and we do not see why they should not, Ivan Vejeeghen
might, as it well deserves, equal that renowned romancein popularity—it has
all the novelty and the ability. The scenes lie chiefly in Byalo-Russia, that is,
in one of the border provinces adjoining the old kingdom of Poland, in Moscow,
Petersburgh, and the Steppes occupied by some Mahometan tribes. The piece
is autobiographic—the hero, an orphan, appears, for the first time, in the half-
savage establishment of a sort of country ’squire, where the child is treated like
a dog, till he becomes the favourite of his master’s daughter, who makes him
useful in conducting a correspondence with a young gallant, and, finally, through
her means, he falls into new hands. At Moscow he is recognised by an aunt,
who is living in splendour as the chere amie of one of the thousand princes of
Russia. He is now sent to school, and grows up to the age of seventeen or
eighteen, in the enjoyment of every indulgence that the prince’s money can pro-
cure—the dupe, successively, of the interested of both sexes. By some insidious
adviser, he is prompted to quit his aunt’s roof, in chase of some lady who had
smiled upon him, and in his way is entrapped, half killed, and thrown among
a tribe of Kirgheezians—wild marauders of the deserts. In this new scene his
activity and accomplishments stand him in good stead—he is the favourite of the
chief—shares in the perils of the tribe—gathers plunder at every turn, and at
last returns laden with spoil to Moscow, where he finds his aunt in distress.
She had lost her protector, and the charms which might have procured her
another. The poor woman confesses herself his mother; Prince Somebody,
with an unutterable name, was his father ; and by degrees he discovers the parties,
who had had an interest in disposing of himamong the Tartars. With money at
command, he provides for his mother, and mingling in the pleasures of Moscow
society soon gets into divers scrapes, from his love of excitement, gaming, and
the ladies. Stripped at last of every penny, he betakes himself to the army,
where he wins the favour of the commander, and gathers laurels ina Turkish
war; and after new fluctuations of fortune, finds himself at last master of
large property bequeathed him by his father—to deprive him of which had been
the object of the prince’s heirs in the persecutions he had suffered. With mature
experience, the wife of his affections, and an ample fortune, he withdraws to the
Crimea, where, in the neighbourhood of an old and staunch friend, he begets
sons and daughters, and cultivates his own acres.

This slight sketch will suggest the scenes of Russian society, into which the
book will introduce the reader; and we assure him there is no want of details—
the very things which travellers who scour the country posting can never disco-
ver. We select a kind of comparative estimate of Petersburgh and Moscow
society, as a specimen of the author’s powers. The translation is executed with
unusual care and effect :—

“ Petersburgh society is in general much colder than that of Moscow, and in
every house attempts are itis to carry etiquette and punctilio to the utmost.
The presence of foreign envoys gives to society a sort of diplomatic gravity and
restraint which stiffens and strait-laces social intercourse. Here they do not like
story-tellers, nor good-fellows, nor people who amuse the company by their talents,
who are so much sought after in Moscow. In Petersburgh, every one must speak
from notes, proceed upon plan, and appear in the house when he is wanted, like an
actor in a comedy. ere every acquaintance is an object of calculation, and is
valued for the sake of his consequence, his connections, or his family. Every one
looks on his acquaintances as steps to the ladder of rank or fortune, and gets hold

M.M. New Series.—Vou.XII. No. 69. ove

322 Monthly Review of Literature. (Serr.

of as many as are necessary for him to reach the summit of his wishes. Some are
received because they are necessary; others, because they serve to amuse neces-
sary people. The amusement is—card-playing; and so, he who can play high
is received into society, in order to form a party for people of consequence. Pe-
tersburgh passes for a musical city, or to speak more correctly, fora city where
there is much singing and playing upon musical instruments. This is true, but
hence does not follow the conclusion, that there are here many real connoisseurs
and amateurs of music. They play cards in order to avoid speaking, and hear
music for the same reason ; after dinner, the subject of conversation is—the wea-
ther. Nobody likes to tell his mind here, because every one is seeking or expect-
ing something, and in such a predicament dialogues are dangerous. The rank
discoursiveness of Moscow, the freedom from restraint in behaviour, and the old-
fashioned Russian hospitality, are reckoned here unsufferable rudeness and Gothic
barbarity. Here they bid no one, as in Moscow, at first sight, to come every day
to dinner, and spend every evening, but invite you out of favour; and, as every
body is here busy about something or nothing, you must not visit your acquaint-
ances except upon set days and hours, and at fixed times. In Moscow, the lan-
guage of high life is a strange medley of French and Russian ; but in Petersburgh,

ou do not hear a word of Russian: you must speak French with the pure Parisian
accent, and the smallest blunder against the rules of grammatical precision is noted
as ignorance. In Moscow they sometimes speak of Russian literature, the Russian
journals and authors; but, in Petersburgh, that is a mark of mawvais ton. The
learning of the great world does not extend farther than criticising French litera-
ture according to the system of La Harpe, conning over the articles of the Jour.
nal. des Débats, and reading English romances in the original. Not one Russian
writer or artist of eminence is received into’ the higher circles, unless he enjoys
the special patronage of some man of note. There is one exception to this rule,
to wit, a regard for Moscow notability: the master or mistress of the house, on
presenting a new man not known in the Petersburgh world, apologizes by saying
that he is known in Moscow. The youth of Petersburgh, even before they come
to maturity, gather an air of coldness in their behaviour, which makes young
people particularly insufferable and disagreeable. They make their friendships
not from any coincidence of taste and habits of thought, but from the importance
of the connections and relations of their comrades. Every man who cannot do
any thing for them, who can neither help them forward himself, nor put them in
the way by means of his friends, is reckoned a useless member of society ; they
behave towards him haughtily, and even shun his acquaintance. The females also
are subject to the general spirit of place-hunting ; they are as cold in their demea-
nouras the gentlemen, and, to say the least, are too dead, at any rate, so far as
outward appearance goes. ‘Tenderness and sympathy follow the fashion like bon-
nets. The ladies of Moscow scold and romp, but with all their faults, they have
hearts which feel, as well as hands which help. Here they sigh, talk most senti-
mentally upon morality, and set lotteries agoing for the poor. A Petersburgh ball
would appear to be under the management of a co-operative society, consisting of
a French ballet-master, a Chinese master of the ceremonies, a German knight of
a rueful countenance, and an Italian scene-maker. Every thing in its place,
enough of every thing, but more than all, ennui. In Moscow, on the contrary,
they sometimes dance out of tact, sometimes the musicians go out of tune, some-
times there are tallow-candles among the wax-lights, sometimes the floor creaks in
the dancing-room ; after a hearty supper there is sometimes too much champaign
drunk; sometimes there is more noise at a ball than at a market: however, the
merriment arises not from custom, but from the overflowing of the heart; people
come to town expressly for the purpose of dancing and merry-making.”

A Manvat or Materia Mepica anp PHArMmAcy, &c., FROM THE FRENCH

or H. M. Epwarps, M.D., anp P. Vavassrur, M.D., sy Joun Daviszs,
SuRGEON.

This is a translation of a French work, by Messrs. Edwards and Vavasseur,
corrected and adapted to British practice by Mr. Davies, a surgeon of Hertford,
and some time ago editor of the London Medical and Surgical Journal. The
work is presented to the public, on the authority of the translator, a man at
least well acquainted with the existing English publications on the subject, as
superior to any of them. It is intended specifically for the service of students,

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 323

in part as a cramming-book, and for what the translator calls counter practice,
that is, for the compounders and venders of drugs. Its general conciseness, and
especially its arrangement, will doubtless recommend it in preference to the
more bulky and clumsy performances now commonly in the hands of medical
men. The multitude of remedies admitted into the Modern Pharmacopeia are
here distributed, according to their primary effect, into a dozen classes—much
to the advantage of the reader and referrer—for they are usually scattered and
detached. The whole body is classed as Caustics, Rubefacients, and Epispas-
tids, Astringents, Tonics, Excitants, Narcotics, Emetics, Purgatives, Laxatives,
Temperants, Demulcents, and Anthelmintics—a distribution at least welcome to
the unlearned consulter of a pharmacopezia.

Tue Crius-Boox, BEING OriGINAL TaLzs, &c., BY VARIOUS AUTHORS.
3 vols. 12mo,

Two heads are better than one. What if we bring together a thousand heads,
and those learned ones ? asked the projectors of the Literary Union, in the spirit
of mathematicians, rather than of philosophers or poets. We shall soon fly
over the moon, and set the Thames a fire. Literary men—though Chian and
Falernian might make capital tipple—were as little likely to mix as oil and vine-
gar. Whatever department they take, they are still too much of a trade to
agree; and no hatreds, not even theological ones, have equalled, if we may
trust D’Israeli, literary quarrels in animosity. Nevertheless, the hope of gain,
if not of fame, will sometimes draw and bind together these deadly opposites ;
and here are no less than nine or ten of the members clubbing to make three
little volumes, with Captain Galt at the head of the squad. In this loving act
of rivalry, the raw folks of the country will expect each man to exert his best
energies, and anticipate a treat; but not one, we suspect, was written with a
view to joint publication at all. The volumes are, however, amusing enough—
few of the tales perhaps come up to the reputation of the individual, except
in the single case of Jerdan, who certainly in his little sketch of the Sleepless
Woman, has. far outstripped himself. Let him rest—never let him tempt his
fame with another; for never must he calculate on such another inspiration.
By the way, where did he pick it up?

Galt, at some time or other, has been striking into a new path—that of the
mysterious—as if he had just got a glimpse of the possibility of something extra-~
ordinary being wrung out of common events. By dint of studying faces, a
painter detects the guilt of a footman—discerns the word ravisher written on
the brow of a wretch, who had violated a lady in the absence of her lord. In
the ‘‘ Unguarded Hour,” a judge detects a murder, by frightening the culprit at
the bar, with suddenly appealing to the ghost of his victim; an old tale, by
the by, and as felonious to repeat as a Joe Miller. In the “Book of Life’ he
goes still farther. One man has some pretty good reason to suspect another of
a murder, and annually, on the anniversary, dreams of the current events be-
falling the man: These dreams he reports to a third, a very wise, observant
man, and a German, and fe finally details the said dreams to the dreamée, and
forces him to the confession of his crime.

Allan Cunningham’s ‘‘ Gowden Gibbie’’ approaches too close to the extrava-
gant, as is always the case whenever he touches fiction—he should eschew it,
sanguine viperino cautius. It tells of a sordid farmer, Scotch (by the way, all
the writers are Scotch, except Lord L. Gower, and he is half a one), who is:
tricked into the belief, that the hill upon his farm is full of liquid gold, which
he is destined to fap. Under cover.of the cheat, some rogues strip him.of his
solid metals. To make the dupe a Scotchman is an atrocious libel.

Andrew Picken’s ‘Deer Stalkers” is past all reading—we question if Sir
Walter Scott would get through it; and Mr. James will certainly stifle his
patron, the said Sir Walter, and ourselves, with his chivalry. Hogg’s “ Bogle
o’ the Brae” mocks us with the hope of humour—but it is all shadowless as the
figures of the magic lanthorn, which gives rise to it.

2F2

324 Monthly Review of Literature, [Sprr.

Facts RELATING TO THE PUNISHMENT OF DzaTH IN THE METROPOLIS, BY
Epwarp Gisnson WAKEFIELD, Esa.

Mr. Gibbon Wakefield is the gentleman who was imprisoned three years for
forcibly carrying off Miss Turner; and the book before us is the result of obser-
vations while in durance vile within the walls of Newgate. His opportunities
were great of becoming intimately acquainted with the sentiments of thieves and
convicts in every gradation of turpitude, and of every age; and he has appa-
rently let none of them slip by him. The study was his main occupation, and
beguiled the tedium and monotony of such an existence. If the imprisonment
has done himself no good, it will be productive finally of much good to society ;
but it has done him good—it has made a man of him, and a thinking man. On
the entire want of a preventive police—on the effect of the severity of punish-
ment upon prosecutors, judges, juries, and criminals—on that of the uncertainty
of punishment—though exhibiting fresh evidence on all, he has little that is
new; it is almost wholly confirmative, but then it is confirmative from the very
best testimony. The portion which presents novelty is the chapter entitled the
Appeal to the King in Council, 7. e. the supposed consideration of the Recorder’s
Report. The circumstances attending this appeal are scarcely credible; and
they are now brought forward for the first time distinctly in their full absurdity
before the public. It is obvious, at the first glance, there must be an end, and
a speedy one, to these recorder’s reports. It is a piece of sheer mummery, and
an anomaly in criminal jurisdiction. In every other part of England, execu-
tion is left to the fiat of the judge who tries the criminal. In London only is the
appeal made to the king in council—grand words, indeed, but itself a mere and
a melancholy farce. It is, in fact, a new trial—so far as it is any trial at all—in
the absence of the prisoner, and of all personalevidence. Nobody is present who
knows any thing of the cases but the recorder, who himself knows nothing of one
half of them. He, however, is supposed to state the cases to the king and
council; but that he does not make a full or adequate report is certain, since, on
the average, twenty cases are decided on at a sitting often of not a single hour.
That justice cannot be fairly administered is attested by the surprise which Mr.
Wakefield says he experienced, as well as the officers of the prison, whenever the
decision of the council was announced at Newgate, at the selection which was
made for execution. But the truth is, that after this farce thus played before
the council, the whole matter rests with the home-secretary ; and Mr. Wake-
field expresses his conviction—no light opinion, but one supported by abundant
evidence—that half the reversals take place from false impressions made on the
mind of that individual. Those, of course, whose friends are the most active,
and the least scrupulous, have the best chance of escape! The language of the
officers of the prison is—‘‘ those whom we know to be the most guilty escape,
while those whom we know to be least so often suffer—it is all a lottery.”” And
how should it be otherwise—the matter is taken out of the hands of those who
best know the facts—and placed in those of persons who know nothing of them
but from imperfect reports. Is it not amazing that there should have been such
a succession of home secretaries, and not one of them to make an attempt to
shake off such a burden from his own shoulders? Surely no man can consider
such a responsibility desirable. The matter must undergo full consideration ;
and one more anomaly be removed from our criminal courts. Mr. Wakefield
has done a good work, and admirably redeemed the injury inflicted by him in
the folly of youth upon the security of society. We recommend the details
earnestly to our readers.

Tates oF A Puysician, By W. H. Harrison. Srconp SERIES.

These little tales consist of incidents, which, though independent of each
other, string together as falling within the experience of a physician in the course
of his country practice. They might be told by any body—physician or no
physician, as they are in fact by one who is none; but though they have no
professional peculiarities, they have a character of another kind, which distin-
guishes them favourably from those of their cast. They are uniformly expres-

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 325

sive, not only of pure and elevated sentiments, but of such sentiments as are
built on the basis of religious convictions. The leading characters are every
where such as are influenced in conduct by the noblest and most unselfish con-
siderations—exposed, indeed, most of them to difficulty and embarrassment by
the imprudence or guilt of family connections, but all of them emerging, and
ultimately receiving their reward even in this life a thousand fold. The con-
templation is fascinating; and we were delighted especially with the good for-
tune of the gentle Clara, and the good feeling of her cousin Tomkins, the tailor
—with that of Emma, who conciliated the good will, with a thumping legacy,
of a crabbed old maid, and became herself the sweetest of the sour sisterhood—
and with that of Mabel too, the miller’s daughter, who, if she did not, like the
nut-brown maid, meet with a lord, become the bride of the wealthy ‘‘ mort-
gagee.” In all this, to be sure, there is mighty little vraisemblance—events like
these are the exceptions of common life, and occur not once in an age. But
still they awaken tender sympathies, encourage delicacy and refinement, and,
eventually, more than benevolent feelings. Mr. Harrison’s tone contrasts
favourably with the heartless and frivolous one much too prevalent, and the
shewy style in which such things are generally exhibited.

Sprrcues of THE Ricut Hon. Witt1AmM Husxkisson, wiTH A BIOGRAPHICAL
MeEmoIR, SUPPLIED TO THE Epiror From AUTHENTIC ReEsourcEs. 3 vols.
8vo.

Mr. Huskisson’s Speeches—those, we mean, which discuss the measures
which have had any perceptible effects on the policy of the country, are too
well known to be reconsidered here; and for the rest, they are too insignificant
to call for any consideration at all, and we can but marvel at the reprint. But
the collection is preceded by a memoir, which, coming with the authority, or at
least with the implied sanction of his family, must set at rest the absurd stories
that have been put forth, by political enemies, at every period of his long public
life. He has been described as a mere adventurer—as a man of no education—
of illegitimate birth—a counting-house clerk—an apothecary—a jacobin, &c. &c.

He was, it appears, the son of a Staffordshire country gentleman, of indepen-
dent, but not of large property, much of which was entailed on him as
the eldest son. He was born in 1770; his mother died early; his father
married again; and he himself at the age of thirteen, with a brother, passed
~ into the care of his mother’s uncle. This gentleman, a Dr. Gem, was a physi-
cian, who had retired from practice, and lived at Paris, indulging there his love
of leisure, and mingling in the literary circles—then become most stirring and
potential. Young Huskisson’s studies were superintended by his uncle, and the
cares of that gentleman were well seconded by his own activity and diligence.
It was impossible that he should not imbibe something of the spirit of the times
and of his uncle’s society. He was in the very focus of political excitement.
Jefferson was an intimate friend of Gem’s, as Franklin had been before. Hus-
kisson was present at the capture of the Bastile, and became a member of the
Club of ’89—not the Jacobin club, as has been repeatedly affirmed, but that of
789—the specific object of which was the support of a constitutional, 7.e. of a
limited monarchy. While a member of this respectable society, he distinguished
himself by a speech, which denounced the consequences likely to attend an
excessive issue of assignats—a speech which brought him into general notice, as
an extraordinary display of ability in one so young—he was only twenty. It
was his only speech, and would do no discredit to his maturer and more Tory
years—it is printed in the collection before us. Upon this slender basis rests
all the charges of Mr. Huskisson’s jacobinism,

The same year (1790) occurred his first introduction to the present Marquis
of Stafford—then Lord Gower, and ambassador at Paris. It was brought about
in the simplest manner. The ambassador’s chaplain was an old acquaintance
of Huskisson’s uncle, and introduced him to Lord Gower’s table, with whose
family he was soon a favourite. Within a few months he accepted the office of
private secretary, and remained with the ambassador till 1792, when the occur-
rences of August obliged him to quit Paris. In London Mr. Huskisson was

326 . Monthly Review of Literature. Srpr.

still for the most part with Lord Gower at Wimbledon, or in town, where he
was often in the company of Pitt and Dundas. The position was of the most
favourable kind, and his talents were quickly appreciated by men so accustomed
to judge, and with such means at command for employing them, The throng-
ing of emigrants into England, and the protection given them, made the creation
of an alien office indispensable, and Huskisson’s knowledge of the French lan-
guage pointed him out as a fit person for the charge of it. Though not the
most agreeable employment in the world, yet it was deemed advisable by Lord
Gower for him to accept of it, as likely to lead to more important appointments.
Huskisson was not in want, but on coming into possession of the family pro-
perty, he found it a good deal encumbered by provisions for younger brothers,
and resolved to sell. His connections, too, with a higher caste, naturally dis-
inclined him to the part of a small country gentleman. After a close attention
to the. duties of the alien office for nearly three years, he succeeded Nepean as
under-secretary in the war and colonies department. From this period he
devoted himself wholly to politics, and the year after was brought into parliament.

About this time he became the proprietor of Hayley’s estate at Eartham, by
the death of his uncle Gem, who had a mortgage on it. On Mr. Pitt’s retire-
ment from office, Huskisson resigned, but was induced to hold on for some
months by Lord Hobart, Dundas’s successor in the war and colony department,
When Mr. Pitt returned to office, Huskisson was made secretary of the treasury,
and was again thrown out by his patron’s death. In the short reign of the
“Talents” he was in active opposition. From this time he may be regarded as
attached to Mr. Canning’s small band; and for the most part he followed his
fortunes to their close, and suffered by so doing. Mr. Huskisson cannot be
considered as a fortunate man. He was outstripped in his career by Peel and
Robinson. When Canning went to Lisbon, Huskisson returned to office, and
was placed at the head of the Woods and Forests; and on Canning’s replacing
Castlereagh, at the head of the Board of Trade; and finally under Goderich and
Wellington at the head of the Colonial department. But his career is too much
within the memory of every body to require further details. The successive
steps, with all his disappointments and successes, are recorded in the memoir,
if not very clearly, at least correctly. It is a source for reference.

Mr. Huskisson was a man of great industry—a man of considerable detail,
and not incapable, as many such men are, of systematizing his knowledge, and
supporting a system. He wanted the shewy talents of his friend Canning, but
he far surpassed him in soundness of judgment, in tact of discretion, and pre-
cision of knowledge. He wanted, too, the impudence of Canning; and was all
along shoved out of the place he was entitled to fill by far inferior persons. He
was cut off precisely at the time when his influence was beginning not only to
be felt, but his talents and his services to be best appreciated by the country.
A cry had been raised against him as the reckless and unreasoning advocate of
free-trade—the result of mere prejudice—or ignorance—or party interests ; but
never was man more successful in refuting, in debate, the calumnies thrown
upon his measures by the silk and shipping interests. Mr. Huskisson’s free-
trade was a reciprocal free-trade, and in no one instance went an inch beyond,

Tue Soutprer Boy; or tHe Last or tHe Lyaus, a Nover, py Rosaria
Sr. Crarr. 3 vols. 12mo.

Mademoiselle, or Madame Rosalia St. Clair, is quite a stranger to us; but
she appeals, in evidence of her powers or her perseverance, to a string of per-
formances—at least seven, besides an etcetera, which may embrace a score
more—appended to her liquid name, like a kite’s or a comet’s tail. She must
be one of Mr. Newman’s most laborious, if not most efficient, operatives. Of
course all the world knows Mr. Newman is a sort of dernier resort for despair-
ing novelists; but his very name, in certain quarters, operates like a wet
blanket, and excludes as effectually as a black-ball at the Travellers’, from all
admission to the ‘‘ politer’’ circles west of Temple Bar. But even Almack’s is
not able at all times to fence out intruders, nor can the Monthly always guard
against them. Perseverance, like hunger, or dropping water, makes its way

1831.J Monthly Review of Literature. 327

through stone walls. Mr.. Newman will intrude, or rather obtrude, and our
good-nature, as every body finds it occasionally, is more than a match for both
our prudence and our principle. Madame Rosalia, in short, has got within our
‘sanctum, and must be read, and must be be-critiqued too. Yet what is to be
said of the performance? It is but the shadow of a shade. It is like some
things we have seen, and good things too. It reminds us of an object placed
between two reflectors, where every succeeding image becomes more dim and
vague, till resemblance is with difficulty detected in the confusion and obscurity.
Madame sees nothing but these reflected images, and, unluckily, only the re-
moter ones. She is obviously one of the thousands who read till they imagine
they can write—or listen to sermons till they think they can preach, though
they have plainly no “‘call.’’ There is the genuine and the pseudo novelist—
the first is the man who has seen life in its realities, and exhibits it in its varieties ;
while the other, man or woman, has done nothing but read novels, good and bad.
Alike they communicate what they are each familiar with; but the difference is,
one reflects truth and nature, the other repeats nothing but the dim images, strip-
ped, by distance, of all life and vivacity, and almost of all resemblance. This is
distressingly the case with Madame, or Mademoiselle Rosalia St. Clair. The
*« Soldier Boy” is a narrative—not a story—it biographizes from the cradle to the
grave. We can fancy the process. When Milton finished Paradise Lost, a
friend asked him what he had to say on Paradise Regained, anda new poem was
the result. Madame Rosalia took home her ‘Sailor Boy;’’ and asking for
another job, ‘‘ Give us,” says Mr. Newman, like a man of business as he is,
“the Soldier Boy.” To work the lady goes; and as one war is the same as
another to a person who knows nothing of either, she takes the American, and
without ceremony plunges herself and her protégé into the thick of it. Battle
' after battle follows in glorious confusion. The young hero gets wounded at
every skirmish—often desperately ; but wounds on paper are readily cured in
defiance of all surgery. He rescues a lady from the violence of a Hessian officer
—marries her—gets entrapped by the revenge of the Hessian into the hands of
the Indians—escapes a scalping—returns to his wife—gets wounded again, and
leave of absence in consequence—loses his wife in child-bed—saves the child—
returns to England, and survives thirteen years. The orphan boy, at seventeen,
obtains a commission—and he goes to war too—but, luckily, this Last of the
Lyals falls in the ear/y part of the Peninsular war, ‘‘ fighting valiantly under the
gallant Greme’’—that is, some ten or a dozen years before the said Peninsular
war began—for he must have been born in 1780.

A GuipE To THE OrcHARD AND KitcHEN GARDEN, &c., By GzorGE Linp-
LEY, C.M.H.S. (?) anp Epirep sy Joun Linvtey, F.R.S., &c.

Mr. Lindley’s Guide professes to present a complete account of the fruit-trees
and vegetables cultivated in the gardens of Great Britain, as the result of a per-
sonal experience of more than forty years. The book—itself a practica] one—
is edited by Mr. John Lindley, his son, known as a lecturer on botany, and pre-
faced with an introduction, the object of which is not precisely to remedy the
complaint that gardening books abound in rules, but have a plentiful lack of
reasons—but to sketch the method by which a person possessing a competent
knowledge of the physiology of plants, and some practical acquaintance with
the culture of them, might readily supply the deficiency complained of. It is
but an outline of the principles on which the common operations of the fruit
garden depend, but enough is said to summon attention to the ‘“rationalia of
what may seem extremely simple and well-understood practices, but which are,
undoubtedly, neither so perfect, nor generally so skilfully performed, as to be
incapable of amendment.”

CuassicaL Linrary. Vols. XVII., XVIII., XIX., XX.

Of these volumes, the first two contain Horace and Pheedrus ; the nineteenth,
Juvenal and Persius; and the twentieth, the commencement of Thucydides.
The Horace is Francis’s translation, which notoriously wants point and vigour,

328 Monthly Review of Literature, [Sepr.

but, though bad is the best, the best on the whole. The editor could not do
better; and in an appendix, he has given another translation of about a third of
the whole by ‘‘ various hands,” as the booksellers used to phrase it. The Juve-
nal is Badham’s—why chosen in preference to Gifford’s, no good reason can be
given, unless the bar of copyright interfered, which in this case we think did
not. Dr. Badham himself indeed tells us that Gifford’s is not remarkable for the
graces of poetry, and complains that it abounds with vulgar and vernacular
expressions, and has more abruptness than energy, implying, of course, that he
has himself supplied the graces and energy, expelled the vulgar and vernacular,
and softened and rounded the abrupt. Nous verrons—the first eight lines—

“ That Theseid still! what! have they no remorse ?

Shall Codrus? with diurnal ravings hoarse,

Shall whining elegies, against my will,

And wretched dramas persecute me still ?

Unpunished Telephus my days consume,

And marginless Orestes be my doom,

Where o’er the sheet’s vast back th’ extending scrawl

Is not yet finished, though it fills it all!”
Can Dr. Badham suppose for a moment that he is here conveying clear ideas, or
giving the spirit of Juvenal, which he talks about, or expressing himself with
point, or with grace, or with energy, or with harmony? No, no; this is worse
in all respects than Gifford ten times over. But Gifford had offended Dr. Bad-
ham, and revenge is sweet.

Drummond’s Persius is: a miserable performance; but nothing will ever be
made of Persius in English versification. Dr. Smith’s Thucydides is the best
extant, but surely one more worthy of the Athenian might be readily obtained,
though of course not without cost, and that does not suit the projector’s views.

Letters To A YounG NaturALisT ON THE Stupy or Nature anp NatTuRAL
TuroLtocy, By Dr. DrumMmonp, or BE.rasr.

Natural history is improving rapidly. Mere arrangement is taking its proper
place in public estimation—as the means of facilitating the acquisition of know-
ledge, but not knowledge itself. Within these three or four years numerous
books have been published with as little regard to Linneus, or any other sys-
tematiser, as if none of them had ever existed. The course is perfectly natural
—each plant and animal has now got its place, and may be examined at leisure.
The attention is turned to the habits of animals and their final causes—to the
use that may be made of them, and the advantage to the exclusive possessors of
reason. Dr. Drummond’s book is entitled to favourable distinction among
recent publications on similar subjects—for the extent and idiosyncracy of his
observations, and also the enlightened and benevolent tendency of them. But
every man makes slips occasionally, and Dr. Drummond is not more than mor-
tal. ‘‘ I hope,” says he, to his young correspondent, ‘‘ you will learn better to
appreciate the works of nature, than to destroy any thing without having a suf-
ficient reason for so doing. Kill nothing through mere wantonness or caprice,
for such practices can only belong to an unfeeling and unamiable mind. If an
object is to be gained worth the sacrifice, then let the animal die; but let its
death be as easy as possible; and if for the sake of science you must deprive
animals of their being, make it a point, otherwise, to save all you can. In your
evening walk avoid the snail that crosses your path; ifa beetle lies sunning
itself on the highway, where the next passing foot may trample on it, throw it
out of danger over the hedge; if an insect is struggling in the water, save it
from drowning ; and perhaps you would say, if a fly is uttering its death-cry in
the embrace of a spider, save it from the clutches of the robber. Surely not;
the spider is committing no wanton, no unnecessary murder. You might with
equal justice cut the fisherman’s net,” &c.

Now this is surely nonsense, or rather it is system, in one of its worst forms
—in contempt of feeliny. Why is the suffering of the fly not to be regarded as
well as the hunger of the spider? If it is to be a matter of reasoning, how can

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 329

Dr. Drummond reconcile the justice of balancing the rapacity of the one with
the murder of the other? The fly has heedlessly fallen into a trap; but if relief
be at hand, why should it be refused because the entrapper would like to make
a meal of him? Nay, let the spoiler wait for the next opportunity, and devour
his victim when there is none to rescue him. What advantage does the author

anticipate to the feelings of humanity, which he is usually so earnest in incul-
cating, by teaching his pupil to steel his heart against the cry of distress, come
from what quarter it may?

To compensate, some pains are taken by Dr. Drummond to remark upon
Buffon’s ridiculous language, and it well deserves it. ‘‘An animal like the bat,”
says Buffon, ‘‘ which is half a quadruped and half a bird, and which, upon the
whole, is neither one nor the other, must be a monstrous being ; because by
uniting the attributes of opposite genera, it resembles none of those models
presented to us in the great classes of nature. It is an imperfect quadruped,
and still more an imperfect bird. A quadruped should have four feet, and a bird
should have feathers and wings.” Can any thing be imagined more absurd
than this tone? Again, ‘‘ the bat’s flight is rather a desultory fluttering than
flying, which it executes very awkwardly. With difficulty they raise themselves
from the ground, and never fly to any great height; they quicken, relax, or
direct their flight in a manner the most bungling and imperfect.’’ Buffon must,
to be sure, have supposed he could have done better. The flickering movement
has an obvious purpose—the pursuit of moths, which have a similar flight.

Divines oF THE CHURCH oF ENGLAND, EDITED BY THE Rey. T. S. Hueuss,
B.D., &c. Vols. XIII. XIV. XV.

This desirable reprint proceeds steadily according to the prospectus. The
volumes before us are occupied with Jeremy Taylor’s Works, or rather his
“Sermons,” and prefaced by a memoir, which contains the pith of Heber’s bio-
graphy, compressed very faithfully and competently by Mr. Hughes, who still
perseveres with the Summaries at the head of each sermon. To say the least,
this is a work of supererogation. ‘The reader who cannot catch the drift of
Taylor, and pursue it without these aids, should leave him alone—he has no
concern with him—he is not of his kidney, and should betake himself to the
dry bones, which abound on all sides. Nothing but the sermons are, appa-
rently, to. be reprinted in this collection, which, we think, is a matter to be
regretted. Of his other productions, many are superior to his sermons—and all
theological, or so near of kin, as fairly to have a family claim to admission.

TREATISE ow CuoLteraA AspHyYxIA, oR Eprpemic CHoLera, By Geo. Ha-
MILTON BELL, LATE RESIDENCY SuRGEON, TANJORE.

Though but an ill-constructed book, Mr. Bell’s is by far the most intelligent
account of the cholera which we have met with, and we accordingly point it out
to our readers as a book from which much, historically and physiologically, may
be gathered, at least relative to the Indian cholera; and there is no reason to
question its identity with the Russian. Britain itself has probably been more
than once visited with this formidable disease—the sweating sickness, so remark-
able in the annals of disease in this country, accords too closely in its symptoms
to have been far removed from this same cholera, which Mr. B. from its leading
characteristic designates asphyxia—with more propriety than the senseless epithet
morbus. Nothing can be more inapplicable than cholera, but the name has got too
strong a hold to be shaken off.

In India cholera is no new disease. Bontius, 200 years ago, has an accurate
description; and in 1775 the medical officers of the Company describe the epi-
demic as extending its ravages to the island of Mauritius. But it was not till its
last avater in 1817-8, that materials were gathered for marking its progress with
anything like geographical precision. In the early part of 1817 the cholera was
first heard of in the upper provinces of Bengal. Through that year, and consi-
derably into the next, it gradually proceeded southerly to the peninsula, stretching

330 Monthly Review of Literature. (Serr,

across, in its course, the whole extent of India. In March, 1818, it reached
Gonjam, in lat. 183° N., Madras 13°, in October, and Cape Comorin 8°, by the
end of the year. Through the whole of that year the disease may be considered
as marching at the rate of one degree every month, in the teeth of winds often—
unchecked, indeed, by either currents or temperature. All evidence is adverse to
‘the supposition of contagion—-that is, all is compatible with the contrary hypo-
thesis, while some things are utterly irreconcileable with the theory of contagion.
It is strictly epidemic ; and all are not seized who fall within its range, because,
as in all epidemics, apparently, a certain degree of susceptibility is required to
fasten upon, which all, happily, have not. The remoter cause is at present inac-
cessible—probability points to the electric, or, which is the same thing, the gal-
vanic state of the earth’s surface—to some sudden change in what appears to
be the source of the nervous energy, if it be not the thing itself. But whether
this be so or not, the disease seems distinctly traceable to the sudden suspension
of the nervous energy, whatever be the source of that energy.

The cholera is a stroke.upon the circulating power, and produces its effects as
suddenly, almost, as a blow upon the sensorium, and the recovery is often as
sudden and complete, an awakening from death to life. In the human system
there evidently exist three, to a certain extent, distinct powers, the sensorial, the
respiratory, and, for want of a better name, the sympathetic, or circulating
power—having their sources of action respectively in the cerebrum and cere-
bellum, the medulla spinalis, and the ganglions. Any one of these may be sus-
pended, and the other two continue to operate. The sensorium may be suspended,
as often occurs in blows on the head, and the circulation and respiration be un-
‘impaired. The circulation may be supported after respiration has ceased, and
the brain been removed; and in like manner the respiration and the sensorium
may be active, when the circulation has stopt, as is the case in cholera. In the
very commencement of the attack, the secretions fail universally. There is,
strictly, no gastric, no pancreatic fluid, no bile, no mucus; the kidneys are in-
active; there is no saliva, no moisture in the eyes, scarcely any carbon thrown
from the lungs, no animal heat.

To stimulate them is of course the aim of the doctor—to revive the circulation,
or rather to relieve it, oppressed and obstructed as it is—to restore heat and ac-
tivity to the source of energy. Notwithstanding the apparent paradox, bleeding
is the remedy par excellence, whenever it is practicable. But the progress of
the disease is so rapid, all but instantaneous indeed, so completely is the circu-
lation stopt, that in a few hours the venous blood is of the consistence of tar, and
the difficulty of removing it of course obvious. But if, by shampooing, or by
some excitement, you can once get a flow, and go on withdrawing till the blood
-recovers its colour, and the oppression of the chest is relieved, the patient is cured,
the dead man gets up and walks. The remedy acts mechanically—you unload
the gorged vessels, you take away the obstruction, you leave room for the play
of the enfeebled system—the energies, the springs, compressed by the clog and
weight upon them act again, and restore the current. The lungs resume their
functions free again—pure blood is thrown again into the heart, the arteries
again fill with wholesome fluid, reacting thus upon the sympathetic system, till
its energies are completely restored.

CaBinet Cyctopzpia. Vol. XXI. First Volume of Lives of British Statesmen,

This volume of biography contains the lives of More, Wolsey, Cranmer, and
Burleigh. That of More is the handy work of Sir James Macintosh—leisurely
and carefully written. There is more of the scholar than the lawyer in this por-
trait of More, and justly so, for his literary merits will long outlive his fame
either as chancellor or statesman. Of More’s thorough honesty of purpose, no
man, capable of forming a judgment of character on the evidence of facts, can
doubt ; but neither can any man doubt that he had one set of sentiments on
paper, and another on his tongue. As ascholar in the closet, and among his
correspondents, he was speculatively liberal and rational; while as a statesman,
and in the business of life, and of his profession, he was ready vigorously to enforce

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 331

law and custom, and, with few exceptions, to take things as he found them.
He has been represented as exercising much cruelty, officially, and even supervis-
ing acts of torture. Sir James takes pains to examine the evidence on which this
charge rests; but More’s own “‘ apology” supersedes further search. He meets
the charge in the most direct and satisfactory manner, and shrinks from none of
the details; but, unluckily, the defence has never travelled along with the
charge ; and it still, in the impression of numbers, sticks a blot on his benevolent
character.

Admiring Sir James as we do—as a man of research, and generally of sound
judgment—we confess he wearies us. He is a desperate reasoner; he fastens
upon any and every thing he meets in his way like a leech, and will leave nothing
till he has drained it dry. But More is a subject worthy of his diligence, and
deserving of discussion. He was an excellent man, and would have been an
excellent man in any age, and in some greater than he was in his own—that was
unpropitious. Henry would not be guided, and More was not made to con-
tend with a brute, much less to control him. Nor was he made for command
—he was too indifferent to enter zealously into the conflicts of life—more in-
clined to look on and smile, than mingle in the broil.

Wolsey’s Life is but a moderate concern—as poor as Mrs. Todd Thomson’s—
with a great deal too much poetry and Shakspeare.

Cranmer’s is better, and, what is better still, is obviously not written by a
churchman. Cranmer wanted pluck. Fortune placed him too high for his
powers. He had head enough to conceive rightly, but not spirit enough to fol-
low up his conceptions, and present them to effect. He was destined by nature
for an underling—to execute the projects of others, under others’ responsibility ;
when left to himself, he fell into the most pitiful and pitiable contradictions. He
meant well, and, had he been placed out of the way of temptation, would never
have done ill—but what does this amount to? Why, that he was not fit for the
position he occupied, and the less that is said of him the better in the way of
defence. The attempt is both hazardous and useless.

Burleigh’s Life is a reprint from Macdiarmid’s Lives of British Statesmen, and
need not be noticed here. :

Tue Souirary, A PorM IN THREE PARTS, BY CHARLES WHITEHEAD.
The Solitary consists for the most part of gloomy musings, supposed to pro-
ceed from disappointment, or satiety—from anticipating and exhausting life—
from erowding too much of its energies into too small a compass—till the mind
falls back in weariness, and preys upon its own vitals. We are indebted to Lord
Byron for these morbid descriptions, the fashion of which is fast vanishing ; for
nature cannot support them and live. The folly of contending with nature, or
pouring forth grumblings and maledictions upon what is insensible to the torrent,
or tornado, and doing so, only because her bounties have been prodigally spent,
is becoming so obvious, that all but the very young (in age or reflection) can do
nothing but smile at the miserable exhibition; and would rather bid the victim
hang or drown, than suffocate others with words without meaning. Mr. White-
head must still be allowed the praise of eloquence—of energy of words and
phrases. There is often great vigour of language, if not always of sentiment ;
his sentences are pithy, expressive, antithetical; occasionally exciting surprise
by their strength, and admiration by their felicity. The description of silence
and solitude at the outset, has touches of great beauty, strong feeling, and good
painting. A few lines will shew the tone of the whole.
How many in the deaf oblivious realm
Of sleep are hushed beneath her dynasty ;
F’en he whom many a woe and grief o’erwhelm,
Who but recruits his jaded strength to try
Another fall with stronger destiny,
And will not be o’ermastered, sinks at last,
Even as a dreamless babe, to rest ; while I,
Lingering upon the bleak shore of’ the past,
My hopes into that sea, like worthless pebbles, cast. .

332 Monthly Review of Literature. [Sepr.

And thus my thoughts, goading my sluggish will,
Run the fierce gauntlet and the circle round ;
This finite world’s infinity of ill—
All that is lost—all that was never found—
All that, urged bravely forward, did rebound
And strike the spirit down into the dust—
This mockery—this echo of no sound—
This cheat that levies faith upon distrust,
And from our very joys replenishes disgust.

Say, wheresoe’er thou (Truth) be, is virtue gain,
Is honour, wisdom, honesty content ?
Are all we deem of pleasure—or of pain,
Aught but the vilest clogs, by Folly lent,
T’ impede our halting wheels in their descent?
If all be true that is affirmed of Heaven,
Why is life wasted, wherefore is it spent ?
Ts all we suffer not to be forgiven ?
Then were our daily bread of a most tearful leaven.

Beware of Folly, she is wondrous wise;
Beware of Wisdom, she is half a fool;
Of Love beware, so blind with Argus’ eyes ;
Of Hate so passing hot, so lasting cool ;
Of all that work by word, or prate by rule ;
Of speculation built upon desert ;
of Hope, the brittle reed in Fortune’s pool,
Which our clear-imaged Heaven doth invert ;
What granted prayer could now re-form thee as thou wert.

Famity Liprary, Vor. XXIII. A Famity Tour TtHrovon Soutrn Hor-
LAND, &c.

At least the volume is what it professes to be—a family tour, from Antwerp to
Amsterdam—up the Rhine to Mayence and the Maine to Frankfort—down the
Rhine again to Cologne, and back through the Netherlands, by the way of
Leige, Waterloo, Brussels, and Ostend. The whole accomplished in one month
by a family party of six persons and a servant, at the cost of £138—the party
travelling by the common conveyances of the country, by land and water, and
sharing the best accommodations. The present confusions of Belgium will spoil
many a similar tour which this little volume would have prompted this autumn.
As a mere matter of sight-seeing, we know not why a longer time should be
spent upon the tour, for the party saw ail the lions in the way, which is all that
the greater part of people care about. The book itself is of little intrinsic or
peculiar value; the line of country is a well-beaten one, and thoroughly known
to the readers of tours. The buildings and pictures, which form the staple of
the description, have been described a thousand times—though probably never
better. The writer’s sentiments relative to the political state of the country, and
the conduct of the government, he of course took with him; he could have no
time to inquire into the truth of them on the spot, and it is pretty obvious had
no desire to correct them—his prejudices are of a fine vigorous growth. They
are worthy of the anti-jacobin times of forty years ago; all reformers, and radi-
cals, and revolutionists, and republicans, in a lump and without discrimination,
are nothing but rogues and vagabonds. The king of the Netherlands is an
excellent king, and the Belgians had nothing to complain of; their revolution
was all sheer love of mischief in the leaders, and blind folly in the followers.
Yet is all this vituperation finally wound up with the strange confession that the
uuion of the two nations “‘ never augured well. The difference of language and
religion was, of itself, repugnant to such an alliance, more especially, when
toleration on one side had to contend with bigotry and superstition on the other.
In this, even a separation may be of benefit, ultimately, to both parties.”

Passing through Bonn the writer discharges the following decent and de-
lectable tirade, not only against the University of Bonn, but the whole batch of

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 333

German institutions. ‘ This city was recently revived one of those German
universities, where young men, like the polytechniques of Paris, fancy them-
selves to know more than their teachers, laugh at religion, set at defiance all’
authority, behave with insolence to their fellow citizens, lose all sense of de-
cency, and muddle away their time in drinking beer and smoking tobacco.
They are, in fact, the fruitful nurseries of immorality, sedition, and licentious-
ness,” &c. Can the writer imagine that passing through Bonn, in a carriage,
gives any weight to the sentiments of any body with or without a name? The
opinion thus expressed of Bonn, the writer, of course took with him, and could
have no means of personally ascertaining the accuracy of it. Yet is it put forth
as that of a person who has visited the place, and of course must know! ‘The
views, consisting chiefly of buildings, are drawn by Colonel Batty, and etched
on steel by that gentleman. The effect is excellent.

Cuance or Air, an AUTUMNAL Excursion THROUGH FRANCE, SWITZERLAND,
AND ITary, 1829; By James Jounson, M.D., Puysicran ExTRAORDINARY
TO THE KING.

Dr. Johnson is very far beyond an ordinary tourist; he travels for health, or
for relaxation, which he deems essential to health; and he gives, with the tact
and the precision of his profession, the results of his own observations upon the
physical effects of travelling. The wear and tear of life—the consequences of
over-excitement in the metropolis, whether from professional pursuits, or the
eager chace of distinction in science or literature, require occasional cessations ;
and, in Dr. Johnson’s opinion, there is nothing like travelling—it is his panacea,
and excellently good reasons gives he for his opinions. He looks with the eye
of a philosopher, and something approaching to scorn, at the rage with which
every thing is overdone from ambition, pride, vanity, and fashion--the result, as
it is, being loss of health and vigour, but poorly compensated by the loftiest suc-
cesses. Contrasting England with France, he finds it is all work and no play
with the English, and all play and no work with the French. The effects are
traceable in the countenance. Of the general truth of this statement we have no
doubt; but the French do not look less harassed than the English: the marks of
strong passions are everywhere visible—wearing down the possessor’s frame to
an “ atomy.”

The tour itself is through France, Switzerland, and Italy, and the scenes of
every day’s description; but the tone differs from most books. The Doctor de-
lights in reducing the high-flown to a lower level; and so rarely does he sym-
pathise, and to such a degree does he indulge a critical spirit, that he is every-
where, if not querulous, derisory—he vents his indignation at delusive description
upon the unlucky country itself—and nothing is finally bearable but Old England,
or at all comparable with it. He crossed France from west to east, and on his
return from south to north. ‘La Belle France is the most uninteresting. The
flowers, nay even the flatness of Holland—with all its smooth canals and shaded
dykes (those monuments of industry), its fertile fields, its neat and cleanly towns,
its painted houses, varnished furniture, and broad-based, thick-headed inha-
bitants, excite a variety of emotions, and those generally of a pleasant kind, in
the mind of the traveller—but France, from the Pyrenees to the Rhine, from the
Tura to the Atlantic, from Antibis to Calais, presents very few spots indeed,
compared with her vast extent of surface, on which the eye can rest with either
pleasure or admiration. Her mountains are destitute of sublimity, her valleys of
beauty,” &c., to the end of a diatribe which extends some pages, and compre-
hends man, woman, and child in its vituperations.

The Doctor’s attention was turned especially towards disease—the cretinism of
the valleys of Switzerland, the pellagra of Lombardy, the malaria of Rome—the
details and discussions are full of interest. The reader will not be wearied with
unimportant matters; the Doctor glances at every place, without any bother as
to how he got there, what he eat, or where he slept. In Rome and Naples, and
at Pompeii, he is full of historical recollections, and so thoroughly out of humour
is he by that time got to be, that he cannot forbear a stroke at Cicero and Cato

334 Domestic and Foreign. [Sepr.

en passant. Disgusting as every thing in Italy is, he finds evidence enough that
the Romans of old, ladies and all, were to the full as bad as the moderns; and
Lady Morgan is not forgotten, because she could not see, or would not describe,
some of the indelicacy which met his own eyes, though she is far from fastidious.
The book, however, is very superior; the author is a man of real intelligence—
of considerable reading; and he brings it to bear occasionally with great felicity.
He is too perpetually on the hunt for smart sayings, and sometimes misses his
mark; but though this and his poetry be calculated to depreciate—that only
applies to the taste of the writer—there is sound knowledge at the bottom, and
much that is well-fitted to correct misconception and prejudice.

FINE ARTS’ PUBLICATIONS.

A Dictionary of the Architecture and Archeology of the Middle Ages. By John
Britton, F. S. A.—Of the Dictionary itself we have nothing to say, in this branch
of our critical department ; but the engravings, of which there are ten in each
part, are well executed from drawings by Cattermole and others. Weare some-
times scarcely aware of the beauties of the minor details of architectural decora-
tion, until they are brought before us in this manner. There are here brackets,
buttresses, shafts, and crosses, in sufficient variety, to charm both the artist and
the antiquarian.

Two more numbers of the English School have reached us. They comprise
some beautiful outlines of popular pictures by Stothard, Reynolds and Wilkie,
besides many others worthy of remembrance.

History and Topography of the United States of North America, edited by John
Howard Hinton, A. M.—The two parts, 19 and 20, just issued, complete the
first volume of this work; that is to say the History of North America—the
succeeding parts will contain the Topography. After the notices we have given
of it, it only remains for us to express our hope that the next volume will be
equal to the first, that the embellishments will be of the same character, and
that its popularity may be proportioned to its value.

The Biblical Series of the Family Cabinet Atlas, Part 3.—This number of the:
beautiful little Atlas published under the above title, contains maps of the
Land of Canaan, of India or Palestine, of the Tribes of Judah and Simeon, and
of Canaan or the Land of Promise.

The Monastic Annals of Teviotdale, by the Rev. Jas. Morton, F.S.A.E.—A
quarto work of first-rate promise, both as regards its literary illustrations and its
engravings. The first number is devoted to Jedburgh Abbey, of which an in-
teresting and succinctly-written history is given, containing much curious infor-
mation, collected, we should think, with much research, and arranged with
equal care. The embellishments are excellent. The first plate is a view of the
fine old abbey from the south-west—a well selected and picturesque view,
executed with extreme softness and beauty.. The next isa curious old Roman
door in the abbey, no less masterly, in its style, than the other. These are
drawn and engraved by W. H. Lizars. The number also contains a plan of the
abbey.

Society for the Encouragement of Medal Engraving in Great Britain.—We
leave the prospectus of this new Society to tell its own story, by extracting a
passage or two that are entitled to the attention of all patrons of art :—‘‘ Highly
cultivated as the Fine Arts are in this country, it is singular that this branch of
art (Medal Engraving) the most imperishable in its nature of the whole circle,
should have been so signally neglected. It cannot be supposed that a country
which has produced such eminent painters, sculptors, and engravers as England,
would be found deficient in men fully competent to assert her superiority in medal
engraving. Yet Captain Mudie, who recently published a series of national
medals, commemorative of British victories, was obliged to get the greater part
of them engraved in France! Even the celebrated series of the Kings of Eng-
‘yd were executed entirely by a Frenchman! It is now proposed to raise medal

1831.] Fine Arts’ Publications. 335

engraving to that height to which it is so justly entitled ; but we cannot hope
to effect this ina manner worthy of the British nation, without the combined
encouragement of persons distinguished for rank, talents and taste, uniting to
give atone to the national mind.” For this purpose the Society has been
formed ; it is to consist of an unlimited number of members, at an annual sub-
Scription of five shillings and upwards. The subscribers are to have the sole
right of choosing the subject, and every subscriber will receive one bronze medal
for every five shillings. We trust that there are many hundreds, who, for their
own sake, if not for the advancement of art, will support a project that holds out
such advantages.

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PREss.

By the Rev. Richard Burgess: the
Topography and Antiquities of Rome,
in two volumes, with plates.

By the Rey. S. T. Bloomfield: the
Greek Testament, with English Notes,
in two volumes.

Edited by Mrs. Bray: Tables, and
other Pieces; by Mary Maria Colling,
with some Account ef the Author, in
Letters to Robert Southey, Esq.

By Lieutenant-Colonel John Leach :
Rough Sketches of the Life of an Old
Soldier during a Service in the West
Indies, at the Siege of Copenhagen, in
the Peninsula, and the south of Irance,
in the Netherlands, &c.

By J. Rennie, A.M., Author of “ In-
sect Architecture: a Conspectus of
Buttertlies and Moths, with descrip-
tions of all the species found in Britain,
amounting to nearly two thousand.

By the same Author: a Translation,
with copious Notes and Synonimes, of
Le Vaillant’s Works, the Birds of Af-
rica, the Birds of Paradise, and the Par-
rots.

The Life and Correspondence of the
late Mr. Roscoe. By one of the mem-
bers of his family.

By Alaric Watts: a volume of Poems,
entitled Lyrics of the Heart, and other
Poems, with thirty ibaa

By James Kennedy: the History of
the Indian Cholera.

By Thomas ‘Thomson, M.D.: a Sys-
tem of Inorganic Chemistry, in two
volumes.

The Amulet for 1832. Among its
illustrations will be found engravings
from four of Sir Thomas Lawrence's
most celebrated paintings ; that of “ the
Marshioness of Londonderry and her
Son” being the frontispiece. It will
also contain prints from Pickersgill’s
“ Greek Girl ;” from Haydon’s “ Death
of Eucles;” from “the Death of the
First-born,” by George Hayter; from

a picture of “ Corinne,” by Gerard ;
with landscapes, by Stanfield, Roberts,
&c. &e.

Edited by Mrs. 8. C. Hall: “ The
Juvenile Forget Me Not” for 1832.

By the Rev. S. Sanderson, A.M., Ox-
ford: A volume, to be published by
subscription, consisting of Poems, in-
tended simply as a record of such
thoughts as were suggested to the mind
of the writer by a comparison of the
Book of Nature with the volume of
Revelation.

—

LIST OF NEW WORKS.

BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

Dr. Lardner’s Cabinet Library. Vol.
VII. 5s. Being Historical Memoirs
of the House of Bourbon. In 2 yols.
Vol. II.

The March of Hannibal from the
Rhone to the Alps. By Henry Lawes
Long, Esq.

The Private Correspondence of David
Garrick. Vol. I. Royal 4to. £2. 12s. 6d.

Historical Researches on the Con-
quest of Peru and Mexico, by the Mo-
he in the Thirteenth Century, &c. &c.

y John Rankin. 8vo. 28s.

LAW.
Lynch on the Law of Elections in the
Cities and Towns in Ireland. 8vo. 6s.
Law’s Forms of Ecclesiastical Law.
8vo. 14s.
Statutes at Large. Vol. XII. Part
II. William IV. 4to. 5s,

MEDICAL.

Principles of Lithotrity, or a Treatise
on the Art of Curing the Stone without
Incision ; illustrated by five Plates, ex-
hibiting exact representations of the
different instruments. By Baron Heur-
teloup, Doctor of the Faculty of Medi-
cine of Paris. 8vo. 20s.

Practical Observations on Prolapsus,

336

or Protusion of the Lower Bowel.
Frederick Salmon. 8vo. . 5s. 6d.

An Account of Inventions and Im-
provements in Surgical Instruments,
made by John Weiss. 8vo. Price 15s.

A Practical Treatise on Injuries of the
Head. 12mo. Price 3s. 6d.

Medico-Chirurgical Notes and Illus-
trations. PartI. By R. Fletcher, Esq.
lvol. 4to. With Plates. 20s.

. Transactions of the Medico-Chirur-
gical Society of, London. Vol. XVI.
Part II. In &vo. 7s. 6d.

Summary of Facts hitherto ascer-
tained respecting the Cholera Morbus
of Russia. By Bosset Hawkins, M.D.
8vo. 7s. 6d.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Marshall’s Account of the Population
for 1801, 1811, and 1821. Royal 4to.
£1. 11s. 6d.

A Professional Survey of the Old and
New London Bridges, and their Ap-
proaches. With plates. 8vo. 2s. 6d.

Accounts of Fifty-five Royal Proces-
sions and Entertainments in the City of
London. ‘To which is added, a Biblio-
graphical List of Lord Mayors’ Pagents.
8vo. 3s. Gd.

General O’Connor’s Letter to General
Lafayette on the French Revolution of
1830. 8yo. 2s.

The First Lines of Zoology in Ques-
tion and Answer. By. R. Mudie. 18mo.
6s.

Don’s (Geo.) General System of Gar-
dening and Botany, with numerous
woodcuts. Voll, 4to. £3. 12s.

Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopedia, Vol.
XXII. Contents—A Treatise .on the
Silk Manufacture. 12mo. 6s.

The Origin, Science, and End of
Moral Truth. Post 8vo. 7s.

_ Thoughts on Various Subjects. By
Wm. Danby, Esq. 8vo. 7s. 6d.

A Bird’s Eye View of Foreign Parts,
anda Look at Home. A Poem. 12mo.
5s.

Notices of Engravers and their Works.
By William Young Ottley, Esq. Vol.
I. Demy 8vo. 12s. Large paper, 18s.
. The Elements of Hytirostatics and
Hydrodynamics. By W. H. Miller, of
St. youn College, Cambridge. 8vo.
5s. 6d.

By

List of New

[Szrr.

A Treatise on the Integral Calculus.
PartI. By John Hymers, of St. John’s
College, Cambridge. 8vo. 9s. 6d.

NOVELS AND TALES.

Gerald Fitz-Gerald. A Novel. By
Anne of Swansea. 5 vols. 12mo. 30s.

Standard Novels. Vol. VI. The
Last of the Mohicans. By Cooper.
12mo. 6s.

Tales of the late Revolutions, with a
few others. By F. W. N. Bayley.
12mo.

Alice Seymour. 12mo. 4s. 6d.

Females of the Present Day consi-
dered as to their Influence on Society.
12mo. 5s.

Woman, in her Social and Domestic
Charactor. By Mrs. John Stanford.
12mo._ 6s. ‘ )

Stories for Young Children. By the
Author of “* Conversations on Chemis-
try,” &c. 18mo. 2s.

RELIGION AND MORALS.

Discourses on the Miracles. By the
Rev. 8S. Knight. 8vo. 12s.

Dale’s (Rev. Thos.) Sermons at St.
Bride’s. 8vo. 10s. 6d.

‘ Sermons before a Country Congrega-
tion. By the Rev. M. Oxenden. 8vo.
8s. 6d.

A Vindication of the South Sea Mis-

Works.

sions. By Walter Ellis. 8vo,. 3s. 6d.
Hymns for Children. By the Rev.
W. Fletcher. 18mo. 2s, 6d.

French and Skinner’s ‘Translation of
the Proverbs. 8vo. 5s. 6d.

Malcolm’s Dictionary of the Bible.
18mo. 3s. 6d.

Rev. Robert Hall on Modern Infide-
lity, with a Memoir of his Life and
Character. 18mo. Price 6d.

TRAVELS.

Ellis’s Polynesian Researches. Fourth
Edition, and concluding volume; witha
Map and two Engravings. 12mo. 6s.

Journal of a Tour in the State of
New York in 1830. By John Fowler.
12mo. 6s.

Narrative of the Ashantee War, with
a View of the present State of the
Colony of Sierra Leone. By Major
Rickets. 8vo.

Andrew’s Guide to Southampton and
the Isleof Wight. 12mo. 3s.

1831.)

e/a

BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIRS OF EMINENT PERSONS.

MRS. SIDDONS.

To render justice to the professional
character of such an actressas Mrs. Sid-
dons, within a column or two of a
periodical, is utterly impossible. All
that can be reasonably hoped for are a
few dates, facts, and elucidatory points.

Mrs. Siddons’s mother was the daughter ~

of a Mr. Ward, the manager of an iti-
nerant company of players in Wales,
and the adjacent English counties. Her
father, Mr. Roger Kemble (towards the
close of his life one of the Poor Knights
of Windsor) travelled with the company
in the capacity of hair-dresser. Miss
Ward, who is said to have rejected the
honourable advances of the then Earl
of Coventry, accepted those of Mr.
Kemble, and the parties were privately
married. The lady’s parents were in-
exorable, and, for a time, the newly
married pair were obliged to seek their
subsistence in another company. Soon,
however, Mr. Ward relented— resigned
the theatrical sceptre into the hands of
Mr. Kemble—and shortly afterwards
died. The honours to which the new
manager succeeded appear not to have
been of the loftiest stamp; for it is as-
serted, on the authority of Mr. Stephen
Kemble, that he was accustomed to pro-
claim the play at the doors of the dif-
ferent farmers, accoutred in a smock-
frock and grenadier’s cap ; and that he
was delighted to regale himself with a
pint of ale at the hedge-side inn, always
taking care to order @ large toast in his
cann.

It was on the 14th of July, 1755,
while her father’s company were per-
forming at Brecknock, in Wales, that
Sarah Kemble (Mrs. Siddons) was born,
at the Shoulder-of-Mutton public-house.
With her parents she passed the first
fifteen years of her life. She, and her
brothers and sisters, were all players.
When a mere child, Sarah made her
début in reciting the fable of the Boys
and the Frogs, for her father’s benefit.
At the age of fifteen she and Mr. Sid-
dons, a clever young actor in the com-
pany, became mutually enamoured of
each other. ‘To prevent so unpromising
a match, Sarah was placed, as lady's
maid, with Mrs. Greathead, of Guy's
Cliff, near Warwick. There she was
introduced to Garrick; but, not struck
with her talent, he rejected her prof-
fered services, and discouraged her am-
bition. Some busts, modelled by the
hands of Mrs. Siddons, are still pre-
served at Guy’s Cliff; they prove that

M.M. New Series,—Vor, XI. No. 69.

she possessed a taste for other arts be-
sides the drama. At length she was,
in her eighteenth year, united to Mr.
Siddons, with her father’s consent.

In 1775, while performing with her
husband at Cheltenham, she was seen by
Bate Dudley, a dramatic writer, a fight-
ing parson, &c. He recommended her
to Garrick ; and, on the 29th of Decem-
ber, in that year, she came out as
Portia, at Drury-lane Theatre; and
afterwards appeared as Mrs. Strickland,
in the Suspicious Husband, Lady Anne,
in Richard the Third, &c., but without
making any great or permanent im-
pression. From an anecdote, related
by Miss Lefane in her life of Mrs.
Sheridan, it would seem that Garrick,
who never was distinguished by gene-
rosity or liberality, was apparently
rather than really blind to the merit of
Mrs. Siddons. In a dispute with Miss
Young (afterwards Mrs. Pope), who, as
well as other actresses, had shewn re-
fractoriness of. temper, Garrick ex-
claimed—* I tell you, you had better
not give yourselves airs, for there is a
woman in the house, who, if I chose to
bring her forward, would eclipse you
all in youth, beauty, and talent.” Of
this woman’s abilities, however, he did
not avail himself, and at the end of the
season Mrs. Siddons returned into the
country. Her next engagement was at
Birmingham, where Henderson, the
great actor of the day, saw and appre-
ciated her talents, and predictedthat they
would never be surpassed. Through
his recommendation, she was engaged at
Bath, and in the vacation of that theatre,
at York andManchester ; where, espe-
cially at Bath, she was, for several sea-
sons, the leading favourite.

At Bath, she is said to have derived
considerable advantage from the instruc-
tion of the well-known Mr. Pratt. It
was at Bath, also, that she was seen by
Mr. Sheridan (father of the Sheridan.)
Strongly urged to witness the perform-
ance of a young -actress, who distanced
all competition in tragedy, he found, to
his astonishment, that it was a lady
whom he had seen, to little advantage,
on the Drury-lane boards. Her in-
yrovement, however, was so great, that
ie introduced himself, urged her to
make another attempt in the metropolis,
tendered his services, and actually ob-
tained for her an engagement at Drury-
lane Theatre, which was then under the
management of Mr. King. She _ pro-
arg making her début as Luphrasia, in
2 '

338

The Grecian Daughter; but, on Mr.
Sheridan’s suggestion, she adopted the
part of Isabella, in The Fatal Marriage.

Of that character, in which she first
appeared on the 10th of October, 1782,
she gave twenty-two representations in
the course of the season. She also
played Euphrasia and Jane Shore, with

roportionate effect; and, so great was
fe attraction, that she was indulged
with a benefit. before Christmas.
that occasion she performed Belvidera, in
Venice Preserved. Great part of the pit
was laid into boxes; the presents made
for tickets, by the nobility and gentry,
were immense ; and Counsellors Piggott
and Fielding raised a subscription for
her, to the amount of 100 guineas,
amongst the gentlemen ofthe bar. Dur-
ing the recess, she visited Ireland and
Scotland; and on her return, in the
ensuing season, her first performance
was by the command of their Majesties.
At Edinburgh, in the next recess, she
received 1000 guineas for performing ten
nights ; and amongst numerous presents,
she received that of a magnificent silver
urn, inscribed with the words—“‘ A Re-
ward to Merit.”

Mrs. Siddons was the means of intro-
ducing to a London audience her brothers
John and Stephen, and, at a later
period, Charles. She now added to her
stock of characters, Isabella, Measure for
Measure; Mrs. Beverley, in The Game-
ster; Constance, in King John; Lady
Randolph, in Douglas; Sigismunda, &c.
Sir Joshua Reynolds painted her, as the
tragic muse, in 1784, Subsequently she
increased her list of characters, by Lady
Macbeth, Queen Katherine, Margaret of
Anjou, Mrs. Haller, and Mrs. Oakley. In
1787, her brother John became acting
manager of Drury-lane Theatre ; and, in
the spring of 1788, she appeared, for his
benefit, as Katherine, in Katherine and
Petruchio. In her thirty-fifth year
(1790) she played Julie-—ay, Shak-
speare’s divine Juliet! Boaden expresses
an opinion, that had Garrick, “ at her
first appearance in London, brought
her out in Juliet, the winning gentle.
ness of her first scenes, contrasting with
the ardent affection and speaking terrors
of the latter, must have established her
at once.”

Mrs. Siddons played Lady Macbeth to
her brother’s Macbeth, on the opening of
New Drury, April 21, 1794. In 1801
her brother having acquired a share in
Covent Garden Theatre, she transferred
her wonderful talents to that estabish-
ment. The old house having been de-
stroyed by fire, Mrs. Siddons opened
the new one, with Lady Macbeth, on the

Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Persons.

On:

[Serr.

18th of September, 1809; but, in con-
sequence of the O. P. row—sixty-seven
nights of outrage—consequent on the
attempt to increase the prices of admis-
sion, her second night,.when she repeated
the character, was not till the 24th of
April, 1810. In the last season but one
of her appearance—that of 1810-11, she
went through nearly the whole range of
her characters. On the 29th of Shee
1812, she took leave of the public in the
part of Lady Macbeth. Her nephew,
Mr. Horace Twiss, wrote an address
which she recited upon the occasion.
The following year, however, she again
appeared as Lady Macbeth, for the
benefit of her brother Charles; and also
played for the Theatrical Fund. In
1816 she appeared as Queen Katherine,
for her brother Charles’s benefit ; and,
on the 8th ofJune, in the same year,
for the gratification of the Princess
Charlotte, whose illness unfortunately
prevented her from attending, she once
more personated Lady Macbeth. 'This,
if we except her public readings from
Shakspeare, at the Argyle Rooms, dur-
ing two seasons, must be regarded as
constituting the close of Mrs. Siddons’s
professional life.

Mrs. Siddons lost her husband in
1802. She had four children, two daugh-
ters, and two’ sons. Her eldest son,
Henry, lessee of the Edinburgh theatre,
married the daughter of Mr. Murray,
the representative of an old Scotch fa-
mily, whose baronetcy was lost, by at-
tainder, in the rebellion of 1745. He is
well remembered by the frequenters of
the Covent Garden and Haymarket
theatres, as one of the most chaste and
gentlemanly actors that ever trod the
stage. His son-in-law, an author as well
as actor of respectability, died in 1815.
After the death of her husband, Mrs. H.
Siddons, who possessed great talent as an
actress, held the lease i the Edinburgh
theatre, in conjunction with her brother,
until a year or two ago, when, through
illness, she was under the necessity of
retiring from public life. If we mistake
not she is since dead. Mrs. Siddons’s
second son has a family, and is living in
India. Her younger.daughter died in
1798; the victim, as it is understood, of
an unrequited affection for the late Sir
Thomas Lawrence. With the society of
her eldest daughter, who remains un-
married, Mrs. Siddons was blessed, until
the final close of her existence, which
occurred at her residence in Upper Baker
Street, on the 8thof June. Some idea
of a public funeral was entertained ; but
Mr. Charles Kemble respectfully de-
clined the offer of attendance on the

1831.]

part of many of the nobility; and, on
the 16th of June, the remains of the
deceased were interred in a vault in
Paddington church. A hearse and four—
two mourning coaches and four, with the
relations of the deceased — fourteen
mourning coaches and pair, each con-
taining four gentlemen mourners, be-
longing to the theatres—and two private
carriages—constituted the whole of the
procession.

THE EARL OF MULGRAVE.

Tue Right Hon. Henry Phipps, Earl
of Mulgrave, Viscount Normanby, Baron
Mulgrave, G.C.B., an elder brother of
the Trinity House, Lord Lieutenant
and Custos Rotulorum, and Vice Ad-
miral of the East Riding of the county
of York, a General in the Army, Colo-
nel of the 3lst regiment of foot, and
Governor of Scarborough Castle, F.R.S.,
and F.S.A.,:was a descendant from Sir
William Phipps, Knt., a naval officer,
who invented the diving-bell, by which
he was enabled to recover immense
treasure from the wreck of a Spanish
galleon, which had lain buried in water
44 years, near the banks of Bahama.
His son, Sir Constantine Phipps, (great-
grandfather of the earl,) was Lord Chan-
cellor of Ireland, in 1710, and father of
Constantine, created Baron Mulgrave, in
the Irish peerage, 1757. It was hisson, the
second baron, a captain in the navy, who
made an attempt to discover a north-
east passage—held several high official
stations—married the Hon. Lepall Her-
vey, eldest daughter of Lord Hervey,
son of the Earl of Bristol—and was raised
to the English peerage in 1790. He
was succeeded by his brother Henry, the
late earl.

His lordship was born on the 14th of
February, 1755; he was educated at
Eton, and originally intended for the
law, but he changed his views, and en-
tered the army in 1775, and distin-

ished himself in the American war.

n 1776, he served in America, as aide-
de-camp to General Knyphausen. By
purchase and otherwise, he attained the
rank of lieutenant-colonel. On the

ace with America, he returned to

ngland, and in 1781, he was elected
MY. for Totness, in Devonshire. As
a member of the legislature, he entered
fully into Mr. Pitt’s system of politics.
On the death of his elder brother, Oc-

Bwgraphical Memoirs of Eminent Persons.

339

tober 10th, 1792, he succeeded to the
title and family-estate. On the break-
ing out of the French war, he was em-
ployed by government in a confidential
mission ; he succeeded, and haying now
the rank of colonel, he, in 1793, repaired
to Toulon, which had been surrendered
to the English, and he served there un-
til the place was evacuated. After his
return, he was created (August 13th,
1794,) an English baron, and appointed
Governor of Scarborough Castle. About
the same time, he was appointed colo-
nel of the 31st, or Huntingdonshire
regiment of foot, which he commanded
until his death. He afterwards served
in Holland. Subsequently to that period,
he devoted himself to a political life, and
became a principal member of the Pitt,
Perceval, and Liverpool administra-
tions. In 1804, Mr. Pitt made him
Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster ;
and, in 1807, he was. nominated First
Lord of the Admiralty. These appoint-
ments pave him admission in the privy
council, and the latter into the cabinet.
Soon afterwards, he was appointed Lord
Lieutenant of the East Riding of York-
shire, In 1812, he was removed from
the Admiralty, to be Master-General
of the Ordnance; and, on the 7th of
September, in that year, he was ad-
vanced to the dignity of Viscount Nor-
manby, of Normanby, in the county of
York, and Earl of Mulgrave.

In 1818, his lordship resigned the
office of Master-General of the Ord-
nance to the Duke of Wellington ; but
by special agreement, he retained a seat
in the cabinet.

On the 20th of October, 1795, Earl
Mulgrave married Sophia, daughter of
Christopher Thomas Malling, of West
Hennington, in the count of Durham,
Esq. By that lady he had a son, Henry
Constantine, Viscount Normanby, his
successor — three other sons, and five
daughters, all of whom, we believe, with
the exception of one daughter, survive.

From the time of his retirement from
office, in 1818, his lordship had been in
a declining state of health. He died
at his seat, Mulgrave Castle, Yorkshire,
the 7th of April, his son, Lord Nor-
manby, having arrived from the conti-
nent two days before. By the earl’s
death, the colonelcy of the 31st regi-
ment of foot, and the Governorship of
Scarborough Castle, became vacant.

2G 2

[ 340 J

(Serr.

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BANKRUPTCIES,
Announced from July 20th, to August 22d, 1831, in the London Gazette.

BANKRUPTCIES SUPERSEDED.

Samuel Crowther, Bradford, Yorkshire, worsted-
spinner,

Join Gubbins White, Wall’s Quarry, Minchin-
hampton, Gloucestershire, coal merchant.

George Jackson,the younger, Bishopsgate-street-
without, London, surgeon.

James Lee, the younger, Worcester, bateher.

SCOTCH SEQUESTRATIONS.

Brownlee, W., and A. Wilson, Glasgow, spirit-
dealers. -

Buie, A., Fochabers, innkeeper and farmer.

Broughton, E., Glasgow, power-loom- weaver.

Bowie, J., Elzin, flesher and glover,

Calder, T., Edinburgh, smith and ironmonger.

Dongall, L., Leven, cloth-merchant.

Fairley, J., Edinburgh, grocer.

Martin, W., Lockerby, banker.

M‘Laren, R., Edinburgh, wine-merchant.

M'Dougal, J., and J. Dunlop, Glasgow, spirit-
dealers.

Macqueen, D., Edinburgh shoe maker,

Robertson, W., Aberdeen, bookseller.

Wilson, J., Leith-walk, Edinburgh, coal-merchiant.

BANKRUPTCIES.
[ This Month &9.]
Solicitors’ Names are in Parentheses.

Alderson, R., Crawford-street, St. Mary-le-bone,
Middlesex, linen-draper. (Crocker, Lad-lane,
Cheapside.

Andrew, Joseph, Nottingham, money-scrivener.
(Forster, Lawrence Pountney place. ey

Alcock, R. H., Coventry, timber-merchant, (Car-
ter and Dewes, Coventry.

Bell, J.. Oporto, Portugal, wine-merchant. (Mil-
ler, Ely-place, Holborn.

Brown, S., Dartford, Kent, grocer. (Hutchinson
and Imeson, Crown-court, Threadneedle-street,

Birch, R., Great’ Longstone, and New-mills, near
Ashbonrne, Derbyshire, cotton-spinner, (Cal-
ton, Chesterfield.

Bristow, M., and J. Bristow, Ratcliff-highway,
Middlesex, fire-engive-makers. (Willey and
Morris, Bank-chambers, Lothbury.

Buttress, L , London-terrace, Hackney-road, Mid-
diesex, builder. (Comyn, Belvidere-place,
Southwark.

Blackley, R.C.,and J. B. Blackley, Fenchurch-
street, London, tea-dealers. (Blower, Lincoln’s-
inu-tields.

Benjamin, B. D., Mancliester, merchant. (Claye
and Thompson, Manchester.

Baptist, F , Lock’s-fields, Walworth, Surrey, tim-
ber-merciant. (Shackel!, Token-house-yard,
‘Buckler, J., Coventry, builder. (Carter and Dewes,

Coventry.

Claridge, J., Birmingham, victualler. (Stubbs,
Birmingham,
Cowling, E., Poultry, London, haberdasber.

(Wilkinson and Lawrance, Bucklersbury.

Cross. S., the younger, Lambeth, Surrey, timber-
merchant. (Bailey, Berners-street, Oxford-
street,

Clark, J., and Adam Clark, Market Rasen, Lin-
colnshire, drapers, (Ashurst, Newgate-street.
Clark, A., Broad-street, Ratcliff, Middlesex, mil-

ler and wharfinger., (Cottle, Furnivai’s-inn,
Curlewis, H. C., Hanover-street, Hanover-square,
Middlesex, tailor. (Cookand Hunter, New-inn.

Jenkins,

Chapman, J., Trowbridge,
(Bush, Trow) ridge.

Dewhurst, 'T., Liverpool, ironmonger. (Leather,
Liverpool.

Davies, T., Swansea, Glamorganshire, rope-maker.
(Peters, Bristol.

Davis, J. Redford, Liverpool, merchant. (Philpot
and Tanner, Brabant-court, Philpot lane.

Dixon, P., Newbury, Berks., tea-dealer. (Cattlyn,
Ely-place, Holborn.

Dunlevie, C. T., Liverpool, broker. (Lowe, Li-
verpool,

Dunn, R., Wiveliscombe, Somersetshire, elothier.
(Waldron, Wiveliseombe.

Evans, J., Oxiord, stationer. (Dadley, Oxford.

Fletcher, A., Bolton-le-Moors, Laneashire, glass-
seller. (Pendlebury, Bolton-le-Moors.

Fall, T., Leybarn, Yorkshire, buokseller. (Simp-
son, Richmond,

Gilbert, J., St. Luke's, Middlesex, iron-founder
(Jenkins and Abbott, New-inn.

Graves, T., the younger, Hales Owen, Salop, inn-
keeper. (Parkes, Birmingham.

Hamilton, J., Bristol, innkeeper. (Cornish and
Sun, Bristol.

Hinchliffe. J.,late of Leicester, machine-maker.
(Rawson, Leicester.

Halstead, J., the younger, Colne, Lancashire, cot-
ton-spinner. (Atkinson and Birch, Manchester.

Hebblewhite, W., Manchester, commission-agent,
(Houghton and Broadhurst, Liverpool.!

Hatehings, J., Carnaby-street, Golden-square,
puadleneys tinman, (Watson, Gerrard-street,

obo.

Hawkes, J., Pall-mall, Middlesex, silk-mercer.
(Sol. Rogers, Manchester-buildings, Westmin-
ster.

Hervey, J., and J. R., Manchester, and Robert
Hervey, Douglas Bank-works, near Wigan, ma-
nufacturing-chemists. (Duckworth, Denison,
and Humphrys, Manchester.

Hazelton, G. J., St. Jobn-street, West Smithfield,
Middlesex, furnishing-ironmonger. (S_ Gilbert,
Mark Lane.

Isaacs, N., Norwich, and Oxford-street, Middle-
sex, straw-hat-manufaeturer. (Bignold, Pulley,
and Mavwve, Norwich.

James, J.,late of Meeting-house-court, Old Jewry,
London, merchant. (Abbott and Arney, Sy-
mond’s-inn.

Jarvis, D.,° Radford, Nottinghamshire, frame-
smith. (Fox, Nottingham.

Jones, J., Tottenham court-road, Middlesex, lodg-
ing-house keeper. (Long,Staple-inn, Holborn.

Wilts, victuailer.

Jones, J., late of Newington-causeway, Surrey,

hosier. (Newbou, Great Carter-lane, Doctors’-
commons,

R. N., Glamorganshire, victualler,
(Lewis, Bridgend.

‘Knight, Alfred, Basing-lane, London, stationer.

(Richardson, lronmonger lane.

Lundie, R., Hull, wine-merebant.
Hull.

Lynall, W., Walsall, Staffordshire, victualler.

(Barnett, Walsall.

Lee, S., High street, Poplar, Middlesex, victualler.
(Trehern, Cornhill.

Lomax, J., Hoghton Bottoms, Lancashire, calico-
printer. (Dodgson, Blackburn.

Martin, W., Newgate-street, London, wine-mer-
ehant. (Golton, Austin-friars.

M‘Dermott, A., Liverpool, corn-merchant. (Bards-
well, Liverpool,

Matthews, J., late of Bristol, basket-maker. (Cal-
lender, Bristol.

Miller, A., Oxford-street, Middlesex, bookseller,
(Frisweil, Wimpole-street.

Medburst, J., Fleet-street, London, tailor. (Brown,
Martin, and Brown, Mincing-lane.

(Walmsley,

1831.]

Nockells, S. H., Mincing-lane, London, wine-
merchant. (Sol. Towne, Broad-street-build-
ings.

Parnell, S. J., North Audley-street, Grosvenor-
square, Middlesex, auctioneer. (Chester, Union-
row, New Kent-road.

Parry, W., Liverpool, slater. (Atkinson, Liverpool.

Petty, J., Liverpool, coal-merehant. (Houghton
and Broadhurst, Liverpool.

Palmer, W., Pencoyd, Herefordshire, clothier and
seedsman. (Hall and Humfrys, Ross.

Parsons, J., Fulham-road, Middlesex, upholsterer.
(Wills, Ely-place,

Peters, P., Manchester, publican, (Crossley and
Sudlow, Manchester.

Poyel, J. W., Wimborne Minster, Dorsetshire,
plummer. (Chitty, Shaftesbury.

Routledge, J., Manchester, stone-mason. (Hamp-
son, Manchester.

Rattcliff, J., Aston, Birmingham, victualler. (Haw-
kins and Richards, Birmingham.

Richards, R., Mary-le-bone-street, Piccadilly,
Middlesex, mereer. (Wilde, Rees, and Hum-
phry, College-bill.

Rees, T., Crumlin, Monmouthshire, shopkeeper.
(Perkins, Bristol.

Reece, J,, Aldersgate-street,
(Brough, Fleet-street.

Symons, A., Falmouth, Cornwall, wine-merchant.
(Buil, Falmouth.

Simmons, A., Goswell-street, Middlesex, baker.
(Wilson, Albany-street, Regent’s-park.

Statham, T., the elder, Clunton, Salop, cattle-
dealer. (Kough, Shrewsbury.

Sharp, D., Maldon, Essex, cattle-dealer.
son, Witham.

Suwerkrop, J. H., University-street, St. Pancras,

London, grocer,

(Patti-

Bankrupts.

341

Simpson, J., Poulton, Wilts, baker. (Beyvir, Ci-
reneester.

Towers, W., Nottingham, grocer, (Hindmarsh
and Son, Crescent, Jewin-street, London.

Thirlby, W,, now or late of Ibstock Lodge, Ib-
stock, Leicestershire, farmer. (Green, Ashby-
de-la-Zouch. ?

Thomas, J. M., High-street, Shadwell, Middlesex,
grocer. (Allingham, Hatton-garden,

Vanzeller, J., Great Winchester-street, London,
merchant. (Sharpe and Field, Old Jewry.

Vining, T., ani C. Vining, Bristol, corn-factors.
(E.and J. Daniel, Bristol.

Woodward, S. H., Duvalle’s-lane, Holloway, Mid-
dlesex, apothecary. (Lowless and Peac.ck,
Tokenhouse-yard.

Wilson, J., Liverpool, mercer. (Law and Coates,
Manchester.

Wilson, H., Riding-house-lane, St. Mary-le-Bone,
Middlesex, timber-merchant. (Williams, Al
fred-place, Bedford-square. x

Wallace, J., Belfast, Ireland, merchant. (Hadfield,
Manchester.

Weatherill, T., the younger, Liverpool, surgeon
(Mather, Liverpool.

Wace, D.,Newzgate-street, London, grocer. (May-
hew, Johnston, and Co., Carey-street.

Wood, J., Manchester, manganese-dealer. (Ker-
shaw, Manchester.

Walker, G., Newport, Salup, mercer. (Stanley
Newport. 4

Wrigit, J., the younger, Nottingham, jeweller.
(Sols. Percy and Smith, Nottingham,

Wilkinson, W. D., Notting-hill, Middlesex, and
Martin Petrie, Lime-street, London, Bast India-
agents. (Baxendale, Tatham, U. and J. King’s-

arms-yard, Coleman-street,
Zwinger, J. A., Auction Mart Coffee-house, Lon-
don, merchant. (Sol. Holt, Threadneedle-street.

Middlesex,engineer. (Sinith, Great Kasteheap,
Cannon-street.

MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

TurovucHout the present season, there appears to have existed a perfect
analogy between the atmospheric vicissitudes, anomalies, and extremes, and the
similar conditions in all the productions of the soil, fully demonstrating the sove-
reign rule of the Prince of the Air over all vegetation and production, and the pre-
carious nature of the farmer’s hopes, however skilful, industrious, and provident
he may be. It has proved, indeed, a summer partaking in all the extremes and
vicissitudes of every other season, from the winterly frosts in May, happily of short
duration, to the almost tropical heats of the dog-days: and, as a singular anomaly,
the greatest heats, whether by day or night, have been experienced whilst the wind
has proceeded from the N. or E., in which quarters, yet perpetually changing, it
has generally been at home throughout tke last and present month. 'The thunder
storms and heavy falls of rain which occurred somewhat beyond the middle of the
present month have been attended with considerable destruction, but fortunately
with little or no loss of human life, though a great number of animals have perished.
In the sister kingdom, they have not been equally fortunate. A most apalling and
heart-sickening calamity has lately fallen upon a part of the already too miserable
inhabitants of that country. We learn from the ‘* Western Herald,” that the most
awful thunder storm ever recollected, took place on ‘Thursday last, at Glanflesk,
near the town of Killarney ; its frightful peals were succeeded by several water-
spouts, pouring from the heavens until the whole glen was deluged. This occurred
at midnight, assailing a number of humble habitations, together with their unfortu-
nate inmates. On the whole, however, what with the genial warmth of the sun,
and the aid of refreshing showers, a considerable degree of fertility has been excited
in the soil ; in consequence, there will be heavy crops of corn and pulse upon good
lands in all districts; and also great failures upon all lands, fertile or poor, w lich
have been much exposed to the mal aira, or the evil influence of the air. The ir-
regularities of the season, and the consequent varieties and confusion in the state of
the crops, render it extremely difficult to produce a consistent and satisfactory
general report ; and the difficulty is enhanced by the silence of so many corres-
pondents, whose attention, at this important period, is so exclusively engaged.

342 Agriculiural Report. [Sepr.

As we stated in our last, the original mischief occurred within the three or four
frosty nights of May, induced by.a shivering and blasting N. E. wind, by which a full
moiety of our national stock of fruit, of every description, was cut off at a stroke.
Most of’ the early sown turnips were simultaneously destroyed, ploughed up, and
¥e-sown under happier auspices. Had this inauspicious state of the weather conti-
nued but a few days longer, or to the length experienced in certain former unfortu-
nate years, a famine—at least, high famine prices—must have been the inevitable
consequence, from the obvious difficulty, under such circumstances, of obtaining
adequate supplies from the Continent: other consequences, in regard to our nu-
merous unemployed labouring population, are too obvious to need being adverted
to. Fortunately, this plague was stayed in saving and good time; the capricious
elements changed their tone, and this calamitous state of the weather was suc-
ceeded, during a considerable length, by its direct opposite, under which our crops
enjoyed the benefit of being fanned and cheered by mild and genial south-western
breezes, and of being pushed forward to an early harvest, by the power ofa constant
and ardent solstitial heat, to the utter overthrow of the predictions of us wise-acres,
who seemed determined that the harvest of the present year should be of the latest
ever experienced in this country. Very few culmiferous crops have escaped
without exhibiting, upon the straw or husks. of the ear, appearances of one or other
of the several affections of atmospheric blight. They are both rusted and blacked,
the fatal mildew succeeding to too great an extent, by which the milky substance of
the kernel is dried up, and itself reduced to an almost empty husk, of a burnt and
unpleasant scent. ‘There is very little complaint of smut, or the black and foetid
disease in wheat, by which, through the evil’ influence of the atmosphere, the
kernels, few or more in an ear, are changed into balls (smut balls), containing a por-
tion of foetid black powder. The mildew seems to have prevailed most, and most
fatally, in the maritime counties, and chiefly in those lands bordering on the sea-
coast ; also in the fen districts. In less exposed situations, it may be hoped that the
effects of the blast have been only external, reaching no farther than the stalk and
the chaff. Thus we have found it on certain light loams of this county, a few mil-
dewed kernels in many, or most of the ears, disgracing the general sample of excel-
lent, plump, and fine-coloured wheat. The ears of middling and poor soils are not
very long or large, and their numerical contents in kernels, so far as we have num-
bered and averaged them, are far below those on which we have made similar ex-
periment in former prolific years. The barley is said to have suffered, notwith-
standing the protection of its awns and spikes, nearly as much as the wheat. On
those fortunate soils where, according to the accounts from their happy cultivators,
the blight had no influence (here we have our doubts), all the crops of corn and

ulse are described as first-rate, both as to quantity and quality. Some of our friends,

owever, remind us of our last year’s caution, and, ere they give a final opinion,
are determined to await the result of a barn-floor test. ‘The very moderate quality
of the new wheats exposed to sale, and the rising prices, do not seem to sanction the
splendid expectations of certain over-sanguine reporters. We have heard little yet
from the south-western, north-western, and midland counties; our intelligence has
been chiefly derived from the southern, eastern, and north-eastern.

The early turnips which withstood the shock in May, and those which were re-
sown, have proceeded most luxuriantly. It has been said, “ they grew so fast as to
out-grow the fly ;” but we pa it may be said more correctly, that the second
sowing had the advantage ofa more mild and genial season, whence no blight ensued
to produce the fly ; and that the aphides, or blight-insects, are the effect, not the
cause, of blight. Scotland presents a strange deviation in the course of the weather
from all or most other parts of the island; instead of being deluged with rain in
July, as was the case in many other parts, their lands have suffered from heat and
drought throughout the whole summer, to the premature ripening of their corn
crops, and burning up their first and second crops of grass—the latter too short to be
mown. Nearly all their crops are described as of good promise, with the singular
advantage, in a season like the present, of being nearly free from the effects of
blight. The Scotch accounts, as usual of late years, are universally fly-blown. We
repeat the acknowledgment of our last—we cannot understand them in that matter,
though we were formerly long aphis hunters, as well as fox-hunters, and most of the
former. In some parts of Scotland, it seems, the wheat crop has been reduced 25
per cent. by the ravages of this fly, which had been in existence some weeks before
the ear appeared. The “leg, or tulip root,” an excrescent disease of wheat in
Scotland, to which we adverted in our last, is probably the ergot of the Conti-

1831.] 343

nent, which we formerly observed in this country, in a crop of wheat, the produce
of continental seed. We have preserved a specimenof it. In Ireland, the crops in
a are highly spoken of, with a profusion of keep for their numerous herds.

e have probably more complaints from South Wales than from any other part of
the Island: not, indeed, as to their crops, which they estimate as a fair average,
affected but partially by the mildew. Their grand lament is of the low price of
produce, whether corn or live stock—indeed not without reason, granting the fact
that the constant great importations ef Irish flour have rendered the Welsh ave-
rage market prices of wheat even 20s. per quarter below some of the English
markets. Their live stock of every description equally low in price, and nearly
weniaile, caused by the droves of Irish, incessantly travellimg the country

or sale.

Harvest, begun in the last week of July, is by this time nearly completed, and
‘the produce stacked or housed, upon most of the forward lands. Upon the whole,
it has been equally successful as forward, though with some impediments from the
weather, but chiefly from the state of the crops which were beaten down by the
late storms, and disputes with the native labourers as to the method of cutting
them. Where corn is much lodged, scattered, and confused, bag-reaping, or
mowing, is far preferable, for dispatch and the general profit of the farmer, to the
common mode of reaping ; and the Hainault hook or short scythe, which we recom-
mended many years ago is the proper tool. Against this, our own labourers have
entertained a constant and settled aversion; and, in ee the Irish only can be
induced to use it. One reason assigned for the dislike of our men is, that they in
the end obtain less from gleaning or leasing after the scythe. As to the general
opinion on the crops—Barley is deemed an average in quantity, but not with
respect to quality, nor are the markets probable to be overstocked with the fine
pm bright malting species. Oats prove afair crop. Pease are well spoken of, and
expected to prove a fine sample.. Beans an irregular produce: where they have
escaped the blight, abundant. Winter tares large. Hay fine, but greatly defective
in quantity. Lattermath in profusion. ~The crops of turnips, of Swedes, frequently
arisk crop, and of potatoes, expected to be as abundant as ever known.

Hops, with a strong bine, have suffered considerably from the weather, and of
them nothing certain can yet be predicated. Of the cattle and sheep fairs and
markets, little can be said but that the national supply is yet ample, with a varia-
tion of supply, demand, and price, in different districts. Sheep and lambs may be
somewhat dearer from the defalcation caused by the rot, which, we hope, is at
length extinct. Of horses the old story, great numbers on sale, wonderfully few
good, and those ever commanding a high price.

Smithfield.— Beef, 3s. 0d. to’ 4s. 2d.— Mutton, 3s. 8d. to 4s. 6d.— Veal, 4s. 4d. to
5s. 4d —Lamb, 5s. 0d. to 5s, @d.—Pork, 4s. 0d., 4s. 10d. to 5s. 2d. best milk-fed.—
Rough fat, 2s. 4d.

Corn Exchange.—W heat, 60s. to 80s.—Barley, 23s. to 34s. for grinding—Oats,
22s. to 32s.— Bread, 4lb. London loaf, 10d.—Hay, 55s. to 100s.—Clover ditto,
68s. to 120s.—Straw, 24s. to 36s.

Coal Exchange —Coals, in the Pool, 31s. 6d. to 32s. Od. per chaldron.

Middlesex, August 25th.

Agricultural Report.

ECCLESIASTICAL PREFERMENTS, MARRIAGES, DEATHS, ETC.

Rev. Richard Sandford, to the Vicarage
of Eaton, Shropshire.--Rev. Oswald Ley-
cester, of Stoke-upon-Tern, to the Rec-
tory of Hodnet, Salop.—Rev. J. Vane,
Rector of Wrington, perpetual Curate of
Burrington, Somersetshire.—Rev. G.I.
Mostyn, to the peeual Curacy of
Tubercurry, near Sligo.—Rev. Wm.
Magee, to the Living of Swords, county
of Dublin.—Rey. Edward Everard Blen-
cowe, to the Rectory of West Walton,
Norfolk.—Rev. Henry Salmon, to the
Rectory of Swarraton, Hants.—Rev.
Wm. Webb, to the Rectory of Tixall.—

The very Rev. the Dean of York, to the
Vicarage of Thornton, Yorkshire._.Rev.
William Sharp, to the Vicarage of Cro-
mer, Norfolk.—Hon. and Rev. Samuel
Best, to the Rectory of Abbots Ann,
Hants.—Rev. Robert Ridsdale, to the
Rectory of North Chapel, Sussex.—Rev.
James Carr, to the Living of South
Shields.—Rev. R. Welsh, to the Union
of Tomfenlough, County of Clare.—
Rev. John Routledge, to the Vicarage
of Cransley, Northamptonshire.—Rey.
Richard Hind, to the Rectory of Lud-
dington, Northamptonshire.—Rey. G.

344

Carter, to the office of Precentor of Nor-
wich Cathedral.—Rev. Daniel Jones, to
the Vicarage of Caerleon.—Rev. Henry
James Hastings, to the Rectory of Are-
‘ley Kings, Worcestershire —Rev. H.
‘Trevor Wheler, to the Vicarage of Pil-
lerton, in the county of Warwick.—Rev.
Francis Robinson, to the Rectory of
Little Stoughton, Bedfordshire—Rev.
John Phillips Roberts, to a Minor
Canonry in Chichester Cathedral, and
also to the Sub-deanery.—Rey. Charles
Walters, to the Rectory of Bramdean.
—Rev. George Edge Larden, to the
Rectory of Doverdale, near Worcester.
—Rev. Hugh Hanmer Morgan, to the
Vicarage of Lydney, Gloucestershire —
Rev. Robert Wm. Shaw, to the Rectory
of Cuxton, Kent.—Hev. F. Maude, to
the Chapelry of Longridge, Lancashire.
—Rev. James Robertson Holcombe, to
the rural Deanery of Castlemartin.
MARRIAGES.

At Walston, the Marquis of Hastings,
to Baroness Grey de Ruthyn.—Peter
Squire, Esq., son of John Burden
Squire, Esq. of St. Neot’s, to Mary
Christiana, Aa eiber of Alexander Bal-
manno, Esq., Upper Charlotte-street,
Fitzroy-square.—Charles E. M’Car-
thy, Esq., to Elizabeth Augusta, daugh-
ter of J.G. Ravenshaw, Esq. Deputy
Chairman to the East India Company.
—Robert Price, Esq. of Caroline-place,
Guilford-street, to Eliza, daughter of
Thomas Horne, Esq. of Southampton-
row.—At Tamworth, the Rev. Thomas
Loveday, B.D., to Mary, only surviv-
ing daughter of the Ven. Archdeacon
Churton.—At St. Twinnell’s Pembroke-
shire, G. B. J Price, Esq. of Pigeons-
ford, Cardiganshire, to Ellen, third
daughter of Sir John Owen, Bart.—
At Willesdon, the Hon. George Thomas
Keppel, second son of the Earl of Albe-
marle, to Susan, daughter of Sir Coutts
Trotter, Bart-—At Clifton, the Rev.
Geo. aM aid Gardiner, to Catherine,
M’Clintock, niece of his Grace the Arch-
bishop of Tuam.—At Paris, Edward
Hamilton Ffienney, Esq. of his Majesty's
62d regt., to Eliza, daughter of the Rev.
Professor Lee, Prebend of Bristol.—J.
Jervis White, of Dublin, Esq ,to Mary,
widow of the late Sir J. Jervis White
Jervis, Bart.—Neill Malcolm, Esq., of
Poltalloch, Argyllshire, to Harriet
Mary, third daughter of the Rev. Sir
Samuel Clarke Jervoise, Bart.—Mr.
Hugh Inglish, to Rothes Beatrix, second
daughter of the late Sir John Leslie,
Bart.—Sir Charles M. L. Monck, Bart.,
to Lady Mary Elizabeth Bennet, sister
to the Earl of Tankerville.—Edward

Dr.

Ecclesiastical Preferments, Marriages, and Deaths. [Sepr.

Cotterell, Esq. of Naples, to Elizabeth,
daughter of the Rev. E. H. Warriner,
Rector of Foot’s Cray, Kent.—Captain
William Way Baker, Madras Army, to
Barbara, daughter of John Adolphus
Young, ou of Great Ormond-street.—
William Henry Baron Von Donop, of
Woebbel, in Westphalia, to Frances
Mary, eldest daughter of Rear Admiral
Sir Edward Hamilton, Bart.—Captain
H. Fitzroy, son of the late Lord Henry
Fitzroy, to Lady Sarah Lethbridge,
daughter of Sir T. B. Lethbridge, Bart.
—Frederick Durack, Esq. of the 24th
regt. of Bombay Native Infantry, to
Eliza Anne, youngest daughter of the
late Col. Ellis—At West Ham, Col. J.
F. Salter, to Emily, daughter of the late
Wm. Stanley, Esq. of Maryland Point.
—Lieut.-col. Power, to Caroline, eldest
daughter of the late Henry Brown, Esq.
of Portland-place.—Samuel Twyford,
Esq. of Trotten-place, Sussex, to Dora,
daughter of the late George Augustus
Simpson, Esq. of Calcutta.

' DEATHS,

At his house in Guilford-street, Rus-
sell-square, Matthew Consett, Esq. 74.
—At Teignmouth, Lieut.-col. Rotton,
ofthe East India Company’s Service, 77.
—At Machany, the Hon. Elizabeth
Drummond, of Strathallen, 76.—At, her
house in Lower Gardiner-street, Dublin,
the Dowager Lady Louth.—Right
Hon. Lady Augusta Clavering, eldest
daughter of John, fifth Duke of Argyll.
—Gen. J. Drummond, of Dumma-
whance.—Harriet, Countess of Massa-
rene, 67.—Mrs. Stratford Canning.—
James Northcote, Esq. R.A., 86.—Gen.
Loftus, Lieut.-governor of the Tower of
London.—Mrs. Porter, mother of Sir
Robert Kerr Porter, 86.— Kenneth
Francis Mackenzie, Esq. formerly At-
torney-general for the [sland of Gre-
nada.—T’. Sotheby, Esq. Admiral of the
White, 72.—Caroline Drury, wife of
Colonel St. Dudley St. Ledger Hill—
At Calais, after a few minutes’ illness,
on his landing from England, the Baron
de Flassans, 29.— Kezia, relict of Rear
Admiral Scott, of Spring Hill, South-
ampton-—At Boulge Hall, Suffolk, 85,
Elenor, relict of the late Colonel Short,
of Edlington.—The Hon. Wentworth
Ponsonby, second son of Vicount Dun-
cannon, 18.—Mrs. Beaumont, mother
to the present Member for Northum-
berland.—At Great Malvern, Colonel
Dawsonne West.— Harriet, the wife of
P. Le Couteur, Esq. of the Island of
Jersey.—At Cove, Cork, the Right Rev.
Coppinger, Titular Bishop of
Cloyne, 78.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

Vot. XII.] OCTOBER, 1831. [No. 70. .

ENGLAND AND THE CONTINENT.

Tuat the whole of Europe is rapidly approaching to a crisis, is
altogether beyond denial. The symptoms of a fierce and total change
are already appearing in every monarchy of the continent; and the
agency of powers, whose untamed and untameable violence has formed
the terror of statesmen in all ages, is palpably assuming a combined and
systematic activity, that must end in fearful overthrow. In every part
of Europe the press is laying its grasp upon the public mind. Let us
give that press all its praise. The invention of man, or perhaps, we
might more justly say, the bounty of providence, never offered a nobler
boon to the liberties of nations, the advance of knowledge, or the general
control and cultivation of the human mind. But power is a good only
as it is used for good. The press in England may still be kept in the
straight way by the force of that established public opinion, which
crushes the traitor, and strips the libeller. But the continental press is
altogether furious, ignorant, and revolutionary. All its appeals are
to the populace, and its arguments, if they deserve the name, are gross
and blood-thirsty incitements to the rabble passions of blood and
plunder. The fallen Jacobin, the obscure rebel, the man who after a
brief day of ferocious vengeance and dissolute revelling, has been
plunged down into his original obscurity, clings to the press as the only
instrument by which he is to be raised to the surface of society again.
The disbanded soldier who feels life irksome where it no longer leads
him into the furious riot of the passions, or pampers his desperate ambi-
tion with hourly massacre, and gluts his brutal rapacity with perpetual
spoil, clings to the press as the instrument by which he is to be drawn from
his beggary, and sent forth to rob and murder once more. The infidel
hating God and man alike, and longing for the return of those wild
times when the king and the priest were equally offered up to his sullen
scorn ; and the land was in a blaze, fed by the remnants of all that was
royal, honourable, learned, or holy within the realm, clings to the press
as the machine whose rapid wheels are to bear him over the wreck of
throne and altar, and make him master for awhile. At this hour the

M.M. New Series —Voy. XII. No. 70.

346 England and the Continent. [Ocr.

whole Journalism of the continent is revolutionary. Of course we do not
speak of the papers actually under the control of the governments, for
they are mere Gazettes of court and military proceedings, and no more
capable of being representatives of the tribe, than they are of uttering a
sentiment not directly dictated by the minister. The true Journalism is
in the class of those publications which, unpurchased by the minister,
follow the natural bent of party ; and with either covert hostility or
open attack, range themselves against the peace of mankind.

We are as determined enemies of all abuses, as the most enthusiastic
Journalist that ever tore down the good and evil of a state together.
We would punish with the strictest rigour every offence against public
honesty, we would abolish all useless expenditure, extinguish the extra-
vagance of patronage, and break down every barrier which had been raised
by hereditary corruption against genius and honour. We would dis-
band all military force that was kept up for either a mere military
flourish, or for the idle pageantry of a court, or for the guiltier purpose
of feeding a race of dependents, at the national expense. But, extin-
guishing the evil, we would sustain the good. Under even the most
despotic monarchy of the continent, we would ascertain what portion of
even a vicious system was capable of public service ; violence should be
kept down until it was discovered to be the only means ; overthrow
should be abhorred while there was a possibility of escaping so hazardous
a remedy ; amputation should not be the specific for every disorder of
the limbs, and if the terrible appeal to arms must come at last, it should
be retarded while there was a human hope of peace, and be looked on
as itself the most dreadful alternative short of national ruin.

The continental press, however, has none of those reserves. ‘“ Pas-
torale canit signum,” it has but one voice, and that it sends through
its trumpet, summoning every obscure lover of tumult to the coming
banquet of democracy, and has but one purpose, to plunge Europe into
a general war, that the war may be merged in a general revolution.
This is pre-eminently the spirit of the French Journals, which, like their
country, always take the lead in the disturbance of Europe. They are
now flinging firebrands through every corner of Christendom.

Another sign of the times has risen. War is in preparation in every
court of the continent. After fifteen years of peace, every court is com-
pelled to keep up armies, altogether disproportioned to its revenues.
Every court trembles at every movement of its neighbours ; a spirit of
bitter jealousy, and vindictive recollection, is spreading through all king-
doms, and a single cannon-shot fired by any one of the great powers at
this hour would set the continent in a blaze.

It is to the honour of England that she is still the great protector of
peace, the mighty mediator between the conflicting bitternesses of na-
tions, the depository of those safe principles of public virtue, national
vigour, and popular freedom, which make her at once the natural arbi-
trator of angry nations, and the natural refuge of the weak, and the
wronged. ‘This is her true distinction, and while she sustains it, she will
be, under whatever change of continental things, the virtual leader of
the human race. But nothing can be more palpable, than that in this
high capacity she has now peculiar difficulties to encounter. The genius
of the English constitution, of the English nation, and of the English
mind, is essentially anti-republican. For, the land loves justice, and
hates spoliation ; the public heart is human, and cannot be reconciled to

1831.] England and the Continent. 347

blood ; and the national sagacity, with the book of history before its eyes,
knows that democracy is havoc, and that the havoc is inevitably followed
by chains. England instinctively shrinks from the torch and the dag-
ger; and she will abhor to prepare for the chain of some military
usurper, by first weakening herself down to slavery by the loss of her
own blood. On this principle, she has at all times abjured the disastrous
aid of republicanism on the continent ; and even within our own day,
she shook the ablest and most popular of her public men from her coun-
cils, for daring, even in a figure of speech, to depict her as the favourer
of rebellion abroad. Canning’s whole public influence was instantly
sacrificed, by a mere oratorical flourish on the available alliance of fo-
reign insurrection.

But it is with this insurrection that she now has to deal; with the
gusts of rebellion springing up in every point of the compass, she has
to navigate her perilous way, and she has to choose between a struggle
for the ancient system, which may task all her strength, and in which
she may soon stand alone: and the embrace of an ally, which must, in
the passing of a few years, be the master of all who are mad enough to
suffer its connection.

The first difficulty of the British government is Belgium. The whole
course of Belgian events has run directly contrary to the policy, the
principles, and the wishes of England. The original union of Bel-
gium and Holland as a barrier against France, was the pride of British
policy, and almost the only prize of that war in which she defended
the liberties of Europe. This union was dissolved at a moment. Her
next effort was to save Belgium from falling into the hands of France.
But what is the state of Belgium now. ‘She is a province of France in
all but name. First, a French army was giddily called in to protect
her, and the undoubted object of those hazardous allies, was to hold
military possession of the prominent points of the country. They were
compelled to withdraw, only by the direct remonstrance of the Euro-
pean powers. But now the Belgian army is actually given into the
hands of French officers to drill; as if the science of marching and
counter-marching could be communicated by nobody on earth but a
French marshal—as if no German could be discovered willing to give
his knowledge of the drill for Belgian ducats, or no confidence was to
be placed in Englishmen. The result is, that the Belgian army is
under the command of Frenchmen, and those too still in the pay of
France. Even the fortresses, which were deemed essential for the pro-
tection of the kingdom of the Netherlands, which had seven millions of
men to defend the country, are now deemed useless for the defence of
Belgium, which has but four millions, and after costing immense sums
of British money they are to be demolished, for no discoverable pur-
pose but to make the high-road into Belgium as easy as the high-road
from Versailles to Paris. The argument that those fortresses could not
be garrisoned by the force of the Belgians is absurd. The volunteers,
the levees en masse, are the natural garrisons of such fortresses, while
the regular troops take the field. Or if we are to be told that the ex-
pense of maintaining them would exceed the Belgian finances, we an-
swer—Let them decay, if they will, in the course of time. But why
expedite their fall? The true reason of their overthrow is to break
down the barrier of Belgium.

Poland has fallen. It is now useless to deplore a fate which every one

2H 2

348 England and the Continent. [Ocr.

foresaw, and which every one would have burned to avert. The cause
of freedom in that most unhappy land has been a second time trampled
down, and Europe has now nothing more to do than to receive the
illustrious refugees with the honours due to disastrous patriotism, and
valour thrown away.

France is still disturbed. The king sits on an uneasy throne. The
populace remember their late mastery, and every murmur terrifies the
government as the sign of a coming storm. The king exhibits a mix-
ture of prudence and patience, which shews him to be worthy of a
throne ; but his supremacy depends upon accident, and the most trivial
change of popular opinion may send him and his race into exile. The
throne has no foundations in France. It stands upon the surface, and
that surface may in any hour of the night or day break in, and plunge
the seat of royalty into a depth from which no living eye shall see it
brought up again.

Portugal is still a source of bitterness, a thorn in the side of England,
instead of a staff in her hand. Yet the difficulty seems scarcely capable
of being reconciled. The mixture of insolence and coxcombry in the
miserable despot who sits upon the Portuguese throne, make all accom-
modation impossible. Such, at least, is the language of every ministry
of Europe. The Wellington ministry outlawed him: no man treated
him with more haughty scorn than the Duke of Wellington himself ;
and no man lavished the language of vituperation on him, m a more
unmeasured style than his subordinate, Lord Aberdeen. These men
now make themselves only ridiculous by attempting to figure as Portu-
guese champions. Whether Lord Grey is wiser in his abstinence from
virulent language, admits of no question. But his policy is the same ;
though it may be more than doubted whether he has not, if possible,
aggravated the causes of quarrel, by sending Hoppner, as British agent—
a puppy, of whose pertness he ought to have been aware. But Don
Miguel has an obvious facility of getting himself into scrapes, and after
having alienated England, insulted France, being threatened and humi-
liated by the former, and chastised severely by the latter, he does not
seem brought to his senses an atom the more. The sooner the Portu-
guese make their peace with mankind the better, even though it should
be at the expense of sending this coxcomb to rove the world with the
Ex-King of Sweden, the Ex-Duke of Brunswick, the Ex-Emperor of
the Brazils, the Ex-Dey of Algiers, and all the other childish and trifling
personages who have sickened the continent so long, and who, if they
do not prodigiously change, are so likely to follow them.

But England has better things to think of than fighting for any but
herself. Madness would not be too harsh a name for the councils which
would make her go to war for Don Pedro and his little Donna Maria.
The Don has shewn his qualifications for government already, on the
other side of the Atlantic, and we cannot afford to give him an oppor-
tunity of being turned out of another kingdom. But even if we were
to place him on the Portuguese throne, what security could we have for
his being a particle more grateful than we have always found foreigners ?
No, we must let the Ex-Emperor pay for himself, which he seems not
at all disposed to do—diplomatize for himself, which he has evidently
- failed to do—and fight for himself, which no man will ever see him do.
England can go on without any of those men of mustachios; and her
common policy will be, to scorn them all.

1831.] [ 349 J

THE SPECULATOR.

Goop !—Leslie, I knew you could never forget him.—His strange
coat, which hung together thread by thread, as if it had been (as it really
was) manufactured after a fashion of his own—his eyes, the very reverse
of those commemorated by Shakspeare, as having “no speculation in
them’’—you remember their wandering restless expression, ever seeking
something new, and dissatisfied with what was old. You cannot have
forgotten the tricks we put upon him at Eton, and the unchanging good
temper with which he supported them—his perfect carelessness of
money, and the good fortune which literally courted his acceptance,
when his worthy uncle, Sir Peter Ryland, died, and left him in posses-
sion of three thousand a-year—just at the very time too, when he had
(as he thought) received a useful lesson in economy, having been about
four months without a shilling. It was my fate to communicate the
joyful tidings to my quondam friend, and I went on my way rejoicing
at the happy luck of a really good-natured but eccentric being. I found
him in a little garret in the poorest part of Chelsea—he was seated on a
reversed deal-box, the cover of which had just sufficed to make a blaze
on the grateless hearth. His outward man was better than I anticipated,
and he greeted me with that peculiar buoyancy of air which told me
truly that some new discovery was on foot. “ My dear fellow, my old
friend,’’ he exclaimed, shaking me warmly by the hand, “ you are just
come in the nick of time, to congratulate me on my good fortune.”—* I
know it,” I replied drily—“ Know it—the deuce you do?—What! has
any one then forestalled my. discovery ?—Psha! it is impossible—I do
not mind explaining it to you though—do you see that pipkin?— Ay,
ay, you may laugh, but you can distinguish nothing but a pipkin—that
pipkin contains my shoe—there is a peculiar gum in leather, which, if
properly extracted, would make the finest French polish in the world—
this polish as I will prove to you, must be best, when extracted from
old shoes, because all, except the adhesive matter, wears away.”’ “That
wears away, occasionally,” I observed, looking at the companion to the
one in the pipkin, that was literally in the state of the poor Irishman’s
brogue, whose utility he defended by averring, “that if it did let the
water in, it let it out again.” “Stuff!” exclaimed my friend, “think
what a benefit it would be to convert all the old shoes in London into
the most splendid varnish? I have been to Jews’ Row to contract with
the old clothes-men for all the shoes they can obtain, and I am to go
_ down again about it. When thisis sufficiently softened to shew the truth
and excellence of my experiment ”’_«« T think you had first better
go with me to Quill and Driver, Lincoln’s Inn, to hear your uncle’s
will read,” I replied, anxious to produce a pleasing and electrifying
effect ; “he has left you by three thousand a-year richer than you were
ten days ago.”—“'The devil,” irreverently exclaimed my companion.
“Poor old Peter! if he had only tried my preparation of gooseberry
leaves, he would have been hale and hearty at this moment! but my
dear fellow, if I leave this it will burn—here, Jane”—shouting at the
top of his breath to the landlady’s daughter, a dirty, capless lassie of
eleven or upwards—“ come and stir this, like a smart girl.” Unwitting
what he did, my eccentric friend thrust his foot, which was only par-

350 The Speculator. [Ocr.

tially concealed by a listen slipper, into the solitary leathern shoe—and I
shall never forget the look of dismay he threw upon the pipkin when it first
occurred to him that he had, in his rage for experiment, absolutely left
himself shoeless. .I endeavoured to make him ashamed of his earelessness,
but in vain—he laughed at the mistake, vowed his discovery in twelve-
months would be more valuable than old uncle Peter’s legacy, and
superintended the pipkin operation with manifest delight, while rag-
ged Jane went to purchase a pair of boots for the Speculator, at the
nearest shoe-shop, of course with my money. “ Very kind of Peter! it
will give me the means of diffusing knowledge all over the world—in
three years, my friend, that three thousand a-year will be thirty—thirty,
ay, twice thirty! Sir Peter, poor man! was content to vegetate upon
his estate after the old fashion—never thought of improvement.. What
glorious dyes I shall extract from the bark of the trees in that curious old
copse, his American copse as he called it—and what fine water-mills,
on my improved model, I can erect, where he was content to see the
miller fag in that crazy structure, covered with lichens and ivy, merely
because it looked picturesque.”

With many such visionary schemes did my friend amuse himself as we
walked towards Lincoln’s Inn, and I confess that I became so provoked
as to feel almost sorry that his uncle had left such a confirmed madman
unbounded power over one of the most beautiful estates in England.

The Speculator’s madness, is a madness peculiar to itself. It is not
the madness of affectation, which is fantastical ;—nor of wit, which is
biting—nor of sentiment, which is sickening—nor of honour, which,
according to modern reading, is blood-thirsty—nor yet of love, which
worships ideas as realities—nor of patriotism, which is out of fashion.
But it is a madness of its own, avaricious, yet revelling in the destruc-
tion of wealth ; and in mere wantonness, scattering the gold with the
one hand, it would feign make the world believe it was accumulating
with the other. I have seen several persons possessed with this sort of
mania; but of all, Harris Ryland was certainly the most demented. On
every thing unconnected with speculation he was sane and intelligent, and
I often tried to apply to himself the arguments which he applied to per-
sons and things, but in yain. The moment a project of any kind was
started—the instant a new view of any thing was touched upon, he was
up and away, with as much avidity as was ever evinced by a child
six years old, after a butterfly ; unfortunately, with a great deal more
perseverance.

I heard of Ryland’s taking possession of his estate, of his projecting
and putting in practice such schemes as made the entire neighbourhood,
from the knight of the shire down to the parish clerk, believe that he
was a fit subject for Bedlam ; an opinion which the very paupers would
have echoed, were it not that his humanity and his speculations for once
agreed. He had submitted to the proper authorities a plan for ventilating
alms and workhouses, which he declared would prevent disease from
within, or contagion from without ; and prolong the existence of those
parish incumbrances to immortality! This plan you may be certain
was not relished by the guardians of the poor, and some warm alterca-
tion ensued, which led to a resolution on Ryland’s part to prove the
truth of his theory by putting it at once into practice. Accordingly on
a spot of ground denominated “ Ryland’s Close,” a green picturesque

1831.] The Speculator. 351

valley, girded by a succession of little hills, he actually erected seven
curious but comfortable dwellings, and speedily ‘found occupants for
them, amongst “ the lame, the halt, and the blind,” whom he purposed
curing after his own fashion of their several disorders.. Although the
blind still remained insensible to the beauties and glories of nature,
though the cripple still leaned on his crutch for support, and made the
pavement of his little court-yard echo with the sound that tells of human
infirmity, and though an old woman most obstinately persisted in dying,
at the very moment her speculating physician pronounced her cured,
yet I have no hesitation in affirming, that the time Ryland spent in his
labours for “the poor and friendless,’ were the happiest of’ his life:
the natural benevolence of his heart was gratified, and his disappoint-
ments softened by the real good he effected, and the solid blessings he
bestowed. At this time too, he fell most unaccountably in love. It is
not at all improbable that the father of the girl who attracted his atten-
tion was perfectly aware of the rank and station of Sir Peter Ryland’s
successor, and consequently affected an interest, it was almost impossible
for any but a speculator to feel in the issue of his undertakings ; but I
believe that Lizy Armstrong was too proud, and too amiable, to enter
into any system of manceuvering, although she made the first impression
on my friend’s heart, from the admirable skill she manifested in the
composition of a salve which he applied to a cut finger—cut, while he
was proving, or endeavouring to prove, that the blade of a table knife
fresh from the steel, could be so instantaneously blunted by the applica-
tion of a particular acid, as to turn at the touch of the softest substance ;
unlike most experimentalizers he practised on himself, and the result
proved the absurdity of his theory, and the excellence of Lizy’s plaster.

A rich man’s wooing need seldom be a long one ; and nothing parti-
cular occurred, except that the carriage-springs (of his own construction)
gave way, as they were returning from church, and the bride, white
satin, blonde, and orange-blossoms, were consigned to a hillock by the
road-side, fortunately without any injury, save a great fright, and a great
derangement. After they returned from an excursion which, during our
continental wars, was limited to the Scottish or English lakes, I was
invited by a note, which I preserved as a curiosity, to join the new-mar-
ried pair :

«“ My pear Tom,

* Come to us, and make arrangements to stay as long as you possibly
can. I have made a great discovery—I cannot tell you what it is—but
come—come—I also want you to know Lizy—I will not say any thing
about her, either. Only come. « Yours, as ever.”

« P. S. Pray look at the wax with which this letter is sealed, is it not
beautiful? If more important discoveries did not call my attention, I
could make a fortune by making sealing-wax.”

The ruling passion, thought I, as I turned to examine the envelope.
I could discover nothing particular in the wax, except that it was of a
very deep red ; but as I did not wish to be “ deeper read” in my friend’s
follies, I had half a mind not to go to Ryland Hall. However, a great
deal of curiosity, and I hope some good feeling, or call it perhaps
vanity, which leads us to believe that we can effect what no one else can
—that feeling which persuades many a pretty woman to marry a con-

352 The Speculator. {Ocr.

firmed rake, under the idea, (vanity, what hast thou not to answer for ?)
that she can reclaim him—urged me to believe that I might divert, if not
stem the torrent, and prevail upon “ The Speculator” not to speculate.
Leslie, which of ws was the most absurd ?

It was evening when I arrived at the hall; to my astonishment I
found that there was no porter at the lodge, and, as it appeared
to me, no inhabitants in the house. After ringing and calling,
for a length of time, to no purpose, a withered crone came from
one of the outhouses, and pointing to the plantations, exclaimed :—
“« They be all at the lake.” I made signs (she was as deaf as a post),
to her to shew my servant the way to the stables, and after a hungry
ride of two and forty miles, set off towards the spot, not in the best of
humours, as you may suppose. We are only flesh and blood, Leslie, and
the stomach will cry out, and disturb its unworthy members, whenever
they are improvident or careless of their master’s wants. Just before I
came in sight of the beautiful piece of water which the servant men-
tioned, I heard a tremendous explosion, the very trees vibrated as if an
‘earthquake had riven the hills, and presently after I saw a column of
smoke ascend even to the heavens. Some fatal end, thought I, to his
experiments. I had scarcely time to collect my scattered senses, when a
shout, a joyous shout, burst upon my ear, another and another, and
turning the ally, I came full in view of an animated crowd, upon the
verge of the lake, which was still overshadowed by the smoke : in a few
moments Ryland came running towards me, his face and hands blackened
with gunpowder, but his alacrity clearly proving that he was uninjured
in strength and limb.

“ How fortunate—how very fortunate that you should arrive at this
moment !” he exclaimed, joyfully... “‘ The shaft is sunk, and we were
only puffing some impediments out of our way. A mine! amine! my
friend! a right rich mine !—a glorious copper-mine—by Jupiter! it
sparkles in the sun like gold—and gold it soon shall be—the vein runs
right under the bed of the lake—so we must follow—it was discovered
by mere accident: but you do not congratulate me! Ah, Tom, Tom—
you are a perfect St. Thomas still—but even you must cease to be
sceptical on this subject, when you see the specimens—the indica-
tions -

He hurried me onwards, and certainly shewed me some ore, which
appeared rich with the precious metal. Still I was doubtful, and by
way of changing the subject I inquired for his lady.

“‘ Oh—ay—I forgot—women are strange creatures. She would not
stay to see the explosion, but wandered up the lake. I dare say we
shall soon find her,” he continued, as he wiped “ the filthy witness”
from his hands and face. We plunged into a thicket, almost rendered
impassable by the clusters of roses and honeysuckle that tangled the
foot-path, and after much “sweet encounter” with the blooming and
perfumed shrubs, Ryland exclaimed, “I am sure she is here some-
where, with her favourite swans—Lizy !—Lizy !—Lizette.”—“ Here,
Ryland,” responded a gentle, and I thought, a melancholy voice. We
were soon at her side, and I shall never forget the impression she made
upon me that evening. Do not imagine that I was guilty of the im-
morality of falling in love with my friend’s wife. Nosuchthing. Mrs.
Ryland could not even be called pretty, but she was womanly and

1831.J A The Speculator: 303

interesting ; one glance at her mild face told you that her intellect was
not of a high order ; but there was something better even than talent
about her—there were indications of an affectionate, tender heart, and a
self-sacrificing spirit. She looked at the first glance the personification of
domestic virtue. She was seated on the grass, binding with her scarf
the wing of a large swan, which was evidently much injured: the poor
bird’s entire side had been dreadfully lacerated ; and though her fingers
trembled in the performance of her kind task, they shrunk not from it
—the partner-bird stood at the water’s edge, gazing with an interest that
one would suppose belonged only to creatures of a higher order ; and
as the suffering object writhed under her well-intended care, it emitted
a low moaning sound, telling powerfully of its agony. Mrs. Ryland
looked up, but as I was behind her husband she did not seeme. “ Do,
Ryland, come here, I am sure it is dying—it was so tame, and knew my
voice so well even in this little time.” While she spoke the object of
her attention rolled from her side, and expired after one or two struggles,
which brought it close to its mate. It was affecting to observe the
widowed bird stretch its long neck, and move awkwardly round its
companion ; and I honestly confess that I liked the lady all the better
for seeing more than one tear steal down her cheek.

«« A fragment of the rock you have been excavating struck it,” she
said. “I would not be superstitious, but I cannot think the omen a
good one.” Her husband laughed, and turning to me, observed, “ You
have infested the very air with your scepticism, Tom; my wife even
becomes contaminated.”

Day after day during my visit I heard of nothing but the wonders of
the mine, the riches of the mine, and the extraordinary purposes to
which the wealth acquired from the mine was to be devoted. On the old
principle, that “one fool makes many,’ Ryland seemed determined
that one speculation was to be the founder of others: and I confess that
when I looked upon the gentle helpless woman, whom my friend had
chosen, and thought of the probability there was of his having children
who would cry unto him for bread, when he would have none to give,
my heart sickened within me, and I bitterly cursed the infatuation
which had besotted him. You must not imagine, Leslie, that this mine
was the only experiment my friend engaged in—no such thing—it was
the principal, but not the only one. An outhouse, that, “ in the good
old time,” had been a noble barn, where many a harvest-home had
been joyously celebrated, was filled with long-backed pigs, which
Ryland declared should be fattened on—sea-weed! Note—we were
eighteen miles from the sea. Query—what did the sea-weed cost?
One comfort was that the expense was not of long continuance, for all
the pigs were dead in a month. Was Ryland convinced of the absur-
dity of his experiment? No, he only remarked, that the weed collected
was not of the right kind! Then rabbits—a particular breed of rabbits
was obtained—and these creatures, in three months, were, by a still
more particular course of feeding, to attain the weight of twenty-two
pounds each. To be sure the meat so produced would cost somewhat
about fifteen-pence a pound—but what then ?—think of a rabbit weigh-
ing two-and-twenty pounds! In looking over some horrid old volume
“On the Art and Practice of Gunnery,” he took it into his head that a
cannon could be constructed so as to contain three charges at once, and

354 The Speculator. [Ocr.

only throw forth one at a time. To form this wonderous death-dealing
machine it was necessary to erect a temporary forge, and employ some
London gun-smiths, and between them and the miners the place was
converted into a den of Cyclops. Every one you met had a dingy face
and dirty hands; and I fancied that the fair complexion of his fair
young wife looked darker and darker still, in the atmosphere which
gathered round her. One morning at breakfast, Mrs. Ryland, in her
usual gentle tone, inquired “ how the mine was getting on, and if any
of the ore had yet been disposed of ?”

« Why, not yet, my love,” was the reply, “‘ we have not worked the
profitable portion of the vein yet; in fact, the overseer says, that the
richest part is right in the centre of the lake.”

« Indeed, my dear!” responded his wife, “ and what will it cost you
to get there?”

‘© It is impossible to say.”

« My dear Ryland, the servants have been complaining of getting
nothing but rabbits to eat, five days out of the seven.”

« The rascals!—that rabbit-meat stands me in fifteen-pence a pound
—every farthing of it.”

« My love, we could get beef and mutton for half the sum.”

« My dearest Lizy, allow me to know best.”

“ Certainly, my dear. Did James tell you that the incurable mare
which you cured of the spavins, is dead ?”

« My God!—no—all owing to that d—d fellow’s stupidity—he did
not fodder her properly. The animal was as sound as a rock canteloupe
melon—as well as you or I!”

« James says that the disease only moved from one portion of the
body to another.”

«James is a fool !—and you—my love—I beg your pardon ;—but
you ought really to exert a little common sense. [il prove to you that
I can cure not only spavins but glanders—ay, and in their worst state,
too—I'll buy up all the diseased horses in the county—TI’ll send an
advertisement to that effect to The County Chronicle—and I'll bet a
thousand pounds to a penny that they shall leave me, sound in wind and
limb! That beautiful mare !—Such a neat, light, well-formed head !—
Such a flat, broad forehead !—She had Arabian blood in her veins—
of that I’m certain!”

And away went Ryland, to rate the groom, and actually give direc-
tions for the purchase of diseased horses, that he might prove his
knowledge, in the face of the county !

Mrs. Ryland looked after him, and sighed —I echoed both the
sigh and the sentiment, and resolved to have one more conversation
on the old subject, with Ryland, before I left him, as I found that I
could not remain much longer absent from town. I found him, in the
afternoon, amongst the American trees, whose destruction he had
formerly meditated, snipping and chipping, and smelling at the bark,
evidently intent on some new project. » I led the conversation, and to do
him justice, it is only right to add, that he always replied to my doubts
with good humour, if not with good argument. :

« he fortune you must spend,” I said, at last, hastily—

«© Make, you mean,” he responded.

«“ That is not by any means certain,” I continued ; “ besides, where

;

aw

1831.] The Speculator. 355

you have a wife, who will shortly become a mother, dependant upon
you, you ought at least to settle some portion of your property so that
no speculation could affect it.” ;

«« My dear fellow,” said he, laying his hand on my shoulder, and half
shutting one restless eye—a habit he had ever since I knew him, when
he meditated astonishing you by some sudden display of his talent and
forethought—

« My dear fellow, I have made up my mind, that, be it boy or
be it girl, it shall never wear caps! Caps are the destruction of
infancy—the bane of childhood—they compress the brain, and prevent
the growth of the intellectual faculties !—I have some doubt as to the
propriety of clothing a child at all, but my mind is fully made up on
the subject of caps.”

I turned from him, with a mingled feeling of pity and indignation,
and the next morning returned to town.

During the next three months I neither saw nor heard from Ryland-
hall, except once, when a brace of pheasants, bearing my friend’s card,
told me of his continued good feeling. I was lounging, as usual, at the
Atheneum, when looking over some country papers, my eye was riveted
by the following paragraph :—

“ We are sorry to announce that an accident, attended with the loss of
many lives, occurred yesterday at Ryland-Hall. The worthy proprietor
had discovered what he supposed a vein of copper ore on his estate,
and it is conjectured, pursued it too eagerly to the centre of a beautiful
piece of water, in front of his dwelling: at the very moment when it
was believed the miners had arrived at the richest part, which the
owner hoped would repay his trouble and expense, the water rushed in
from above, and deluged the labour of months with ruin. It is con-
jectured that not less than twenty persons have been overwhelmed in
the dismal shaft ; and many of the surrounding families are plunged in
the deepest distress by the loss of some valued relative or friend.”

This was no time for idle ceremony ; so I mounted the first coach and
found myself ere night at the scene of destruction. The account I had
seen was of course exaggerated ; fortunately only five persons had been
deprived of life, as the greater number of people were at dinner when
the accident occurred. I never beheld Ryland so completely depressed ;
no, not even when he had not a dinner, nor a farthing to purchase one
with. There was no possibility of draining off the water, for a consi-
derable portion of the bed of the lake had fallen in, and every vestige
of the works was destroyed. He wandered round and round the spread
of waters, like a perturbed spirit, and the only happiness he appeared
to experience was in bestowing relief and support on the families of
those who had perished in his service. I knew, however, that this in-
activity would not last.

Good heavens! how changed was that beautiful place in a few short
months. The walks and alleys were blocked up with the huge bodies of
noble trees his ancestors had planted, and stripped of half, or perhaps
the entire of their bark. A portion of the kitchen-garden had been con-
verted to an enormous tan-pit, into which I was near tumbling on my
way to the hot-house, where I found the grey-headed gardener with his
pruning-knife in his hand busy amongst the vines, which had failed “ to
bring forth their fruit in due season.”

356 The Speculator. [Ocr.

“ It's all along measter’s faut,” said the old man; “I bean’t able to
tend the grapery, and fodder two hundred and forty varmint rabbits, that
are ever eating, eating, eating, in the sunlight—in the moonlight—in
rain and dry weather ; to say nothing of a colony of hawks, which he
fosters to destroy the poor rooks, innocent black things! and good
friends to the farmers, though he won't believe it.”

Of course his experiments in favour of horses had invariably failed.
And in addition to his losing hundreds upon hundreds by the purchase
of such a pack of wretched and dying animals, he was obliged to pull
down the stables they had occupied, as every quadruped that entered
became diseased.

The dairy had been metamorphosed into a species of distillery for con-
verting balm and rue, and potatoes, and Heaven knows what, into
brandy. And even the old hall, with its carved oak and moth-eaten
tapestry, had been abused to the vile use of storing sheep-skins, which
were to be prepared after a fashion of the speculator’s, so as to rival all
the sheep-skins ever dressed before or since the flood. It was sad to
view this change; the very birds of the air, as they whirled over the
fallen trees, chirmed their wailings to each other; and even the swal-
lows had abandoned the lake where they had so often dipped their dap-
pled wings, or chased the busy insects which the benevolence of an all-
providing Nature had appointed to be their food.

«Do you remember the poor swan?” said Mrs. Ryland, as she sat
caressing her capless babe, who, notwithstanding the absence of lace
and muslin round its fat laughing face, looked to my eyes, poor helpless
lump! particularly interesting. “ The swan’s blood,” she continued,
mournfully, “was the first shed there. My heart has often bled since.” _
In this brief visit I learnt what I had before anticipated, that my friend
had added to his other speculations that of borrowing money—of ap-
plying to the money-changers—the human harpies who increase and
multiply, and thrive and feast, on the miseries of mankind; they
had taken his broad acres in trust for their comparatively valueless coin,
or decidedly valueless bills, which had to be discounted by other no less
ravenous gentlemen, learned in vice, or the law—which I take it are sy-
nonomous terms. Poor Ryland! even then he might have been saved !
but the madness was still strong upon him, and he returned with tenfold
vigour, when the grief and disappointment occasioned by the mining
misery was forgotten, to fresh speculations.

He came occasionally to town, still intent upon some new project, and
though the green lands of his ancestors were fading from before his eyes,
even as “ the green mantle of the standing pool” fades beneath the hot
blaze of the mid-day sun, yet “ wealth is coming” was his continual cry.

Do you remember his last project, Leslie? It was the cure of Insanity ;
and he converted a summer lodge, at the termination of the alms-houses
I have before-mentioned, which contained some five or seven rooms,
into a mad-house. My poor, poor friend! He was its first inhabitant ;
the storm, which had long been gathering and gathering, burst at last.
There was no reprieve—no means of escape-—he was utterly and hope-
lessly ruined in body and mind. The remnant of that fine estate was
sold, and persons connected, I believe, with the parish authorities,
bought in the very dwellings which Ryland had erected for charitable
purposes. It was more than he could support—his mind was active but

1831.] The Speculator. 357

nerveless, and doubtless perpetual motion had not a little assisted in
destroying what was never at any period of his life strong or vigorous.
ne sank gradually under it, and became little better than a driveling
idiot!
_ Some kind persons secured him a safe asylum in the house founded
by himself. I have seen him twice in his state of hopeless imbecility.
The last visit was peculiarly distressing. His poor wife! She was there,
Leslie, with her two helpless children, gazing upon the living wreck of
what might have been! Good God! isit not dreadful to think how man
perverts the benevolence of his Maker, and how thoughtlessness poisons
the cup of life! And yet the poor idiot was in what would be called
rude animal health: while her black and threadbare garments—her
pallid cheek, and tottering step, substantiated the truth of what her lips
declared—<“ that the world went coldly with her and hers.” She kissed
him at parting, and made the children kiss him too. And he cared not
for those kisses, but looked upon the group with lustreless eyes and a
senseless laugh. She covered her face with her worn hands, and I
heard her sobbings as she passed from the narrow apartment.

So much for the curse of civilized society—the fool’s-paradise of
speculation.

STEAM-PACKET REGULATIONS,

A brief debate has taken place in the Commons upon the means of
providing for the security of the public in the steam-boats ; in which
debate we say, reverentially (as we ought with the fear of the honour-
able house before our printer’s eyes), we did not discover much sense
—the general opinion being, that to make any inspection of those
same steam-boats, as to their sea-worthiness, the state of their
machinery, or the means of escape in case of danger at sea, was an
indelicate distrust of the wisdom, honesty, caution, and so forth, of the
proprietors of the said steam-boats. In short, that the passengers
should look to the affair for themselves; and take care to go on board
no steam-boats of whose security they had not satisfied themselves.

Now we confess that all this sounds very like nonsense. How, in the
name of common sense, are the passengers to know anything on the
subject? They see the George the Fourth or the William the. Fiftieth,
all flourishing in green paint and blue, waiters in white aprons, muffins
and coffee in the cabin, and three fiddlers anda bassoon in fullloyalty of
song on the deck. The sun shines, the smoke towers, the bell rings,
and off they go, tide and wind with them, at the rate of twenty knots
anhour. How are those gay creatures of the element floating along the
“liquid blue,” as the poets of Almacks pronounce it, to know, that in
half an hour every man of them is destined to swim or flounder for his
life? that the boiler is within the millionth part of a square inch of
blowing up every second? that the engine-manis immersed in gin? that
the timbers, however painted they may be, are rotten to the core? that
the captain is an ass, and a savage, and will be dead drunk before the
gallant steamer has evaporated her first peck of coals?

Let the unfortunate Rothsay Castle tell the tale. Of the hundred and
twenty unfortunates who stepped on board that ship in the gaiety of

358 Steam-Packet Regulations. [Ocr.

their hearts, to drink Welch ale at Beaumaris, and return to drink En-
glish ale in the next twenty-four hours at Liverpool, was there a single
soul that could know any thing about the ship, the engine, or the
drunken villain of a captain !

“Tt is now ascertained, beyond all doubt, that the number of pas-
sengers on board the steamer, at the time of her sailing from Liverpool,
exceeded one hundred and ten, to which must be added the captain and
mate, two seamen, the engineer, the steward and his wife, a black boy
and four musicians, making not less than one hundred and twenty-two
souls ; probably more, as many persons are supposed to have gone on
board the ill-fated boat without registering their names. Out of these,
only twenty-two have been saved, leaving a certain total of one hundred
and two individuals who were swallowed by the remorseless waves.”

Now, of the one hundred and two people sacrificed on board of this
ship, how many could possibly know any thing about its condition ; though
they soon discovered that the captain was an unmannerly ruffian, by
his answer to their demands of being put back, and by his insolent ob-
servation that “ there was little danger onboard, but a d—d deal of fear.”
So on they went, brawling and blundering, until the horrid catastrophe
was accomplished.

In this case the fault was the agents’, for they should have provided a
proper captain ; and as a man does not take to habits of insolence and
drinking within the first half hour from his leaving harbour, they ought
to have known how far this fellow was fit to be trusted with men’s lives.
As for the vulgar argument, that self-interest will make the proprietors
take care of their vessel; every man of common experience knows,
that there is a low self-interest as well as a high one, and that there are
proprietors, who, to save sixpence at the moment, would run the hazard
of losing a thousand pounds twelve hours after. With those miserable
ruffians, the first consideration would be a cheap captain, and a rotten
ship ; the saving of wages and repairs altogether effacing the danger of
losing ship and all. Besides, the insurance-office takes off the only
stimulus to their prudence, and sink or swim, away goes the vessel to
sea.—If she goes to the bottom they are not the less secure of their
insurance.

Again, in the best-formed vessels, what provision is there for those
accidents which may befal the best ships that ever crossed the sea? One
of those steam-packets puts out crammed with three or four hundred
people. If the ship springs a leak, runs foul of another, or is driven
on a rock—all which things might happen to her if she had been steered
by Cook himself—there is one boat at the stern, to carry off the whole
four hundred. Half a dozen may escape in the boat; the rest are
lost, beyond all possibility of escape. The whole affair is a general
murder, man, woman and child plunged by wholesale into the bottom
of the deep ; and all this because arascally parsimony in the proprietors,
an insatiable avarice, has refused to give the unhappy people any
chance of escape. What is the use of a legislature if private villany,
for it deserves no gentler name, is thus suffered to prey upon the lives of
the people? The legislature must take the matter in hand, and steam-
boat proprietors must be suffered no longer to sport with life.

It should be enacted—that no steam-boat should be suffered to leave
its station, whether for river or sea, without being, half an hour before,

1831.] Steam-Packet Regulations. 359

visited by an inspector, bound to make a full report of the state of the
vessel, as to its general fitness, the state of its boiler and engine, the
sobriety of its crew and captain, with all other necessary circumstances.

That no steam-vessel going to sea should be permitted to take in any
greater number of passengers, than she has boats on board to provide for
their security in case of accident. And this regulation ought to be most
strictly adhered to; as indispensable in all cases, except in_ rivers like
the Thames, where, from the nearness of the shore, escape is easy.—
That also, every steam-vessel going to sea should be provided with
cork-jackets or swimming-belts, equal to the greatest number of pas-
sengers which she is licensed to carry: a precaution, which, however
apparently slight, would have saved the lives of the whole one hundred
and twenty-two lost on board the Rothsay.—The precautions of ringing
bells in fogs, and hoisting lights in the night, have been of late use, and
compelled only by the experience of dreadful losses; for of all men the
sailor is least alive to precaution, and most disposed to trust to luck.
Those ought to be strictly enforced.

The objection to creating a new band of officers for this work might
be easily obviated by putting it in the hands of the custom-house, and
paying the superintendants’ daily trouble by a trifle from the fare of the
passengers, who would most gladly contribute, if they could have the
additional security. A penny a head, would in general form an ample
recompense. The steam-boats require those regulations peculiarly ;
from the peculiar carelessness of the captains and crews, who look upon
steam as taking all the trouble off their hands, and who in general have
but little to do, but lounge along the decks, tell stories, and smoke their
pipes. Another necessity for official superintendance lies in the proverb,
that “ what is every body’s business is no body’s business.” ‘The pro-
prietors, in nine instances out of ten, know nothing of the property, but
whether it gains or loses them ten per cent. at the end of the season.
An idle agent, an idle ship-owner, or a vulgar skipper, is the responsible
personage, and boiler and ship may be on the point of blowing up,
without their troubling their heads upon the subject. Yet the blowing
up may blow with it four or five hundred lives in a moment. The crowds
that load the steam-boats during all the finer months, and in all the
more stirring parts of the island, make it of infinitely more importance
to legislate for them, than for the common sailing-vessels. One of the
Liverpool steamers will bring two or three hundred people at a trip,
and this happens every day for six months together. The steamers on
the Thames last year, carried upwards of two hundred thousand people
from London, and of course as many back—five hundred on board at a
time being by no means an unusual cargo. The danger is naturally
diminished, while the steamers continue within the river-banks, and the
boats might probably be dispensed with in similar instances. But an
engine will blow up as well within a river’s-banks as on the ocean, and
the inspection of those vessels and their machinery cannot be too fre-
quent, nor too exact for public safety. In America, there are capital
boats, plenty of proprietors, smart captains, and machinery made from
the very forges of Soho. Yet, as republicanism disdains inspection,
there are no inspectors, and the consequence is, that accidents on the
American lakes and rivers are perpetually occurring, and accidents of
the most horrid and sweeping nature. The American captain drinks
his rum uncontrolled by the slavish fear of authority, the engineer does

360 Steam-Packet Regulations. [Ocr,

the same with the same sense of freedom ; the crew, being all freemen,
exhibit their predilections for rum, undisturbed by the frowns of kings,
peerage, or parliament; the ship takes fire during the general
libation to liberty,—and captain, crew, ship and passengers are roasted
whole. It was but the other day, that one of the largest steamers navi-
gating Lake Erie went to the bottom at once, with, the papers say,
seven hundred people on board !

We are glad to see that a member of the Commons is about to bring
in a bill on the subject. Let it be brief, plain, and practical, and it
must pass. Before half-a-dozen years are out, three-fourths of the sea-
going vessels, and all the river-vessels of Britain, will be steamers. The
liability to accidents will naturally multiply with the navigation, and
nothing can prevent the most dreadful catastrophes, but the direct inter-
position of the Legislature ; and the sooner it saves us from the rapacity
of proprietors, and the carelessness of captains and sailors, the better.

BREVITIES.

DrinkING, with a view to heighten natural good-spirits, is like
attempting to improve the natural fragrance of the rose by smearing it
with pomatum.

A benevolent man would not so much wish for the lever of Archi-
medes to move the world itself, as for a moral lever that would enable
him to lift its inhabitants one degree nearer to heaven ;—and this glo-
rious privilege every such man does in a degree possess. His example
operates as a strong arm, stretched out to raise his fellows to the eminence
he has reached himself.

In the heathen mythology, Diana was twin-born with Apollo—a use-
ful hints to poets of the luxuriant class.

It is a severe satire on mankind to say that prosperity is more difficult
to bear than adversity. The maxim implies a natural meanness or
malignity in those to whom it is applicable ; for if a man has but the
habitual wish to diffuse happiness, what more does he require to make
his prosperity a blessing to himself and all about him?

Fame, like money, can never be enjoyed while we are obliged to dun
the world for it. That only is worth having which comes unasked.

Genius is the wand of an enchanter ;—talent, the strength of a

jant.
é Continuing the game-laws in order to induce country-gentlemen to
reside on their estates, reminds one of Master Billy enticed to school by
his tender parents, with a promise that, if he is a good boy and minds
his book, he shall kick the cat about when he comes home.

The Genius of Astronomy, with his starry wand, has effectually
shivered the fortress of Superstition—shivered, but not destroyed ;—
almost every one possesses a piece of the ruin as a sort of relic; but it
can never be re-united as a place of strength to overawe the nations.
Where Newton is freely studied and believed, we shall have no more
religious wars.

Nations are sometimes, though rarely, ungrateful ; but they much
oftener commit the folly of being grateful infinitely overmuch. Let them
beware of this ; it is wasting one of the most precious streams, that Pro-
vidence has ordained to fructify human genius and benevolence.

ee

1831.] [ 361 J

STERNE AND THE DUKE OF WHARTON: A DRAMATIC SCENE.

[Tur Duke of Wharton, author of “Crazy Tales,’ and “ The Senti-
mental Journey continued,” had a peculiar and unconquerable aversion
to the north-east wind ; so much so, that he had a weathercock placed
in such a situation before his bed-room window, that he could imme-
diately apprize himself of the quarter from which his dreaded enemy
issued ; if it was from the north-east the duke confined himself to his
room, and partially to his bed, for the whole day. His friend and
companion, Laurence Sterne, is reported to have played off the joke upon
which the following sketch is founded.] 5

Dramatis Persone.
LAURENCE STERNE—THE DUKE OF WHARTON.

Scenr.—A room in Skelton Castle, Yorkshire ; through a window is
perceplible the vane of a meathercock, pointing due south STERNE
is seated at a table covered with books.

Sterne. The very demon of mischief has possessed me this morning.
By the soul of Momus ’tis a lucky hit! A pestilent north-east wind is
stirring. Now, Eugenius, rise from thy couch, draw the curtains of
thy window, look on thy trusty weathercock, count the vibrations of
thy placid pulse, and come down to breakfast. Assist me, hypocrisy ;
and, assuming that moody garb I am too often doomed to wear, beshrew:
me if I convince not Eugenius that I am the most melancholy man of
the two! Mental delusion! thou dubious devil!—what a bugbear
art thou, to chain down to his pillow for the live-long day a man like
Eugenius !

Enter WHARTON.

Wharton. Good morrow, Yorick: thou hast been up betimes ; for,
missing thee at breakfast table, inquiry elicited that thou wert stirring
with the lark. What can have transpired to disturb so light-hearted a
repose as thine?

Sierne. Be serious, and I will tell thee. Last night I had a terrific
dream, in which thyself wert a shadowy actor, Eugenius. Methought
I had been strolling with thee through the balmy meads and gardens
of Skelton Castle, on a summer’s afternoon, enraptured with earthly and
aérial beauty, when suddenly the heavens became overcast—the wind
shifted to the north-east.

Wharton. Pshaw!

Sterne. Mock me not, for I am already a half-convert to thy nervous
creed.—I say, the wind shifted to the north-east, and arose with
tremendous power, blighting the trees and flowers, and driving the
cattle to phrenzy. Looking upwards, I beheld in the air shapes of
monstrous proportions and awful visages ; and dismal shrieks and_ yells
were heard on the boisterous hurricane. I turned to look at the castle,
but its embattled walls and clustering towers had supernaturally
changed—nay, even the very earth and its objects became impalpable—
and in the midst of the appalling metamorphose stood the lord and
master of the unearthly mansion, (his head enveloped in a triple night-
cap, and with “ Burton’s Anatomie of Melancholie” under one arm, and
a copy of his own “Crazy Tales” under the other,) petrified with fear—the
precise personation of an Egyptian mummy. Such a scene was too

M.M. New Series.—Vouw. XII. No. 70.

~

362 Sterne and the Duke of Wharton: a Dramatic Scene. (Oct.

horrifying, Eugenius ; I awoke in terror, and starting out of bed, the
light of the soothing morn attracted me to the window, and the first
ebject which presented itself was thy weathercock, pointing from the
congenial south !

Wharton. Have mercy on my weakness, Yorick! yet, despite thy
raillery, I shall persist in my belief of the cause of my malady. This
morning, to wit—did the wind blow from the pestilent quarter—I should
not be where, and as, I am; and so acutely susceptible are my nerves of
the change, that I am sensible of it the moment I feel the first breath of
the morning. I never was in better spirits than at present—a proof,
Yorick, of the fallacy of thy ridicule in that particular.

Sterne. Now, thou laughest at my dream, Eugenius ; but I verily
pray that the devil, of which thou hast been dispossessed, may not have
entered me ; for I feel wofully chop-fallen. However, I rejoice in thy
convalescence ; for, without thee, I am but as a mateless sparrow on
the house-top—my chirruping ceases, and I hide my head under my
wing.

Wharton. This day I am determined to be social ; therefore make up
thy mind to amuse and be amused, Yorick ; and I promise thee that
there is no arrow inthe quiver of thy wit, however surpassing in keen-
ness, which shall pierce the panoply of my good-nature.

Sterne. God bless thee, Eugenius! thou wert surely created to put
me in love with life; I can better paint thy impassioned friendship by
likening it to a beautifully transparent basin of snowy marble, into
which the fountain of my overflowing heart discharges its fervid torrent,
settling there into a tranquil and glassy repose. With thee I could
leave the world and become a monk—what thinkest thou of me for a
monk? Heavens, what a blissful existence! To kneel devoutly while
the melodious quiverings of the matin hymn reverberated through the
fretted choir of some old monastery, and the joyous sunlight streamed
through the flaunting colours of its many windows ; to bend in adora-~
tion on the moon-lit mosaic floor, and prefer a prayer to the unseen
Virgin; and, immured in Gothic magnificence, and surrounded by the
glory of nature, pass to heaven without spot or blemish—but, pardon
me, absent Eliza! my assuming the cowl could be only on the unallow-
able condition that thou shouldst accompany me.

Wharton. A true Cistercian, on my soul! So this is the finishing

stroke to thy painting of monastic beatitude! Thy outline sketch was
somewhat in character; but no sooner did I feel solemnized by its
embodiment, than thy wicked pencil introduced a petticoat. Thou a
monk ! why thou wouldst have been enough to have procured the dis-
solution of all the religious houses in Christendom; and had sly old
Harry taken thee as a specimen of monastic rectitude, it would have
saved Thomas Cromwell’s journeys, and have doomed the abbeys without
further investigation. 'Take thee in the humour for worshipping the
virgin, and thou wouldst acquit thyself most devotionally, no doubt ;
but how long might the fit last ?
_ Sterne. Why, on a second thought, three months out of the twelve ;
the other nine of which I should like to take leave of my beads and
rosary, my cowl and crucifix, and take a ramble to France, returning as
good a monk as ever. I would never abuse the sanctity of my seclusion
by so much as a smile, unless thou, Eugenius, let slip some unlucky
repartee, or whispered in my ear one of thy crazy chapters.

1831.] Sterne and the Duke of Wharton: a Dramatic Scene. 363

Wharton. Nay, an’ thou wilt affect the cloister, I must suppose thee
entering a nunnery, disguised as one of the sisters, and the third evening’s
moon lighting thy precipitate retreat through one of the narrow win-
dows, accompanied by a veiled virgin: thou mightst take her to the
** sweet south,” enshrine her image in thy voluptuous fancy, and fall
down and worship her—quarrel with her in a week, and in one month
forget the whole occurrence.

Sterne. I allow, Eugenius, that I am as fickle as thine own weather-
cock ; yet trust me, were I elevated for its purposes, I would never
point from the pestilent north-east, for thy sake !

Wharton. My own weathercock !—an apt analogy, to witness to the
truth of which I might call thine own Eliza.

Sterne. Yet how cheerfully could I refer thee to her for an irrefraga-
ble declaration of my affection and constancy !

Wharton. Forgive the sally, and most sincerely will I make amends,
by contending that thou art a true poet ; yea, and I defy all the critics
and half-wits who weekly chatter about thy genius, to disprove the
assertion. I would choose as arbiter of the question, not a systematic
and icy reviewer, but one of Nature’s own manufacture, with a heart
like Rousseau’s, and let him peruse thy letters to Eliza; one of which
commences—* Yes, I will steal from the world, to a retreat so remote
and tranquil that Echo shall not whisper of it. Suffer thy imagination
to paint it as a little sun-gilt cottage on the side of a romantic hill, with
woodbined windows and straw-roof, where the birds might revel in the
brightness of morning. But, thinkest thou I will leave love out of the
question ?—No, Eliza shall go with me!” Now there is more real
poetry in that single passage than a hundred of the pigmy productions
7H appear in the hobbling reviews and sleepy miscellanies of the

ay.
Dearie: So thou hast elected me a critic with “a heart like Rous-
seau’s ?”—-Now mad-cap fortune defend me from the censorship of such
a visionary! and give me rather Voltaire.

Wharton. Voltaire? ha, ha!—I laugh to think what unsparing havoc
his pen would make of thy romantic sensibility, Yorick. Only to ima~
gine his withered and wicked-looking phiz poring over thy “ Senti-
mental Journey’--the bare mention of it is provocative of laughter.
Were he, however, to turn over the leaves of thy “ Tristram Shandy,”
he would relax into sympathy: and, further, were he to meet thee on
thy bony steed, (vide the Parson’s description of himself) like Death on
the Pale Horse, he would instantly recognise thee as of the fraternity
of skinny wits, and thrusting forth his anatomy-like fingers, give thee a
hearty shake of the hand.

Sterne. Speak somewhat more reverently of my bony steed, as thou
art facetiously pleased to call him, though thou rail at me; for there
existeth not his counterpart in all the neighbourhood, famous, too, for
horses. Had Cervantes beheld him before writing “ Don Quixote,”
then Rosinante had never been; for he would have immortalized the
parson’s hack instead of the knight-errant’s. But, by Jupiter! though
it may furnish Eugenius with mirth, I am wofully taxed, both in pocket
and patience, by my beast’s want of flesh, and his sorry speed. There
is no protection against his huge and piercing bones ; and, with their
friction against my own, I am fairly galled by the osseous contact.
The falling of a thunderbolt would not alter his pace, and the seasons he

212

364 Sterne and the Duke of Wharton: a Dramatic Scene. (Ocvr.

sets at defiance. I have with me on my excursions an arch little
urchin from the village of Coxwold, in order to administer to him the
whip 4 posteriori ; but his flagellations have no more effect than the
tickling of a straw. To provide myself against the casualties of the
weather, I am obliged to carry an umbrella as large as an Arab’s tent,
else I should be soaked to the skin ere old Scarcity would move a jot
the quicker.

Wharton. Place it to the account of thine own avarice, Yorick, that
thou ridest so beggarly a hack. Thou hast given us thy whimsical and
opposite reasons for such adoption :—the first, that, mounted on such an
attenuated animal, thy musings were as much benefited as by having
“a death’s head” before thee ; the second, that the horse and his rider
were, “ centaur-like, both of a piece;” the third, that being of about
the dimensions of a good-sized walking-stick, thou couldst not endure
to bestride “a fat horse ;’ but the real motive confessedly originated in
a desire to save thy pelf; for, possessing a tolerable beast, he was bor-
rowed by the husband of every parturient woman in the parish ; and his
value was frittered down from twenty-five to five pounds, by continual
gallopings to and from the accoucheur.

Sterne. May Fate consign me to execration, if my soul be tainted by
the hell-born vice of avarice! If I am parsimonious, it is to supply the
waste of expenditure, not to hoard up gold in my coffers: besides, the
skeleton parson and his fleshless steed furnish amusement to the whole
village ; when they pass, “the bucket is suspended in the middle of the
well ;” the house-wife runs to the door, leaving her pots unwashed, and
her floor unswept ; the ploughman stops his team, though in the middle
of a furrow ;—to have a peep at the parson. Now, I am surprised,
Eugenius, that thou canst assign no other origin to all this interest but
that of avarice.

Wharton. Fitting provision for thy family, Yorick, if not care for thy-
self, may justify that necessary economy which I have thoughtlessly
termed avarice. But of what trivial moment is a disquisition begun so
innocently, though taken up so seriously !

Sterne. Nay, 1 wish but to convince thee how lightly I esteem riches:
as for my family, they are but two, Eugenius, a wife and daughter, and
I commend them to the support and protection of the same Being who
has hitherto spread my own table. As for myself, were my years to out-
number those of Methuselah, I must die; and I had rather it be said
that “ Yorick ended his days in a garret, after a merry life spent in
affluence,” than that the country journalist should add to his newspaper
obituary of me, “he died rich, having lived most parsimoniously.”’

Wharton. Confusion! why I could swear that the north-east wind was
chilling thy blood with its demoniac breath! And now may come my
turn to be jocular.

Sterne. To continue, Eugenius — How little it avails us mortals to
either build or hoard, when we look upon the impressive mutability
which surrounds us! Behold the rich expanse of verdant beauty sloping
from this window, where peace and love have taken up their abode, and
the very trees seem conscious of sympathy, as they mingle their well-
clad boughs in vernal friendship ; and the unsophisticated ploughman
walks over the upturned earth with ruddy and contented aspect, as his
children revel before their stony dwelling, little dreaming of the count-
less changes time will bring forth. Yon little church, whose Norman

1831.] Sterne and the Duke of Wharton : a Dramatic Scene. 365

battlements have stood the brunt of a thousand years, will soon shade the
grave of their father ; the cottage will revert to strangers; another will
plough the fertile soil ; those trees will shed their golden tears, and fall
beneath the axe of the woodman ; that gorgeous sky will be overcast,
and its colouring hid by autumnal clouds, and yon joyous fledgelings
will experience separation and sorrow: some of them may be slain in
patriotic warfare for their country ; others, after years of agricultural
slavery, may sicken and die at home. In short, what I have been so
long in describing, Shakspeare embodied in one pithy line—and I
would to Heaven that my friend Davy were here to give it!

** Life’s a walking shadow ; a poor player.”

Wharton. Imaginary, Yorick, imaginary !—Thou hast given the reins
to thy fancy to-day, and the devil could not stop it !

Sterne (aside). Be it so, my Antony; but I shall by-and-by take
my leave of fancy, and come to fact ; and if I do not convince thee that
it is in our nature to fear less that which is than that which seems to be,
then will I forswear all collusion with the wind, and leave thy cursed
weathercock to be blown about as the weather may please.

Wharton (who has taken up Rousseaus “ Confessions’). Romantic
Rousseau, the etherial fire kindled by thee on nature’s altar, will illumi-
nate the wilds of sorrow when thou her chosen priest art no more!
Thy words have given immortality to the localities of thy home; and
when thou hast departed thence to adorn another existence, the “ vine-
clad hill” will still bear its gorgeous load, the lake reflect the imagery of
the clouds, the sun continue to wrap thy native town in rising and
setting light, and all of beauty, save mortality, will survive thee ; but
thy wand of sorcery has been waved over the scenery, and it is conse-
crated for ever !

Sterne. Just such another weathercock mortal as Eugenius !

Wharton. Next to blasphemous, Yorick! His are the feelings of a
god: he approaches the temple of nature with “fear and trembling,”
nor plucks even a flower but with hesitation: his most latent sensibilities,
his most nebulous imaginings, have in them that which commands our
sympathy: in love—

Sterne. He is an ass, Eugenius.

Wharton (angrily). Perhaps he may partake less of that character
than he who could stop the said animal in the street, and exchange
symptoms of condolence with him for those blows from his master,
which would have been better bestowed on the meagre sentimentalist
himself.

Sterne. Rousseau in love! A Genevese fish-wife, and a Provencal
orange-girl, a courtezan of the Palais-Royale, and a third-rate dancer at
the opera, possess enough of accomplishment to constitute them, in his
eye, divinities !

Wharton. And why not, when waiting-wenches at inns, and female
decoy-birds behind the counters of shops, are to be seen ¢éte-a-léte with
Yorick ?

Sterne. Yet I am no Rousseau, sleeplessly tossing whole nights on his
bed, and rising at an early hour, no matter what the weather, to ensure
that morning kiss from the lips of his agonizing fair one, granted by
courtesy and the usage of his country! Give me the realities of love—
wedded rights and lawful possession.

366 Sterne and the Duke of Wharton: a Dramatic Scene. [Ocr.

Wharton. Stay, my rigid monk, some half hour ago, were expressed
thy chastened yearnings to exist but amidst wax-tapers and painted
windows ; now, thou art out-Rochestering Rochester. I contend, that
in all thy sententious journeyings—thy rencontres with pretty jilles-de-
chambres and prattling milliners—thy exchanging of snuff-boxes, thy
grievings over a dead ass, and thy maniac-like communings with Maria,
thou wert but playing the mime to Rousseau !

Sterne. Critics have accused me of being a plagiarist in words, but
Eugenius impugns me as a plagiarist in deeds. Still, following up my
censures of Rousseau, I will maintain that, in love, possession takes the
precedence of all its delights. Ask Garrick, after he has been playing
Romeo, whether it be not the veriest dream, to wait beneath the balcony
of his mistress (another’s wife the while), beseeching the “ sun to kill
the envious moon,” and wishing that he “ were a glove upon her hand,
that he might touch her cheek.” I know Davy better, than not to sup-
pose that he will laugh in his sleeve at his eye-wiping audience. The
doting young gentleman and the adored young lady may each retire to
their couch of solitude, to dream about “ Romeo and Juliet,’ and
Garrick’s acting; but, mark it, Eugenius—the curtain drops; the
audience depart, the stage-lights are extinguished, and the actor is
charioted to his home, where he finds awaiting him, a sumptuous supper,
two or three bottles of champagne, and Mrs. Garrick !

Wharton. Well, well, Yorick ; sneer not at Rousseau, for thou art his
counterpart.

Sterne. Not in fiddling, any how: but I give up the argument, for I
grow weary of litigation. Look here, Eugenius, (taking up a volume of
Shakspeare,) these, not exclusive of “ Romeo and Juliet,” are the emana-
tions of a genius, seduced not by wit on the one hand, nor intoxicated
by imagination on the other ; of one who watched Nature till he beheld
her emerge from her mint, and then entered and stole her dies.

Wharton. Ay: but Shakspeare’s paucity of wit is attributable to his
not possessing the quality, and not to his judicious abstinence from it:
That he took no cognizance of the good-humoured raillery of Ben
Jonson, is a proof that he abstained from the combat, because wanting
the weapon with which he was challenged.

Sterne. Fallacy, Eugenius. What is his character of Falstaff, but the
life and soul of wit embodied in an earthly and every-day shape? De-
pict the poet as an abstracted painter, whose energies were absorbed in
the task of ornamenting with original pictures an alabaster temple,
reared in the recess of a woody solitude, and destined to be eternal—
how could he stay his pencil, and stoop from the dome of that ever-
during fabric to listen to the jibes and jests of one planting perishable
flowers, or even more lasting evergreens, around its portico? Look at
their visages ; the lucid veil of poetry hides the one ; the other is, what
the offended Dekker declared it to be, “ like unto a rotten apple.”

Wharton. And yet it is surprising that Shakspeare should have made
such clumsy essays to be sprightly and satirical, ending often. in the
school-boy achievement of a silly play upon words.

Sterne. Professedly making his fools speak foolishly, and his wise men
sagely.

Wharton. Well—so be it. How wags the world with thee at thy
curacy, Yorick ?

Sterne. ’Tis a lonely wilderness, a cenobitish seclusion. Thou knowest

1831.] Sterne and the Duke of Wharton: a Dramatic Scene. 367

that “I hate the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba, and say,
tis all barren ;” but assuredly such a scene of ennui I never beheld.
From the window of my old mansion I behold, perhaps, half-a-dozen
individuals in the lapse of a day. Here is the picture,—the village,
with its grass-covered pavement, seems asleep in the sunshine ; scarcely
a passing foot to disturb its slumbers from morn to night: the cawing
of a saucy rook from the top of a tree, or the bellowing of an overfed
bull in a pasture, often fills up an hiatus of two hours. Perhaps the
rolling of some distant and coming chariot may summon the women to
the window, eager to behold some indication of humanity besides them-
selves ; suppose it to be a spectacled antiquary driving to the neigh-
bouring ruin of Byland Abbey ; now his countenance is tolerable, con-
trasting it with that of the driver of yon load of hay—not an idea there
above the swine’s flesh he feeds upon. How whimsical a contact,
Eugenius, should the man of lore stop his vehicle to inquire of the
rustic about the style, date of erection, and what illustrious characters
have had sepulture in the wealthy old abbey.

Wharton. Yes, whimsical indeed ; should he be fool enough to put
such outrageous interrogations to one so incompetent to answer them.
But look not with jaundiced vision, Yorick ; there is somewhat of inci-
dent, even at Coxwold.

Sterne. It presents little tome, however. IfI visit the apothecary, he
wearies me with his symptomatic and pathognomic distinctions of fever ;
if I call upon the tithe collector, he draws upon my patience with his
dissertations on the different qualities of land ; if I meet my parish clerk,
he exclaims against the remissness of the parishioners in attending
Sunday service; and if I look in upon the venerable old landlady of
the little alehouse, she detains me with the history of the hamlet for the
last three quarters of a century, and laments the innovations of recent
introduction ; dwelling on the preference of linsey-wolsey to printed
cotton, and censuring the village “ lasses” for wearing white stockings.

Wharton. Vapid as these retirements and their humble incidents may
be to us, a race of poets and poetasters, novel and essay writers, shall
arise, who, scorning the cold though classical path of their predecessors,
shall discover, amidst these rustic retreats, the brightest gems of literary
adornment.

Sterne. Yes, when the sheets of thy “ Crazy Tales” will be found
enveloping the butter in the market-woman’s basket ; and the “ Senti-
mental Journey,” be sacrilegiously employed to singe fowls—when the
inscription, “ Alas, poor Yorick !” may be erased from my monument,
and the stone itself’ deposited in the lumbering belfry by the officious
sexton—and when all of Eugenius shall be found beneath a triple row
of coffins in the cemetery of his fathers!

Wharton. Confound thy changing notes! Thou wouldst horrify me,
let the wind blow from what quarter it would.

Sterne. Suppose, Eugenius, it should be now in the north-east ; for
though it appears to point meridionally, yet the chilly air, and the
struggling sunbeams, indicate that hellish breeze thou so fearest.

Wharton. No more of thy airy nonsense, Yorick. If it be a whimsy
then will I this day renounce it: but the whole world, leagued to dis-
suade, could not shake my belief regarding this physical affection—my
recruited spirits, temper, and appetite, are proofs irrefragable that my

368 Sterne and the Duke of Wharton: a Dramatic Scene. [Ocr.

nerves cannot brook the oppressive blight of the north-east ; but that
when released from its influence, I become a new man.

Sterne. Then, what the universe would fail to accomplish, one atom of
it, even I, Laurence Sterne, will alone and quickly achieve !

[Exit SteRNE.

Wharton. Whither flies the madman ?—(rising, and looking from the
window, through which is seen Sterne, mounted on a ladder, untying the
weathercock.)—Ha, ha!—what a tit-bit for caricature !—Don Quixote
on the wind-mill—the Devil on the mount! Ah !—am I right >—most
truly do I believe that his cursed fingers—’sdeath! I see it—have
bound the weathercock as pointing to the sunny south; and with so
firm a tether that were Eolus to let loose the four winds of heaven they
would fail to move it. Yes, by Heaven, he releases it, and it reverts to
the north-east! Fool that I was to fancy myself so much the better !
If I speak to Yorick, for a month to come, may that d—d weathercock
never shift its position! I feel, and I have felt all the day, unaccount-
ably heavy , but that hair-brained parson would seduce Satan himself
to forego his quality !—[ Shuts the window in a passion—Slerne stands
laughing at him upon the ladder.
: H.

SONNET.

Narure will have her way. What boots it then

To strive against our natural impulses ?

Those who have thought them gods were less than men,
But never were there gods such men as these,

Homer, and Milton, and Demosthenes !

Names that shall dazzle with their brightness, when
Kings and their conquerors shall pass away,

Even to their own poor nothingness and clay.

The glitter of a bauble, or a crown,

The boast of conquest, or the gift of shame—

Oh! what are they to those who hold a claim

To an undying and deserved renown :—

To the bright glory of a starlike name,

Robed with the light of everlasting fame. R.F.W.

1831] [ 369 J

THE CHARACTER AND ANECDOTES OF NICOLAS CHAMFORT.

Tue literature of France is singularly rich in those brief yet vivid and
philosophic portraitures of our passing virtues, and those acute and
searching remarks upon the habits and peculiarities of men, to which
the names of caractéres, or maximes, or pensées, have been indiscrimi-
nately given. We might look in vain among the productions of our
own country, many and glorious as they are in every department of
knowledge, for any collection of thought worthy of comparison with
the quaint yet living Amusemens de la Maison of the Abbé de Bruges ;
or the Reflexions of Vauvenargues, which passed under the revision of
Voltaire, who considered their author entitled to take his place by the
side of Fenelon and Paschal; or, least of all, with the Caractéres of
La Bruyere, who may, without exaggeration, be said to have united
the most intimate acquaintance with the variable workings of the mind,
to the most perfect mastery of language and aptitude of illustration ;
and to have blended the rich and graphic humour of Moliére, with the
beautiful and moral grandeur of Bossuet.

With the exception, perhaps, of one or two detached pictures in
Lucian, neither among the treasures of antiquity, nor in the multitude
of modern books, had La Bruyere any model. The philosopher, in the
time of Lucian, as Goldsmith with his usual felicity has observed, was
chiefly remarkable for his avarice, his impudence, and his beard.

The Characters of Theophrastus, which he translated, resembie the
Caractéres of the French moralist in nothing but the name. The pupil
and successor of Aristotle, with much of vigour and animation indeed,
discourses of virtue, and wit, and all the mysteries of mortal passion ;
but it is like a professor in his college-chair ; he seems to describe what
he had thought, rather than what he had seen. He gives outlines, so to
speak, of folly, and sin, and misery, sometimes struck off by a hand not
wanting in knowledge of situation or decision of touch; but Bruyére
brings the scene, the very life, before our eyes ; he animates the thought,
and personifies the idea, until we cease to look upon poverty or wealth
as abstract blessings or misfortunes; we cease to behold the delicate
links which the moralist is imperceptibly weaving into a chain of exqui-
site workmanship. The favourite and the outcast of nature, in their
contrasted splendour and misery, are called up, as by a spiritual ministry,
before our wondering eyes; we see, not as in a glass darkly, but face to
face, the up-turned and heaven-gazing countenance and contemptuous
bearing of the one, and the stooping shoulders, and earth-seeking eye,
and the hat drawn over the brows, of the other ; and we exclaim in the
words of the painter himself, ‘ Il est pauvre !—il est riche !”

La Bruyere has been styled by his eulogist Victorin Fabre, the painter
of society and manners. Passing the earlier years of his life amid the
seductive influences of a gay and voluptuous metropolis, he appears to have
yielded to the feelings and passions of the age with a view of observing
them more clearly and satisfactorily. Intellect is the eye of the soul ; and
never, surely, was it turned with more penetrating earnestness, than by
the author of the Caractéres, upon the many and strange vicissitudes
of life. Society may be said to have sat to him for her portrait, and
having, with watchful and unwearied asssiduity, carried away in_ his
memory each feature and even shade of expression, whether of joy or
sorrow, or guilt or innocence, or craft or ingenuousness, which long and

370 The Character and Anecdotes of Nicolas Chamfort. [Ocr.

careful observation had enabled him to discover, he retired from the
tumult and distraction of the world, and, like a painter of the old time,
living among the creations of his genius, devoted the remaining years
of his life to their delineation. To write the aphorisms of meditation,
is one thing ; to communicate the truths of painful experience, is ano-
ther. The German physiognomist studied the passions in the counte-
nance; La Bruyere, in the conversation and the actions. He was the
Lavater of the understanding.

There are two classes of moralists, as well as of politicians: one makes
man a pilgrim and an alien upon a dreary and desolate land, plodding
along in sickness, and suffering, and despair—an outcast, under the eye
of a relentless inquisition ; the other puts a crown of flowers upon his
head, and sends him into the crowd as into a triumphant festival. The
greater number of moralists have, for the most part, inclined to the
former opinion. Montaigne, La Bruyére, La Réchefoucault, Swift,
Mandeville, Helvetius, and many whom I could add to the list, have
found life a thing requiring tears rather than rejoicing. It does not,
that I can discover, at all detract from the excellence of a moral axiom,
that the many which have been addressed to the great and powerful
have failed in producing an adequate result. The ingenious writer from
whose Maximes et Pensées I propose making one or two extracts;
deceived himself in uttering such an idea. The Christian religion has
now been dwelling among us during a period of more than eighteen
hundred years; and yet of how small comparative efficacy have her
ministrations been productive! Lord Brougham would be loth to
exchange the woolsack for the calm and saintly solitude of the hermit’s
cell; and Wilberforce would shew no particular eagerness, I ex-
pect, to sell half of his possessions, and give the money to the poor.
These things are so, and yet who would think of reproaching religion
that she had done so little? Iam wandering, however, from the sub
ject.

A moralist must live in the world ; he must play his part in its comedy
and its tragedy, and follow sometimes in the train, and at others as a
spectator, of its pomps and vanities; he must analyse the component
parts of which its loves and enmities are compounded. His experience
will then, it may be, enable him to discover which sides of the soul it
will be necessary to paralyze, if he would live happily in the world. The
idea, which the reader I doubt not will appreciate as it deserves, is taken
from one of the Maximes of M. Chamfort. A man must have seen much,
and suffered still more, before he could have made such a reflection.
Johnson, with all his knowledge of mankind, and all the light which
a surprising intellect enabled him to pour forth, is still rather a theo-
retical moralist. Nature, as beheld in books, resembles a drama per-
formed behind a green curtain. Victorin Fabre has a very pertinent
observation, in his Eloge de la Bruyére, wpon the modes in which three
celebrated writers have written upon women, which may be no unplea-
sant illustration of our remarks. Thomas, for instance, an elegant and
accomplished writer, but knowing nothing of the female character
except from history, composes an eulogy in the style of Plutarch when
celebrating a Grecian or Roman hero; Rousseau, whose acquaintance
with the spirit of the sex cannot be questioned, pourtrayed it with the
accuracy of a philosopher, though he injured the truth of his picture
not a little by the soft and Italian tone of its colouring ; but La Bruyere

1831.] The Character and Anecdotes of Nicolas Chamfort. 371

passes before our eyes, like a series of anatomical plates, his wonderful
delineation of their loves and caprices, their devotion and hypocrisy,
their enthusiasm and their hatred. His history seems to be the trans-
cript of a manuscript written by the hand of Nature herself.

A brief account of the author whose name is at the head of this paper,
more especially as he is very little known even to French scholars in this
country, may not be uninteresting to the reader.

Sebastian-Roch-Nicolas Chamfort was born, in 1741, in a village near
Chamont, in Auvergne. Unnoticed and unregarded by his father (he
was illegitimate), he interests our feelings by the warm and glowing
affection with which, in his boyhood days, he conducted himself towards
his mother. Excluded by the prejudices of opinion, as his biographer
phrases it, from a place in honourable society, he devoted himself assi-
duously to the improvement of his talents, and finally obtained, by his
genius, what had been denied to his birth. His success at the university
was proportionate to his merits. The second year he carried away all
the prizes. It was with this happy omen that young Chamfort con-
cluded his studies; and he entered upon the avocations of life with
nothing but virtue for his guide, and learning for his patrimony. After
many changes of place and occupation, he thought himself fortunate in
being appointed secretary to a wealthy gentleman ef Leige, who pro-
fessed himself to be a patron of letters, and offered the destitute student
his protection and assistance. But the Mecenas of Chamfort resembled
the Mecenas of Horace no more than the Cicerone of Rome the Cicero
of the republican age—he had perceived the literary talent of his élite,
and had engaged him in the hope of appropriating the fame of some of
his compositions to himself. But Chamfort scorned the idea of pander-
ing to the ignorance of the wealthy, and he returned to Paris as poor
and as independent as he had quitted it. He supported himself during
the two following years by contributions to various literary journals—
among others, to the Journal Encyclopédique ; but his labour was harass
ing, and his emolument trifling. His success in the literary world may
be dated from the publication of his Jeune I ndien, and was rapidly
increased by his Marchand de Smyrna, and other miscellaneous produc-
tions. His Eloges de Moliére et La Fontaine obtained the prize proposed
by the French Academy and the Academy of Marseilles. His tragedy
of Mustapha et Zeangir, in which the queen is said to have discovered
some flattering references to herself, introduced the author to the notice
and favour of the court. He was, soon after, nominated “ Secretaire
des Commandemens” to the Prince of Conde.

So far the life of Chamfort had passed in a gentle and delightful sere-
nity ; but it was soon to be shaken into tumult by the rushing whirlwind
of the coming revolution. I am ready to believe that Chamfort united
himself, at least in sentiment, to the bands of eager and hot-headed
republicans from a conviction in his own mind that he was acting with
honour. He had, indeed, nothing to gain, but every thing to lose ; the
torrent of infidelity and blood which was roaring over the land, so far
from washing to his door, as it had done to that of thousands who were
anxiously watching its desolating progress, any fragment of the mighty
and costly shipwreck, carried away, on the contrary, even the little
which an’active and not unprosperous life had enabled him to collect.
The first act of the Constitutional Assembly deprived him of his place
and pension in the Academy, to which he had been elected in 1781.

372 The Character and Anecdotes of Nicolas Chamfort. [Ocr.

M. Chamfort made every sacrifice without a murmur. There is some-
thing grateful to our self-love in martyring our worldly prosperity for
the supposed benefit of our country. It was not long, however, before
he regretted the extent of his sacrifice. The angels of the apostacy
lost their brightness to the clear and unebriated eye of reason and
thought ; they sought to build an altar from the stately ruins of that
beautiful edifice which they had overthrown for the immolation of their
victims ; they placed the Moloch of their religion in the sanctuary of the
temple of Liberty, and bound unto its golden horns every patriot hope
_ and every noble aspiration. Conviction came at last ; and M. Chamfort
became the spirited and high-minded denouncer of craft and wicked-
ness, as he had formerly been of favouritism and tyranny. From that
moment he became a marked man; he was denounced to one of those
vampire-spies that every where infested France, and was immediately
thrown into prison. He recovered his liberty by the assistance of his
friends, and he took an oath that he would never again be taken alive
by the ravagers of his country. He kept his word ; and the account of
his last moments, given by his biographer, is melancholy indeed. A
second order for his arrest had been issued, and the persons entrusted
with its execution were at hand, when (continues the writer of the
notice of his life prefixed to his works) he passed into his cabinet, and
having loaded a pistol, placed it against his head ; but, from some motion
of his hand, the ball only injured his nose, and destroyed one of his eyes.
Wondering that he still lived, and resolved to die, he seized a razor, and
endeavoured to cut his throat ; his efforts were unavailing. But I will
continue the affecting description in the words of his biographer :—
« L’impuissance de sa main ne change rien a la resolution de son ame ;
il se porte plusieurs coups vers le coeur, et commengant a defaillir, il
tache, par un dernier effort, de se couper les deux jarrets et de s’ouvrir
toutes les veins. Enfin, vaincu par la douleur, il pousse un cri et se
jette sur une siege, ou il reste presque sans vie.” ‘They carried him to
his bed, and it was after a partial recovery of his strength that he pro-
nounced this singular declaration, which was written down by one of
the spectators, and signed by himself :—* Moi, Sebastien-Roch-Nicolas
Chamfort, declare, d’avoir voulu mourir en homme libre, plutét que d’etre
reconduit en esclave dans une maison d'arrét ; declare que, si par vio-
lence on s’obstinait a m’y trainer dans l’état ot je suis, il me reste assez
de force pour achever ce que j’ai commencé,—je suis un homme libre ;
jamais on ne me fera rentrer vivant dans une prison.” Such a declara-
tion might have proceeded in the old time from the lips of a Cato. The
death of Chamfort offers a practical illustration of one of his Pensées, in
which he says that the object of kings and priests in proscribing suicide,
is to ensure the duration of our slavery; and he likens them to the
wretch in the Divina Commedia, who caused the door of the cell where
the unhappy Ugolino was confined, to be walled up.

With the miscellaneous works of Chamfort I have no concern; I
intend to devote a page or two to a selection of some of his most inte-
resting Mazimes and Pensées, and Caractéres and Anecdotes, which are
deserving of the highest commendation. It will be better, perhaps, to
offer them in a translation.

How true and excellent is the philosophy of the following !—

«« The reason why the dishonest man, and sometimes even the fool, are more
successful in their journey through life than the man of honour and talent, is

1831.) The Character and Anecdotes of Nicolas Chamfort. 373

simply this :—the dishonest man and the fool have less difficulty in assimilating
themselves to the manners and tone of the world in general—which is, in fact;
nothing but dishonesty and folly; while, on the other hand, the man of honour
and talent, not being able to enter immediately into a commerce with society,
loses an opportunity the most precious for ‘ pushing his fortune.’ The first are
merchants, who, knowing the language of the country, dispose of their goods,
and provision themselves without delay; the others are obliged to learn the
language of the sellers and the purchasers, before they can either submit their
merchandize to public inspection, or enter into any arrangements. Sometimes
they disdain to make themselves acquainted with this language, and then they return
to their own homes without even a handsel.””

The concluding remark is full of melancholy reality. How many
proudly-gifted men, from the Grecian philosopher to our own painter,
Wilson, have passed from the cradle to the grave, unhonoured and
unappreciated by their contemporaries, and unornamented by any of the
world’s honours, simply because of their ignorance of this necessary
dialect! He who is the most conversant with the feelings and tempers
of men, is, after all, a greater linguist than Magliabrachi; for that
language alone, so universal is its acceptation, will carry them from one
end of the world to the other.

There is something grand and striking in this observation upon
Bacon :—

«‘When we behold Bacon, in the beginning of the sixteenth century, pointing
out to the spirit of man the path which it ought to follow to rebuild the edifice
of the sciences, we cease to admire the great men who succeeded him—such
as Boyle, Locke, &c. He distributed to them the land which they were either
to clear or to conquer. It is Cesar, lord of the world, after the victory of Phar-
salia, bestowing his kingdoms and provinces upon his partizans and favour-
ites.”

The aphorism has more of imposing effect than truth to support it. I
am perfectly ready to agree with Chamfort in considering the author of
the treatise on the “ Human Understanding” much over-rated: he bor-
rowed his system from Hobbes. Columbus was not the first discoverer
of America, yet the credit will always be assigned to him by the majo-
rity. Philosophy, after all her vauntings, has done little during her
long sojourn amongst us; she appears to become more feminine and
gentle every year of her existence; no longer the Minerva of the
ancients, breast-plated and helmeted, yet beautiful exceedingly in her
majestic loveliness—the instructress of Socrates—the companion of Plato!
A philosopher, as Chamfort remarks in another place, is a man who
opposes nature to law, and reason to custom, and conscience to opinion,
and judgment to error. A philosopher would dare to be virtuous in
the saloon of a theatre, and to speak the truth at a court drawing-room.
Need we wonder at the paucity of such individuals ?

I will give two or three remarks from the chapter Des Femmes de
V Amour a Marriage, &c. The author’s experience constituted him a
Mentor worthy of belief :—

““Women have phantasies, infatuations, and sometimes tastes; they can
even occasionally elevate themselves to the passions. The quality of which they
are least susceptible is—attachment. They are made to hold communion with
our weakness, with our folly, but not with our reason. There subsists between
them and man an external sympathy—des sympathies d’épiderme, as the author

374 The Character and Anecdotes of Nicolas Chamfort. [Ocr.

powerfully renders them—and very little sympathy of spirit, of soul, or of cha-
racter—a fact proved by the comparative neglect with which they treat a man
who has reached his fortieth year, even when their own age may happen to cor-
respond. The preference which they sometimes accord to him is to be traced
to some dishonest speculation, after a calculation of interest or vanity. Mar-
riage, as practised among the great, is a conventional indecency.”

Again :—

“The woman who values her mental quality more than her beauty, is supe-
rior to her sex. She who esteems herself more on account of her beauty than
of her talents, is of her sex. But she who prides herself more on her birth than
her beauty, is out of her sex, and above her sex.”

To me it seems almost impossible to concentrate more truth in the
same number of words. It was observed by some French writer, whose
name I forget, that a woman seeks to possess the affections of a man
as a favourite exerts himself to obtain the ear of his sovereign: by that
means they both obtain distinction and worship. M. de Levis, in his
Souvenirs et Portraits, attributes, in a great degree, the downfall of the
French monarchy to the influence of women. The history of the
reign of Louis XIV. might be called the history of female domina-
tion. He revoked the edict of Nantz at the instigation of a mistress.
Marmontel has said with great spirit, that the Sully of such a king must
have been a woman. There may be a few women who honour their
birth rather than their beauty ; but I believe it would be difficult to find
one who would not prefer a compliment on her charms, whether real or
imaginary, to the most enthusiastic encomium upon her intellects. Ma-
dame de Staél offers a singular example. She happened to be in company
with the celebrated Talleyrand, and, although very plain in her features,
had been anxiously endeavouring to extort a comparison (favourable to
her own charms, of course) between herself and a very beautiful lady
who was of the party. The courtier, however, had seen too much of
the political trickery of a Congress to be entrapped even by De Staél,
and he adroitly evaded every question. The author of “ Corinne” at
length determined to obtain her object by putting a direct interrogatory,
which she did in this manner :—“ Suppose that lady and myself were
to fall into the water ; which would you save first from drowning ?”—
“ Oh! madam, you would swim too well !” was the reply of the unfoiled
Talleyrand. This anecdote is one of the most interesting and conclusive
that could be offered ; but many others, of a similar nature, might be
instanced which go to confirm the philosophy of the axiom of Chamfort.
In like manner, we find women, distinguished for their learning and
masculine acquirements, assuming the air of a fashionable ignorant of
St. James’s. Miss Jones, the sister of the celebrated orientalist, whose
delight consisted in walking through London with a Greek folio under
her arm, happening to hear some one mention the “ Merchant of
Venice,” asked if there was not a pretty song in it about Jessica. The
ingenious Count d’Oxenstirn, among many other eccentric fancies, sup-
posed that Solomon’s object, in keeping such a numerous harem, was
not the gratification of low and sensual passion, but to discover, if pos-
sible, one perfectly amiable and virtuous woman among them all. His-
tory, unfortunately, has preserved no record of the success or failure of
his experiment.

I will conclude this paper with a few anecdotes :—

1831.] The Character and Anecdotes of Nicolas Chamfort. 375

«< A courtier observed upon the death of Louis XIV.—‘ After the death of the
king, we'can believe any thing.’ ”

This reminds me of a similar specimen of gross flattery paid to the
same monarch. Massillon, the celebrated preacher, commenced his
oration upon the late king, the reader will remember, after looking
around upon the melancholy symbols of departed magnificence, by
lifting his hands, and exclaiming in a solemn voice—“ Mes freres, Dieu
seul est grand !”—a remark which gave great offence to some of the
court parasites, who said—* As if Louis was not great also!” And yet
this “ glass of fashion, and mould of form,” could scarcely read or write ;
and as to any real love of literature or the arts, he knew nothing more
of it than Scaliger of the ‘‘ Monthly Magazine,” or the Emperor He-
liogabolus, who feasted upon peacocks’-livers, of an American Tempe~
rance Society.

. I do not remember to have met with the following in any criticism on
Moliere :—

“ Tt is remarkable that Moliére, who spared no person, however eminent,
never lanced any of his arrows against the gens de finance (the Rothschilds of
the day). It is affirmed that Moliére, in common with all the comic writers,
had particular commands given them on this subject by Colbert.”

One more, of a different nature :—

_«M. de Fontenelle, when in his 77th year, was fond of saying a thousand
gallant things to Madame Helvetius—young, beautiful, and recently married.
One day he accidentally passed, without noticing her, to take his place at the
table. ‘See,’ cried the lady, ‘ how slight account I ought to make of your
» gallantries ; you pass before my face without ever looking at me.’—‘ Madame,’
replied the old man, ‘ if I had looked upon you, I could not have passed you.’ ”’

The last shall be one of Voltaire’s most lively sayings :—

“* Voltaire was one day in the boudoir of Madame du Chatélet, amusing him-
self with the Abbé Mignot, then an infant, whom he held upon his knees. He
began to play with him, at the same time instructing him. ‘ My friend,’ he
said, ‘ in order to succeed with men, you must have the women on your side.
To interest the women, you must know them. You will find, then, all women
to be false and immodest.’—‘ How!—all women!—What say you, sir?’
exclaimed Madame du Chatélet, in anger.—‘ Madame,’ quietly said Voltaire,

fr o>

“ we must not deceive infancy !

W.

THE LASO; ITS ORIGIN AND ITS USE.

_ Every British officer who has served in the patriot armies of South
America—every traveller who has given to the world the result of his
observations, to whatever part of that vast continent he may have
directed his steps—whether to the Llanos of Colombia, the table-land of
Peru, the extensive vallies of Chili, or the Pampas of Rio de la Plata—
one and all, the soldier and the civilian, have broken forth in terms of
the liveliest admiration of the extraordinary skill, displayed by the
natives of those regions in the use of the laso ; while some among them,
carried away by their enthusiasm, and struck with the importance of its
use, have strongly recommended its introduction into our own service.

376 The Laso ; its Origin and its Use. [Ocr.

It is not a little singular, that this missile—if such a term may be
appropriately applied to the laso, which is of the highest antiquity—
should at the present day be considered as peculiar only to the natives
of South America. The earliest traditionary records we possess of the
human race, teach us that, in similar states of society, the wants of
man are ever the same, while the means which necessity urges him to
adopt for their gratification have, in every part of the globe, been marked
by the same uniform character of identity. Among a pastoral people,
the use of the laso must, at an early period, have been found of the
same importance asthe bow among the hunter-tribes, who, in an inferior
grade in the scale of civilization, supported a precarious existence on the
supplies of the chase. Thus it is we discover that its use has been
known to the Nomadic tribes of Central Asia from time immemorial ;
and if we prosecute our researches still further, we shall, at the present
day, discover it among the wandering tribes of the Ukraine, in Walla-
chia and Moldavia, and even in Hungary, where a more advanced state
of civilization has narrowed the field of its operation.

In proof of the antiquity of the laso, we may be allowed to quote
Herodotus. In his catalogue of the different nations who, under Xerxes,
formed the invading army of Greece (Polymnia), the historian enume-
rates the Sargatians, who brought 8,000 cavalry into the field, and were
brigaded with the Persians who constituted the flower of the army.

“There is a Nomadic tribe, called the Sargatians—a Persian nation,
and using the same language: they have, however, a costume which
partakes at once of the Persian and the Pactyean. They use no arms,
whether of brass or iron, excepting daggers; but they use cords made of
the twisted thongs of hides. The following is their mode of fighting when
in presence of an enemy. They throw out their cords, which have running
nooses at the end ; whatever the noose may fall upon, whether horse or
man, the Sargatian draws towards him, and immediately puts to death.”

Judging from the force of their contingent, we may presume them to
have been a considerable people, although modern geographers are
divided as to the exact position of their country. But, in reading this
description of their mode of fighting, written 450 years before the birth
of Christ, we may literally apply it to the manners of the guacho of the
present day, the inhabitants of a continent the very existence of which,
in the days of Herodotus, and for many centuries afterwards, was
unknown. This missile is of two kinds—the bolas, and the laso pro-
perly so called. ‘The former consists of three leaden balls attached to
three thongs, about three feet in length, and joining at the centre. It is
generally launched, and is uncommonly sure in its operation. In pur-
suing his game, the guacho, on approaching within thirty yards of his
victim, commences whirling the bolas in an horizontal position around
his head, and having given to them the necessary momentum, with
unerring aim they fly from his arm, coil around the legs of the flying
animal, and bring him to the ground.

It was in this manner that General Paz, the leader of the unitarian
party, was lately made prisoner on the Pampas. Although surprised
by a party of Buenos Ayrean cavalry, the general had time to mount a
swift horse, and, in all probability, in any other country, would have
escaped ; but a guacho spurred after him, and hurling with unerring aim
his bolas at the legs of the general’s charger, brought him down, and
captured the rider. .

1831.]. The Laso; its Origin and Use. 377

The laso, on the other hand, is made of very thin stripes of hides
plaited together like the thong of a whip. Attached to one end is a small
iron ring, through which the cord runs when it is thrown. Its length
varies from eight to ten yards, according as it is used, either on foot or
horseback. In the latter case, it is attached to the saddle-girth, and,
like the bolas, previously to its being thrown, is whirled horizontally
round the head of the rider. The horse should also be well trained, and
taught to turn the instant the laso has fallen on the object at which
it was thrown, for the purpose of tightening the noose. Great strength
of arm and quickness of eye are indispensable for the skilful use of the
laso—qualifications which can only be attained by long practice, com-
menced at a very early age. It is from this circumstance that we are
led to doubt the practicability of successfully introducing it into our
service. During a residence of nine years in South America, we never
met with, or even heard of, a European who was considered skilful in
the use of the laso; but even were it possible, by dint of long practice,
to render our troopers expert in the use of this instrument, we might,
after all, exclaim, “cui bono?” In Europe there certainly exists no
field where its introduction could be attended with either advantage or
utility ; while, on the other hand, in South America, every circum-
stance in the habits of life of the natives renders the laso an instrument
of the first necessity. Almost as soon ashe can walk, the young gaucho
may be seen launching his bolas at the inhabitants of the Basse-Cour ;
while urchins of a larger growth amuse themselves with the laso in
making war on the numerous flocks of water-fowl which swarm to the
banks of rivers for their prey.

The laso-harness, used by the Buenos Ayrean artillery, certainly pos-
sesses the merit of extreme simplicity. Whether the trace attached to
the girth, in preference to the horse-collar, diminishes the draught of
the carriage, we will not venture to decide—the great advantage of this
harness consisting in the facility of unhooking a jaded horse from the
gun, and putting on another, not only without halting the carriage, but
without diminishing its speed. But in South America it must be borne
in mind, that every gun, as well as every regiment of cavalry, is accom-
panied by an immense number of supernumerary horses—a circumstance
which does not, and which never can, exist in the regular armies of
Europe. The introduction of this harness into our service would render
it absolutely necessary to have a driver on each horse, or the great
advantage of changing horses, without halting the gun, would be lost ;
but, in South America, the introduction of the practice of giving a rider
to each horse, has not arisen from any conviction of its superiority over
the European method, but from the impossibility of managing their half-
broken horses in any other way than by the application of their all-powerful
bits, and the murderous castigation of their ponderous spurs, which, to
the eye of an European, appear more calculated to kill a horse than to
urge it forward.

In General Miller’s excellent work on the war in South America,
many interesting anecdotes of the gaucho will be found ; but neither
the general, nor Captain Head, who has likewise treated the subject,
have related the following :—

When the Portuguese army, under General Le Cor, composed of
5,000 peninsular troops, advanced, in the year 1817, from Rio Grande
do Sul to Monte Video, in their march across the plains of the Banda

M.M. New Series —Vou.XII. No. 70. os

378 The Laso; its Origin and Use. [Ocr.

Oriental, they were fairly besieged by the gauchos. Many of their
mounted officers, at the head and on the flanks of the columns, were
lasoed ; and but for the timely co-operation of a body of Rio Grande
cavalry accustomed to the gaucho warfare, the division must have
made a retrograde movement. The Portuguese, masters of Monte
Video, held no more of the country than what was within range of their
guns ; the gauchos pushed their inroads to the very gates of the fortress,
and obliged them to draw all their supplies by sea. At Colonia del
Sacramento, which they likewise held, a post on the land-side, consist-
ing of a mud embankment, with embrasures for guns, was, on relieving
the guards for several mornings in succession, found to be deserted.
The commandant was utterly unable to account for this circumstance,
as no spirit of desertion had manifested itself among his troops. He
accordingly selected a Cacador of tried gallantry, and proved fidelity,
to mount guard at this post, and gave him strict orders to fire at what-
ever might approach it. As the grey tints of morning broke in the east,
the sentinel discovered a solitary horse grazing near the spot: he
remarked, also, that the horse gradually approached nearer to his post.
Faithful to his orders, he fired, and brought him down. The soldier
reloaded his piece, and, on looking towards the dead animal, he thought
he perceived something moving on the ground, and on straining his
eyes to ascertain the fact, he distinctly observed a man in the act of
crawling away. He again fired, and a groan told him that his fire had
taken effect. The mystery was now cleared up. This gaucho, as the
morning broke, had been in the habit of approaching the posts, crouched
down beneath the belly of his steed. When near enough, he would
spring suddenly on the back of the animal, and, watching the centinel
as he passed the embrasure, throw his laso, drag him through, and lead
him away a prisoner.

REFLECTIONS ON A RAMBLE IN GERMANY,

Armorum sonitum toto Germania ceelo
Audiit. Vireiu.

MopeErN civilization has pared down the surface of English society
to one undeviating straight line of monotonous uniformity. This is,
perhaps, as it should be ; but while the lip of the philosopher curls with
a smile of pity at the wild ravings and fanciful delusions of the enthu-
siast, the lover of the picturesque in character and manners will still
seek, beyond the shores of our own island, some appropiate field for the
indulgence and gratification of his favourite taste. If he direct his
steps to Germany, his labours will be amply rewarded. There is a mar-
tial aspect on the brow of Germany which strikes you on the frontier.
The brazen trumpet’s maddening note—the iron clatter of the mustering
squadron—the deep, lumbering roll of the heavy guns—the slow, mea-
sured tread of infantry, with their spirit-stirring bands ;—these are the
sounds which break on the ear of the traveller on the very threshold of
the land. In the features of the country there is something chivalric.

1831.] Reflections on a Ramble in Germany. 379

The stern mouldering battlements and gothic spires constantly remind
him of times which, for pictorial effect, appeal as powerfully to the
imagination as the heroic ages of Greece. There is, in her towns and
cities, a brightness blended with aristocratic tranquillity ; in the charac-
ter of her men, a martial ardour, a deep solidity of thought ; in the
character of her women, a winning softness, a romantic sensibility and
‘enthusiasm, which excites our admiration and awakens our love. Such
is Germany !—such is the land where, under the glittering veil thrown
over it by the hand of modern civilization, there still linger many of
those beautiful traits of character and manners which, near twenty cen-
turies ago, so powerfully captivated the imagination of the historian
Tacitus.

I entered Cologne on a fine Sunday evening, in the summer of 1828.
There is an air of gloomy antiquity about this old city, with its long,
narrow streets—heavy, quaint style of architecture—and fine old min-
ster, which powerfully appeals to our historical recollections. The
window of my chamber, at the Hotel du Rhin, looked on the river—the
broad, bright, legendary Rhine. I crossed the Bridge of Boats, and
wandered towards the Caserne. The public gardens were full of happy
groups—some quietly enjoying the aromatic pleasures of the meerchaum
—others moving in the mazy circles of the graceful waltz. The music
was beautiful, and the martial figures and uniforms of the soldiers,
intermingled with the quaint costumes of the women, produced a pic-
turesque effect. On my return to the hotel, I met a detachment of
infantry. The men sung as they marched, in full, deep chorus, a
popular national air. In the soft stillness of the evening, the effect was
beautiful. The Hymn of Mars, chaunted by the Greeks on moving to
the attack, must have raised, in an extraordinary degree, the spirits of
the men, and have nerved their souls to deeds of daring.

An old gentleman, with whom I conversed at supper, told me that
the French regime was universally regretted throughout the Rhenish
provinces. Napoleon’s continental system encouraged manufactures ;
the constant passage of his armies circulated money ; the war opened a
free career to talent ; but the peace has changed all this. English com-
petition has ruined their trade. The national vanity of the people is
hourly wounded by the arrogance and conceit of the Prussians; while
the value of property has suffered an immense deterioration by the intro-
duction of a depreciated currency—the sheide munze—a species of
copper money, silvered over. Strange, that even in the land where the
French sojourned as conquerors, they should have left behind them a
feeling of regret! But so itis in every country almost, wherein the
eagles of Napoleon hovered, though but in desolating triumph.

In Germany all classes travel, from the sovereign prince down to the
meanest mechanic. This locomotive existence narrows, in a wonderful
degree, the circle of national prejudice. For enlightened and impartial
opinions on the manners and superstition of foreign countries, commend
me to the German. The approach of the curzeit—as they emphatically
style the bathing-season—produces much the same effect as the 12th of
August with us: every body flocks to the country. At this period, all
that is distinguished for rank and fashion in the land may be found
assembled at some of their numerous watering-places ; when the travel-
ler, at a glance, may contemplate all the lights and shadows of German
life :—-the sovereign prince, and his Morganic consort ; the mediatized

2

380 Reflections on a Ramble in Germany. [Ocr.

prince, and his mistress ; the foreign diplomat, and the native statesman,
tired of conferences and protocols ; the rich Jew banker, from Frank-
fort or Leipzic ; crowds of foreigners from every clime ; hosts of counts
and barons, soldiers and students, merchants and mechanics, black-legs
and dames de moyenne vertu—all congregated in some beautiful romantic
spot, ardent in the pursuit of health, or its antithesis—dissipation. The
class of artistes who form the base of this Corinthian pillar, outnumber
the votaries of pleasure, in the same ratio as the camp-followers of an
Indian army exceed the combatants. Actors from Berlin and Vienna;
prima-donnas from Venice and Milan ; opera-dancers, coturieres, gaming=
house-keepers, and cooks from Paris; watch-makers from Geneva ;
pipe-makers from Frankfort ; Tyrolean glove-makers ; fiddlers and
jugglers ;—in short, every art that can administer to luxury and dissipa-
tion are found assembled, actively employed in reaping, from the exer-
cise of their avocations, a rich and plentiful harvest. This singular
mélange, and the activity and bustle they occasion, would alone present
a wide field for observation and amusement; but add to all this, romantic
scenery, fétes-champetres, balls, concerts, enchanting society, beautiful
women, piquant adventures—and in such a place may the ennuyé safely
write in his note-book, “ Invent portum !”—at least so I thought; for,
leaving behind me the far-famed romantic banks of the Rhine, I did
not halt until I found myself in comfortable quarters at the Hotel de
Russie, at Ems, in the duchy of Nassau—one of the most fashionable
watering-places in Germany.

Nothing can be more beautiful than the approach to Ems from the
Coblentz road. As the traveller descends the valley of the Lahn, this
romantic little place bursts suddenly upon him. The tranquil seclusion
of the spot forcibly impresses on the mind its appropriateness as a foun-
tain of health.

Ems, on my arrival, was crowded with visitants. In the first rank stood
the Grand-Duchess Maria-Helena—now the magnet of attraction at Chel-
tenham—and her suite, composed of several Russians of distinction—the
hereditary Prince of Orange—the Polish Prince K y, well known in
the fashionable circles of London—and a long list of other distingués. The
grand-duchess entered freely into all the amusements of the place. Titled
hauteur was laid aside. I repeatedly saw her of an evening in the bazaar,
simply dressed and almost unattended, conversing in the most affable
manner with the ladies of her circle. The personal appearance of this
princess is extremely interesting. Delicately fair, with soft blue eyes,
and a profusion of auburn hair, the expression of her countenance was
sweetness itself; her mild, amiable character, and her graceful manners,
were the theme of universal admiration. She was in a very delicate
state of health, and was usually carried up and down stairs, on a cushion,
by two of her attendants—her slender, sylph-like form, and transparent
complexion, forming a beautiful contrast with the bare necks, long
beards, and wild, savage appearance of her Russian porters. Her hus-
band, the Grand-Duke Michael, commanded at that time the Russian
army of reserve in the Turkish campaign.

Between two and three hundred guests sat down daily to dinner at
the Curhaus, formerly a hunting-palace of the Grand-Duke of Nassau’s,
but now let out by his highness as an hotel for the accommodation of
the bathers. The bustle and confusion of such a scene, and the Babel-
like confusion of tongues which prevailed, may be readily imagined.

1831.] Reflections on a Ramble in Germany. 381

The rich productions of the Rhine and Moselle—the rosy asmanhausen,
the amber rhudesheimer, the delicious schatzberg—were eagerly called
for in every variety of tone and accent.

In the evening I followed the stream of fashion to the universal point
of attraction—the Spiel-haus. A glittering crowd of both sexes was
seated round the rouge-et-noir table. What a singular contrast the
marble visages of the bankers and crupiers—visages which appear to
have been long ago the grave of expression—form with the look of
feverish and intense anxiety marked on the countenances of the players !
I was particularly struck with three figures: one, a Polish countess of
considerable personal attractions; she was playing high, and as the
glittering pile of napoleons before her rapidly disappeared, her lip
quivered, and a look of angry passion shed its desolation upon her
beauty. The next was a young German lady, whose sweet placidity of
countenance, as she watched the varying chances of the game, under-
went not the slightest change: the demon of play had not yet entered
deeply into this fair creature’s soul. Immediately behind her, stood a
Prussian officer ; his countenance assumed an air of fierceness, and I
thought he would have torn out his mustachios by the root, as he beheld
his last frederick-d’or swept away by the insatiable rake of the banker.
I quitted the scene with disgust, and wandered forth to contemplate
the fair face of nature. It was a beautiful night ; the full moon silver-
ing the glassy surface of the Lahn, and bathing in a flood of light the
woody heights of the opposite bank. On this very spot, twenty centu-
ries ago, did the long-haired Germans offer up, on the eve of battle,
their bloody sacrifices to their warrior-god. At such an hour, here, on
the banks of the tranquil Lahn, which was flowing past me like a
dream of happiness, might the first glimmering of ambition have burst
upon the mind of the future Cesar, as with folded arms and upraised
eye he sought to read the star of his destiny. Again, in later times, on
such a night as this, here, by the same soft light, has the young crusader
told his tale of love, or recounted to his blue-eyed mistress the wonders
of the Holy Land—the martial glory of the Christian host—who rode
the victor of the lists at Ascalon—what arms Saladin wore, and the
fierce onslaught of England’s Cceur de Lion ; while she would cling to
his arm, or piously vow a votive offering to her favourite saint for her
lover's safe return. Empires are mouldering in the dust ; religions, that
formerly won man’s reverence, are now his mockery ; new worlds have
been discovered ; the whole structure of society has undergone, and is
undergoing, a change. Yet Nature is still the same.—But this is rhap-
sody: and yet such thoughts as these will flash across the mind when,
at the soft hour of evening, we wander in solitary loneliness among
scenes to which belong

“ The stirring memory of a thousand years.”

Our mornings were passed in courses on the mountains—the evenings
in concerts or balls. A splendid ball was given, a few nights after my
arrival, at the pavillion in the garden on the banks of the river. The
glare of the numerous lustres, the glittering of stars and epaulettes on
the splendid uniforms of the military, the beauty of the women and
their recherchée toilette, formed a very brilliant coup-d’eil,

The ball opened with a stately Polonaise. The column of dancers first
made the tour of the ball-room, passed into the garden, which was illu-

382 Keflections on a Ramble in Germany. [Ocr.

minated, and, after meandering through its various alleys, returned to
the saloon.

The mazurka was danced by some Polish ladies and some Russian
gentlemen of the grand-duchess’s suite. There is a martial character in
this dance that pleases from its novelty. But the great attraction of the
evening was the waltz, danced asit is no where danced but in Germany.
There is, in the soft, swimming movement of the waltz, something that
beautifully harmonizes with the tender expression of countenance, and
feminine softness of form, of the German women. National dances,
when transplanted to foreign climes, like exotics, degenerate. The
bolero and fandango must be seen in the sunny land of their birth. I
was much pleased with this assembly ; it was marked by a fascinating
polish of exterior, and high-bred courtliness of manner, far superior to
anything we see in similar reunions at the watering-places of our own
island.

I left Ems on the eve of the anniversary of the King of Prussia’s
birth-day, to witness a grand military spectacle in its honour, at the
fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. The morning was beautiful, and as I wound
round the steep ascent which led to the fortress, the magnificent valley
of the Rhine burst upon us in all its beauty. The troops were formed
in a hollow square in the quadrangle; the battlements above were
crowded with all the beauty and fashion of Coblentz and its neighbour-
hood. It was a martial scene, and many a fair bosom heaved, and bright
eye danced with delight, in contemplating the assembled chivalry of
Prussia. Divine service, according to the rites of the Lutheran church,
was celebrated, followed by a sermon, preached by a pale, ascetic-looking
clergyman, whose solemn figure, sable habiliments, and black Geneva
cap, recalled to the memory the martyrs of the olden time. On the
conclusion of the sermon, the troops sang, in full, deep chorus, a solemn
hymn. The effect was beautiful, and went immediately to the heart.
Ere the last notes had died away—amid the deafening roar of the open-
ing cannons, and the martial flourish of drums and trumpets—the black-
eagled flag of Prussia rose majestically on its pole, giving its ample folds
to the morning-breeze in lordly pride. The troops now broke into
column, and marched back to their quarters. First passed the cavalry :
the appearance of both men and horses was magnificent—the men look-
ing fierce, and ready for the mélée. Next came the infantry, with music
in the measured tread of their platoons. The heavy roll of the guns,
and the glitter of the arms of the troops as they wound round the
descent, was extremely fine. Ere the rearmost platoon had quitted the
quadrangle, we proceeded from the height on which we stood, the
lancers crossing the Bridge of Boats on the Rhine, their pennons float-
ing in the breeze—the wild notes of their trumpets sounding sweetly
over the surface of the water. The scene I had witnessed was magni-
ficent, and will long linger on the memory. I tarried for some time on
the spot, to contemplate the magnificent prospect beneath me :—

«« A blending of all beauties: streams and dells,

Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells,

From grey but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.”

My guide pointed across the Rhine to the tomb of General Marceau.
He had seen him fall. The incidents of this poor guide’s career were

1831. ] Reflections on a Ramble in Germany. 383

as romantic as the scenery we were admiring. The French revolution
dragged him from his peaceful home. He had fought beneath the
Pyramids—had retreated from before Torres Vedras—had mingled in
the horrid butchery of the. Borodino—had lighted his pipe at the
embers of the burning palaces of Moscow—and, finally, had beheld the
setting of the sun of Napoleon on the field of Waterloo. The benumbing
influence which this event shed over the military world, extended itself
to the narrow orbit in which he moved; he was disbanded, and now
earned a miserable subsistence as a guide tothe Rhine. This old veteran
appeared to live on the memory of the past ; and he spoke of his former
chief in terms of melancholy enthusiasm.

The table d’hite, at the Hotel de Treves, was crowded. The upper
part of the table was occupied by the officers of the garrison ; the truces
el cerulet oculi, rutile come, et magna corpora, distinguished them as
strongly as they did their ancestors in the days of Tacitus. Near me
sat two disbanded French officers of the old imperial army ; their brows
wore an air of gloomy disappointment ; they inveighed bitterly against
the Prussians, and said that, in the event of a war, in fifteen days the
Rhine would again become the boundary of France. As I looked
through the windows, the formidable works of Ehrenbreitstein appeared
to frown a fierce defiance to this Gallic vaunt. The Prussians are
entrenched up to their necks in the land ; and it is not one, or even two,
successful campaigns that would drive them beyond the Rhine. The
Prussian army is, in every respect, the most effective in Europe, and
will, in the event of an appeal to arms, cut out hard work for the
French.

There were two young English officers of cavalry at table, on their
way tothe camp of instruction at Sane Louis; they were fine specimens
of our military school, and I looked on them with feelings of pride.
At the bottom of the table were seated an English lady and gentleman,
who forcibly arrested my attention. The lady was beautiful, and has
often since haunted my dreams ; she had soft hazel eyes, a profusion
of raven locks, and a classical paleness of complexion that we rarely
meet with but in the sunny climes of the south. Her companion appeared
to be in the last stage of a consumption, and was on his way to the
genial climate of Italy, in the vain pursuit of health. The hand of death
was already on his pallid brow ; and, long ere he reached the frontiers of
that sunny land, the beautiful creature by his side, who was turning her
eyes on him with a look of thrilling anxiety and tender solicitude, was a
widow, in the desolate loneliness of a foreign land.

[ 384 ] [Ocr.

POPE GREGORY AND THE PEAR-TREE.

Hueco Bon CoxpaGno was one of the gayest of the gay children of
the south. He had archness and vivacity—a bright eye and a ready
tongue. He was the favourite of the neighbours, and was predestined
by the monk who taught him Latin, to make a great figure in the world.
Hugo had formed a close friendship with a youth about his own age,—
the son of a gardener ; in all respects his inferior, save in that plastic
quality of temper that moulded itself to the will of others, and which by
its docility made, very frequently, a far deeper impression on those who
knew him, than the more apt and vivacious qualities of his patronizing
companion. However, the two lads were firm friends, and in the day-
dreams of boyhood, ere the warm impulses of our nature become chilled
in the school of selfishness—ere, in our progress through the world, we
imperceptibly imbibe so great a portion of its clay—the youths had but
one hope, saw but one fortune for both. Wealth, if they gained any,
was to be equally shared by them—honours, if they came, must be par-
ticipated by either. So dreamt they in the delicious time of youth, so
lived they in one of the liveliest spots of Italy,—at a village some few
miles from Bologna. The world, as yet lay before them, an undis-
covered country ; they saw it, as the great navigator saw in his dreams,
the distant yet unknown land: a halo of glory was about it—it was rich
in fruits and flowers, and spicy forests and mines of gold.

At length, the time arrived, when this romantic region was to be
explored. Hugo was to go into the world.—At the period of which we
write, the church was the surest road to honour: and Hugo, as we have
before implied, had that keen and subtle temperament, that untiring per-
severance, and that aptitude for book-learning, which in those days were
considered the indispensable requisites for one who, in ostensibly devot-
ing himself to God, sought to grasp at temporal sway ; and who, as he
bowed with a seeming inward reverence to the Cross, leered with a miser’s
eye at Mammon and his heaps. Hugo was devoted to the church: he
quitted his native village, and grown beyond childish years, and having
cast away “ all childish things,’’ he became a monk, and in his function
pored over that awful volume, so blotted with crime, so stained with
tears, so confused, so scrawled with error—that mystery of mysteries—
the human heart. Thus he laboured, all his thoughts and feelings at-
tuned to one purpose—worldly ambition. His home, his relatives, the
companions of his youth, the scenes of his boyhood—all, all were for-
gotten—the monk had killed the man.

«“ Well, Hugo,” said Luigi, with a saddened air—“ to-morrow you
quit us: to-morrow you leave the village, and the saints alone know, if
we shall ever meet again.”

«Meet again, Luigi, and why not?—you will come and see me—I
shall sometimes come here. We shall see one another often—very often.”

« Yes—see one another! But you will only be to me as the ghost of a
dead friend !”

“The ghost of a friend! Can I ever forget Luigi—my earliest play-
mate—the brother of my heart, though not of my blood ?—Trust me, I
shall ever love you.” :

«« A monk love !~a monk has neither parents, nor friends !””

«“ No: he loves, with an equal affection, all mankind !”

1831.] Pope Gregory and the Pear-tree. 385

« Aye—and only with all, must Luigi take his share. Farewell, Hugo,
and the Virgin bless you:” and Luigi turned away with ill-concealed
emotion, and endeavoured to proceed with his work. Hugo was like-
wise sensibly affected by the sincere passion of his friend. And let not
the reader too hastily condemn the scene as weak and puerile—hitherto
Luigi, although he had known and conceded to the superiority of Hugo,
yet felt proud of the excellence that had cast its favour upon himself.— He
now saw in it the cause of separation ; he now felt that he was the
humble Luigi, the gardener, destined to eat from his daily toil—and that
Hugo, his earliest and choicest friend, was to be severed from him to
-pursue a path, it might be, of glory and renown. Luigi continued at his
work.—

«What are you going to plant there, Luigi?” asked Hugo.

“A pear-tree—and it is said to be of a rare kind.”

* Stay, let me help you,” rejoined Hugo ; and approaching Luigi, he
assisted him in planting the young shrub, for it was little more. Whilst
thus employed, they uttered not a word—each drew a sombre picture of
the future, and for the time, Hugo felt that he could give up all hopes
of the power and splendour, promised to him in his dreams, and in those
reveries more delicious, though often as equally vain, as the visions of
the night—that he could forego all temporal pomp, all spiritual domi-
nion, rather than wound the honest heart beside him.—For a moment,
the genius of the place seemed to ask him—‘“ Why not abide here in the
home of thy father—why not rest with us, and get thy food from the
earth—why pant for the commerce of the world, ‘as the hart panteth after
the water-brooks ?’” Ere the young tree stood supported by the earth,
this feeling had subsided, as it had never risen, and Hugo stood again
about to say farewell to Luigi, who looked at him with a look of mingled
sorrow and distrust.

“ Luigi,” exclaimed Hugo, with sudden animation—* let this tree be
as a covenant between us. As it stands, it is no unapt type of your
friend. The rich earth is about its roots, and the ‘ dew will lie upon its
branches ;’ with the blessings of the saints, it may put forth swelling
buds and leaves, and rich and odorous fruit—and men may pluck re-
freshing sweetness from its boughs, and rejoice beneath their shade. So
it may grow up, and so may it adorn the land that doth sustain it: and,
Luigi, it may be that it may pine and shrink, and never put forth one
green leaf—or blight may eat its buds, and canker gnaw its heart, and
so, cut down, it may be cast upon the fire, and so may perish. Thus
stands your friend: I shall be planted in the church, Luigi,—in that soil,
rich with the flesh and blood of saints—heaven may rain its dews upon
me, and I may put forth glorious fruit—and, Luigi, (the voice of the
speaker became slightly tremulous)—these hopes may be a melancholy
mockery of my fate—for I may perish, unknown, unhonoured, unre-
gretted. I know not how to account for it, my mind is possessed by a
sudden superstition—I feel, and it is an odd, perhaps an unchristian
fancy, that this tree will be the symbol of my destiny: if it flourish, I
shall prosper ; if it fade, Hugo will decay too. But, however it may
be, Luigi, the hearts of our youth shall, in their friendship, be the hearts
of our old age. And though we shall meet, yes often meet, yet here I
promise, that there is no time so distant, no state so high, that even
though, parting here as youths, we never meet but as grey-headed men
—that here embracing in this humble garden, we next encountered in the

386 Pope Gregory and the Pear-tree. [Ocr.

halls of kings—I give my solemn word that you shall be to me the same
Luigi, I the same Hugo.”

Luigi grasped the hand of the speaker—“ Heaven prosper you, Hugo
—and forget not your friends—Remember, remember the pear-tree.”’

Hugo quitted his paternal home; years passed on, and whilst Luigi,
a happy and contented man, tilled his ground and propped his vines,
and saw his ruddy offspring flourishing around him—whilst he enjoyed
that great gift of Paradise, “a country life,” and lived in an atmosphere
of serenity and sweetness, Hugo was toiling through the devious paths
of church-craft, a childless man. He was a politician and a priest—then,
more than ever, twin-flowers upon one stalk—he had advanced in dig-
nity, and had almost within his grasp, that bright reality, the shadow
of which had shone like a star upon his tide of life, and tempted him to
ford all depths, to dare all dangers, to hold all toil as nought.

And Luigi lived on, and became an old man. His children’s children
frolicked under the shadow of the pear-tree, which shot up, and spread
out, as though some spirit were specially charged to tend it.

* Ha!’ cried Luigi, “’tis a rare crop ;” as two of his grandchildren,
perched in the boughs, plucked the fruit, and threw it into the laps of
their little sisters, who piled it in two large baskets—“ ’tis a rare crop,”
repeated Luigi, “and if Hugo bear but half as much, there are few
richer among the brotherhood. He said, as this tree flourished, so
should he prosper: he was a true prophet; though ’tis well he left
something behind to inform me of his increasing greatness—it seems I
should never have known it from himself.”

Hugo had, shortly after his departure, forgotten his friend, who,
however, continued to tread the same humble, happy path, in which he
had at first set out. He had had nothing to disquiet him, no losses, no
family afflictions ; the dove, peace, had always nestled in his cot—and it
was not until the old man was bending downwards to the grave, that
misfortune threatened his hearth-stone.

A man of high birth and immense wealth had built a magnificent
palazzo in the neighbourhood of Luigi’s cottage. This man was con-
nected by marriage, with the family of Hugo. He was purse-proud
and despotic, making of his gold a sword against the poor. One day, it
was his arrogant whim that the cottage of the gardener interfered with
the beauty of the prospect from the palazzo. It was almost instantly
conveyed to Luigi, that he must seek another abode, as the land on
which the house was built, together with the gardens, belonging to
his potent neighbour, were to be devoted to other purposes. The
intelligence fell with a heavy blow upon the old man. To leave
the cottage—the roof under which himself, his fathers, were born—to
quit his gardens, his trees, things which, next to his own children, he
loved with a yearning affection—the very thought of it appeared to him
a kind of death. He refused to quit—he remonstrated—implored ; it
was of no avail—the cottage interfered with the prospect.

One evening the old man, half bewildered, had returned from a
fruitless journey to the palazzo. He sat down in his garden, and looked
with swimming eyes upon his mirthful children (heedless pretty ones,
whose very happiness gives a deeper melancholy to a house of sorrow);
shocked and wounded by the tyranny of his landlord, he glanced at
Hugo’s Pear-Tree—(for so he always called it). The old man leapt
from his seat—his resolution was taken—he would go to Rome—he

1831.] Pope Gregory and the Pear-tree. 387

would, as a last hope, strive to find some part of his boyish playmate
Hugo, in the wrinkled, politic churchman. All things were soon ordered
for his journey, and he quitted the cottage, bearing with him a small
basket, filled with the finest pears plucked from Hugo’s tree. Luigi
arrived in Rome—and now, with a sinking heart, now with a confidence
based on honest pride, he sought the presence of the Holy Father.
Appearing before the servants of his Holiness, Luigi asked for an
audience of Messer Hugo Bon Compagno? When reminded of this
unbecoming familiarity, Luigi replied, that he knew not Pope Gre-
gory XIII., but was a dear friend of Hugo’s, and therefore demanded to
see his companion, not caring, he said, to trouble the pope.

To this Luigi obstinately adhered, continually urging, with great
earnestness, that he should be admitted to the presence of his early
comrade. There was a simplicity in the old man’s manner that for once
won upon the minions of the great; and the strange demand of Luigi
being reported to his Holiness, he was with great ceremony ushered
before the sovereign Pontiff—before the man who was courted by em-
perors, flattered by kings. All retired, and the rustic and God’s vicar
upon earth were confronted.

How changed, since the friends had last met!—Then they were, at
least in fortunes, almost equal. Now, one was bent beneath the load of
empire—worshipped as one only “ a little lower than the angels’—the
triple crown upon his head—St. Peter’s keys within his hand. What
has the poor gardener to shew against all these >—a basket of pears !

« Now, my son,” said Pope Gregory— you sought Hugo Bon Com-
pagno—you find him in Gregory the Thirteenth. What ask you at his
hands ?”

“ Justice, most holy father—justice and no favour.”

“ Speak.”

«I made with another, in my time of youth, a mutual compact of
kindness and protection—we vowed that whichever should prosper in
his fortune, should serve and assist the other.”

“It was a Christian promise. Well? Stand you in need of suc-
cour ?”

“ Most grievously—oppression has come upon me in my old age.”

“ And your friend forsakes you i your need? Have you witnesses
to the compact of which you speak ?”

** Yes—this basket of pears!”

“ Pears !” cried the pontiff, and light darted from his eyes as he fixed
them earnestly on Luigi—

“ We planted the tree on which they grew—‘ Let this tree be a cove-
nant between us’—were the words of my companion. He and the tree
have flourished: for forty years that tree has never failed ; for every
year it hath brought forth a crop of luscious fruit—and I have sat beneath
that tree and wondered how it could be so bountiful to me, when he
who prince to plant it, he who was bending beneath his honours and his
wealth, had forgotten to send me even a single pear.”

“ Luigi—Luigi,” exclaimed the pontiff, and with a face crimsoned
with blushes, he threw his arms about the rustic !—Their grey heads lay
on each other’s shoulder. Thus they continued for some moments, and
then Luigi, stooping to the basket, presented a pear to Gregory: he took
it, and ea it, burst into tears. ‘

Luigi kept his cottage. J.

[ 388 j [Ocr.

“¢ CONSOLATIONS” IN CHOLERA.

Tuar the cholera will cross the Channel before the reform-bill shall
have passed the House of Lords, or before certain noble senators have
exhausted their eloquence in defending the assassin of the old Marquis de
Loulé, or before the non-illuminated have caused the broken windows of
their mansions to be mended, can scarcely admit of much doubt, when
we look at the rapid strides this greatest of all reformers has already
made into the heart of Germany. At all events it may be quite as well,
even if it never reaches our own shores, to turn a greater share of our at-
tention to the means of opposing the progress of this malady, and whilst
scientific men are yet at variance respecting its contagious or non-con-
tagious qualities, to adopt all the means placed within our power, to
prevent the sacrifice of human life to the yet unsettled opinions of its
nature.

If during the fierce disputes which have always, and ever will prevail,
on the subject of epidemics, the common consent of all the disputants
could but be obtained to a system of precaution, which would include
the resistance of attacks either from contagion or infection, then, with-
out any derogation to science, the epidemics which so often ravage
Europe, and particularly the Mediterranean coast of Spain, might pos«
sibly be attended with a much smaller loss of life; but unfortunately
theorists have hitherto found a pride in maintaining doctrines formed
previous to any entrance on the arena of the malady, where alone cir-
cumstances should assist in forming their conclusions, which are too often
the cherished decision of closet-studies, or, what is still worse, interested
views. Such was the variety of opinions regarding the nature of the
late epidemic at Gibraltar, that one physician daily swallowed the “ vomito
negro’ to prove its non-contagious power, whilst another conversed with
his patients at the end of a long stick, and with averted head, lest a
nearer approach should communicate the disease. Experiments accord-
ing to the notions of each particular party were consequently practised,
and no single combined system of cure observed, because prejudice could
not be conquered.*

Ifit be not too hazardous a step to pronounce an opinion derived from
mere experience, amidst the conflict of scientific ones which exist, the
precaution might not be found without its use, nor totally disregardful
of the health of the people of these realms, if the cholera morbus were
considered as a disease communicable, either from the breath of infected
persons, or by means of conducting substances, such as hemp, wool, &c.,
from which effluvia may arise to poison the atmosphere, and propa-
gate the pestilence. In this light it becomes the legislature not only to
enforce quarantine regulations against passengers, but also to cause a

“ Until Dr. Pym’s arrival in Gibraltar in 1828 no uniform system of cure or
precaution was adopted. It is curious to reflect on the composition of the board of
inguiry government instituted at this time, to consider the nature ofthe disease.
Two of the members of this board were the town major anc the captain of the port.
In case the fever had been pronounced indigenous, the town major would have been
displaced for suffering a AS population to collect in the garrison. If imported,
the captain of the port would have been equally disgraced for a relaxation of the
quarantine laws. Yet amidst this heterogeneous mixture government hoped to
elicit impartial opinions.

1831.] * Consolations” in Cholera. 389

regular and strict expurgation of all merchandijze coming from suspected
ports or places.

Lest these remarks shouid cause it to be supposed that some disserta-
tion on infectious diseases is here intended, I must at once declare that
such is not the case; it is only meant to record some of the moral
features of the epidemics which have occurred in the garrison of Gibraltar
—hitherto the most fertile field in Europe for the study of contagious
disease.

It is well known that many of the present inhabitants of the rock have
accumulated great riches merely from the frequent recurrence of epi-
demics. Now that their treatment is somewhat better understood, and
that fear, that worst of all infections, has not as formerly abolished all
police regulations, the chances of making fortunes by these events are
considerably diminished ; add to which, the present registration of landed
property prevents the accidental holders of title deeds from appropriating
to themselves houses or lands, which the death of the real owners in-
duced them to convert to their own use. During the fever of 1904, the
houses of sick individuals were openly plundered at mid-day of every
valuable they contained. The family of a Portuguese lady, who had all
fallen victims to the epidemic, had been successively carried to their
graves, she alone lay abandoned on her bed, with just sufficient of sense
left to see what was passing around her. A neighbour, who had hoped
that there would be no kind friend at home to receive her visit, came to
the house, and under the impression that her conduct was unwitnessed
by any living being, proceeded to rifle the drawers of some valuable
jewellery, with which she decamped. The Portuguese lady, contrary to
expectation, recovered ; as soon as she was able to walk, she returned
her neighbour’s visit, intent on reproaching her with the theft, but death
had laid his cold hand on the offender, who was extended on the floor a
corpse. Under these circumstances, to take possession of what was her
own property the lady conceived was perfectly justifiable. In the act of
helping herself the police entered the house to remove the dead bodies,
and found her in the act of carrying off the jewellery. In vain did she
protest the property was her own; the appeal was useless, she was hur-
ried off to prison, and as soon as the fever had subsided was brought to
trial. Fortunately the parties yet lived of whom the Portuguese dojiia
had purchased the trinkets ; these lent some weight to the story she told
in her defence, and when the possession of the ornaments came to be
contrasted with the notorious poverty of the woman who hae. died, the
prisoner’s innocence became apparent.

At this time the living were scarcely sufficient in number to bury the
dead ; delinquents imprisoned for crime were offered their liberty on
condition of undertaking that office. Even those under sentence of death
were pardoned for this purpose. Four mutineers, soldiers of one of the
Irish regiments in the garrison, had been condemned to be shot at the
ii of the commencement of the epidemic. They had taken a final

eave of their wives and children on the morning of execution, and were
conveyed to “ Bay-side” to undergo the sentence of the court-martial.
Their eyes were bandaged, and they had already fallen on their knees,
when, ere the platoon received the word “ to fire,” the town-major stepped
up tothe culprits, and told them, on condition of their devoting their lives
to the care of the sick and the burial of the dead throughout the duration

390 ** Consolations’’ in Cholera. [Ocr,

of the fever, his excellency the governor consented to grant them a free
pardon. The poor wretches, already half dead with fright, could scarcely
believe the words addressed: to them, but as soon as their scattered senses
comprehended the proposal, they joyfully assented to the terms. Being
set at liberty joy lent them wings, they took to their heels, contending
with each other which should gain the barrack-yard first to communicate
the joyous intelligence to their families. Here all the women and chil-
dren, belonging to the different regiments of the garrison, had assembled
to join in the wailing and lamentation customary with the lower class of
Irish on these occasions. Uttering the wild shouts so peculiar to their
country, the four men with reversed jackets, and bandages with which
their eyes had been bound still hanging loosely round their heads,
bounded into the barrack-yard to the great terror and astonishment of
the women and children, who had already commenced the most dismal
howlings, concluding this world had closed upon the condemned. Con-
fusion and dismay now seized every one present; their natural super-
stition lead them to suppose these were but the apparitions of the de-
ceased. A cry of “ghosts!” was raised. Some of the women ran dis-
tractedly screaming to and fro, whilst the more bold shared in silent
trembling the general panic. On three of the four wives of the soldiers,
the yet unexplained phenomenon of their husbands’ reappearance had a
fatal effect. Strong hysterics seized their frames, as they viewed with
streaming eyes, and indistinct vision, the supposed spectres. The
pardon of the men was the death-blow of their wives, who never reco
vered from the fearful effects of that sudden surprise. The poor fellows,
however, braved the fever in its direst forms, and all except one survived ©
its fury.

One third of the population of the garrison were at this time swept
off. Protestant, Catholic, Jew, and Mahommedan were buried in one
common grave. The cries of the sick and dying resounded from the
houses and ships. The heavy rumbling of the dead-cart was constantly
heard in the:streets. Coffins, of rough deal, lay piled in pyramids in the
market-places. The scene of desolation was such as may not be painted too
minutely, but it may be easily imagined how every way terrific are these
scourges of Providence, if we for a moment picture the ties of kindred
or of love broken and despised—every one intent on individual safety— |
flying from death in one shape but to meet it in another !

The extreme danger resulting from any unnecessary detention of a
corpse above ground, in so hot a climate, gave rise to some ludicrously
tragic events, which in the general dark picture of an epidemic may
almost be considered the only endurable relief.

A Genoese captain, from whose body the breath had scarcely escaped,
was placed in a shell for interment; the evening gun told at this time
the closing of the garrison gates, outside of which was the burial ground.
The corpse was consequently allowed to remain in the apartment where
it laid, till the following morning. The mate of the vessel to which the
captain belonged, calling at the captain’s house to ascertain his fate, was
informed that he was dead, and already nailed down in his coffin. The
mate recollected the captain wore a pair of gold ear-rings, and deeming
it a pity these should be interred with the body, watched a convenient
opportunity to steal up-stairs, when he removed the lid from the coffin,
and proceeded to detach the ear-rings from the captain’s ears. One of

1831.] “.Consolations” in Cholera. 391

these did not easily yield ; the mate thinking at the moment he over-
heard footsteps on the stairs, attempted to force the ornament from the
ear, and in so doing tore away part of the flesh. Blood instantly spirted
from the wound, and with a deep groan the Genoese slowly raised him-
self from his narrow bed! The mate was filled with terror; he threw
himself on his knees, and implored all the saints in the calender to
pardon the sacrilege he had committed. He declared he meant no harm
to any one! When the mutual surprise had so far subsided as to admit
of an explanation of their relative situations, it was discovered that the
captain had been too speedily deposited in his coffin. He embraced the
mate, and prayed heaven to reward instead of punishing him, for only
tearing off his ear, whereby he had prevented him from being buried
alive!

Benito Soto, the pirate, who was imprisoned at Gibraltar, during the
epidemic of 1828, nearly succeeded in getting himself removed from
his prison, by ingeniously colouring his face with yellow ochre,
and his tongue with ink. In this state he was found by the gaoler,
extended on the floor of his cell. So frightful did his condition appear
that even those who had taken pains to innoculate themselves with the
disease, were afraid to approach him. Reflection, however, on the
symptoms of his case, led to the suspicion that some hoax was intended.
He was consequently strictly watched, and the trick was discovered.
Instead of being conveyed to the hospital, as he expected, where he
would not have found it difficult to make his escape, he was more closely
confined than ever. This jmposture having failed, he subsequently
attempted to commit suicide, which, from the cares of Mr. Scrogie,
one of the garrison staff, who presides at the farewell ceremonial of
culprits, he was prevented from effectually accomplishing.

The over-crowded population of Gibraltar, during the last fever in
this place, filled with just alarm the sinecurists, who had so long enjoyed
the fruits of office ; they perceived the attention of the government at
home would now necessarily be drawn to the state of the population in
the garrison, and therefore adopted every expedient to reduce the
amount of its numbers, and amongst other measures, strictly prohibited
the re-entrance into the town of all the Spanish emigrants, who had
been encamped, during the fever, on the neutral ground. Orders
were given to the inspectors at the different gates to prevent their
admission. ‘Towards the close of the fever the ingenuity of these gen-
tlemen was roused to devise means to escape the vigilance of the
gate-keepers. The dead-carts, which, from the regularity of their
arrivals and departures, had been compared to stages, and had been
actually nick-named “ The Swan,” “ The Defiance,” “ The Black Vomit,”
&c. &c. were pitched upon, on account of their fitness for concealment,
as an excellent means of serving their purpose. A party of these ill-fated
men bargained with the driver to carry them into the garrison, which
being agreed on, they were placed within the vehicle, and conveyed
without observation to their place of destination. They had scarcely,
however, descended from the pestiferous cage in which they had been
confined, ere they were seized with the worst symptoms of the yellow-
fever, the carts being strongly impregnated with the contagion. Con-
trary to their expectations, they all fell victims to their temerity ; and
were soon after removed in the same conveyance to their graves.

392 ** Consolations’ in Cholera. [Ocr.

The frightful ravages this disease made at Barcelona in the year
1823, exhibited the fear the Spaniards still entertained of it. The medi-
cal men despatched from Algesiras to visit the Gibraltar hospitals, after
examination of the sick, declared the malady to be nothing more than
bilious intermittent fever, an opinion which for a short time greatly
delighted some English medical sages, who exultingly reported that the
Spanish physicians had but confirmed their own ideas of the nature of
the disease. Few hours, however, had elapsed ere their eyes were
opened to the true opinion of the Spanish doctors. On the arrival of the
latter at the Spanish lines, on their return to Algesiras, the commandant
was informed that a yellow fever, of the most virulent description, existed
in the garrison. All communication was immediately suspended, and
a military cordon was formed across the peninsular which connects
Gibraltar with Spain, thus preventing any entrance of the English re-
sidents into the neighbouring country. Birds or beasts which acciden-
tally crossed the cordon were at this time pursued and shot. The
Spaniards were prohibited from eating fish, being told that the English
were in the habit of casting dead bodies into the sea, which, by poison-
ing these animals, might communicate the disease. The inhabitants of
the garrison were even forbid to sail along the Spanish shore on pain of
death, which latter prohibition had nearly proved fatal to the writer.
A sudden breeze prevented a boat, in which he was sailing, from
tacking at the required moment, and carried him involuntarily
beyond a jetty which had been marked out as a boundary by the
sea line. A volley of musquetry from the shore, which made sundry
apertures in the flapping sail, soon told that a choice between that
of being drowned or shot was extremely probable; the former
alternative was chosen: leaving the boat to drive before the wind,
he jumped over-board, and strove, by swimming, to regain the Eng-
lish territory, but “ ere he could arrive the point proposed” he became
exhausted, and, as is usual, just previous to sinking, felt all the strange.
sensations antecedent to such a death, which those who have been in
similar situations can alone appreciate. With just sufficient sense left to
know that the rays of the bright sun, which shone full on his face, as he
lay floating upon the water, were the last he should ever see, he bade
farewell to its light ; and at the same moment he was grasped by a stout
hand, who, regardless of danger, and instigated by the suggestion of a
brave and noble heart, buffeted the contending waves, and drew the
tired swimmer to the shore.

S. B.

1831.] [ 393 J

DISCOVERIES IN AFRICA.

Lanver’s discovery of the mouth of the Niger, has turned public
interest once more to Africa, and there may now be at last a rational
hope of establishing some useful communication with its people, dis-
covering some portion of the natural riches of a land fertile beyond all
conception, where it is fertile at all ; and perhaps ameliorating the social
condition of those millions of mankind who have been from the earliest
ages condemned to be the victims of their own ignorance, and of the
avarice of every other people of the globe.

Those who scoff at every thing, may scoff at the idea that providence
takes any care about those matters. But there may be no superstition
in thinking that there is a striking coincidence between this great dis-
covery of a path into the heart of Africa, and the present perfection of
the steam-boat ; and that the honour of the discovery, and perhaps its first
and most direct advantages, are given to the nation which first declared
against the sale of the unhappy African, and which, to this hour, holds
an unremitting and most righteous struggle against the incorrigible and
hideous avarice of the European slave-traders. The entire of Western,
and what is called central Africa, are unquestionably laid open by the
discovery of the mouth of the Niger, and by the access thus given to
the numerous rivers which branch off from its course, and which inter-
sect nearly the whole of the middle country. But there is still a vast
country, the table-land of Africa, totally unexplored, and of which we
even can conjecture little; but, by judging from other table-lands, that
its climate is temperate, its population naturally numerous, and that in it
we shall probably make the finest and most useful discoveries of natural
produce and mineral opulence.

The extent of Africa overwhelms the mind. It is nearly five thousand
miles long, by four thousand broad, and it lies directly under the sun’s
path ; the equator almost intersecting it, and the tropics covering
the central regions to the north and south. The sun is always ver-
tical, somewhere, in Africa. In Major Head’s ingenious Life of Bruce,
he observes, that “ what is marked by nature, on our European scale of
climate, as excess of heat, is all that the African knows of the luxury of
cold, except what is produced by elevation or evaporation.” It is two
thousand five hundred miles from the equator to its northern boundary,
the Mediterranean, and al) put the same distance to its southern, the Cape
of Good Hope. The great question with men of humanity and common
sense is, how this mighty continent can be civilized, made happy, and
made a contributor to the general happiness and wealth of the world.
In this view, we entirely agree with the author of the life of Bruce.
Nothing has been made in vain. The Creator had made no country, for
the express purpose of defying the activity or benevolent ingenuity of
man. All is capable of being turned to good if we but use the means.
The earth was undoubtedly made to submit to the mastery of man, and
the vast and curious inventions of late years seem to have been put into
our hands for the purpose of expediting that mastery. It is not impro-
bable that the discovery of America was delayed, until the peaceful state
of Europe, the commercial activity of its people, and the adoption of
settled governments, rendered it capable of taking advantage of that

M.M. New Series.—Vou. X11. No. 70. 2 L

394 Discoveries in Africa. [Ocr.

magnificent discovery. It is observable, that the discovery originated in
no striking improvement of either ships or seamanship at the time. The
European ships and sailors had been for centuries as good as those which
first touched at America. But if the discovery had been made under
the Roman empire, it would have been probably neglected by a people
who were engrossed with war, and who despised commerce, and hated
the sea. If in the dark ages, it would have probably been equally neglected
among the furious feuds of the little European powers, too little to bear
the expense of remote expeditions, living from day to day on the plunder
of friend and enemy, distracted by perpetual change, and generally
perishing as soon as they rose. The only use which they would have
made of America, would be as a place of refuge to some defeated chief-
tain and his half savage followers. But atime came, when the Crusades
had relieved the European cities of the weight of baronial tyranny,
when the sudden opulence of Venice, arising from its eastern intercourse,
awoke mankind to the value of commerce, and when the leading sove-
reign of Europe, Ferdinand, the ruler of the most chivalric and daring
nation of the fifteenth century, had just flung off the tremendous pressure
of the Moorish wars. And then, and at that moment, was divided
before the Spanish keel the mighty barrier, which had shut out America
from the eye of mankind since the creation.

If Africa, so long known, and so close to the most civilized and
inquiring regions of the world, should have remained to this day scarcely
less shut out than America, we may well ask, how could we expect to
have the treasures of this land given to us, while Europe was guilty of
the slave-trade, while, if we could have penetrated the hidden glories
of this fourth of the creation, it would have been only to spread more
misery, to shed more blood, to fill it with the moral contagion of the most
corrupting of all traffic, to inflame more savages to fury and massacre by
our temptations, and finally to drag more human beings from their
country, to perish thousands of miles from their home. The time has cer-
tainly arrived when this trade, which it is no violence of language to call
Satanic, has received its death-blow, at least in England, and the time
may not be remote when we shall be summoned to apply the national
vigour to open up the treasures of Africa. “ It is not unreasonable to
hope that the whole southern continent may be given over to our tute-
lage, and that England, the great depository of freedom, knowledge, and
religion, may be the elected guardian of the infancy of Africa. Our
extraordinary advances in machinery, and the general command over
the powers of nature, a command which seems to have been almost
exclusively confided to this nation, have not been given for nothing,
and important as they are to the increase of our wealth and comforts at
home, we shall yet see them operating through the world on the colossal
scale, suited to the wants of nations. The very fact that our powers of
steam and machinery are so rapidly increasing, that we literally can
hardly imagine to what known obstacle we shall have to apply them,
tends to shew that there must remain something very important in this
world for man to do. In short, the enormous tools which nature is
placing in our hands, clearly foretell that she has some wonderful work
for us to perform, and therefore, instead of calculating, as many people
do, for instance, how long our coals are to last us, and in how many
years hence we are unavoidably to be left in cold and darkness ; is it
not justice to believe, that with our new powers, we shall obtain new

1831.] Discoveries in Africa. 395

resources, and that the wisdom of nature will continue to bloom when
the idle fears and theories of the day have faded away and perished.

The hope of civilizing Africa, must depend on its being made fit to
sustain civilized communities, which from its present natural constitution
it is unfit to do; one immense portion of it being overspread with
‘barren sands, and another being alternately turned into a bog by rains
and rivers, and into a nest of contagion by the action of the sun upon
this mighty morass.

Between the tropics it is constantly raining somewhere, and the rain
falls in quantities that absolutely overwhelm the country. The hot
winds constantly follow the sun from tropic to tropic, and the vapours
which they raise, on reaching the higher regions of the atmosphere,
and being chilled, are constantly poured down in rain. A country of a
thousand miles on the north and south of the line, is thus kept constantly
in a state of the most powerful irrigation, and the direct result is, a most
superabundant fertility for the month or two while the earth is drying,
and excessive heat and excessive moisture first come in full combination.
Yet for the remainder of the dry period, the land is a sink of pestilence ;
so deadly from its miasmata, and so torturing from the swarms of insects
generated by the heat, that man and the inferior animals perish in great
numbers, or fly even to the desert, where they had rather encounter the
tremendous fierceness of the sun, than the agony of the innumerable
stings that haunt them in the fertile soil. The country is covered with
immense marshes, and thick jungles, where the over-luxuriance of the
vegetation checks the air, and all is fever and death.

We see that the whole question turns on the distribution of the rains.
Too much water, or too little, makes the misfortune of Africa; and the
only remedy for the evils which convert one of the richest soils of the
world into a grave, or a nest of reptiles, is to be found in equalizing this
giftof nature. It is impossible to doubt that a vast portion of the wil-
dernesses of Africa would produce the fruits of the earth, if they had
water. We find in the heart of the desert, vegetation where ever there
is a well, and a little colony, surrounded by woods and rich fields, where
ever there is any thing like a regular supply ef water. The grand prob-
lem would be to lead the superfluity of the tropical rains from the in-
numerable rivers, and immense lakes of Central Africa, into regions now
condemned to perpetual dryness. The results would be to dry the
watery morass into productive soil, and to water the burning sand alike
into fertility ; in fact, to drain the centre of the country, and to irrigate
all the rest: and for this purpose the peculiar construction of the conti-
nent seems to offer no trivial advantages.

The whole central belt of Africa runs directly under the equator, and
from the known figure, and the actual formation of the land, this central
belt is so lofty that it pours its rivers, the collection of its rains, down
on both sides through the continent in great abundance and force. Den-
ham computes the lake Tchad, one of the reservoirs of those rivers, at
twelve hundred feet above the level of the sea, and the ground beyond it
towards the south was still rising. Bruce computed the southern ele-
vation to which he had reached, at two miles above the level of the sea,
and this is probably but a small part of the whole elevation. T'o use
Major Head’s words, “It being true that there are a series of vast tanks
and reservoirs placed by nature above the thirsting deserts of Africa, the
stagnation, as well as the rapid evaporation of which, now pollute the

3 L 2

396 Discoveries in Africa, [Ocr.

climate ; and also that a number of immense rivers flow out of Africa
into the ocean; would it not be a problem worthy of the inquiry of
travellers, by a scientific reconnoisance, to determine (only in theory,
for theory must in this case long precede practice, and with the practice,
after all, we can have little or nothing to do) what would be the difficul-
ties attending the tapping of those enormous vessels. As also of apply-
ing tourniquets upon those veins and arteries, which, eternally bleeding,
have left a great portion of Africa destitute of vegetable life.”

We fully agree in this conception, gigantic as it is, and difficult as its
execution may seem. It would be a truly noble object of inquiry ; and
would be worth all the idle ramblings of our dilettanti in Egypt—that
fashionable lounge—to the last days of the earth. But we greatly doubt
the veto, that we can have but little to do with the practical part of the
change, if it shall take place. If it be ever done, it will be done by
England. It is our boast, and deservedly so, that no work of palpable
good ever wanted protection in our country, nor the ability to carry it
into execution, when once fairly undertaken: and there are some
curious instances which may take off our alarm at the difficulty. The
water of the tropics is actually conveyed through the whole length of
the sands of Nubia in the memorable course of the Nile ; and a little
‘sandy region in the shore of the Mediterranean is turned into the most
extraordinary example of fertility in the world by this simple water-
course. There are in Egypt itself, the very region of sand and sun-
beams, dykes and embankments for irrigation, on a vast scale, to which
the permanent fertility of the land is owing. In the Abyssinian history
a threat is recorded of one of the kings who had a quarrel with the
Divan of Cairo, to turn away the Nile, and thus “stop the cock,” out
of which Egypt drank. There is a remarkable instance too, of a threat
of this kind having been partially put in force, when Lalibala the king,
in the year 1200, turned the course of two rivers from the Nile into the
Indian ocean.

The true points in which those conceptions should be viewed, are their
use to Africa, their use to mankind in general, and their especial honour
to England. It is a matter of great importance to have a direct object
of acknowledged utility in our researches in a foreign country. Hitherto
in Africa we have had scarcely any, or the mouth of the Niger alone. Our
travellers have all set out on a hunt for Timbuctoo, of which nobody
knew what possible good could be derived from the discovery. But
Timbuctoo had been said by some fabling Moor to be a second Paris or
London, with only the addition that gold was the paving of the streets.
A crowd of able and active minds have been lost to their country in
this wild-goose-chase after an Eldorado, which after all turns out to be
nothing more than a collection of filthy huts, in the heart of a desert.
Bruce, a man of admirable powers, of great acquirement, intelligence,
and mental and personal activity, wasted his health, his wealth, and
his years, in achieving the trifling discovery, that one of the sources of
the Nile was a spring in a hillock, in an Abyssinian valley. But the
expedition to discover the means of pouring fertility into the wilderness,
and giving health to the tropical regions of Africa, would be among the
noblest that can be undertaken by the benevolent ambition of man.
That there are vast districts where drainage could be effected with very
simple means, and equally vast ones where water might be collected and
preserved to supply the failure of the rivers in the dry season, is well

1831.] Discoveries in Africa. 397

known. On such a subject, though rashness may be deprecated, it would
be criminal to despair. We must remember, that “ the difficulties will
not increase, while our powers are hourly increasing ;” and in this good
spirit let us turn to the service of human nature our last grand discovery
of the Niger.

But it is a higher consideration still, that by giving health and fertility
to Africa we should be actually taking the most direct way to elevate
the character of its innumerable tribes. The tyranny of the petty kings
is almost wholly founded on the poverty of their people, on their ignor-
ance of every thing, and their unacquaintance with the arts and comforts
of European life. The poverty of their kings themselves drives them
to the horrid resource of the slave-trade, itself reacting on every feature
of the national character. Africa undivided by its enormous deserts,
and with the spirit of man unbroken in it by perpetual disease and
poverty, would not long remain without making advances in liberty,
knowledge, virtue, and as the combined result and protector of them
all, in Christianity.

Our intercourse, unstained by the indescribable pollution of the slave-
trade, would rapidly excite the tribes to the employment of their natural
powers, and by a wise and well regulated commerce we must rapidly
rescue those benighted millions of our fellow-men from fetters heavier
and more fatal than all that were ever forged of iron. And all this
might be done without the most trivial coercion, and with the most direct
advantage to ourselves. “In all countries under the sun there is one
great road that leads directly to every man’s heart, his own interest.”—
If we were calmly to offer to those people the information that we pos-
sess, and give them gratis the inestimable benefits which science can be-
stow upon rude labour: if we were to offer to the poor woman a wheel
for her draw-well—to the people who pound their corn in a mortar,
a simple method of grinding it—if we would by a common filter sweeten
for them impure water, and by an herb lull the painful disorder which
it creates—if we would come forward to replace a dislocated limb—if we
could shew manure, unknown, lying in the soil before them—and on the
greater scale, if we would explain to those people, that by a very simple
operation immense districts of their vast country might be either irri-
gated or drained—in short, if, on great subjects as well as small, we
were chemically and mechanically to assist them, we should undoubtedly
find that the general good qualities of a mind truly civilized, would, in
Africa, as well as elsewhere, be fully appreciated, that our fame would
justly extend, and that every tribe and nation would be eager to receive.
us. The following sketch of the rivers of Africa, shews what vast floods
the tropical rains pour down, and how little founded is the complaint
which charges Africa with general want of water.

“ The only river of consequence which empties itself into the Mediterranean
is the Nile. It is the longest river in the whole Continent, being navigable
about four hundred and fifty miles from the sea. The greatest velocity of the
stream is three miles an hour. The rivers in the Barbary States, which run
into the Mediterranean and Atlantic, are very insignificant.

“ There is no stream deserving notice on the western coast from Morocco to
the Senegal.

“ From the river Senegal, along the coast of Guinea to the equator, there is
more water discharged into the ocean than from any other part of Africa—
probably more than from all the rest of that Continent put together. The

398 Discoveries in Africa. [Ocr.

Senegal has a course of about one thousand miles; is navigable for sixty
leagues from its mouth, in all seasons; and, in the rainy season, vessels of one
hundred and fifty tons can go two hundred and sixty leagues from the sea.

“‘The next river of importance is the Gambia. It is navigable for vessels of
three hundred tons for sixty leagues. The tide is felt, in the dry season, at
the distance of two hundred and fifty leagues. For the first three months,
even of this season, the current is so strong that vessels cannot ascend the
stream.

“The next river is the St. Domingo, then the Rio Grande, navigable for
vessels about twenty leagues, and for large boats about forty leagues farther.
From this river, or more properly from the Gambia to the river Mesurado, the
country being flat, the rivers are often united a considerable distance up the
country, when they branch off, and discharge themselves into the sea in dis-~
tinct streams.

«The Mesurado is a large river, so is the Sierra Leone river. Then follow
the Ancobar, St. John’s, Volta, and Formosa rivers. The latter can be ascended
twenty-eight leagues.

“From Formosa river are the Rio dos Forcados, the Bonny, the New
Calabar, the Old Calabar, and the Rio del Rey. These are very large rivers,
and not well known. The country about here is low; and these streams inter-
sect the land in every direction, and form numerous islands,

“‘ Turning southward is the river Cameroons, which has several mouths, but
its size has not been ascertained. Then succeed several smaller streams, till
we arrive at the Congo or Zaire river, which is very large and rapid, disco-
louring the sea for a considerable distance, and tearing away large pieces from
its banks.

** South of the Congo, for about six hundred miles, there are several rivers of
a good size; many of them will admit vessels of one hundred tons. After that,
for about eight hundred miles, there is not a single stream of fresh water till we
come to the Fish river. Then follows the Orange river, which, although it has
a considerable length of course, does not discharge much water into the sea.

«« There are several considerable streams in the colony of the Cape of Good
Hope, as well as on the east coast of Africa, the largest of which is the Eramo
or Zambese, which has a course of about one hundred and eighty leagues. The
rest are much smaller, but none of these are well known, though many of them
are large and deep at their entrances.

“The Decra river, which runs into the Indian ocean to the north of the
equator, is very large at its mouth, and is supposed to take its rise in the moun-
tains south of Abyssinia. Beyond this there are no rivers of consequence till
we reach the Nile, and indeed it is not known that there is a single stream of
fresh water discharged into the Red Sea.”

Such is the continent newly opened ; for we must call Africa a closed
world to us, until the discovery of the connection of the Niger with the
ecean. Such are the means of access given to us, now that we have
purified our hands of the abomination of man-selling, and that we are
masters of that most extraordinary means for defying tide and storm,
which steam has given. A great duty is imposed upon us, and England
is not what she was, if she does not instantly proceed to fulfil it, and that
nobly.

1831.] [ 399 J

PROPOSALS FOR ABOLISHING THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER.
BY A RETIRED SPORTSMAN.

Tue first of September, and the first of April, are the only days in the
year to which I have strong objections. The fifth of November is also
no particular favourite of mine, though it serves to keep up my abhor-
rence of the Pope. Why I dislike the first of April I need not say—but
why I utterly abominate the first of September I have sundry good and
efficient reasons sufficiently powerful. Only let the humane reader take
into consideration the fate of those unhappy ornithological bipeds, (to
speak scientifically) who are thus annually deprived of their short-lived
existence. Wilberforce, are you thrashing your nigger >—Martin, are
you starving a donkey ?—that you allow this worse than slavery, this
horrible cruelty to pass unnoticed. What is slavery compared to the
life of a partridge? What is cruelty in comparison to its fate? Talk
of thrashing a nigger, what’s that to basting a pheasant? Talk of
rubbing red pepper into the back of a slave when he shews symptoms
of insubordination, what’s that to the cayenne and lemon juice thrown
upon his body when the poor bird gives indications of being on the go?
Mr. Martin described the sufferings of animals with an eloquence as
great as if he had himself endured them. Let him be placed on Wim-
bledon Common, and allow himself to be shot at by innumerable cock-
neys, till some one puts him out of his misery—then let him undergo
the various operations of plucking, skewering, basting, and cayenne-and-
lemon-juicing:—let him be eaten with bread sauce, and his bones thrown
to the dogs; and then let me ask him if he ever felt, or saw, or read of
any thing half so cruel in the whole course of his philanthropic exist-
ence? There is no disputing such an argument ; and I entertain great
hopes that after passing the Reform Bill, ministers will bring in a bill
for abolishing the first of September. Let them talk of the good quali-
ties of the blacks, let them praise the usefulness of domestic animals ;
but to a brave nation such as Great Britain, no virtue can be of half so
much importance as that of being game to the back-bone. Ex officio
informations should be brought against Manton, Egg, and such as are
in the habit of persuading others to break the peace, and spread inflam-
matory reports.

I may be asked what motives induce me to attempt spoiling other
people’s sport. I say, the most disinterested that ever influenced frail
humanity. I have known, seen, and felt all kinds of sport, and have
always found it, however pleasing at the commencement, most unpro-
fitable at the conclusion. I have had painful experience of the fact, and
will relate the result of that experience for the edification of all those
who are interested in this most momentous subject.

I was always fond of sport. I recollect my first essay was against the
finned race, and it took place shortly after I had been initiated into the
glory of frock and trowsers. I had previously observed boys of all
ages, by the banks of a pond near our house, pursuing their piscatory
avocations, who used to carry away with them their tiny prey alive in a
wine-bottle, or a pickling-jar filled with water. I saw nothing in the
pond but a few consumptive looking dogs, who, if I were to fish there
all day would never honour me with a bite—doubtless for various good
reasons of their own into which I have not inquired ; and some unfor-
tunate kittens who had been deprived of their existence for sundry

400 Proposals for abolishing [Ocr.

unanswerable arguments in political economy, (for which see Malthus).
But I had ocular demonstration that some very fine fish nearly half an
inch long, inhabited those waters ; for I saw them hooked, and bottled
off for home-consumption. I was an Izaak Walton in embryo, and
declared war against the tittlebats. Clandestinely I procured the best
part of a ball of thread from my mother’s work-box, and luckily found
a bent pin admirably adapted for my murderous intentions. These I
joined together, affixed a worm to one, and my father’s riding-stick to
the other, and then sallied out to the enjoyment of my first day’s sport.
Nibbles I had innumerable, but I was at first too eager, and lost every
chance. As I became more disappointed, the fish became more shy. I
watched the bait with as much anxiety as an expected heir watches the
last symptoms ina rich relation. At last I saw one of the scaly tribe,
larger than the rest, swim several times round the bait, and look at it
with rather a suspicious eye ; after a time his doubts cleared up, or per-
haps it had wormed itself into his confidence, for he opened his capacious
jaws and swallowed it with as much ease as a whale would a jolly-boat.
I was overjoyed with my prize, but had unfortunately forgotten to bring
with me any vessel in which to carry him home. I thought of a happy
expedient ; that very morning for the first time I wore a handsome new
white hat; without a moment’s hesitation I snatched it off my head,
scooped out some water with it from the pond, put in my fish, and
marched homeward with a very exalted idea of my own cleverness at
having discovered a new hat to be useful for more purposes than one.
Near home I met my father, who had gone out in search of me. On I
went in full confidence of being rewarded with all the halfpence in his
coat-pocket for my skill and dexterity. I exultingly told him my
history, in confirmation of which there was the water oozing out of my
unfortunate beaver, which had undergone considerable alteration both
in colour and shape. As soon as he saw its deplorable condition,—but it
will be enough to say, that, as was also the case with the fish above
mentioned—I caught it.

I grew up more fond of sport than ever. My father had a consider-
able freehold property, with game preserves ; but although he was ex-
ceedingly fond of shooting, he gave strict orders to the servants not to
allow me on any occasion to handle a gun. I was therefore confined to
bows and arrows, and other missiles, which teach “the young idea how
to shoot,” and occasionally did considerable execution among the tomtits
and other small-birds. This I soon grew tired of. I panted for higher
game. I tried to coax the game-keeper, but without success. I at-
tempted to bribe the other servants with as little effect. Then I be-
thought me of a boy on the estate, who had a gun for the purpose of
keeping the rooks off the corn. He was a poor half-starved, tattered
rascal—in fact a living scarecrow. He had a sort of den under the cover
of a thickset hedge, at one extremity of the field. I got into his good
graces by bringing to him something more palatable than his ordinary
diet ; things I had stolen from the larder for that purpose; and while he
was eating I scaredaway the rooks by shouting atthem. Things went on
admirably. He taught me howto load a gun and fire it off, and allowed
me to handle it. His was an old heavy one, with a touch-hole wherein
I could nearly put my little finger. I longed to shoot a hare, but he was
only allowed powder, and I knew that without shot I had but small
chance of killing one. To supply the defect, I picked up in the gravel-

1831.] the First of September. 401

paths, a number of nice little round white pebbles about the size of swan-
shot ; these I kept in my pocket till a proper occasion for their use pre-
sented itself. One day when the boy had gone into the next field to cut
a turnip for a dessert after his dinner, and had left the gun in my care,
I put in nearly a handful of these little round pebbles, rammed them
well down with stiff brown paper, put in plenty of priming, and then
with the gun upon half-cock, I went in search of game. There was a
path, on each side of which were plantations; and I knew I should find
there hares in plenty, and rabbits out of number. I got there with all
speed, approached on tiptoe along the grassy edges of the path, and be-
held four hares nearly within shot, scratching up the gravel, and then
scattering the dust with their hind legs with the greatest impudence
imaginable. I hid myself behind a tree, cocked my gun, and waited for
them. Ina short time a fine jack-hare came within a few yards. I
put the gun to my shoulder—took aim—shut my eyes, and pulled the
trigger. I heard a bang—and felt one, which sent me nearly lifeless on
the ground. When I recovered, I found myself lying in my own bed
with a dislocated shoulder.

After that I was sent to school that I might be out of the way of mis-
chief. Here I contrived to have a little sport occasionally. It was the
custom of our worthy dominie during the summer season to take us out
every Saturday to angle in a brook within about a couple of miles of his
«« Establishment.” For this he had two good purposes in view, it went
to the increase of our health, and to the reduction of his expenses ; for the
proceeds of the Saturday’s sport always went to the Sunday’s dinner.
When we had caught as many as we could, we put away our lines and
hooks, divested ourselves of all external covering, and plunged into the
water. One luckless day I was diving where there was a great depth of
water a little distance from the rest, and as I was throwing out my feet
I felt myself to my inexpressible horror and pain, hooked just below the
tendon-achilles. I prepared to rise to the surface, but felt the hook tug-
ging in a contrary direction. As soon as I could clear the water from
my eyes, I discovered a little cockney urchin, who had lately joined the
school, standing on the edge of the stream, and wondering what sort of
a fish he had hold of. I brought my complaint with my wounded leg
before the master, but the bow-bell and bow-kneed imp whimpered out
as an excuse, (the punis his, not mine)—“ Vy, I vas only a fishing for
heels,” and he was allowed to go with a reprimand, and a desire to drop
the aspirate in future. Rods I always disliked since I first came in con-
tact with them ; and lines, except poetical ones, I have never made use
of from that hour.

This, though it damped my ardour for sport a little, did not lessen
it. It only determined me to confine my pursuit of it to the land.
There was a subscription pack of hounds kept in the neighbourhood,
and they hunted during the season twice a week. Our excellent
pedagogue always indulged us, upon half holidays, with the enjoyment
of following the chase on foot, and at convenient places observing it at
a distance. This I did with as much excitement as the red-coated and
top-booted gentlemen themselves ; but I longed to cross a horse, and
mingle in the mounted throng. There I thought was all the enjoyment ;
and the pleasure to be derived from hunting on one’s own legs I began
to think, was a mere nullity compared with that of carrying on the sport
on those of others. Once, as I was running along the side of a hedge,

402 Proposals for abolishing [Ocr.

I heard the sound of a horse’s feet, and as I turned round I saw a
huntsman taking a flying leap over the high hedge within a few feet
of where I stood. He cleared that, and a wide ditch as well, but the
beast stumbled, pitched his rider violently to the ground ; and then,
after going a few paces, suddenly stood still. Without a moment’s
thought I put my foot upon the stirrup, and with some difficulty
mounted the saddle, but, before I could make my seat secure, the
animal started off at the top of his speed. It was a terrible cutting-up
chase across country, but we cleared every thing in the finest style: five-
barred gates we went over with as much ease as a frog would over a
mushroom, stone walls of any altitude, and ditches of any width, were
passed almost without an effort. The consequence was, we distanced
all competitors, and kept close to the hounds; wherever they went we
went, I expecting, at every leap, as many a member of parliament may
at this moment, to be deprived of my seat. Every ditch seemed to
yawn for me, and every wall seemed to put its head in our way that
mine might be sent against it. The fox, asa last resort, swam across
the branch of a canal, but he was “dogged” wherever he went, and
killed at the other side. All I remember further is, that I was ulti-
mately tumbled backward into the water, and that, when I recovered,
my kind master thought it right, as I had been “ horsed’”’ during the
chase, that a similar ceremony should be performed afterwards.

In due course of time my father went the way of all fathers, and I
was declared heir to the estate. Then my old passion for shooting
returned with its full force, as I knew I possessed every opportunity of
indulging it. I armed myself with a first-rate double-barrelled Joe
Manton, and purchased some excellent dogs. The first of September
arrived, and with my old friend the gamekeeper, who had the reputa-
tion of a most capital shot, I started off one fine morning caparisoned in
the most appropriate style. We went through the park into a stubble
field—the scene of my first attempt. The sight brought to me some
painful recollections, but I considered that there was some difference
between concussion and percussion guns, and felt more at ease. We
trudged side by side. Presently the dogs made a point, and up went a
covey of young partridges. This rather confused me, and prevented
me taking a good aim, but I slapt away with both barrels, and though
the flashes made me wink a little, it did not prevent me, to my inex-
pressible joy, seeing a brace and a half of birds fall to the ground. I
ran to pick them up, and the keeper, while he was reloading, compli-
mented me upon my success. After we had bagged the game we
proceeded onwards. We found the birds very plentiful and strong
upon the wing, but to my surprise and delight I never missed once—
bringing them down by two’s and three’s every time. The result of
that day’s sport was very pleasing, for we had partridge-pie in the
house all the week ; and sent several brace beside to my friends in town.
My good friend the keeper proclaimed every where that I was a most
astonishing shot, and as he seemed to admire a very handsome powder-
flask which I made use of, I presented it to him, in return for his
honest opinion. My delight in sport increased wonderfully, and my
friendship for the gamekeeper with it, for I found that I never missed
when he was by my side; consequently he was never away when we
went out on our sporting excursions. He generally fired either at the
same time, or immediately after I did, but he always laid the result to

1831.] the First of September. 403

my charge, with such strong asseverations of my superior skill, that I
in a short time considered him to be a miracle of honesty, and when he
complained of his ill-luck, I thought I was bound to make him most
liberal amends. My fame increased wonderfully, till one day, at the
house of a neighbouring squire, whom my friend, the keeper, had
assured me was not half so good a shot as myself, a dispute arose as to
who was the best ; that I was sufficiently certain of, and offered to bet—
I tremble to think of the sum—that I would bag more game in a certain
time than he could. The conditions were, that his keeper should proceed
with me, and mine with him, that each should have the same chance of.
fair play. I was going to demur about the absence of my faithful servant,
but I considered that one keeper must do as well as another, and was
satisfied. Every thing was arranged, and we started off in different
directions, exactly at the same hour. The man who went with me was
not at all prepossessing in his appearance—an old, stiff, ostrich-legged
sort of person, who looked as if he lived upon cast-iron. He was as
taciturn as a sign-post, and moved as mechanically as an automaton.
We had not proceeded far, before, with the usual rustling of wings, up
rose a hen pheasant, and immediately afterwards the cock followed ;
my senses must have been distracted between the two, for I fired at
both, but unfortunately killed neither. I felt a little chagrined, and
looked at my companion, while he was loading, but his countenance
was innocent of all expression. We went on—my dogs started a hare
—I slapped at him with both barrels, and waited to see him drop ; but
on he went as if nothing had happened, and turned into a coppice. I
called back the dogs in no very good temper, but my silent friend did
not seem to notice any thing. I proceeded, and met with the same ill-
luck wherever I went. I shot at numbers of pheasants, without so
much as inconveniencing one of their feathers, and kept firing away at
hares, without disarranging the order of their tails. I began to think
it very odd. Still the features of my untalkative companion kept their
vacancy undisturbed. The time now was nearly concluded, and I had
not bagged any thing. The last field came to be crossed. It was full
of furze, and I knew it to be the resort of hares and rabbits innumer-
able. I had gone a little way, when I saw something move among the
bushes, which I was certain could be nothing else but a hare. I took a
good aim, and fired. To my infinite horror I heard a melancholy howl,
a few short barks, and then my favourite spaniel crawled out, and lay
dead at my feet. I was just on the point of shedding tears at this
unhappy incident, when I was startled by a tremendous noise close by
me: I turned round, and saw my hitherto mute companion indulging in
a strain of laughter that drowned even the reports of my competitor’s
gun, which were now becoming nearer. The end of it was, that my anta-
gonist had met with the most excellent sport. My keeper was loaded,
and several boys followed him, bearing as much game as they could
carry. He was in high spirits, and praised the excellence of my pre-
serves, with a volubility of tongue which kept me dumb. When my
companion came up, and was desired to produce the result of my day’s
sport, he twisted his mouth into a most diabolical grin, and opened the
game-bag, where I thought there was nothing ; but to my utter despair
the unfeeling villain hawled out by his tail, the remains of my hapless
spaniel. What could be said after that! “ Where should Othello go?”

This settled my love of sport. I discharged my keeper without any

404 Proposals for abolishing the First of September. [Ocr.

ceremony, and did the same with my gun for the last time. To fire-
arms, I have thus acquired a most particular aversion, and like Mr.
O’Connell, have made a vow never to accept any challenge; so that it
would be quite useless for any one to think of calling me out. My
friends wanted me to become a captain in that fine body of middle-sized
men, the Surrey militia, by which I might have had an excellent oppor-
tunity of seeing the coronation ; but I disliked the suspicious mamner in
which they carried their muskets, and declined the honour. When in
town, I never attend the theatres, in consequence of the immense
quantity of gunpowder and bad jokes which are let off there upon all
occasions, and nothing on earth will induce me to touch a newspaper
on account of the “ reports.” R. F. W.

PARAGRAPHS FROM A PORTFOLIO.

Tue “science” of Latin-verse pronunciation has puzzled England for
the last five hundred years, and I suppose will proceed in puzzling it
for five centuries more at least. Watson, Bishop of Landaff, in his
Memoirs, feelingly deplores the misfortune of having “ got his Latin” at
a north-country school, which left him to hammer out the “longs and
shorts” for himself, when he began to work his way up to character at
Cambridge. Paley too, was not “strong’’ in this very much prized,
and very absurd attainment. It is still among the stories of the “com-
mon room” at Oxford, that in reading the Thesis for his Doctor’s de-
gree, he pronounced “ profugus” with the penultimate long. All Oxford
was in astonishment, nothing was talked of for a month, but this high-
treason against prosody. At last by an effort of wit and indignation
which cost the author another month, the following lines were pasted on
the undone Doctor’s door :—

“ Ttaliam, fato profiigus, Lavinaque venit littora,
Errat Virgilius: forte profagus erat.”

It is to be presumed that nothing could have prevented his drowning
himself under the college pump, after this ponderous punishment ; but
his getting the living of Bishopwearmouth, worth two thousand a-year
then, and since worth four, and swelling the pluralities of the Honourable
and Reverend the husband of the celebrated Lady Charlotte Cadogan,
and brother of the Duke of Wellington, being the fifth tribute to the
« virtues and learning” of that very lucky personage.

Sheridan’s habits of wxpunctuality were so confirmed, that no one ever
thought of his keeping an engagement: and the true way of having
him’ at dinner was to invite him to breakfast ; then there was a probabi-
lity of his stepping in about the time cloth was laid, to apologize for
being a “ little too late.”

At last a friend, who had frequently been disappointed when he had
asked large parties to meet him and Mrs. Sheridan, applied to him to
fix his own hour, and tell him fairly at “ what time of day or night, he
would choose to dine.” “‘Oh,any hour you think proper,” was Sheridan’s
answer: “but, my dear friend, hang being fixed to minutes! I hate
such bread-and-cheese notions.”

1831.] Paragraphs from a Portfolio. 405

_ Asingle sentence may sketch a national character. What could be
more graphic than the Englishman’s, who, sitting in a coffee-house, the
day after he was in the Gazette, happened to have his opinion appealed
to by a couple of his friends. “Sir,” said the ruined man, in the bitter-
ness of his spleen, “‘ why should any one ask me? What opinion can a
man have in this country, without a guinea in the world.”

To take another character from the mingled wit and scorn of a Per-
sian. When it was told to Nadir Shah that the Turks intended to in-
vade Persia, he threw his cloak into his camp-fire: “I do this,” said he,
“ because it was old, and I shall soon have tailors for nothing ; the cross-
legs are coming.” On hearing that the Turks were actually on his fron-
tier, “ Never mind,” said he, “they would have enough to do, if we were
asleep. The Osmanli have but two hands, the one is busy keeping on
their turban, and the other pulling up their trowsers. If they had a
third, it would be holding up their pipe.”

The discovery of the chief sources of human enjoyment have all been
attributed to some fabulous origin in the ancient world. Corn, wine,
oil, music, and a multitude of similar things have all been ushered in by
some antique tale. But some have had in later times a sort of second
birth. The story of that important feature of the Englishman’s happiest
dinner, the beefsteak, was thus given in the middle ages.

Lucius Plaucus, a Roman of rank, was ordered by the Emperor
Trajan, for some offence, to act as one of the menial sacrificers to Jupiter :
he resisted, but was at length dragged to the altar. There the frag-
ments of the victim were laid upon the fire, and the unfortunate senator
was forcibly compelled to turn them. In the process of roasting, one
of the slices slipped off the coals, and was caught by Plaucus in its fall.
It burned his fingers, and he instinctively thrust them into his mouth.
In that moment he had made the grand discovery, that the taste of a
slice thus carbonadoed was infinitely beyond all the old, soddened
cookery of Rome. A new expedient to save his dignity was suggested
at the same time ; and he at once evinced his obedience to the emperor
by seeming to go through the sacrifices with due regularity, and his
scorn of the employment, by turning the whole ceremony into a matter
of appetite. He swallowed every slice, deluded Trajan, defrauded Ju-
piter, and invented the beefsteak. A discovery of this magnitude could
not be long concealed: the sacrifices began to disappear with a rapidity
and satisfaction to the parties too extraordinary to be unnoticed. The
priests of Jupiter adopted the practice with delight, and the King of
Olympus must have been soon starved, if he depended on any share of
the good things of Rome. The phenomenon at length attracted Trajan
himself: he was a man of that indignant virtue, which hangs the crimi-
nal for the purpose of reforming him. The chief priest of Jupiter,
and all his subordinates, were condemned to the halter. This venerable
personage, was a man of ancient years, of imperturbable gravity, and had
the most prodigious and saintly length of beard in Rome. Trajan
felt some human compunctions at the loss of a high-priest with such
a holy prodigy hanging at his chin, but his word was irrevocable, and if
he had ten times the length of beard he must be hanged. The emperor,

406 Paragraphs from a Portfolio. [Ocr.

however, did him the last honour, that of attending the ceremony. All
Rome was on foot: there never had been any thing so melancholy since
the death of the Emperor Titus the beloved, and the interest made by
the Roman matrons of the first rank, to get conspicuous places in the
Coliseum, was unequalled. How the high-priest would be clothed,
whether he would be hanged or decapitated, and in the latter case have
his beard, or his head cut off first, were the whole conversation of the
highest circles for a week, and the ladies of the senators, and the royal
family, wept and laid wagers on their own opinions of the matter, from
morning till night. During the entire day before, nothing was done,
but driving from place to place, to make bets on the length of time the
holy criminal would take in dying, to hurry the robe-makers for new
dresses for the ceremony, and to join their tears in weeping for the hand-
somest wearer of the handsomest beard, ever seen since the arrival of the
ambassador from the Parthian king.

The day came, and the Coliseum was crowded to the highest bench,
with all the youth and beauty of the metropolis of the world; the
costumes magnificent, the gold and jewels incalculable, the loveliness
divine, and the tears, only awaiting the beginning of the sacrificial song
to fall in showers.

The ceremony at length commenced, and the high-priest, looking
more venerably handsome than ever, advanced to be hanged. Virgins
and matrons rose on tiptoe, that they might not lose a single feature of
a ceremonial, against which even the presence of Trajan himself could
not prevent them from more than murmuring, as the most barbarous
act of his reign, though they acknowledged that the general ceremony
was worthy of imperial magnificence. In short, all were terribly in-
terested, all miserable, and all delighted.

Trajan now approached, and the high-priest supplicated that he
might be allowed to finish his career as he had begun it, by sacrificing
to Jupiter. The last request of so high a servant of the state could not
be refused. The altar was loaded with fire, the victim was laid on it in
the accustomed pieces, and the ceremony was performed in the most
perfect style. At its close the high-priest presented a fragment of the
offering to the emperor, humbly entreating that he would but put it to
his lips, as an evidence that he bore no personal resentment against the
sufferer. Trajan complied, tasted it, and the slice, to the universal
wonder, instantly disappeared. Another, and another followed. The
ministers of the scaffold were still delayed. The matrons and virgins
began to be impatient for the conclusion of the ceremony. At length,
the whole vast assembly rose, and with loud outcries demanded, how
long they were to be disappointed. The emperor returned from the
altar, and with a look that expressed all the offended dignity of the
master of the world, resumed his seat upon his throne. Then with the
high-priest at his right hand, said, “‘ Romans, clamourers against my
imperial will, rebels against him who is a god on earth, bow your heads
to the dust and be silent. Know the temptation before you adjudge the
crime. The high-priest has given away only to an irresistible pleasure.
Now you, in your ignorance, call him an offender against the laws of
the empire ; if he had not so done, he would have been an offender
against the laws of nature. I invite him to dine with me to-day. To-
morrow, there shall be a public banquet, at which every dweller in

1831.] Paragraphs from a Portfolio. 407

Rome shall taste what I have tasted to-day ; and on the third you will
be erecting in every street of Rome, statues to the great discoverer.”
All was so said and so done, and the Beefsteak was immortalized.

_ © The noble lord in the blue ribbon,” said Fox, in one of his nervous
attacks on Lord North, “ I see, carries the concentrated majesty of the
government in his person. But however it may have been in other
times, he shall not be counted for his cabinet ; he shall go for nothing
more than he is worth, in the settlement of this question.”

Fox’s reference was probably to the very curious, and very lucky,
mistake, in casting up the votes in the celebrated 31st of Charles II.
Lord Grey, one of the tellers, a man of pleasantry, on seeing a very
corpulent peer just entering the house, said, laughing, “ My lord, I can-
not count you for less than ten,” and went on counting accordingly.
The other teller, Lord Harris, a moody and careless man, took the
telling for granted, which Lord Grey, in the hurry of the moment, for-
getting what he had done, gave in. This decided the majority for the
Ayes, and the bill, one of the most important to the freedom of Eng-
land, the right to bail before trial, was made part and parcel of the
law.

The world is flooded with anecdotes of Johnson. Let me record an
anecdote of one of his hearers. He and Burke were one evening,
I believe, at the Misses Cotterell’s, when the conversation turned
upon the great poets of antiquity. At length, it was settled on the
comparative merits of Homer and Virgil. Johnson was for Homer,
Burke for Virgil. Johnson poured out a prodigious quantity of
thought upon the vividness, originality, and grandeur of the Greek.
Burke delighted in the sustained majesty, the mingled pathos and
vigour, and the mellifluous eloquence of the Roman. The argument
went on for hours, while no one present thought of interrupting
so noble a display of genius on both sides. At length, a young lady’s
eye glanced on her watch, and to her surprise, finding that it was
past midnight, she whispered the hour to her mother. “ Child,” said
the mother, indignant at being disturbed, “ tell me that the house is
on fire, for nothing else can be an excuse for leaving such conver
sation.” ;

A party, among whom were Arthur Murphy and some of the “ Wits
about Town,” were dining at a tavern in Fleet-street, when two of them
oddly began to quarrel about two poems which they were on the point
of publishing. ‘To appease the controversy, Murphy recommended a
deputation to Johnson, to decide a bet, as to which was the superior
work,

The deputation waited on the doctor, who, though surprised at dinner,
was at length induced to listen to the statement of the affair. “ What
depends on my decision?” said he. “ Five guineas,” was the answer.
“ Give me the poems,” said Johnson. He ran his eye down them,
and reckoning the lines, made his award. “ Gentlemen,” said he,
solemnly, “ poetry does not always differ from real life. It is a right
principle, of two evils to choose the lesser. Both poems are as bad as
poems can be ; therefore the shorter has won the wager.”

_--

408 Paragraphs from a Portfolio. [Ocr.

The French, in their day of revolutionary renown, had a favourite
boast that all the roads of the world centered in Paris, a boast which
expressively hinted that the march of a French army was easy to any
capital of the globe. But England has now taken the lead in the loco-
motive propensity, and her travellers, whether by steam, by carriage-
wheels, or by balloons, will soon leave no spot untraversed where man
can live and be looked at. How would it have astonished our forefathers
to hear that St. Petersburg could be reached from London, slept in, and
returned from, within the week. Of course, this lays all Europe, where
a steam-boat can approach, directly at the mercy of the cockney who
can spare from twenty-four hours to half a dozen days. A simple glance
at the map shews the distances of all the ports.

The distance from Amsterdam to London is 190 miles W.

The distance from Copenhagen to London is 610 miles N.W.

The distance from Stockholm to London is 750 miles S.W.

The distance from St. Petersburg to London is 1140 miles S.W.

The distance from Constantinople to London is 1660 miles N.W.

The distance from Lisbon to London is 850 miles N.N.E.

The distance from Dublin to London is 338 miles S.E.

The distance from Edinburgh to Londonis 395 miles S.

The distances between London and the capitals not accessible by sea
are more formidable from the mere circumstance of their being out of
the way of the steam-boat ; but time may introduce the railway, at least
upon the principal highroads of Europe, and we shall disregard miles
equally by land or sea. The distances of the remaining capitals are:

London from Paris is 225 miles N.N.W.
London from Berlin is 540 miles W.
London from Vienna is 820 miles N.W.
London from Madrid is 860 miles N.N.E.
London from Rome _ is 950 miles N.N.E.

No one will charge either the ancient Romans or the modern English
with inferiority in mental distinction, and yet almost the whole of the
Roman sources of eminence in the arts of civilization were foreign. Their
music, painting, and sculpture were Greek ; their laws Greek ; their
architecture Greek. In war their borrowing was equally conspicuous.
Their tactics, their weapons, their armour, their standards, their military
rewards, their art of fortification, their military machines, were all bor-
rowed from strangers.

England has been just as great a borrower, if we were to judge merely
from her language. Our principal terms of sculpture and of paint-
ing are Italian; our military terms are French; our navigation has
largely borrowed its language from the Dutch and Flemings; our sys-
tems of accounts, loans, and banking, are Italian ; our coats are made by
a tailleur ; our wives’ gowns by a milliner (a Milanese) or a mantua-
maker ; our hunting vocabulary, our horsemanship, hawking, and field-
sports in general have borrowed largely from the French ; our cookery
is daily borrowing so much from the French, that it will require a Pari-
sian education to sit at an English table. The chief uses of the old
English are to be found in the names of things connected with tillage.
The names of science, and its instruments and operations, are principally
modelled on the Greek. The botanical names of flowers are generally
Latin. And yet England has contrived, like Rome, to do prodigiously

1831.] Paragraphs from a Portfolio. 409

well on the system of borrowing; or rather, is not the good sense that
dictates this general adoption of all that is useful among strangers, the
true guide to greatness in men or nations?

Eccentricity finds eccentric reasons for its doings. Schlager, a Danish
man of fortune, sold his estate, and fixed in the northernmost corner of
Iceland. He said that he fixed there because he hated the confined air
of Europe, and chose to have his breeze fresh from the pole.

An Englishman, some years ago, was found vegetating in the midst
of bogs and solitudes, in a village on the west coast of Ireland. His
reason was, to be in the next post-town to America.

A Spaniard perched his house on the summit of the Sierra Morena;
on being asked, “why he preferred that place of clouds, storms, and
solitude?” he said, “that he was tired of mankind, and the clouds hid
mankind from him ; that he was tired of his wife’s tongue, and that the
storms drowned her talk ; and as to the solitude, he could not be soli-
tary, who had the angels for his next door neighbours.”

No book has lost more by “ improvements” than Johnson’s Dictionary.
The definitions in which Johnson’s spleen burst out against a world
which had used him hardly enough, have been extinguished one by one,
until this famous Dictionary differs little from a common word_book.
The first edition took the town by surprise more than any book of its
day, and a second edition was called for within the year.—No slight
part of the charm was to be found in such definitions as these:

“ Tory.—A cant term, derived, I suppose, from an Irish word signifying
a savage.—One who adheres to the ancient constitution of the state, and
the apostolic hierarchy of the church of England.—Opposed to a whig.”

“« Whig.—The name of a faction.”

** Pension.—An allowance made to any one without an equivalent.—
In England it is generally understood to mean pay given to a state-hire-
ling for treason to his country.”

“ Pensioner.—A slave of state hired by a stipend to obey his master.”

“ Excise—A hateful tax levied upon commodities, and adjudged not
by the common judges of property, but by wretches hired by those to
whom it is paid.”

For this opinion on matters of excise, the commissioners conceiving
violent wrath, actually meditated a prosecution for libel, and laid an
opinion before Murray, the Attorney-general, afterwards Lord Mansfeld,
to ascertain how far they could take vengeance on the man who had
called them wretches, a name, however, to which they had been tolerably
well accustomed from the time of Walpole. Murray, who probably
a the whole affair absurd, recommended that “an opportunity
should be given to the writer to alter his definition ; otherwise, he should
be threatened with an information.” Murray thus dexterously contrived
to evade the onus of a public prosecution, and the hint was probably
given to Johnson, for the definition of both Excise and Pension were
altered in his octavo abridgment.

The Doctor’s well-known antipathy to the Scotch, still displayed itself
in his definition of

“ Oats.—In England the food of horses, in Scotland the food of men.”
But his gall was let fly on other things too, for example—“ Dragoon, a
soldier who fights indifferently on foot or horseback.” His scorn of his

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XI. No.70. M

410 Paragraphs from a Portfolio. [Ocr.

own pursuit was humorously represented by his definition of —“ Lewico-

grapher, a writer of dictionaries, a harmless drudge ;” and “ Grub-street,

the name of a street in London much inhabited by writers of small
: : ee : y

histories, dictionaries, and temporary poems; whence any mean produc-
Sk aie ee 2 : 2 y Pp

tion is called Grub-street.

Tom Warton, the Laureate, abounded in eccentricities, as is the case
with most men who have lived much by themselves. Tom Warton had
«kept his chambers” for thirty years in a college. He had an extraor-
dinary fondness for puppet-shews, and all sorts of street exhibitions, pro-
vided they were attended with a drum. The charm was in the drum.
He was a thorough believer in the frequent appearance of ghosts, though
I do not recollect whether he ever was indulged in person with any visit
from the tombs. One of his propensities, and a most unaccountable one,
though he shared it with Selwyn and many others of note, was his fond-
ness for seeing executions. In one instance, when he had some parti-
cular reason to fear the indecorum of being present, he was known to
have disguised himself in a smock-frock, and appeared as a carter.

He was desperately ridiculed in the “ Probationary Odes for the Lau-
reateship,” and the joke was made keener by an ode of his own being the
one inserted among the burlesques. Unluckily, nothing could be more
capable of being turned into a caricature of the whole art and mystery of
those unfortunate productions, Birthday Odes. The Laureate seemed to
take the jest in good part, but the blow was not to be parried.

Mason, the poet, was a good deal of a coxcomb. All the world have
laughed at the story of the senior wrangler, who on going to the play
one night when the king was present, and seeing the audience standing
up, begged of them to sit down again, declaring that he had not expected
Cambridge news to be so soon known in London, and that, though he was
senior wrangler, he was still but a man.

Mason went nearly the same length of modest deprecation. He had
written a heavy poem called Isis, containing some reflections on Oxford,
and speedily forgotten by every body. Some years after, he paid a visit
to Oxford, and congratulating himself that he entered it at the close of
the evening, his friend asked him the reason, “Oh, to be unseen!” was
the answer ; “ remember my ‘< Isis.’”

The French have a pleasant little anecdote of a poet suddenly awak-
ened from his dream of popularity. The bard had published some
verses on the Lottery, which fell lifeless. After running about Paris
for a week to gather his laurels, and finding that the crop had entirely
failed, he left the city of the Muses and Graces, with a solemn protest
against ever believing again that a Parisian knew good verses from
bad.

Within a league or two of the abandoned city, he sat down to rest
himself, and soon perceived that he was the object of marked attention
to all the passers by. Some took off their hats—some pressed their hands
on their bosoms—some looked up to Heaven, as if thanking it for having
sent so distinguished a genius upon earth. The bard was surprised,
delighted, overwhelmed with gratitude. “ Paltry Parisians!” he
exclaimed, “ your brains are stuffed with the dust of your stupid streets.
It is only in the country that sensibility exists ;—this is true fame at
last.” He rose, and continued gratefully taking off his hat to every

1831.] Paragraphs from a Portfolio. All

group who passed. At length one man threw himself from his horse,
knelt down, and approached him on his knees. The bard was in rap-
tures. Was there ever a more striking deference to genius?—it was
actual worship !—“< No, no, my good friend,” he exclaimed, rising,
“ you must not offer this homage to me. I acknowledge your taste.
Yet remember that, though I am the author of the ‘ sixteen sonnets’
on the Lottery, I am still no more than a man.”

The worshipper looked astonished, but proceeded in his homage. The
bard could no longer resist ; this delightful disobedience mastered him.
He rushed forward, and flung himself in tears on the worshipper’s neck.
The man started up, and they both rolled on the ground together. As
the bard happened to cast up his eyes, he saw that, on the bank
behind him, was an image of the Virgin. The secret of the general
bowing and uncapping was suddenly revealed to him. He rose, brushed
the dirt off his culottes, shook the dust off his feet against the good city
of Paris, went his way, and wrote verses no more.

Old Selden has some curious remarks on the manners of courts. He
compares the different styles of the English royal life to the succession
of dances at a ball—which, by the by, seem to have been a curious and
rather formal ceremonial in themselves. “ First, you have the grave
measures ; then the corrantos and galliards; then French-more and the
cushion-dance ;—and then all the company dances—lord and groom,
lady and kitchen-maid—no distinction.

* So, in our court, in Queen Elizabeth’s time, gravity and state were
kept up. In King James’s time, things were pretty well ; but, in King
Charles’s time, there has been nothing but French-more and the cushion-
dance—omnium-gatherum, tolly-polly, hoity-cum-toity.” ’

Julius Cesar, the prince of gazette-writers, has undergone the torture -
of the wits in his Latinity. “ Venit summa diligentia” is translated
** come on the top of a diligence ;” proving that, in his time, they tra-
velled by public coaches in France. Tacitus is authority for the Roman
invention of telescopes ; for itis said of the same Cesar that, in his inva-
sion of England, he examined the country positis speculis—“ by fixing
his glasses ;” though another translation pronounces it— putting on
his spectacles.” And Suetonius is equal authority for attributing
the trial by jury to the Romans. Speaking of Czsar’s death, he
says, “ Jure cesus videtur,’ which is translated—< he appears to have
been put to death by jury ;” a proof unanswerable, and which may
lower the crest of our Anglo-Saxon law-makers.

It is singular to see a phrase making the tour of the world. Oxen-
stiern’s celebrated remark, “ My son, see with what little wisdom the
world is governed,” was probably made a thousand years before Oxen-
stiern, and uttered by a thousand lips before his. Selden relates it of
one of the popes :—

“ He was a wise pope that, when one, who used to be with him before
he was advanced to the popedom, refrained afterwards to come at him
(presuming him to be too busy in governing the Christian world). The
pope sends for him, bids him come again, and says, ‘ We will be merry
as we were before ; for thou little thinkest what a little foolery governs:
the whole world.’ ” -
2M 2

412 Paragraphs From a Portfolio. [Ocr.

Selden’s notions of popery would be scouted by the liberalism of our
days. Yet Selden’s acuteness will scarcely be doubted ; and he lived in
a time when popery was well known.

« The protestants in France bear office in the state, because, though
their religion be different, yet they acknowledge no other king but the
king of France. The papists in England, they must have a hing of
their own—a pope, that must do something in our kingdom ; therefore,
there is xo reason they should enjoy the same privileges. :

* Amsterdam admits of all religions but papists, and ’tis wpon the
same account. The papists, wherever they live, have another king at
Rome. All other religions are subject to the present state, and have no
prince elsewhere.

“« The reason of the statute against priests was this. In the beginning
of Queen Elizabeth there was a statute made that he who drew men from
their civil obedience was a traitor. It happened, that this was done in
privacies and confessions, where there could be no proof. Therefore,
they made another act, that for a priest to be in England was treason,
because they presumed that it was his business to fetch men off from
their obedience.

“ The priests of Rome aim but at two things—to get power from the
king and money from the subject.

« When the priests come into a family, they do, as a man that would
set fire to a house. He does not put fire to the brick wall, but thrusts
it into the thatch. They attempt the women, and let the men alone.”

We all know the characteristic answer of the Protestant to the Papist
who taunted him with the novelty of the Reformation.

“ Did you wash your face this morning ?”——“ Where was your face
before it was washed ?”

Selden gives it in another shape. Papist. “ Where was your religion
before Luther, a hundred years ago ?”—Protestant. “ Where was Ames
rica a hundred years ago, or sixscore years ago?”

ésop himself has nothing finer than Selden’s apologue of the Dog
and the Mutton. On the maxim “ Jn a troubled SvarEe save as much

for your own as you can.

** A dog had been at market to buy a shoulder of mutton. In coming
home, he met two dogs that quarrelled with him. He laid down his
shoulder of mutton, and fell to fighting with one of them. In the mean-
time, the other dog feli to eating the mutton. He seeing that, left the
dog he was fighting with and fell upon him that was eating. Then the
other dog fell to eating. When he perceived there was no remedy, but
which of them soever he fought with, his mutton was in danger, he
thought that he would have as much of it as he could, and thereupon
gave over fighting and fell to eating himself.”

The apologue of the Lion and the Fox is full of the practical wisdom
so important in his day. ‘ Wise men say nothing in dangerous times.
The lion called the sheep, to ask her if his breath smelt? She said,
Aye. He bit off her head for a fool. He called the wolf and asked
him. He said, No. He tore him in pieces for a flatterer. At last he
called the fox, and asked him. Truly, he had got a cold and could not
smell.””

1831.] Paragraphs from a Portfolio. 413

After all that we have been told of the prepared orations of the Greek
and Roman orators, it is curious to find so high an authority as Quin
tilian declaring, that without the power of extempore speaking an orator
had better let his art alone.

« Maximus vero studiorum fructus est, et velut premium quoddam
amplissimum longi laboris, ex tempore dicendi facultas. Quam qui
non erit consecutus, mea quidem sententia, civilibus officiis renuntiabit,
et solam scribendi facultatem ad alia opera convertet.”

His directions to attain this essential faculty are many and rational.
«« Nota sit primum dicendi via.” We must first look to the order of the
subject, and settle which part to place first, second, and so forth. The
next point is the “ copia sermonis optimi,’ the commodity of good
words. This is to be the work of habit. “ Nam consuetudo et exerci-
tatio facilitatem maxime parit.” The next point is to acquire the habit
of “ foreseeing the parts of the discourse.” “ Ut dum proxima dici-
mus, struere ulteriora possimus semperque nostram vocem provisa et
formata excogitatio excipiat.” A great point is to throw our own feel-
ing into the subject. ‘ Pectus est enim quod disertos facit, et vis men-
tis. Ideaque imperitis quaque, si modo sint aliquo affectu concitati,
verba non desunt.”

But no one should trust entirely to his talent, nor suppose that words
and thoughts will come at command. We must cultivate the extempore
faculty from the least beginning, to perfection.

The other mode is thinking the subject over in all its divisions, which
has the advantage of its being manageable in all times and places. Dili-
gence should be perpetual. “ Studendum semper et ubique.” Cicero
recommends “ perpetually to speak one’s best.” “ Quidquid loquemur,
ubicunque, sit pro sua scilicet portione perfectum.”

We should never write more than when we are practising extempore
speaking ; for writing corrects the superfluities of style, and gives it
solidity and dignity. Those who have frequent necessity for extempore
speaking, often find it convenient to write down the principal points, and
“ beginnings,” which Cicero did. It may be advisable also to have
notes and heads written to glance at. But it is bad to write down an
oration which we are to deliver ; for it restrains the natural impulse of
the time. ‘Nam hic quoque accidit, ut revocet nos cogitatio ad illa
elaborata, nec sinet prasentem fortunam experiri.”

[. 414 J [Ocr:

AFRICAN TRIBES.—THE ASHANTEES, &c.*

Tue attractive, but very deceptive colouring under which the narra-
tive of Mungo Park was disguised, before being submitted to the
public, was more calculated to aid the deep designs of certain persons
in this country, than to give a faithful view of the actual state and
condition of African society.

To please the public, and the amis-des-noirs, the harsh features of
the picture seem to have been softened down, or entirely obliterated ;
and instead of presenting us with a faithful idea of what Park actually
saw, we fancied to ourselves a number of primevous communities of
happy and innocent beings, amusing themselves with “‘ mumbo jumbo,”
dancing all night by the light of the moon, and pitying the poor white
man, who had “ no mother to bring him milk,” and who, “ to grind his
corn, no mother had he!”

These narratives, universally read and admired, assisted in creating
erroneous impressions, which were artfully kept up until this country
was led into an injudicious expenditure of some millions of public money,
—genuine charity was enticed from its proper channels,—and many
thousands of valuable lives have been thrown away in pursuance of
impracticable plans for civilizing Africa, and in maudlin schemes, pro-
mulgated under the specious garb of philanthropy, which never would
have been entered upon, or at least pursued to any ruinous extent, had
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, been at first
made public.

To draw aside the veil, and look at the actual deformities of African
society, as exhibited by more recent travellers is, to a mind imbued
with feelings of humanity, rather a repulsive than a pleasing task. But
when we contemplate the mischief which has actually been done, and
may still be perpetrated by persons taking advantage of these false
impressions ; and when we hear people still characterizing the natives
of Africa as a simple, innocent, and unoffending race, it becomes the
duty of every honest man to strip them of that deceptive and factitious
colouring by which the truth is obscured, and to exhibit all their
native deformity, so that delusion may no longer prevail.

We have already, by exposing the Sierra Leone humbug, and by
noticing the travels of Clapperton, Caillé, Landers, and others, contri-
buted our share towards this desirable object ; and we have now before
us the narrative of Major Ricketts, a gentleman who spent many years
in active service on that coast.t

* Narrative of the Ashantee war, with a view of the present state of the colony
of Sierra Leone.—By Major Ricketts, late of the Royal African Colonial Corps.
London, 1831.

» + Our readers are aware that the slave trade is still carried on there, in spite of
our naval superiority, to a greater extent than ever; but they may not, perhaps
know, that while ministers are endeavouring to put it down with one hand, they
are holding it up with the other. Foreign sugars, raised by means of the slaves
now surreptitiously carried off by these foreign slave dealers, are, by a jugglin
“ foreign sugar refinery bill,” admitted into the refineries, and are partly cgtimal
in this country, to the exclusion of British sugar; so that the latter is now almost
entirely shut out from the refineries; for by this stupid bill the refiners for expor-
tation cunningly obtain a bounty, in the shape of drawback, of 3s. or 4s. per cwt, more
than is allowed upon British sugars!

1831.] African Tribes.—The Ashantees, ec. 415

The melancholy catastrophe which befell Sir Charles M‘Carthy, is
still so fresh in the memory of our readers, that we do not consider it
necessary to recapitulate at any length the circumstances which pre-
ceded and attended it. That lamented officer arrived on the coast,
and took possession, in March, 1822, of the forts which, in consequence
of the clamorous and false accusations of the Sierra Leone saints, had
been transferred from the African Company to government. Two or
three years previously the savage chief of the Ashantees had attempted
to impose a tribute upon the people of the coast, which demand was
opposed, particularly at Cape Coast Castle ; and, in 1821, the Governor,
assisted by certain of the natives under our protection, repelled a threat.
ened attack of the Ashantees and Fantees, who had murdered one of
our people ; the trade with the Ashantees was interrupted in conse-
quence, and Sir Charles found matters in this threatening and_ unsatis-
factory state on his arrival. Shortly afterwards a serjeant in the Royal
African Colonial Corps was kidnapped while on duty, and put to death
by order of the King, who had the “ jaw-bone, skull, and one of the
arms” of the victim, sent to him. An attempt made by Sir Charles, at the
head of a British and native force, to chastise this aggression, was unsuc-
cessful, and led to further pretensions.

Sir Charles left Cape Coast for Accra, in April, 1823, but returned
in May. The Ashantees, in the meantime, threatened to drive the
English into the sea, and prepared for hostilities by buying powder at
Dutch and Danish Accra, where some skirmishing with the British
troops and their adherents took place, and many lives were lost.

Having organised a militia on the Gold Coast, Sir Charles returned
to Sierra Leone, and composed some differences amongst the contiguous
tribes ; but he was shortly recalled to the Gold Coast by the hostilities
which had there continued.

Captain Laing had successfully attacked one of the enemy’s camps ;
but before the Ashantees fled, “ they, with their accustomed cruelty,
massacred the unfortunate prisoners who had fallen into their hands,
whose bodies were found still reeking from the knives of their mur-
derers.”’ wns

A camp was established in the interior, to endeavour to prevent the
Ashantees from receiving gunpowder from the coast, and on Sir Charles’s
return, in November, he was enthusiastically received by all classes.
He shortly received a visit from a neighbouring king, who exhibited
considerable pomp. His drums were covered with tartan plaid, “ to
hide the skulls and jawbones of his conquered enemies, with which they
were decorated, according to the custom of the native chiefs on this part
of the coast ;”- but this potentate had the good sense to know that such
a display would not be agreeable to the British. He afterwards visited
the camp at Yancoomassie, and received the voluntary oath of the chiefs,
to stand by him against their enemies, an oath which the Fantees, in par-
ticular, shamefully violated on the day of trial. “ The person about
to swear took a sword in his right hand, and with great animation, whilst
expressing his determination, called heaven to witness that he would be
faithful to the cause, continually pointing the sword upwards at the
governor's head, and flourishing it round his own, so near at times, that
his excellency’s eyes were frequently in imminent danger.”

The Ashantees now approaching the coast in great force, Sir Charles
endeavoured to introduce something like discipline amongst his allies,

416 African Tribes.—The Ashantees, &c. [Ocr.

and advanced to meet the enemy, who continued to move towards the
coast.

An Ashantee girl and lad, who had been taken prisoners, stated that
when they left Coomassie, the capital of Ashantee, young virgins had
been sacrificed on certain days in the week, to the fetish, for the re-
covery of the king’s health. (

The Warsaws and Dinkeras, retreating from before the Ashantees,
were with difficulty induced to turn their faces towards the enemy, who,
on the 2Ist of January, were heard advancing through the woods with
horns blowing and drums beating. They are said to have consisted of
considerably more than ten thousand men, armed with muskets, and
having large knives stuck in their girdles. They marched up through
the woods in different divisions of Indian file, their horns sounding the
names or calls of their different chiefs. ‘ The action now commenced
on both sides with determined vigour, and lasted till nearly dark. It
was reported about four o’clock that our troops had expended all their
ammunition,” and being disappointed of a supply, which should have
reached in time for the battle, every thing fell into confusion, and our
gallant little force, deserted by most of their allies, and now outflanked and
surrounded, defended themselves with their bayonets until overpowered
by the enemy, “ who instantly beheaded nearly every one who fell into
their remorseless hands.’ Although the Warsaws and others had de-
serted early in the action, Cudjoe Cheboo, the king of Dinkera, was
found by Sir Charles surrounded by his people, fighting bravely ; but
it was impossible to rally any other part of the force, and Sir Charles,
who had received several wounds, lost his life in attempting it.
Major Ricketts succeeded with much difficulty in escaping. The
Ashantees behaved after the battle with their usual ferocity, obliging
the captive women to throw away their children in order to enable them
to carry their plunder, and many of these poor infants were afterwards
found in the bushes, “in a dying state, or with their brains dashed
out.”

_ Major Chisholm, who had been advancing to the support of the
governor, on hearing the result of the action, retreated to secure Cape
Coast Castle, where he was afterwards joined by the force under Cap-
tain Laing, and was enabled to resume offensive operation on the 16th
of February, by an attack upon Dutch Sucoondee, which he burnt,
after driving out the natives and Ashantees.

The Aashantees, after the battle of the 21st of January, having re-
mained for some time inactive, opened negociations through the govern-
ment of the Dutch settlements on the 14th of March, which were, how-
ever, unavailing.

Mr. Williams, the colonial secretary, who had been wounded in the
battle, and kept in their camp, obtained his liberty during this negoci-
ation. He had been locked up each night in the same room with the
heads of Sir Charles M‘Carthy, Mr. Buckle, and Ensign Wetherell,
and fed ona small quantity of snail soup.

The allies, after an injudicious attempt to bring the enemy to action,
dispersed or retreated in the beginning of April. On the 10th of that
month another movement was made in advance from Cape Coast Castle,
but the enemy again fell upon the native forces, defeated, and dispersed
them.

Lieut.-Colonel Sutherland, having arrived with reinforcements from

1831.] African Tribes.—The Ashantees, 5c. 417

Sierra Leone, assumed. the coummand, and, on the 2lst of May, fought
the Ashantees for several hours, and being well seconded by the King
of Dinkera, forced them to retreat.

On the 21st and 22d of June, the Ashantees, being strongly reinforced,
again advanced, under command of their king, to within a very short
distance of Cape Coast Castle, into which the women and children
rushed for shelter. The garrison being strengthened by the seamen and
marines from the vessels, the enemy retired to a new position, from
which they sent out parties to burn and destroy all the adjoining vil-
lages, and lay waste the country.

A strong party of the natives having again joined our small force,
another battle was fought close to Cape Coast on the 11th of June. Two
of the enemy’s camps were burnt and plundered during the action by
some of the unorganized natives, who, although daily driven out of the
town to their posts at the point of the bayonet, fought bravely this day for
four hours, particularly those on the right, against which the greatest
efforts of the enemy, who shewed great courage, were directed. On
the 13th the enemy retreated, having first, by a skilful ruse-de-guerre,
succeeded in sending off their wounded, the women, and carriers. It
was reported by a brother of the King of the Fantees, a prisoner who
had made his escape, “that the heart of Sir Charles M‘Carthy was
eaten by the principal chiefs of the Ashantee army, that they might im-
bibe his bravery ; that his flesh had been dried, and, with his bones,
divided amongst every man of consequence in the army, who constantly
carried his respective proportion about him, as a charm to inspire him
with courage.”—An action characteristic of the ferocity of these blood-
thirsty demons, who have been held up to the people of this country as
a simple, innocent, and unoffending race! But as we proceed we shall
find our own allies disgraced by equal brutality.

Lieut.-Colonel Grant arrived from England on the 18th, bringing a
supply of ammunition, and a few men of the artillery and rocket corps,
and, taking the command, he sent out parties to annoy the enemy, who
continued plundering and burning the Fantees, until called to defend
the capital of their own country, now threatened by the Queen of
Akim. They leftmany hundreds of the sick and wounded behind them,
who fell into the hands of the Fantees, and were “ nearly all beheaded.”

Famine and disease began in the meantime to prevail within the
crowded walls of Cape Coast, where most of the houses had been acci-
dentally burnt down in preparing for the defence of the castle ; and unless
a timely supply of rice and other provisions had arrived from England
and Sierra Leone, the mortality and distress would have been still more
dreadful.

' About the latter end of March, 1825, Major-General Turner arrived
with considerable reinforcements, and issued a proclamation stating, in
regard to the Ashantees, that if their king would “ content himself with
governing his own nation and people, and not stop the trade of the
interior with the coast, or attempt to oppress his neighbours,” peace
would be made with him; “ but,” says the General, “ I will not make
peace with him on any other terms, nor until he gives up every claim
to tribute or subjection from the surrounding nations.” The general,
having returned to Sierra Leone, died there on the 7th March, 1826,
and was succeeded by Sir Neil Campbell, who hearing that the Ashantees

418 African Tribes —The Ashantees, &c. [Ocr.

were again advancing in a hostile manner to the coast, left England in
July, accompanied by Major Ricketts, and other officers ; but before
he reached the Gold Coast a decisive battle had been fought by the
British and their native allies, the whole being under the command of
Lieutenant-Colonel Purdon. This battle took place in a plain, with
small clumps of trees and underwood at intervals, about twenty-four
miles north-east of British Accra, near to a village named Dodowah.

On a Monday, the day reckoned prosperous by the Ashantees, the
king’s drum was distinctly heard, beating the war march; and the
allies, estimated at about eleven thousand, of whom only three hundred.
and eighty had muskets, formed a line to oppose them, extending about
four miles east and west. “ Our men,” says Captain Ricketts, “ were
decorated with large sea shells, suspended from their necks and shoul-
ders, before and behind, or were decked with a strip of white calico,
to distinguish them from the enemy. Many of them fought with the
cloth hanging from the barrels of their muskets, which added to the
novelty and singularity of the scene.” After some dispute between the
Kings of Akimboo and Dinkera, and the Queen of Akim, who should attack
the King of Ashantee, hand to hand, the former by agreement took up
a position on the extreme right, and the two latter on the left, the centre
being composed of a few Europeans, some of the Royal African Corps,
and the European residents, with their servants and volunteers. “ The
attack commenced from right to left, at about half-past nine o’clock.
Several of the natives came insulting and abusing the centre as cowards ;
which being represented to the commanding-officer, he directed them
to advance about four hundred yards, when a heavy and destructive’
fire took place. They went steadily forward amid the work of death,
the enemy slowly and sulkily giving way. No prisoners were taken by
the natives, but as they fell they were put death: happy were they
whose sufferings were short; in vain the gentlemen implored them to hold
their hands, or at least kill them out-right ; some were ripped up, and
cut across the belly, when plunging their hands in, they took out the
heart, and poured the blood on the ground, as a libation to the good
fortune of the cause: others, when they saw their own friends weltering
in their blood, would give them a blow on the breast or head, to put an
end to their misery. In many instances they dragged each other from
the opposite ranks, and wrestled and cut each other in pieces; and
fortunate was he whose knife first found out the vital part in his foe
during the deadly grapple, though perhaps in his turn to be laid low
by the same means. So hard were the enemy pressed at this moment,
that a captain of consequence blew himself up, nearly involving some of
the Europeans in destruction.”

Notwithstanding this successful effort in the centre, the battle had
nearly been lost through the cowardice of the people from Dutch and
Danish Accra, who gave way, and allowed the Ashantees to penetrate
between the centre and the left. “ The centre were now obliged to fall
back and relinquish every advantage, sustaining a galling fire in flank,
and closely pressed with the mass of the enemy, who evidently were
making a bold push to seize or bring down the whites. This was the
crisis of the battle ; Colonel Purdon advanced with the reserve, and the
rockets, a few of which thrown among the Ashantees, occasioned the
most dreadful havoc and confusion: the hissing sound, when thrown,
the train of fire, the explosion, and frightful wounds they inflicted,

1831. African Tribes —The Ashanices, §c+ 419

caused them to suppose that they were thunder and lightning, called
snowman, in Fantee, by which name they are now known among the
natives.”

On the left the King of Dinkera, deserted by the Winnebahs, was
hard pressed ; but being assisted by a few rounds of grape, thrown over
the heads of our people, he succeeded in driving back his opponents.
On the right, the battle was not for a moment doubtful; “ the King of
Akimboo drove all before him, and penetrating the King of Ashantee’s
camp, took them in flank; his path was marked by the column of
smoke that rose in front, the short grass being dry, from our forces
having bivouacked at the roots of the trees for two nights, together
with extreme heat, caused it to take fire ; the explosions of some Ashantee
captains, who at interaals blew themselves up, in despair, which was
known by the smoke that arose over the trees ; the shouts and groans of
the combatants, with the burning grass, and the battle raging all around,
formed no bad idea of the infernal regions. Fancy may indeed imagine,
but it cannot describe such a scene of havoc and destruction, more
resembling the wild fiction of an oriental tale, than one of absolute
reality.” The actors in this bloody drama seem, indeed, to have fought
more like demons than human beings, possessed with the common feel-
ings of humanity,—yet such are some. of the people whom the pseudo
philanthropists of England delight in describing as “ our simple, inno-
cent, and unoffending brethren of Africa !!”

The cowards who fled at the beginning of the battle, returned, and
stole away the greater part of the plunder. About one o’clock the
heads of the Ashantee chiefs began to be brought in,—when the deaths
of any of them were reported to the king, he offered up human sacrifices
to their manes, in the heat of the battle. The Ashentee camp, with
their baggage and gold, fell into the hands of the natives. ‘“ Towards
the end of the day, a great many slaves or prisoners were taken by the
natives, who subsequently sold them to slave vessels, to the leeward of
Accra, being satiated with the multitudes they had killed, in the early
part of the fight.”

The troops lay on their arms all_night, during which, at intervals,
« some of our native allied chiefs struck their drums to some recitations,
which were repeated along the line, and as they died away, had a most
pleasing effect, but were generally succeeded by deep wailings and
lamentations from the glades, in front of our position, apparently from
some unhappy Ashantee women, looking for their friends among the
fallen.”

This important battle, of which Capt. Ricketts gives a strikingly gra-
phic description, seems to have broken the power and courage of the
Ashantees. After various negociations, their king sent in April last, his
son and nephew to Cape Coast Castle, as hostages, accompanied with six
hundred ounces of gold, to be lodged there, as a security for his future
good conduct towards the British, Danes, and Dutch ; thus terminating
disputes which had disturbed the coast for so many years.

The queen of Akim, who evinced so much activity in the war,
and who was resolutely engaged in the battle of Dodowah, is described
as being “about five fect three inches in height, with an infantine look ;
her voice is soft, evidently modulated to interest er audience, but
cracked, as a singer would express it, from constant use.” “ Just before
the attack she went along the line with a massive necklace of leaden

420 African Tribes.--The Ashantees, 5c. [Ocr.

bullets, and in her hand a gold enamelled cutlass, and she was after-
wards in the hottest part of the action! To some of the gentlemen who
called upon her the day before, she said, among other things, ‘ Osai has
driven me from my country because he thought me weak, but though I
am a woman, I have the heart of a man.’ ”

We have now authentic accounts regarding mostof the nations, or tribes,
on the coast of Africa, or bordering thereon ; we see that they are every-
where treacherous, brutal, and ferocious; that notwithstanding all our
attempts to civilize them in Africa, their thirst for blood is easily ex-
cited, and that in seeking revenge, or in compliance with superstitious
customs, it is still poured out in their native country, like water! We
have been told by a person long resident on the coast,* that the negroes
usually sent from the interior for sale, are, generally speaking, either
savage warriors taken in battle, or “bad subjects of barbarous states
enslaved for their crimes.”” We see that this statement is corroborated
by the narrative of Major Ricketts, and that many of the Ashantee pri-
spnere taken in this last battle, were actually sold to the foreign slave-
traders.

We have seen by the narrative before us, the ferocious disposition of
these savage warriors ; and we would ask any reasonable man whether
it would be possible by any speedy process of civilization, to reclaim
them from their state of brutal barbarism.

The British West Indians say, that by along course of steady and
mild discipline, they have succeeded in raising the character of their
labourers, until, in point of civilization, and as regards all the relations
of social life, they are far beyond even the most favoured tribes of their
original country. That they are now, unless when disturbed by arbi-
trary regulations sent from home, living in cheerful contentment, and
gradually gaining a knowledge of the gospel ; that they have laid aside
and nearly forgotten the whole of their ancient superstitions, and are in
fact rapidly becoming a moral and industrious people ; that they pos-
sess considerable property, and are well cared for in sickness, and in old
age ; and they have repeatedly challenged a fair and full inquiry into
the truth of these allegations, to be made, not secretly, but openly in the
face of the country.—Yet a well known party of anti-colonists at home,
wish, by sudden and forcible measures, to deprive the blacks, by the
ruin of the whites, of their present advantages ; and throw them back
into that state from which they are now rescued.—Surely the people at
home will not always remain blind to the true state of this case, nor in-
sist upon that which would place the lives of thousands of our country-
men in jeopardy, or perhaps at the disposal of some old negro warrior,
of whom there are still many in the West Indies, whose African pro-
pensities only require to be roused by the sound of the war-drum and
the prospect of plunder.

To return to the Narrative before us, Major Ricketts gives us a concise,
but perhaps rather favourable view of the condition of the people at
Sierra Leone. We have not space to enter fully into this subject, after
what we have already said regarding it in former numbers; but we

* Pamphlet of the late Kenneth Macauley, Esq., of Sierra Leone notoriety.

+ The accounts which have just been received of a partial insurrection of negroes
in the United States, is illustrative of this subject. They are said to have murdered,
with the most atrocious cruelty, every white family within their reach, without the least
regard to age, sex, or condition !

1831.] African Tribes.—The Ashantees, §c. 421

have much pleasure in referring such of our readers as may be desirous
of further information to Major Ricketts’ Narrative.

The climate will always prevent Sierra Leone from being a desirable
settlement. <“ At intervals during the day in the rainy season,” says
the major, “ the action of an intensely hot sun on the earth, covered
with a luxuriant vegetation, and saturated with moisture, produces a
sickening smell, which is probably one of the causes of the fever that
prevails at this period of the year, as persons recently arrived are gene-
rally taken ill in July or August ; some, however, have been known to
reside in the colony above two years without having been affected by it.
If they remain beyond this time they are certain not to escape much
longer, and when at length they take the fever, it generally proves
fatal to them.” The major expressly states, that unless some method be
devised to give employment to the greatly increasing population caused
by the emancipation of slaves, who are almost daily arriving, it is pro-
bable the liberated Africans will relapse from their present state of
civilization into their former habits and customs. “ There was evidently
such a tendency when I quitted the colony.” Many secret themselves in
the woods, rather than live in villages, especially the Pacongo nation ;
“* these are cannibals; and one of them was taken not very long since
with a human hand in his wallet!” The original Maroons still in exist-
ence, speak of their former residence (in Jamaica) with fond remembrances,
and sigh to return to it.

With regard to the slave-trade, which has cost this country so many
millions of money and valuable lives in attempts to abolish it, “ it is
carried to a greater extent than formerly, on the neighbouring rivers;
many of the liberated Africans have been enticed from the colony, and
others kidnapped by the vagabonds who reside in the suburbs of Free-
town: they are re-sold as slaves ; some of them, after a few months, have
been re-captured in slave vessels, and brought again to the colony to be
liberated,” and a second bounty is paid to their captors, out of the public
purse!! “ Slaves are purchased from the natives, on an average, for
about four pounds each, and are paid for in gunpowder, arms, tobacco,
ardent spirits, &c.” which do not originally cost a third of that sum.
These slaves, as our readers must know, are catried to the Brazils,
Cuba, and the French islands, where they are immediately employed
in raising sugar to compete with that which is raised by our civilized
negroes, in the British colonies. Instead of trying to check this system,
by discouraging the use of such sugars, our wise governors, with
humanity on their lips, and stupidity in their heads, are encouraging
its consumption—even in this country—to the ruin of our own colonies,
and the injury of those British negroes whom they profess themselves
so desirous to benefit !*

* Vide note at page 414.

[ 422 ] [Ocx.

THE WISDOM OF FOLLY.

Any one who loves not an honest laugh—any one who is not ready
to give the brightest day in August to a frolic dedicated to Momus alone
—any one who is not a jolly, roystering blade, who can forgive a joke
even-against himself, for the sake of the joke—any one who goes up the
steps of life one by one, counting each step as he goes, instead of now
jumping three at a time, now pausing a livelong day on a single one,
and now hopping up half-a-dozen on the left-leg alone—any one who
likes grave airs better than merry faces ;—any and each of these, on read-
ing the title of my paper, will cry out “a paradox! a paradox !” shake
their huge ears with solemn, sneering glee, and wonder how any editor,
not utterly insane, could ever dream of admitting such an article into
his magazine. So let it be! I heed them not! “ The Wisdom of
Folly” is not written for their comprehension.

For myself, I am determined to laugh all through the paper. I have
wrapped myself round with the mantle of good-humour. I have, like
Mr. Peter Piggins, thrown off the world’s heaviness for the nonce, and
I am determined to have a day’s pleasure, coule qui coute. The disbe-
lievers in “ the wisdom of Folly” I discard, before they have an oppor-
tunity of discarding me ; and if, on any point, I should descend to the
explanatory, it is not in obedience to their scruples, but in the hope of
picking up by the way the doubters, the fickle, and the weathercocks,
and confirming them in the true and honest faith of the wisdom of
Folly.

When Folly was born, Mirth was the next to come into the world ;
and so close did the one birth follow the other, that the good midwife,
Lucina, owned herself fairly puzzled to tell which had precedence.
Mirth, however, like a jolly, honest-hearted fellow, and considering
that

“‘ when a lady’s in the case,
You know, all other things give place,”

yielded in favour of his sister, and, at the same time, swore by Momus,
sire of both, that never should his sister shew her face without his being
at hand to do honour to her presence. Thus as they began, so have they
ever been; and so shall they ever be, in spite of old, wrinkled Age, who
frowns and puckers when laughing Echo first gives notice of their
approach.

Every thing of, about, and concerning Folly is in keeping. Like the
harvest-moon, she has a halo of her own, the whole of which borrows
its lustre and colour from the luminary that shines in the midst. “‘ When
the heart of a man is depressed with care,” it flies to the shining light
for illumination and gladness ; while Folly herself revels in a sort of
green field, which nature has adorned with a thousand bewitching inno-
cencies for the spirit of all honest men, when worn down with ugly
worldly care, to rejoice in, and regain its pristine buoyancy: it is the
meadow-land of the imagination—the paddock surrounded with an invi-
sible fence, in which the skittish fancy of a man may frisk, and bound,
and jump, and dance, without the fear of the dingy harness of solemn
prudery before his eyes :—he who enters there in the true feeling of the
place must be a partaker with Cowley’s grasshopper—

1831.) The Folly of Wisdom. 423

“he Thou dost innocently joy,
Nor does thy luxury destroy.”

If he be not this, the pleasant places of folly are not for him; and he
must retreat again into that same Slough of Despond, which as much
encircles these happy regions as those so picturesquely described by
Bunyan.

But it is not Folly alone that offers so much gladness. To repeat my
metaphor, all her halo partakes of the same tone.—Let us examine it,
part and parcel, as a lawyer would say. The very word has something
sympathetic in it. Folly! Folly !—it rings with a silver sound in the
ear, like a well-cast bell—and jogs on towards the heart, like the bur-
then. of a merry song ;—and, indeed, the ending of all authentic verse
is but an imitation, or rather a trolling expansion of it.—Foll-loll-de-roll!
—Who does not see, in a moment, whence this thousand-times-repeated,
always-welcome cadence, dates its origin? Sir Philip Sidney well
remarks, in his Defence of Poetry, “I never heard the old song of
Piercy and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with a
trumpet ;” and that prince of Follyists, hight Sheridan, was fond of
saying that he would rather have written the ballad of Hosier’s Ghost
than any piece of poetry in the language. Verily, there is great excel-
lence in a song ;—but ten-fold—yea, twenty-fold, is the excellence that
lies in the burthen of it. So much, then, for the word !—Now for the
associations that that word produces. If there is one thing in the world
that has dear and touching associations attached to it, it is Folly. It
takes us back to childhood—to those delicious days when all was folly
and all was happiness. Folly, the immaterial, resolves herself into a pic-
ture palpable to the senses ; she wears the shape of the tiny paper-boat,
and still more tiny sail, waiting for a breeze in the forest-pool ;—she
takes on herself the image of the schoolboy, climbing the tallest tree,
leaving the world fifty feet below him, and conjuring himself into a
Robinson Crusoe or a Lemuel Gulliver ;—or assuming the same progres-
sive fiction, “ with a difference,” she is a boy-Cesar, leading on a
Roman army of half-a-dozen playmates across a new Rubicon, so
christened for the occasion. Nor are these the only associations that
Folly has for her disciples. Not only with schoolboy-reveries, but with
« Love’s young dream,” is she rife. The fair-haired, blue-eyed maiden
of the valley comes back, almost to our corporeal senses, at her bidding ;
the wicked brunette, that laughed us into midsummer-madness, joins
the throng ; and each bright fairy of the spring of life, that tripped to
the wayward music of the heart, is once again revivified and made per-
sonal to the mind.—These are the delights of Folly’s associations ;—but
her recollections have joy-giving power too. They take us back to the
days of olden time ; they place before our eyes the court-fool, the Lord
Mayor’s fool—party-coloured and coxcombical; and can these strike
upon our memory without bringing with them gentle ladies, gallant
knights, love-sick troubadours, and fell magicians wound round with
necromantic charms? Or—quitting the general for the individual—
Folly’s recollections give us back Medora’s tender-hearted fool, who

ined himself to atrophy for that his mistress died—honest, fine-faced

ill Somers, who yet lives on Holbein’s canvas—Shakspeare’s Touch-
stone, who equally lives in the poet’s page—and Sancho Panza, the ne
plus ultra of the brotherhood, who, in eating, sneaking, proverbizing,

424 The Wisdom of Folly. [Ocr.

aggrandizing, and ass-riding, lays fair claim to the rank of Folly’s prime-
minister.— Thus much for Folly’s name, for Folly’s associations, and for
Folly’s recollections! But there is yet one other scintilla of her halo—
Folly’s emblem—the venerable cap and bells! Ah! gentle reader, I
see by your good-humoured smile—that which is illuminating me as
I write—that the very mention. of this head-gear has “ iteration’’ for
you. The high-coned bonnet is before your eyes—the tinkle-tinkle of
its silver caparisons is in your ears—and you claim for yourself the
rhymer’s couplet,—

«© When the light heart with Folly swells,
At least put on her cap and bells.”

But though these things are light and airy, as things so connected
should chiefly be, Folly is not without her more solid recommendations
to the heavy-going mind, that finds a difficulty in flapping its wings in
the rarified oxygen atmosphere of imagination. Folly has often stood
the honest cause of humanity in good stead, and crushed mischief that
threatened grievous consequences. It was Folly’s prompting that taught
the elder Brutus how to make Rome free ; for with Folly’s mantle round
him he outwitted the tyrant Tarquin, till the time was ripe for graver
matters, and Lucretia’s virtuous death sounded the trumpet of enter-
prize. So in Rome’s later days, Folly’s own bird, the goose, saved the
Capitol from the ruthless Gaul, and fanned into flame the city’s torch of
freedom that was at that moment about to be extinguished for ever.
And as Folly knows how to save virtue, so she knows how to punish
crime. Witness how she prompted traitorous Tarpeia so to word her
bargained reward for treason, that the gift was death instead of riches.

Nor has Folly confined herself to actual deeds in thus benefiting
mankind. It is she that, in a hundred instances, has inspired the poet’s
pen and the painter’s pencil; it is she that has awakened them to the

aculty of delighting the world—thus, at one effort, doing homage to
their mistress, and conferring immortality on themselves. Holbein’s
obligations to Will Somers have already been mentioned. But, without
Folly, what would Hogarth have been ?—what Teniers ?—what Ostade ?
—what Wilkie? Evil, thrice evil the day, when the latter forgot his
debt of gratitude to the mistress who had inducted him to fame, and,
deserting her colours, under which he was captain, enlisted under the
banners of another, where he has hardly yet obtained the degree of a
non-commissioned officer. But, if painters are thus in debt to Folly,
how much more so authors! The world would have had no Petrarch
but for the folly of love—no Rabelais but for the folly of humour—no
Cervantes but for the folly of quixotism. Pope would have left
unwritten some of his finest productions but for the folly of mankind ;
and, but for the same cause, the great Shakspeare himself would have
been shorn of half his beams. Where would have been, but for Folly,
his Don Armado—his Touchstone—his Trinculo—his Sir .Andrew
Aguecheek—and, above and overtopping all others, his honest Jack
Falstaff, the fattest and the folly-est of all the tribe of Follyists ?

Hail, all hail, then, Folly !—thou queen of all good things and all
good fellows !—thou princess of laughter !—thou chief of mirth !—thou,
in whose train walk

“* Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks and wreathed smiles !’’

1831.] The Wisdom of Folly. 495

Were I arich man (which thou, great mistress, knowest I am not), I
would build unto thee a temple, which, in honour of thy name, should
be called “ The Folly !”—A college of Follyists, with myself for their
sacerdos, should there assemble weekly; and, by laughing, joking,
quirking, quizzing, drinking, dancing, eating, fiddling, roystering,
ramping, each should strive to shew himself worthiest of being quoted
as thy disciple. High in honoured state should be thy fane, and all
around should be arranged the busts of those who, through the world’s
lugubrious ways, have held thy faith unpolluted and unbroken. But,
alas! I am being carried away again by Folly’s tide. I have no riches
wherewith to honour her of my heart: “ silver and gold have I none.”
Verily, I have not wherewithal to gild a gingerbread alphabet, or to
make glittering a baby’s coral. But, with all this emptiness staring me
in the face, I despond not. Despond, said I? Nay, I laugh hugely,
giggle exorbitantly, dance unceasingly, and royster endlessly—for all
which manifold blessings, to thee, oh! Folly, am I indebted !—to thee,
to whom, like Erasmus, I dedicate my best lucubrations in endeavouring
to extricate thy jolly name, from the fangs of those cold-blooded, matter-
of-fact men, who will have it that “folly is folly,’ and “ wisdom is
wisdom,” without admitting the possibility of so admixing the two, as
to arrive at that pleasant concoction, which good fellows recognize under
the title of “ The Wisdom of Folly !” G.

NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL.

Every man who is unhappily forced to make use of his feet, in our
Sunday promenades, must look with envy, for such is human nature, at
the brilliant chariots, the spruce buggies, and the shining chargers of
gentlemen, whom in his week-day peregrinations, he sees with pens
behind their ears, and their persons behind desks in the dingy holes and
corners of the city, which by courtesy are called counting-houses, banks,
and public offices. His week-day pity had been raised by thinking what
calamity had driven those poor devils to perpetual sallowness, starving,
and scribbling ; and he goes out of the den wondering how any living
being can manage to live in this tax-paying world upon the salary
allotted to this tread-mill existence. But Sunday reverses all his medi-
tations, converts his sorrow for them into shame for the seediness of his
own wardrobe in such well-dressed society, and finishes his calculation,
in the wish to discover the gold mine out of which the men of sallowness
and scribbling have dug such capital things.

We submit a little explanation of the phenomenon to our Heraclitus,
and give him this paragraph to dry his tears withal:—“ A clerk in the
banking-house of Messrs. Curtis, Robarts, and Co., having absconded
with £4,000., which he had collected, the police were sent in all direc-
tions. Sir W. Curtis himself, accompanied by Forester, the officer, went
to Calais, and set inquiry on foot. He gained no information from which
he could draw any conclusion as to the destination or the hiding-place
of the clerk. Letters were sent off to America to stop the notes of the
bank. It is believed that the clerk is in London, and a sharp eye is
Pe upon the movements of some of his female companions.”

ear as buggies and bungalows are, £.4000 would, even in these
hard times, go a good way to pay for them, and we conceive that a
M.M. New Series.—Vow. X11. No. 70.

426 Notes of the Month on [Ocr.

clerk of sixty pounds might contrive to live in tolerable style for at least
a year, on the application of these assets of Messrs Curtis. The truth is,
that buggies and bungalows, and even blood-horses, cannot be had for
nothing ; that a villa at Clapham, vulgar as the thing is, is not to be had
for a song, and that a fortnight at Brighton itself is not to be managed,
even at the York, without putting the hand rather frequently in the
pocket. In this way the £4,000 is easily, naturally, and faithfully
accounted for. Clerks must be men of fashion, as who is not, on sixty
pounds a-year? Men of fashion must have their little conveniences ;
or be cut, an indignity to which no gentleman could or would submit.
They must have their club, if newspapers are to be read, coffee drunk,
or arubber played with any human comfort. For exercise, they must
have something of figure, one of Milton’s hundred-and-fifty-guinea gal-
loppers for Hyde Park, half-an-hour before their lounge to dinner, at
their deservedly favourite Clarendon. The hunting season requires an
addition to their stud, and for five hundred pounds, if they are lucky in
their dealer, they may be respectably mounted for three days in the
week, with the Surrey fox-hounds. All the world must be aware thai
no gentleman can do this out of moonshine: and if Sir W. Curtis i
angry at the disappearance of his £4,000, he has only to ask himself
could he do it for less. The thing is incontrovertible, and the pedes
trian has only to envy on. A flight to America, to his brother men ¢
fashion, who have already run the same brilliant career, saves all troubl«
The man of fashion, like the patriot, finds every land a home. “ Om»
Jforti solum est patria.” Glorious America opens her free arms to th
flyers from jails and ropes, those cruel and fiend-like accompaniments «
the demon legitimacy, all over the ancient world; and the man «
fashion sports his virgin swindling in the virgin world of swindler
“ Vive le Tilbury !”

At the announcement of every drawing-room, there is a formidab"
postscript commanding that no one shall be presented, without a previot
sending in of names to the Lord Chamberlain. How then can w
account for the pzragraph which has been running the round of th
papers ?— At the drawing-room an occurrence took place with refi
rence to the reception of a lady of title, which has given rise to muc
conversation in the higher circles. A peeress (not recently marriec
whose conduct in private life has not always been of the stricte
moral character, despite of the remonstrances of her friends, would t
presented on this occasion. Her Majesty, we understand, treated he
in such a manner as to evince in the circle of the court that determinatio
to discountenance doubtful characters, even in the highest rank, whic
was so deservedly lauded in the demeanour of Queen Charlotte.”

The worst part of the whole affair is, that, no journalist having though
proper to give the name of the “ fair unpresentable,” imagination get
an unlucky liberty to rove ; and goes doing mischief among a full thir
of the “fashionable world.” Far be it from us to lift the veil of th
delicate obscurity, but we must join in the common acknowledgme
that the sooner the court sets a good example to the people, the soon -
we shall see “ matters as they ought to be.” We say no more.

How rapidly all the fair and the famous pass away! So have said a
the moralists irom the beginning of the world, and we do not disput -

1831.] A ffairs in General. 427

their saying. Of all the eminent officers who signalized themselves in
the greatest of all wars, the French revolutionary war, Wellington alone
survives. Blucher, Schwartzenberg, Platoff, Bulow, Gneisenau, and a
crowd of others, have all gone. Yet there are from time to time, singular
instances of existence prolonged to a date and rendered memorable by a
good fortune, that almost contradict the common maxims of the novelist.
Let us take the ladies: — “The venerable Countess Dowager of
Mornington, who died a fortnight ago, was the most aged of the
peeresses, having, at the age of 20, walked at the coronation of Geo. III.
and Queen Charlotte. Her ladyship was the only surviving female of
rank who officiated at the coronation of the illustrious parents of our
present monarch. The Countess was the eldest daughter of the first
Viscount Dungannon, and accepted the hand of the late Earl of Morn-
ington in 1759. By his lordship, who died in 1784, the Countess had
issue the Duke of Wellington, the Marquis Wellesley, Lord Mary-
borough, Lord Cowley, the Honourable and Rev. Gerald Valerian Wel-
lesley, D.D., and one surviving daughter, Lady Anne Culling Smith.
Lady Mornington, who had for some years lived in retirement, was in
the receipt of a pension of £600 per annum from the civil list.”

Here was a mother of the Gracchi? The wife of an obscure Irish

r, dies the mother of four lords, and would have died the mother of a
fifth, if the Rev. Gerald had played his cards a little more coolly.
However, he has no great reason to quarrel with the world, it having
given him four incomes, amounting to about £7,000 a year. This fortu-
nate woman lived long enough to see her sons enjoying among them
the highest rank of subjects, and, in the instance of Wellington, the
highest professional fame. It was not to the honour of any of those
sons that she should have been left in her old age a pensioner cn the
public bounty, and a dweller under a public roof. But nothing will
ever cure a public man of his passion for grasping every farthing that
he can out of the national purse, and while the price of one of the Duke
of Wellington’s dinners would have made her independent, she was
forced to linger on a pension; and while a quarter’s tithe of the Rev.
Gerald’s living of Chelsea, might have given her a handsome house, she
was forced to lodge among the peerage rabble of Hampton Court. But
it is useless to expect high-mindedness among those people.

The old Duchess of Rutland was another of those instances of pros
perous longevity ; though her prosperity was of a less casual kind.
She saw no sons rising from comparatively humble life to eminence.
She began on the highest step. ‘The wife of a duke, the mother of a duke,
and grandmother of a rising race of beauties and nobles ; she died, after
a period of undisturbed rank, opulence, public respect, and personal
esteem, at the great age of seventy-five, and rests honoured in the tomb
of her family. The funeral cavalcade was in the ancient English state,
a style which, however unsuited to the parvenus, whom we see aping
nobility, yet is graceful and becoming, where it belongs to the noble
and the honoured. “The cavalcade was joined about four miles from
Belvoir, by one hundred and fifty of the duke’s tenantry, on horseback,
wearing black cloaks. The remains of her grace lay in state at the
castle during Sunday, and on Monday morning they were removed for
interment to the family mausoleum, within a short distance of the castle,
The funeral ceremony was performed by the Rev. Charles Thornton, in
the presence of the Duke of Rutland, the youthful Marquis of Granby,

2N2

428 Notes of the Month on ‘[Ocr.

Lords Charles and Robert Manners, Lord Forrester, and the Messrs.
Norman, her grace’s grandsons. The jointure of her grace, amounting
to £7,000 per annum, reverts to the present duke.”

The duchess, fifty years ago, was confessedly the handsomest woman
in England, which is equivalent to saying that she was the handsomest
woman in the world. She lost her husband, while she was in the bloom
of life, and she yet remained a widow ; with a character unstained, with
the respect of the world following her to the last hour, and with the
more singular female distinction, of beauty, scarcely touched by time.

Another instance of prosperous years, though in the hazards of a
peculiarly hazardous profession, has lately been brought into public
notice by the peerage of Sir James Saumarez :—“ Baron de Sau-
marez, whose important naval services and general unostentatious merits
fairly entitle him to the honours of the peerage, which it has been un-
derstood is the spontaneons gift of the king, was passed over at the
coronation of his late majesty. His lordship was made a baronet in
1801, on the occasion of his celebrated victory over the Spanish fleet.
The noble lord has since obtained the highest honours of his profession,
having been rewarded with the distinguished appointment of Vice-
Admiral of Great Britain, and the Grand Cross of the Bath, with which
he was invested in 1€02. The venerable peer is far advanced in years,
having completed his seventy-fourth year. The Honourable and Rev.
James Saumarez, the incumbent of a living in Devonshire, is the noble
lord’s eldest son and heir apparent.”

His being passed over at the late king’s coronation, was understood
to arise from no intentional neglect, but from some difficulty as to the
pension usually given to the naval peers. He had proudly earned his
rank. He was one of the pillars of the naval throne of England, and
late as the honour has arrived, long may the great warrior wear the
coronet that he has so long deserved !

What is life, even the life of a licenser, but vanity? as the wisest of
kings said. What is it but the subsidence from the saddle into the easy
chair, from the flask of Champagne into the pint of old Port, from
the wit into the story-teller, from the poet into the proser, from the
graces into the gout, from the man into the “ slippered pantaloon,”.
from the playwright into the licenser, from the jovial denizen of the
King’s Bench into the ultra-prim prig of the king’s ultra-pay, from
the spruce manager of the play-house into the lieutenant of the band
of gentlemen-pensioners, and from the lieutenant into nothing! The
licenser has just disposed of the commission which entitled him to draw
some hundreds a year, for the laborious and heroic duty of wearing a-
coat with ten pounds’ weight of tinsel on it, half a dozen times a year.
Report says, that somebody has been found generous enough, or by
whatever other name such transactions designate the payer, to give
him £6000 for the honour of wearing the coat—a bargain with which
old George is understood to be peculiarly well pleased.

Then he has got rid of his licenser-ship too, though we have not
heard the terms. So thus old George is now completely sinecured to all
intents and purposes, and left to cultivate his virtues undisturbed by
the cares of this world. Which of the biographers is to have the
honour of delivering him down to posterity? Why not make the ex-
periment himself? His “ Random Recollections,’ were, we must_ac-

1831.] Affairs in General. 429

knowledge, dull for a professed wit, and rather destitute of plot for an
inventor of so many ruses on the boards. But we will have no quarrel
with old George the younger, after all. He has done something for the
drama in his day. His John Bull was, to be sure, one of the most
impudent things that ever were fabricated ; but it was clever, it was a
fair attack upon the blundering arrogance that from time to time abuses
authority, and George was at that time no hypocrite. His “Heir at
Law” too, though a clumsy caricature of both the pedant and the
parvenu, yet had life about it, and deserved to live. George must have
a monument, placed somewhere in the purlieus of Covent Garden, with
himself in the gentleman-pensioner’s full embroidered suit, setting his
foot on the head of a prostrate Shakspeare, and a motto from Wesley’s
hymns, RequiescarT !

Why is not Martin an R. A.? Have the whcle forty among them an
abler artist, a more poular painter, or a more amiable member of society ?
Is there among them one whose works have done more honour to British
art on the continent? have produced more, in the more commercial sense
of the word, to the community, or are more distinctive of original talent ?
Certainly not one. The academy contains able men, and we have every
reason to be proud of our national school ; but the absence of Martin
from the academy is a public slur upon its reputation. Of the private
and individual reasons which may be offered for this strange neglect of its
own honour, we ask nothing, for we care nothing. If Martin is offended
with their overlooking him when his genius was known only to his pro-
fession, we cannot wonder at his feelings: if he disdains to canvass for
election, and, manfully scorning the little arts of mediocre men, stands
upon his claim of right, we altogether applaud him: if he appeals to his
celebrity, to the fame that he has added to the British school, to the im-
pulse that he has given to his art, and scorns to crouch, while he feels
himself entitled to hold up his head, and rank with any artist living—
there too, we applaud him; and say that it is of such men that an academy
should be formed, and that sycophancy and creeping should be as deci-
sive grounds of rejection as absolute want of talent. We trust that under
so intelligent a head as the president, this blot will be cleared away,
and that Martin and the academy will, before long, be in circumstances
to do honour to each other.

In the mean time he perseveres with his unwearied activity and ability.
He has now enriched his art with a series of compositions on the finest
subjects ever offered to the pencil, Hlustrations of the Scriptures. The
second plate from Genesis has just appeared :—The first plate represents
Adam and Eve after the fall. The figures are well conceived ; the atti-
tudes natural and expressive. The back-ground would be grand
enough, we think, without being quite so black. Thesky, together with
the moon and stars, have a fine and appropriate expression ; the lights
playing among the foliage are sweetly introduced, and give great life
and value to the scene.—The second plate is, where they are, or should
both be, covered with skins. The air of the disconsolate pair is striking ;
the distraction pourtrayed is pertinent, and seems to pervade even the
surrounding scenery. The face of nature presents a howling wilderness,
as if all fell with Adam; the tempestuous sky, the lightning, and the in-
furiated tiger, all conspire to spread despair and desolation around. The
lion killing the deer, though not exactly new, is not the less good. The

430 Notes of the Month on ‘[Ocr.

total exclusion of verdure from the garden of Eden gives a powerful
impression of the effect

“© Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree, whose moral taste

Brought death into the world, and all its woe,

With loss of Eden.”

The artist has acquitted himself with masterly ability, and we do not
doubt that he will highly gratify his admirers, and all who like to see the
sublimest subjects grappled with by a mind, awake to all their interest
and importance, and full of vigour and poetical imaginings.

The late peerages have set all the merry-men in motion, and no mem-
ber of any of the clubs within five miles of St. James’s thinks he has
done his duty, without a bon-mot daily on the subject. That odd ren-
contres sometimes occur in this world, every body knows; and it will
be no wonder if Birnam wood should come to Dunsinane, when we
may possibly see Westminster getting into a west-country stage, (from
pecuniary considerations) and driving as fast as four horses can accomplish
Ms object, into Cheshire. ‘ One of those witty gentlemen about town,
who

«Things that are serious turn to farce,”

hearing that Lord Grosvenor was to be created Marquess of Westmin-
ster, suggested the absurdity, quite possible, of an invitation from the
Bishop of this diocese to his lordship, couched in these words—

“« Dear Westminster,
« Will you come to Fulham to-morrow ?
“ Your’s truly, C. J. Lonpon.

“It is thought that Lord Westminster’s second title will not be Earl
Grosvenor, as might naturally have been expected, but that the present
second title will be changed in a slight degree, so as to suit the alteration
in his own, and that as son of the Marquess of Westminster, Lord Bel-
grave will in future be called Lord Belgrave Square.

« There is another title vacant, which, if Mr. Hume, whose surgical
skill should never be forgotten—should be elevated to the peerage, will,
we presume, be granted to him—Lord Bills of Mortality.”

But if we once begin with the bishops, what a fertile field may we
plough for the pleasantries of locomotion. We shall have Jamaica
coming to St. James’s, Barbadoes on a visit to Brighton, and Calcutta,
for the winter months of May, June and July, established in Cavendish
Square. This is the day of strange things. It was once predicted that
when the cross of St. Paul’s met the dragon on Bow, London should
have a wooden Lord Mayor. The rencontre actually took place in a
tinman’s shop in Cheapside, and this difficulty being got over, the rest of
the prediction was a matter of course. The next prediction was, that
when the bottom of the Thames fell out, the giants of St. Dunstan’s
should strike their last ; and four fools should be returned for the city to
parliament. The Thames tunnel effected the fulfilment, and the result
is before our eyes. Who but knows the famous Mother Shiptonism ?

«* There was an old prophecy found in a bag,

That Ireland should be ruled by an ass and a hag ;

That her priests should be thieves, and her thieves should be priests ;
That her feasts should be blood, and her blood should be feasts,

ov. | wld oye _veral, 431

a“

That her rulers should walk with tied elbows and knees,
And the pike and the gallows o’ertop all the trees.
And the parsons, and nobles, and traders take wing,
And a rascal from Rome be priest, general, and king.”
(Vide the Original in Sir Jonah Barrington’s Memoirs.)

The Lords of the Treasury have with great propriety abolished an
intolerable multitude of Custom-house and trading oaths, of which it was
not unfairly said, that they were all comprehended under one, an oath
not to keep any of them. The number is computed at ten or eleven
thousand direct perjuries, which their lordships cleared from the con-
sciences which, we are sorry to say, never “ boggled” at any of them, and
would have as little reluctance to bolt ten thousand more.

But why will no friend to the church take up the laws of simony ?
The purpose of those laws is to prevent the presentation to livings by
means of money. There are thus five classes of contracts obnoxious to
the charge of simony. Ist. All payments or contracts for a benefice
already vacant. 2nd. A clergyman’s purchase of the next vacancy for
himself in any way whatever, either with his own money, or money to
which he may have a future right, as his heirship, or his future wife’s
portion, or in any way whatever, by which it is to become his own.
3rd. The procuring the living by giving up any of its rights to the
presentor. 4th. Promises to the presentor, of a portion out of the dues,
any annuity, or allowance whatever, as a bribe or acknowledgment for
the living. 5th. Bonds, to resign on demand, though Paley objects to the
law on this last class, and thinks that it lays a snare for the conscience.
‘The law has been modified, but cases arise in which difficulties are still
encountered.

«A case concerning simoniacal contracts has lately arisen, which is
important to the information of the clergy, and also patrons of livings.
A clergyman tendered to his diocesan the resignation of a living, of
which he was incumbent, made by him in pursuance of a regular agree-
ment entered into by him with his patron at the time of presentation, to
resign the living at the end of two years. Upon reference to very high
legal authority, this agreement proves to be simoniacal, under the act of
31 Eliz., c. 6. It necessarily follows, that all engagements whatsoever
between a presentee and a patron to resign, unless made and registered
according to the provisions of 9 Geo. IV., c. 94, are simoniacal, and
render the parties liable to the severe penalties of the first mentioned
act, viz., the avoidance of the living, the forfeiture of the next term of
presentation to the king, &c.; and that it is absolutely necessary for
parties, who propose to enter into such engagements, to regulate their
proceedings strictly according to the 9th Geo. IV., c. 94.”

This class contains obvious conveniences to both patrons and clergy ;
for, the holding of a living until the patron’s son comes of age to hold
it, is one of the most common things, and is advantageous in so far as
it gives an addition of income, for the time, to some respectable clergy-
man. But as for the other classes, the purchase of livings with marriage
portions, and fifty other transactions of the same kind; what shall we
say, or what says every-day experience?

In the pleasing bustle of Reform some things of some importance
may be casually neglected. And we beg leave to suggest to the uncon-
scious legislature, that the India charter, a matter once thought worthy

432 Notes of the Month on [Ocr.

of consideration, comes to its close next year. In other days a twelve
months’ notice might have been thought rather short for the winding-up
of such a concern. But as we live in an age of “ doing-everythingness-
at-once,” as the celebrated Mr. Hume says, probably the business may
be settled in a committee-room, some time in the Easter holidays, over a
week’s consumption of coffee. Jeremy Bentham, too, will be by that
time, we presume, in the House, and every one must acknowledge how
much his counsels may tend to abbreviate the question.

The papers are still keeping up a fire upon Dean Ireland and his
people :—“ The Westminster Abbey Show.—The Dean and Chapter, in
reply to an order of the House of Commons for a return of their receipts
arising from the exhibition of the monuments, say—‘ This grant was
made to the Chapter in 1597, on condition that, receiving the benefits of
the exhibition of the monuments, they should keep the same monuments
always clean, &c.’ The following are the receipts of five years :—1821,
648/. 11s. 11d.—1822, 2.3171. 9s. 3d.—1823, 1,664/. 13s. 9d.—1824,
1,529/. Os. 5d.— 1825, 1,5851. Os. 5d.”

It is impossible to doubt that the Dean, a man of honesty, though noto-
riously one of the most crabbed of the sons of the church, is able to
satisfy his conscience as to the distribution of those monies ; yet we are
not quite so well able to satisfy ours. What! an average £1,700 a year
for brushing away spiders, or even for washing the faces of the old
effigies! They might be gilt by contract for half the money. Mops and
brooms must bear a formidable price about Westminster. But the truth
is, that the whole charge ought to be abolished. Old as it is, it is
beggarly. It may make a few pounds for each of the Chapter, but it
makes more sneers than are worth the money, The whole paltry traffic
offends people ; it unquestionably gives a handle to scoffers, it makes the
church unpopular, and if the Dean could but see the countenance with
which this miserable tax is paid, or hear the reflections which accom-
pany the parting shillings, he would doubt whether Vespasian's famous
maxim might not be carried too far. This pitiful tax must be abolished,
‘mops and brooms must not be purchased at so heavy a charge, water
and brushes must be procured at some market where they will not cost
£1,700 a year ; and the public, whose fathers paid for the cathedral, and
who themselves have paid for the monuments, must be admitted to a
view of their own property, and have a sight of the great men of
England, in their monuments, without being perpetually reminded of
the little ones.

Poor Taglioni! The life of a general is precarious; so felt Diebitch.
The life of an orator is a passing shew; so felt Orator Hawkins, the
other night, when he broke down so piteously, in the very centre of his
most prepared pathos. But what are they all to the perils of a danseuse !
Poor Taglioni, unblemished as she was, has made a step which the
Parisians say, is irrecoverable, and the occurrence of an unfortunate
chink in one of the boards of the King’s Theatre, has sent this bound-
ing and elegant creature to obscurity for life. The sprain of her ancle
has again disabled her, and she retires, almost hopeless of returning to
the scene where opulence and applause attended every saltation, Alfred
_Chalon has made his sketches of this most renowned of dancers, just in
time. They are clever, as what is not that comes from his dexterous pencil ?

1831.] Affairs in General. 433

And they are lithographed by the most established of our lithographers,
Lane, we are sorry to say, with no possible addition to his stony
renown. They look pitifully thin and washy—scraped, not drawn, and
altogether albumish—a phrase which we have adopted from young
Macauley’s last speech, and to which we thus give the wmprimatur. But
our chief objection to this sextuple Taglioni is, that the artist makes her
consummately ugly. Six caricatures are too much for our feelings, six
varieties of deformity overwhelm our taste for the dark side of human
nature, six duplicates of distortion and diabolism startle our dreams
by night of the exquisite danseuse, and ruffle our gallantry by day. No,
for the honour of the female face divine, Taglioni is not the thing that
now lies grinning and writhing through the six physiognomical positions
of agony on our table. Her little Italian visage, though not of the
“finest order of fine faces” is not the grim diversity of a face on
the rack, nor the living emblem of Sheridan’s picture, “ where, like
a congress, every feature seemed to have a different interest, and the
nose and chin are the only ones likely to come to an amicable under-
standing.” We quote from memory, and if we have improved the
original, Sheridan has only to thank us. Clever the sketches are, good
in legs and feet, bust and arms; but the night-mare physiognomy in the
midst, reminds us of nothing but the Arab flying fiend, the genie, the
‘son of the daughter of Eblis. If Chalon thought his heroine ugly, why
did he not make her handsome. A dancer’s fame, fortune, figure, and
‘physiognomy are in her feet. She might as well be painted without a
head, for any thing that we care. But there the head is, and such as it
is, it spoils our meditations, and reminds us of the Bottle Imp—at the
moment when we wished to give ourselves over to the recollections of
the sylph, treading the air in blue roses, green clouds, and coquelicot
satin wings.

But as we have not time to tell the characters under which this
matchless mistress of the whole three graces at once, appears from the
pencil of M. Chalon, we must resort to the poetry that illustrates them.
Each sketch is accompanied by a poem, from the pen of “ F. W. N.
Bayley.” The closing compliment to the fair danseuse—now, we fear
from what we have lately heard, a dancer no more—we copy as a spe-
cimen :—

Marie Taglioni !—we’ve bowed to thee now,

As the nymph of a blue stream*—the goddess of flowerst—
As a creature whose heart, like the smile on her brow,

Is as light and as lovely as life’s happy hours.

As a Napolitaine—as a daughter of Tell,t
Bounding out from her cottage, as light and as free
As the chamois—the eagle—the fawn—the gazelle,
In her youthfulness, pure as the purest might be.

We’ve hailed thee with wings! as a spirit of air
(The wings of a butterfly, not of a dove) —

We’ve hailed thee when, robed as the bright Bayadere,
Thou seemest to dance in a circle of love !

Thus thy colours were varied, as those of the bow
That spans in its beauty the skies of the spring ;

And in all thy young gracefulness haunted us so,
That still to its magic our memories cling.

* La Naiade. Flore, { La Tyrolienne.

434 Noles of the Month on [Ocr.

And now, with the hope that ’mid days of delight,
And moments of pleasure, nor futile nor few, '
Thy heart may be happy, as thy step has been light—
Marie Taglioni !—we bid thee adieu !

« A little black negro beggar, who about five years ago used to stand by Messrs
Elliott and Robinson’s tea warehouse, near Finsbury-square, has retired to the
West Indies with a fortune of about 1,500/. obtained by begging. He lodged for
many years at the Rose and Crown public-house, better known by the name of
the Beggar’s Opera, in Church-street, St. Giles’s, where he has been known to
spend 30s. a-week for his board, and has been seen to spit his geese and ducks,
and live upon ‘ the fat of the land.” He always kept a bag of silver anda bag of
copper in his room, and has frequently taken up people who lodged in the house
tor robbing him of money.”

We give the statement as it was given to us, and though it contains some
superfluities of expression, such as, telling us that the negro was black,
and that living by begging, he was a beggar, still the thing is valuable. It
shews what can be done by emancipation, and at once offers a new con-
trivance for re-inforcing the decayed population of the West Indies, and
proves the utter distinction of nature between the negro and the Scotch-
man,

We give another incident. The property to be made by beggary is
undoubtedly very considerable, as every one knows who walks Bond-
street and compares the display of three-fourths of the shewy persons
there with their possessions on the face of the earth. Bankrupts, too, are
generally a very thriving race, and your thrice-washed insolvent is gene-
rally marked by the peculiar enbonpoint of his person, and the peculiar
elegance of his clothing. But, to our tale. The individual in question
was a regular professor of the art of supplication, imprecation, intoxica-
tion, vociferation, and the other accomplishments of that ingenious class
of society who would rather honour the king in any other way than by
paying him taxes, and who love their neighbours by howling them into
the practice of the virtues. The hero’s name was Sinclair, not the
Sinclair whose sweet tones have extracted so many guineas from the
public pocket on the stage in willing exchange for his notes, but a
brawny Bacchus who roused the chimes and frightened the watchmen
through the length and breadth of Scotland. He was, however, stopped
in his trade the other day, and “ inquired into.”’ The narrative states
that,

“« Upon examining his person in prison, it was found that his coat, which was
in some places two inches thick with patches of various colours, contained be-
tween 20 and 30 pockets, filled with pamphlets, tracts, school-books, songs, &c. ;
and in one of his private receptacles were discovered a promissory Edinburgh
bank note for 130/., and two of the British Linen Company—one for 43/., and the
other for 427. 13s. In the pockets of his waistcoat (about 20 in number) were
deposited 2/. 7s. 93d. in silver and copper, almost every shilling and sixpence
being separately placed in the fingers of old gloves, and carefully tied up. The
whole sum found upon this wretched disciple of mammon amounted to218/. 2s.93d.,
which has been lodged in the bank. The entire motley habiliments of this sturdy
beggar weighed nearly eight stone, including about seven pounds of bread, anda
small quantity of oatmeal.’’

Here was handsome evidence of talent in his line. But there are
some points of the narrative on which we would desire a commentary.
“« Wretched disciple of Mammon.’”’ Why? He was probably a much
merrier fellow than any lord from Inverness to Berwick during its col-

1831.] Affairs in General. 435

lection. As to the money’s being seized by the reverend gentleman,
whether it were lodged in the bank, or in his own bureau, we desire
the clerical magistrate to shew us his law for either. It was the fair
gain of his labours, and no one else had a right to touch a penny of it.
As to the tremendous fact of it being stuck in the fingers of old gloves,
we can only interpret it as a sign that Sinclair did not choose that it
should be fingered by any one but the owner. Still there are some
points about the story which make us pause. The seven pounds of
wheaten bread to the small quantity of oatmeal, might show the fellow’s
good taste, but how could he obtain the bread in the northern regions
of the isle. The sum of money too is staggering. Two hundred and
eighteen pounds and odd shillings, collected in Scotland in the course
of a life, however long, travels however extensive, and begging however
indefatigable, are a phenomenon severely trying to our belief. The
whole story will probably turn out to be a puff of the Scotch bankers, to
shew the internal resources of their country.

The theatrical world is prodigiously on the qui vive at the approach of
the season. At Drury-lane the old fashion of our going to see the lions
is to be revived with delightful reality, a whole forest of them being to
be let loose on the stage, and to devour M. Martin, their proprietor and
principal prey every night. The greatest -precautions are in progress
for the security of the audience. The stage is to be palisadoed round
with bars ten feet thick, and forty feet high. In addition, the first three
ranks of the pit are to be furnished with pikes eighteen feet long, to de-
fend themselves in case any of the dramatis persone should break
through, or in their enthusiasm scale the parapet. To prevent. the
chance of flying leaps, the remainder of the pit are to be furnished with
rifles double-loaded, from Mr. Eggs’, the celebrated gunsmith, now sell-
ing off his stock, and a regiment of the Guards is to be planted in the
two-shilling gallery. The master-general of the ordnance also, with
that attention to the public convenience, which characterises the whole
policy of ministers, has voluntarily promised to keep a brigade of field-
pieces in readiness on the nights of performance, which, in case of any
thing like serious disturbance among the performers, will be in town in
half an hour from the throwing up of the first rocket from the roof of
the theatre. The lives of the biped actors are also to be insured at
* double hazardous!”” Mrs. Wood, Mrs. Humby, and the other more
attractive portions of the female establishment, are to be cased in cuirasses,
furnished in the kindest manner by several cornets of the Life Guards,
and which fit their shapes as if they were made for them. The engage-
ment of these pre-eminent artistes is due to the diplomatic talents of Mr.
Bunn, who has out-manceuvred Matthews and Yates, in a style which
will probably terminate those two gentlemen in a felo de se.

The fate of Covent-garden distracts us still. Whether Charles Kemble
and his daughter are to play here or in Kamschatka, to retire from the
stage, or to bear once more the burthen of the establishment on their
own heads, are matters which still perplex the world. The fact is, that
there is nothing certain under the sun, and we fear that theatres and
their calculations must be reckoned among the number. One thing we
hear of which we do not like; a vast number of expensive engagements
of actors who, without good plays and new ones too, are absolutely worth
nothing, let their abilities be what they may. Another is, that we do

436 Notes of the Month on [Ocr.

not see the slightest hope held forth of these good and new plays. Where
has gone the genius of the drama? where the encouragement once held
out to it by the great? or does it wait only for another Harris the elder,
or a revival of Rich? what know we? But we are told, “ The future
lesseeship of Covent-garden theatre is still undecided, owing to the
continued indisposition of Mr. Pepys, who is retained as leader of the
respondent’s case. Should the House of Lords think proper to reverse
the decision pronounced by Lord Lyndhurst, the affairs of the theatre
will be thrown into great perplexity, and wholly preclude the possibi-«
lity of its being opened for several weeks. The engagements for the
ensuing season have been all made with Messrs. Kemble, Willett, and
Forbes, and to these, of course, Mr. Harris will not be bound, should he
succeed to the managerial throne. Some say if that should so turn out,
Mr. C. Kemble means to take his company either to the Italian Opera
or to the Haymarket theatre—but this is all surmise. The fact is, Mr.
Kemble does not anticipate the possibility of failure in maintaining his
claim to the theatre.”

The marriage act brought in by George the Third, to extinguish the
possibility of mesalliances in his family, has certainly not been among
the most prosperous instances of legislation. One of its fruits is now
flourishing before the public in Chancery.

« Sir Augustus D’Este, the son of the late Countess D’Ameland by
the Duke of Sussex, has, it appears, filed a bill, to perpetuate the testi-
mony of his father’s marriage, and has also taken counsel’s opinion upon
its legality—which is in his favour !”

If the lawyer says so, we only wonder at the oddity of the opinion,
for nothing can be more express than the statute of 1772, and few
things could have been more perfectly understood during the last half
century, than its operation, It has been conceived, indeed, that the
illegality of the marriage in England may not bar the rights of the
issue of such marriage in Hanover. But unless law be a vapour the
question in England is settled.

We rejoice that we have not had an opportunity of personally wit-
nessing the wisdom of our “ Sovereign Lord the Mob, in the districts of
Zips and Zemplin.” The history of the proceedings of his “ majesty”
may be of some use to the experience of those who will be taught by
nothing else, and who may learn at last to believe, that the rabble
wisdom is not altogether to be relied on in all public emergencies. On
the approach of the cholera, the Austrian government had issued di-
rections for its treatment, and among these remedies chlorate of lime
seems to have been a good deal relied on. In some instances this failed,
and probably in some, the peasantry swallowed the chlorate, and thus
poisoned themselves. But the rumour instantly spread that the govern-
ment had been the grand practitioner in the poisoning, and the sovereign
people acted without delay, on the suggestion.

«This story, with the sudden and violent breaking out of the cholera
at Kluknau, led the peasants to a notion of the poisoning of the wells,
which spread like lightning. In the sequel, upon the attack of the
estate of Count Czaki, a servant of the chief bailiff was on the point of
being murdered, when, to save his life, he offered to disclose something
important; he said that he received from his master two pounds of

1831] Affairs in General. 437

poisonous powder, with orders to throw it into the wells; and, with an
axe over his head, took an oath publicly in the church to the truth of
his statement. These circumstances, and the fact that the peasants,
when they forcibly entered the houses of the landowners, every where
found chlorate of lime, which they took for the poisonous powder,
confirmed their suspicions, and drove the people to madness. In this
state of excitement, they committed the most apalling excesses. Thus,
for instance, when a detachment of thirty soldiers, headed by an en-
sign, attempted to restore order in Kluknau, the peasants, who were
ten times their number, fell upon them; the soldiers were released, but
the ensign was bound, tortured with scissors and knives, then beheaded,
and his head fixed on a pike as atrophy. A civil officer in company
with the military was drowned, his carriage broken to pieces, and
chlorate of lime being found in the carriage, one of the servants was
compelled to eat it till he vomited blood, which again confirmed the
notion of poison.”

When'the cholera broke out in St. Petersburgh, the mob could find
no better contrivance for its extirpation, than murdering the physicians ;
who, they declared, were hired by the government to poison the pa-
tients in the hospitals, and it was not till after they had proved their
science, by tearing some of the unfortunate doctors into fragments, that
some battalions of the guards put a stop to this summary justice.

But the true state of popular wisdom is not to be looked for in great
cities, where there are battalions of guards ready to turn out with fixed
bayonets, but in the rural districts, where life is pastoral and pure,
where the vices of cities dare not venture, and where the shepherds and
shepherdesses have it all their own way. For example : —

On the attack of the house of the Lord at Kluknau, the Countess
saved her life by the most piteous entreaties ; but the chief bailiff, in
whose house chlorate of lime was unhappily found, was killed, together
with his son, a little daughter, a clerk, a maid, and two students who
boarded with him. So the bands went from village to village ; wherever
a nobleman or a physician was found, death was his lot; and in a short
time it was known that the high constable of the county of Zemplin,
several counts, nobles, and parish priests had been murdered. A cler-
gyman was hanged because he refused to take an oath that he had thrown
poison into the wells ; the eyes of a countess were put out, and innocent
children cut to pieces. Count Czarki, having first ascertained that his
family was safe, fled from his estate at the risk of his life, but was
stopped at Kirchtrauf, pelted with stones, and wounded all over, torn
from his horse, and only saved by a worthy merchant, who fell on him,
erying, ‘ Now I have got the rascal.’ He drew the Count into a neigh-
bouring convent, where his wounds were dressed, and a refuge afforded
him. The secretary, who accompanied him, was struck from his horse
with an axe, but saved in a similar manner, and in the evening conveyed
with his master to Leutschaw. The steward of Count Czarki was killed,
his chief bailiff bound, thrown on the ground, and half beaten to death ;
after which, he was dragged to a smithy and bound to a bench, and the
soles of his feet burnt with irons, which peasant women made red hot.
The entreaties of the wife and sister of the bailiff seemed only to increase
the rage of his tormentors, But enough of these horrible scenes !
Those here mentioned (and they are but a few from the counties of
Zips and Zemplin) will suffice to give an idea of the mad rage of a

438 Noles of the Month on [Ocr.

people hitherto kept in a state of ignorance and brutality, as soon as it
breaks its fetters for a moment.”

We are compelled to agree in the final observation, hostile as it may
be to the march of intellect, and are very glad that we are not enjoying
its progress in the districts of Zips and Zemplin. Fi

The theatres will all open in a few days. Fascinating news! The
stages, long and short, are as crowded with actors now rushing up to town,
as they were a fortnight ago with partridges, and will be, for a week to
come, with geese. And the lounging members of both houses, who
have battled, broiled, brawled, and bungled through this burning and
endless session, will have somewhere to rest their weary souls from the
perpetual bore of doing good to their country. They must, unluckily,
wait awhile for the opening of the King’s theatre, where Mr. Monk
Mason, who speaks Italian like a tiger, who has visited foreign lands, and
sat out all the operas for the last five years, is preparing to assemble
such a galaxy of operatical lights, as never yet were let loose upon the
optics of our foggy and philosophical island.

« M. Laporte, released from the Opera, intends directing his whole
attention, in conjunction with M. Cloup, to the French drama, and the
company, next season, will be more efficient than any that has yet
appeared.”

The critics are still in doubt whether this active and very ugly
Frenchman gained or lost by his tenancy of the Opera. Laporte says
that he ought to have made 15,0001. Others say that he ought not to
have made the thousandth part of the number of farthings.

«« Macready is engaged at Drury-lane.” We hope not to play Vir-
ginius and Werner, Werner and Virginius, through the season.

« At Covent Garden, Young is positively engaged for a limited
number of nights. Lacy has prepared an opera—and the evergreen
Braham, has been studying his part for a month past. Wilson, and the
great card, Miss Inverarity, will, of course, form part of the company.”

We have no objection to any of these engagements. But we must
enter a caveat against our being compelled to see Young im the Stranger,
Hamlet, or Brutus, for the last time. We have some sensibilities about
us still, and can be tired of the eternal repetition of the most delightful
of all human things, as much as ever Manners-Sutton was tired of a
debate on the Address.

“« The fascinating Mrs. Humby is enlisted in Captain Polhill’s corps.
A Miss Kenneth, described to be in Miss Foote’s line, will also appear.
Mr. Jones, from Ed‘nburgh, takes the lead in genteel comedy. The
Honeymoon will be the opening play.”

By joining the captain’s corps, we are to understand, nothing more
descriptive than becoming a portion of the captain’s theatrical com-
pany, to which this gay and clever little actress will be a great acqui-
sition. Why has she not been a regular attachée to the Winter Theatres
long ago? They have not had upon their list a prettier woman, a
livelier comedian, or a more piquant artiste, in dress, dialect, dialogue,
and dithyrambics.

Bishop, the idlest of clever composers, who has enriched English
opera with some of the sweetest works extant, is generating a pair of
operas at once. Under the general head of drama, we understand that
there never was a season so fertile in proposed performances. Forty-.

1831.] Affairs in General. 439

two French farces are already in the actors’ hands. Macready has the
leading parts of ten tragedies lying on his breakfast-table, enough to
deprive any man of his appetite. One hundred and _ fifty melodramas,
from all corners of the empire, and with the venwe in all quarters of the
globe, are perplexing the brains of Messrs. Farley and Barrymore at
both houses; and the Christmas pantomime of Covent Garden is
complete, with the exception of a flying man in the last scene: while,
at Drury Lane, they have been rehearsing their pantomime during the
last month. These are new times, and the results must be brilliant.
We understand that the superintendance of the bailet-department is to
be given to the Lord Chamberlain, who has lately been taking lessons
from M. Diddelot for the purpose, and that, as soon as he is able to pirouet,
his grace will announce his acceptance of the office. It will not be like
his chamberlainship. It will be any thing but a sinecure.

What an immensity of consternation the Saints exhibited a sample
of, years since, on the untimely end of a Mr. Missionary Smith. “John
Bull,” who still protests against “ all that sort of thing, and every thing
of that sort,’ as Matthews says, has just ferreted out a little transaction
of the Missionary, which shews that he had his eye a leetle fixed on the
mammon of unrighteousness, as well as the publicans and sinners of the
West Indies. The document by which he exhibited his sense of the
guilt of dealing in slave merchandise is worth preserving, even for his
sake :—

“ Know all men by these presents, that I, John Smith, of the colony.
of Demerara, for and in consideration of the sum of eighteen hundred
gilders, Holland currency, paid to me by James Kelly, Esq., of the
aforesaid colony of Demerara (the receipt whereof I hereby acknow-
ledge), have granted, bargained, sold, aliened, enfeoffed, and confirmed
unto the said James Kelly, a female negro slave, named Kitty, together
with her fulure issue and progeny, and all right, title, interest, property,
claim and demand whatsoever, both at law and in equity, of, in, to, or out
of the aforesaid slave, and her future issue and progeny, to have and to
hold the said female negro slave named Kitty, unto the said James:
Kelly, his heirs and assigns, for ever !

«“ And I, the said John Smith, do hereby warrant and defend the
aforesaid female slave, together with her future issue and progeny,
against all and every person whatsoever, unto the said James Kelly,
his heirs and assigns, for ever !”

By the bye the West Indies are going to ruin. The outcry against
the planters, the interference of my Lords of the Treasury and the Right
Hon, the Colonial Secretary for the time being, and the Sierra Leone
Man-consumption-company, and the Mauritius Free-slave-sugar-corpora-
tion, and the Female-penny-raisers, and the orators black, brown, and
fair in Exeter-hall, are rapidly breaking down the interests of the finest
and most productive colonies that ever swelled the opulence of a nation.
We are making the West Indians ask the question, “ What good is to be
got by adhering to England, and what evil by looking to America?” If
a war should arise in that hemisphere, the islands would be among the
very first objects of American attack, and the time may come when the
hope of being able to make that attack successfully will be the cause o.
an American war. We have clearly contrived to irritate the colonists
our next steps may alienate them, and when, to please the Buxtons o

440 Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. [Ocr.

this speechmaking generation, we shall have either thrown the whites
into the hands of the blacks, or the islands, with both whites and blacks,
into the hands of the Yankees ; then, it is tobe hoped, we shall be satis-
fied. But as matters are going on now, between laws to teach the
planters how to take care of their own property, and to encourage the
produce of strangers in preference to that of our own countrymen, West
Indian property is going to the dogs, hour by hour.

. Since his Majesty’s accession, one valuable change has taken place in
the military equipment, by the adoption of red for the general service,
cavalry as well as the infantry of the line. We are not quite so much
charmed with the remaining mustache privileges of the life-guards,
lancers, and hussars, who are still too much Frenchified for British tastes,
and who would fight as well, and look much better, by applying the
razor to their upper lips as well as their lower. We also think that in
naval tailoring, the new taste is by no means an improvement, and that
the white facing which Nelson, Jervis, Howe, and Collingwood made
a terror to our enemies, is ill-displaced for the Frenchified red and blue
of the present fashion. Now, too, the British marines are to have a
Frenchified title, and to be called naval guards! a copy of Napoleon’s
« gardes de mer,” as if nothing could be good that was not borrowed.
The “ naval guards!” are to be divided into four corps, with a distin-
guishing appellative to each of the four divisions, viz. :—“ lst, King’s, or
Kent division ; 2d, Queen’s, or Devon division ; 3d, the Lord High Ad-
miral’s, or Hants division ; 4th, Princess Victoria’s, or Essex division ;
and that a third colour (the original standard of the corps) is to be re-
stored, and presented to the third division. This flag is St. George’s
Cross, having the rays of the sun diverging from each corner of its centre.
When the marines bore this flag, they were designated His Royal
Highness the Duke of York and Albany’s, or the Lord High Admiral
of England’s Own Naval Regiment.” Perhaps in no service in the
world has the passion for changing uniforms and names exhibited
itself so much as the British. The changing of the uniforms may be in-
telligible enough, for the tailor-interest has always been strong. But
when no one was to be the richer by the change in the names, we find
it difficult to assign the reason of this perpetual shifting of nomenclature.
Thus we have seen the 95, first the sharpshooters, and then the rifle-bri-
gade ; the royal artificers, now the sappers; the third foot guards, now
Scotch fusileer guards; artillery corps, now regiment of artillery ; horse
artillery drivers, now horse brigade ; household troops, now life guards ;
the 60th, now Duke of York’s rifles, &c. &c. cum mullis ; and the ser-
vice not a hair’s breadth the better for them all.

1831.] [ 441 J]

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

PrincipLes or Liruotrity.—By Baron Hevurtretoup, Docror oF THE
Facutty or Mepicine, Paris.

Lithotomy, or cuttiny for the stone, is an operation comparatively modern,
but though frequently accomplished with success, it is always hazardous, and
in a large proportion of cases attended with fatal results. But the knife is the
favourite instrument with English surgeons. Something like vanity enters into
their dexterous use of so formidable an instrument; and they will not readily
relax their hold. On the face of it, Lithotrity—that is, the breaking and
crumbling of the stone by the means of instruments introduced through the
urethra, is the more obvious and desirable mode of cure. The source of the
disease is thus accessible by one of nature’s own passages, and not of man’s
forcible entry. It is the difference between quietly opening the door of a house.
and burglariously breaking in; and carries with it its own recommendation.
It is true lithotrity has been abandoned, on consideration for what appeared the
better process—the more direct and violent one; but that is no proof of its su-
periority. Lithotrity may have been managed in a bungling manner; but
modern ingenuity, and the delicacy with which the necessary instruments can
now be manufactured, might long ago, had surgeons persevered, have remedied
all defects. Instead of this, the attention of the medical world has been turned
from it, and directed almost exclusively to the perilous knife. The art and the
use of it have doubtless been improved; but no approaches have been made, or
can hope to be made, to perfect security. In this state of things we welcome
this powerful publication of Baron Heurteloup—a French gentleman, who has
turned his mind to the improvement of lithotritic instruments for some years
past, and who is now settled in London for professional practice. The book is
obviously the production of a man who enters zealously into the subject, and is
thoroughly familiar with its details, and who writes, moreover, in a manner
“intelligible to the meanest capacity.” It cannot fail of arresting attention.
Patients will force surgeons to turn to it. The dread of lithotomy is general,
and the facilities and safety of lithotrity will strike patients forcibly—it will be
difficult, when once this book becomes known, to persuade them to submit to
the knife.

Into the particular merits of the baron’s improvements, we cannot here, of
course, enter; but the following considerations are worth listening to :—‘‘ Litho-
tomy requires to be performed in a favourable season ; lithotrity may be per-
formed at all times, with equal chance of success. The former requires that the
patient should remain in bed for a month or six weeks after the operation ; the’
latter needs no confinement, and often allows the patient to pursue his usual
avocations. -Lithotomy requires the patient to be kept on a rigid diet; while
he who undergoes lithotrity is only moderately restricted ;—the recovery is often, :
in the former case, very tedious; whilst, in the latter, it is effected at once.
Lithotomy often produces serious accidents—such as impotence, incontinence of
urine, and urinary fistule ; lithotrity, from its nature, cannot cause any of these
consequences. The former, whatever may be the means employed, always
requires a large and deep incision; the latter requires none. Lastly, lithotomy
may cause almost instant death, from hemorrhage ; lithotrity cannot, under any
circumstances, produce such a termination.”

Tue Hisrory or Encrish Dramatic Poetry, &c., BY J. PAYNE
Cox.urer, Esa. 3 vols, 12mo.

Iv would be difficult to point out, among the Origines of art or literature,
one more involved in obscurity than that of the English drama; nor would it
be easy to decide which has most contributed to retard the clearing away of
that obscurity—indolence, ignorance, or arrogance. The general tone of com-
mentators and critics has been—we have done all that can be done—we have

M.M. Nen Series.—Vow. XII. No. 70. 20

442 Monthly Rewiew of Literature, Ons,

searched and sifted all our materials; you must be content with the fruits of
our labours, for labour can do no more. They have taken credit for consum-
mate ability and unsurpassable exertion—for strenuously reaping the scanty
harvest, and even for carefully gathering the gleanings. But, luckily, the effects
produced by such declarations are usually short-lived—they repress only con-
temporaries. With the next age they lose their force; and the new energies of
a fresh generation will scale with ease what the old pronounced unsurmountable.
Thus it is that one age surpasses another, and we have little doubt that, though
Mr. Collier’s researches will appear to Ais contemporaries to be such as to make
further efforts hopeless, another age, another century, will produce new
labourers, who will make his discoveries look as little as he makes those of the
Stevenses, Malones, and Giffords.

Mr. Collier’s able performance consists in reality of two distinct works—the
Annals of the Stage to the closing of the Theatres in the reign of the Puritans ;
and a History of Dramatic Literature to the days of Shakspeare. The public
offices and receptacles for old records furnished large and valuable additions to
the materials, which had been already discovered, but which lay scattered in
printed and manuscript volumes. The state-paper department—the privy coun-
cil office—the chapter-house of Westminster, have supplied numerous original
documents, which throw a fresh, clear, and strong light upon some of the most
obscure parts of the history of the stage and drama. Amongthem, Mr. C.
particularizes unopened patents to different companies of players—original
accounts of the royal revels from the early part of the reign of Henry VILI.—
unexamined books of domestie expenses of our kings and nobility from
Edward IV. downwards. These were sources scarcely accessible to general
search, and might be expected to present some novelty ; but not less productive
have proved the MSS. of the British Museum, which have been long open to
every body’s scrutiny. Mr. C. was amazed at the substantial materials which
he detected there. The Burghley papers, exceedingly voluminous, had been
scarcely glanced at; and even the Harleian, Cottonian, and royal MSS., have
never been thoroughly ransacked. In the royal MSS. Mr. C. found two of
Ben Jonson’s masks in his own hand-writing. In these, too, he met with
letters from and concerning our ‘‘ most notorious poets,” the predecessors and
contemporaries of Shakspeare; and especially in a diary, kept by an intelligent
barrister, who lived while Shakspeare was in the zenith of his popularity, he
found original notices and anecdotes of him, Spenser, Jonson, Marston, &c.
Mr. C. spent some years in going through these voluminous collections, but he
declares he never had occasion to repent the mis-spending of a single hour while
so employed.

In the history of dramatic poetry Mr. C. begins with the miracles, or miracle-
plays, (usually designated by the name of Mysteries,) as the source and founda-
tion of the national drama. They appear to have been translations from the
French language rather than Latin. The most ancient is that of St. Katherine,
acted at Dunstable very early in the twelfth century. It is true the French
dramatic records are supposed not to extend beyond the thirteenth century ; but
St. Katherine itself was the production of a Norman monk—a member of the
university of Paris, though finally abbot of St. Alban’s. Mr. C. has examined
the whoie stock, printed and manuscript, known to be extant; and the reader
will find an analysis of the whole of the Widkirk, Chester, and Coventry series.
A new MS. of the Chester series has recently come to light—much superior to
those before known—an earlier transcript—more correct, and of course serving
to correct the blunders of later ones. It is in the possession of Mr. Nicholls,
the printer—himself a diligent collector in matters of archeology. No miracle-
plays probably were written after the reign of Henry VIII., but they continued
to be performed till the end of the century. They were acted even so late as
1603, at Lancaster, Preston, and Kendall.

Mr. C. next traces the connection between miracle-plays—which consisted at
first solely of Scripture characters—and morals, or moral-plays, (commonly
styled Moralities,) which were made up of allegorical personages. The miracles

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 443

gradually, and almost imperceptibly, merged into the morals by the intermixture
of allegory with sacred history, till they finally ceased to be distinctive. An
examination of all the extant moral-plays, similar to that of the miracle-plays,
follows, furnishing much novelty of information.

As the miracles merged into the morals, so these, in their turn, were finally
lost in tragedy and comedy, by the introduction, in successive steps, of the
characters of history, romance, and society. Mr. C. pursues the growth of
tragedy and comedy till they reached their maturity in the hands of Shakspeare,
though before he wrote a line for the stage our romantic drama may be truly
said to have been completely formed, and firmly established, notwithstanding
Dryden’s ignorant declaration that Shakspeare ‘‘ created the stage among us.”
Mr. C. reviews the pieces of all the predecessors and early contemporaries of
Shakspeare in what may be termed the legitimate drama; and concludes his
eleborate performance, the contents of which we can do no more than glance
at, with an inquiry into the origin and history of our old theatres—as success-
fully accomplished as any other department of his labours. The book is an
invaluable one—the worthy result of a toil of twenty years. We hope Mr. C.
will now publish an uniform edition of all the miracle and moral-plays, inter-
ludes, and dramas, to the days of Shakspeare.

On THE ALLEGED DEcLINE oF SCIENCE IN ENGLAND, BY A FOREIGNER.

. ** Science is on the decline in England,” says Mr. Babbage. Comparatively,
or absolutely ? Both, he replies, or implies—the continent surpasses us, and we
have no more Newtons. And what is the cause of this sad declension? The
want of patronage, that is, of government patronage; for under all Mr. Bab-,
bage’s complaints, lurks a desire for place, emolument, money. He seems to
think that men of science should have the monopoly of office ; none but they
should be statesmen, diplomatists, legislators, bishops, &c. Knowledge, like
virtue, it has been said, is, or should be, its own reward; but Mr. B. has no.
toleration for so absurd a maxim. He has no notion of anybody’s learning any
thing, or communicating any thing but for gain—he has but one idea of the
word acquisition. Fame, respect, admiration, are all nothing at all in Mr. B.’s
eyes ; and of course he cannot but marvel at Milton, for instance, and indeed at
all who have ever written, without the prospect, or the expectation, or the thought
of money-making. Mr. Babbage has taken up hastily an opinion, that France
is the region of science, and a paradise for the cultivators of science. Some three
or four men of science, during the last troubled half century, were in high office,
and for this Mr. B. envies the condition of men of science in France; but he
should know that these same persons owed their elevation to connection, to the
times, to their own bustling spirit, and certainly not to their ‘‘science.” This is
the feeling of the writer of the pamphlet before us—a Frenchman, who has been
led, from a sort of analogous mistake, seeing things only at a distance, and
unacquainted with facts, to envy and admire the condition of science, and its
cultivators in England. The surprise produced by Mr. B.’s book prompted this
reply ; and so have we the singular spectacle of the state of English science
attacked by a native, and defended by a foreigner. At all events he has
brought forward some pretty conclusive statements to enable the reader to pro-
nounce on the truth of the alleged “ decline.’””? France has but one philosophical
journal, and that of course has the choice of all papers offered for publication ;
while with us, there are the Quarterly, and the Edinburgh, and Jamieson’s Jour-
nals, besides the Philosophical Magazine, any one of which will shew an average
number of articles equally important and well-written. The Germans at least
are as eager to translate the English as the French papers. But English mathe-
maticians have all an eye to the practical, which of necessity keeps them in the
rear of the French, who, pursuing, without such interruptions, theory and ana-
lysis, far outstrip us in point of dry knowledge. But is this a proof of decline ? In
France eminent men confine themselves to one branch, while, generally, in
England, students take a wider range. But is this a disadvantage? We venture
to say, no. The different branches of science naturally serve each other, and
202

444 Monthly Review of Literature, [Ocr.

utility is never so soon lost sight of, as when the attention is contracted to single
points. But that the higher departments are really neglected in England, must
be denied, as long as we have Mr. Babbage himself, and such men as Iyory and
Herschel. With all Mr. B.’s admiration for France, he cannot be blind to the
fact that science is more widely diffused among us—that it has here more culti-
vators, and admirers, and so more patrons in effect. Looking to the learned
societies of England, and the costs of association with them, the ‘‘ Foreigner” of
the pamphlet cannot forbear a smile at the thought of six hundred Frenchmen
out of thirty-two millions, being found willing or able to pay twelve hundred and
fifty franks, or £50 a-piece, for the promotion of science! The pamphlet is pub-
lished by Faraday—himself a distinguished cultivator of science, and worthy of
being, as he is, the successor of Davy.

Lonpon Pacerants, By J. NicHoxs anp Son.

Tuer volume embraces an account of fifty-five royal processions and entertain-
ments in the city of London, commencing with Henry III. in 1236, and closing
with George III. in 1761, to the exclusion of the receptions of foreign sovereigns
and thanksgiving-processions to St. Paul’s, which were found to be ‘too nu-
merous to mention.”” The details are taken almost wholly from contemporary
writers, and will at least gratify the city, and a few inquirers into forgotten
matters. A second division of the book has a bibliographical list of Lord
Mayors’ pageants, that is, of publications descriptive of the annual shew at
the inauguration of the Lord Mayor of London, with some historical notes re-
lative to that august ceremony, still more gratifying to the citizens than the
former. The indefatigable compiler has added some account of a succession of
city laureates, to the number of fourteen.

In the account of a pageant in honour of Edward VI., occurs a song, which
contains most of the sentiments of the modern ‘‘ God save the King,” and which
seems to have escaped the notice of the many persons who have at various times
investigated the history of that national anthem, as Mr. Nichols styles it.

Piain RULES FOR IMPROVING THE HEALTH OF THE DELICATE, PRESERVING
THE HEALTH OF THE STRONG, AND PROLONGING THE LIFE OF ALL.—By
Wn. Henverson, M.D., or PERTH.

Dr. Henderson has been himself a great sufferer, and, like Dido of old, was
thus taught to sympathise with his suffering brethren. From his childhood he
experienced the thousand ills the dyspeptic is heir to, and some of them to a
most intolerable degree. The particulars are of so extraordinary a caste as to
haye required some courage to detail them. It was this early suffering, however,
that prompted him to turn to medicine, with a resolution to study disease in its
sources, and ransack nature for remedies. For years and years his success fell
short of his hopes; and at last, as the proud result of all his efforts, to mere
accident was he indebted for the precise composition of ingredients which he
pronounces to be nothing less than a specific for all ‘‘stomach complaints.”
The final object of the book is, of course, to herald the said specific to the ac-
ceptance of the world; and, indeed, his ‘‘ Stomachic Vegetable Elixir” has
qualities, if one-half of them be real, to conciliate every body that has a stomach
within him. It is perfectly safe—it may be taken by every one, of whatever age,
sex, or condition, at all times, at home or abroad, in doors or out,—a “‘ family”
medicine, in short, as handy as the whisky-bottle in Ireland. All may benefit,
and some may more than benefit, especially females, the literary, and the seden-
tary. It has, besides, some qualities of a rarer kind—an agreeable flavour—a
power of abiding on the stomach when nothing else will—a perpetuation of effi-
ciency, for it never loses its power, and, still more marvellous, the same quantity
always produces the same effect. No matter again how you take it; you may
use it as sauce for mutton or fish, or mix it with your claret ;—it will improve
both, never oppress the stomach, never fail in its salutary effects on the bowels,
and never cost more than four and sixpence a pint, stamp included. Dr.
Henderson has himself continued the daily use of it for twelve years, to the

1831. ] Monthly Review of Literature. 445

daily experience of its uniform effects, and his daily conviction, that, contrary to
the common maxims of medical men, it is still as effective as at first—it loses
none of its force. Notwithstanding, the book itself has nothing of a quackery
air, but is written with great sobriety, and is equal, we think, to the very best of
its class. It exhibits the signs of no common experience, is full of good sense,
and calculated to prompt people to use their own understandings in matters that
most nearly concern them.

We dropt on a curious instance of the disposition of professional men to view
every thing through their own professional spectacles. The human machine, in
every part of it, must be kept in action, or its powers will weaken. This is the
doctor’s maxim; but the confirmation the reader would hardly anticipate.
Hence, says he, the wisdom of the rule which the illustrious Cyrus established
among the Persians—that they should never eat but after labour, and hence also
the propriety of the Apostle’s apothegm—he that would not work, neither should
he eat; as if the good man really took these directions for medical maxims.

OricinaL Sones, By Ropert GILuFILLAN, oF LEITH.

The word song is enough to ‘indicate that the subjects are wholly confined to
amatory and bacchanal topics. Mr. Gillfillan’s are very agreeable trifles,
written in accommodation to national tunes, and will remind the reader of
Burns, Tannahill, and Macneil. Several of them were written for the Burns’
clubs of Dunfermline and Leith; and others of them have the flavour of Burns,
especially ‘‘ Pity the Lads that are free.”’ We selected thit for a specimen;
but it is too long, and we must substitute another :—

Tune—* Fy, let us a’ to the Bridal.”

The poets, what fools they’re to deave us !
Now ilka ane’s lassie’s sae fine ;

The tane is an angel, and, save us!
The niest ane you meet wi’s divine!

An’ then there’s a lang-nebbit sonnet,
Be’t Katty, or Janet, or Jean ;

An’ the moon or some far awa’ planet’s
Compared to the blink o’ her een.

The earth an’ the sea they’ve ransackit

For sim’lies to set aff their charms,
An’ no a wee flower but’s attackit

By poets, like bumbees in swarms.
Now, what signifies a’ this clatter

By chiels that the truth winna tell ?
Wad it no be settlin’ the matter

To say—Lass, ye’re just like yoursel ?

An’ then there’s nae end to the evil,
For they are no deaf to the din,
That, like me, ony puir luckless deevil
Daur scarce look the gate they are in;
But e’en let them be wi’ their scornin’—
There’s a lassie, whase name I could tell,
Her smile is as sweet as the mornin’—
But, whisht ! I am ravin’ mysel’.

But he that o’ ravin’s convickit,
When a bonnie sweet lass he thinks on,
May he ne’er get anither strait jacket,
Than that buckled to by Mess John 5
And he wha, though cautious and canny,
The charms o’ the fair never saw,
Though wise as King Solomon's grannie,
I swear is the daftest of a’.

446 Monthly Review of Literature. | [Ocr.

PotyNeEs1An Researcues, By WiLLI1AM ELIs, Vol. 4.

Tux fourth volume of Mr. Ellis’s collections relative to the isles of the Pacific,
is wholly occupied with the Sandwich group, and contains all that is known or
knowable of them, as to their history and the habits of the natives, since the
discovery by Captain Cook : for of their history before that discovery little can
be gathered at all definite. There are no records, and every thing is obscure
and vague in their recollections: their very traditions scarcely extend beyond
their grandfathers. Mr. Ellis traces accounts of the arrival of foreigners three
times before Captain Cook, none of them, obviously, very remote. The most so,
is that of the priest Paao, whom Mr. Ellis conjectures to have been a Roman
Catholic priest, driven out to sea from the Japan or American coast, or the sole
survivor of a wreck, and the gods he brought with him, an image and a crucifix.
The latest arrival consisted of seven persons in a painted boat, with an awning
at the stern, but no mast or sails. The people were white, and dressed in white
or yellow, and one of them had a long knife by his side, and a feather in his hat.
They married native women, became chieftains, and for a time held the govern-
ment of the Hawaii (Owhyhee). Their descendants are still distinguishable—
they have lighter complexions, and brown curly hair, and themselves claim to be
so descended. A very complete account, we repeat, of the islands, as to their
extent, population, habits, history, and much of the territorial peculiarities, may
be collected from the volume, though it is in itself inartificially put together.
A great deal of it is descriptive of a tour round the main island, aud thus much
of the information relative to the condition and circumstances of the natives is
given incidentally, and it is not very easy to find what you want. But all is
there, if the reader can command patience to hunt for it. Mr. Ellis was him-
self engaged some years as a missionary—he knows perfectly what he describes,
and honesty of purpose breathes in every line.

Cuvier’s Animat KinepoM, TRANSLATED BY Epwarp GnuirritH, F.L.S.
AND OTHERS.

Mr. Griffith and his coadjutors are rendering an important service to science
by this translation of Baron Cuvier’s popular and admirable work. Widely as it
was consulted before, its usefulness will be considerably extended by this publi-
cation; embracing, as it does, large additional descriptions of all the species
hitherto named, and of many that have never before come under the notice of
the zoologist. In fact, Mr. Griffith’s notes and additions would of themselves
form a work of no mean pretensions as to extent, and are admirably calculated
to illustrate and improve the general arrangement of Cuvier. The engravings
are not only excellent in themselves, and important as giving delineations (many
of them at least) of new and unfigured species, but they are also numerous—the
Mammalia alone monopolizing upwards of two hundred. Thirty of the fifty
parts announced as the extent of the work have already appeared, and of these
thirty one convenient character is, that each class is distinct in itself, “and
forms a separate work, independent of its connection with the series of the
Animal Kingdom.

TALES OF THE LATE REVOLUTIONS, WITH A FEW OTHERS, BY F. W. N. Baytey,
AvutHor or Four Yrears In THE West Inpizs, &c,

Mr. Bayley seizes upon recent political revolutions and events, to illustrate
their disastrous effects upon domestic felicities by details, which shew their in-
terference with the security of private life. All his tales turn upon the interrup-
tion given by them to the loves of the young, and the enjoyments of the old ;
but while he thus laments, he professes himself a Jover of liberty, and ready to
exult in her triumphs. It is a sort of insidious advocacy, however, betraying while
it eulogizes ; and leading us to dwell more upon immediate bad effects than upon
ultimate good, upon particular evils more than general benefits. After destroy-
ing the hopes of one set of lovers in Poland, driving another poor girl mad in
Brussels for the loss of her admirer, and plunging a third into pining melan-

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 447

choly from the same cause at Paris, he comes home, and pitching upon the rural
war of last winter, involves a poor well-meaning lad in machine-breaking and
stack-burning, to the ruin of himself, and the premature death of a cherry-
cheeked lass. The colonies are next visited. To shew the effects of ‘‘ sudden
emancipation,’ Mr. Bayley describes the condition of a negro, emancipated
suddenly at the death of his master. Instead of being benefited by the change,
he finds himself suddenly thrown upon his own resources, unable to procure
any thing, necessaries or accommodations, but only as he worked for them.
Sickness reduces him to extremity, all is sold to the last rag for present support ;
his wife dies, and by a manceuvre he gets a passage to England. Here he con-
trives to drag on life by fiddling in the streets—when he loses his fiddle, by
blacking shoes, running errands, pacing before Freemason’s Tavern with the
papers and reports of the Anti-Slavery Society ; and finally dies of sheer starva-
tion, near the London University, and his skeleton is found by the pupils of that
thriving establishment. The writer’s views are obvious enough, but he over-
shoots his mark. We are well known to be no friends to the Macauley party ;
but itis but just to say, this is no fair representation of the consequences of their
proposed measures. They are not fools enough to call their system “ sudden
emancipation,” as Mr. B. makes them do; nor is it fairly inferable that such
is their purpose. They only propose to accelerate, what the West Indians are
resolved to retard. ‘The effect of sudden emancipation would not be the diffi-
culty of getting work, for the planters must have free labour when slave-labour
is no longer attainable; and what labourers will beto be got but the emanci-
pated slaves? No, it is the unsettling of the minds of the slaves that is to be
dreaded, their repugnance to returning to labour, the probability that they would
prefer plunder to labour, and combine as banditti to destroy and devastate, rather
than as freemen to maintain their personal independence by the toil of their own
hands. Tout ce qui ne’est pas prose est vers, is Mr. Bayley’s motto; and as
some of his tales are not prose they are consequently vers. ‘The sketch on the
Vistula, excluding the narrative, is of a very superior character—the introductory
part is beautiful both in conception and expression. Polignac’s doom is too
much of the doggrel-cast.

“ The Vistula—the Vistula—
I gazed upon its tide—

When here and there some little bark
Down the blue stream would glide ;

Its waters then were all unstirred,
Save by the dashing oar—

And there was peace upon the wave,
And plenty on the shore.

“ The breath of summer lost its spice,
In Praga’s shady groves ;

The zephyr’s murmur still was low,
And half as sweet as love’s.

The palace of a mighty king,
Had sunshine on its tow’rs,

Freedom had not yet taken wing,
Slaves did not count the hours,

“ IT stood upon the river shore,
I watched each rippling wave—
I gathered flowers rites the banks—
They might have decked a grave ;
I stooped to pluck a full wild rose
From off the blossom ground—
Music broke sweetly on my ear,
And sense was charmed with sound.”—&c. &e,

448 Monthly Review of Literature. [Ocr.

VINDICATION oF THE SoutH Sza Missions, sy W. Extis.

In Capt. Kotzebue’s description of his last voyage in the Pacific, he gave a
‘very unfavourable account of the condition of Tahiti (more generally known by
the orthography of Otaheite), ascribing all its degeneracy, since Cook’s discovery
of it, to the mischievous missionaries. His publication has had by far too wide
a circulation to be overtaken by the vindicatory pamphlet before us, and we on
that account the more readily lend it our assistance, to remove some of the
‘aspersions which Mr. Ellis thinks, and very justly thinks, have been cast upon
the missionaries. The tone of Capt. Kotzebue’s narrative was pretty plainly a
prejudiced one; that is, he was evidently indisposed to believe any good could be
accomplished by converting the natives of the Pacific to Christian sentiments,
or European habits ; but we did not, in the slight glance we took of his book,
suppose for a moment that he had wilfully misrepresented facts. Nor do we
know now that he has done so; but at least, it is indisputable, he has taken up
lasty opinions, without weighing his authorities, or rather has trusted blindly
to the information afforded by interested parties, because, apparently, it con-
curred with his own prejudices. He himself was but a very short time on the
island, knew nothing of the language, and saw but little of it, or the population,
though what he did see, he acknowledges indirectly was favourable. His mis-
representations are speculative ones, mere deductions from the reports of others.
The main facts relied upon by Capt. Kotzebue for his general inferences is, that
the population in 1774, on the testimony of Capt. Forster, was 120,000, and that
now it does not exceed 8000. To what is this to be ascribed? To the intro-
duction and influence of the missionaries, says Capt. K. Pomareh, the ‘chief,
at their instigation, propagated the gospel by fire and sword, and the race has
in consequence been nearly swept away. Capt. Forster’s estimate, however, is
of no authority whatever, it was made on the most erroneous detail; and cer-
tainly in 1797, when the missionaries first landed, the population appeared, on
much better authority, when there was no interest in depreciating the numbers,
but rather the contrary, to be but 16,000. It is since that period that Capt. K.
represents nine-tenths of the people to have been extinguished by the mission-
aries, because he could trace the reduction to no other source. These nine-
tenths of his were thus calculated on Forster’s estimate instead of that of 1797.
But the ravages of imported disease—the introduction of ardent spirits and fire-
arms—the continuance of human sacrifices, and of infanticide, to a frightful
extent—with ten wars, will sufficiently account for the reduction from 16,000
to 8000, and the wonder should rather be that the natives have not been utterly
annihilated. All this too occurred before the influence of the missionaries be-
gan—for not one native was converted before 1812. The fact is, as it may well
be supposed in our days, that no force was sanctioned or in any way promoted
by missionaries, English or American. Since their influence has been effective,
the population has again increased, and life and property is comparatively sacred.
To those who read Capt. K.’s volumes, and must have been struck by his repre-
sentations, we recommend the perusal of Mr. Ellis’s vindication—he was him-
self eight years a missionary, on the Friendly and Sandwich islands, and de-
serves to be listened to. He cannot,we think, fail to conciliate the good will
and confidence of the reader.

SUBSTANCE OF SEVERAL Courses or Lectures oN Music READ IN THE
UNIVERSITY OF OxFORD, AND IN THE Merropouis, By Wm. Crorcn,
Mus. D. &c.

In these intelligent and well-considered lectures Dr. Crotch has shewn
himself thoroughly qualified to discuss the principles of musical science, and to
instruct and promote, what he professes to be his main object, the public taste.
That, he insists, requires much cultivation ; and the best proof of it is the rage
for novelty, which marks the lovers of music of the present day. Have you any
thing new, is every body’s first inquiry on entering a music-shop. He considers
them wholly at the mercy and caprice of modern composers—themselves often

1831.) Monthly Review of Literature. 449

possessing as little taste as knowledge—studious of nothing but effect, and care-
Jess of every thing but clap-traps. Dr. Crotch sets himself seriously to the task
of defining standards and styles, and divides them into the sublime, beautiful,
and ornamental, following the analogies of painting, architecture, &c., till, like
a will o’ the wisp, they lead him apparently whither they will. Reynolds
turned the morals of Johnson to account in his lectures on painting; and in
* his turn Dr. Crotch finds Reynolds equally convertible for musical purposes.
To the sublime the doctor consigns all church-music, and though he does not
precisely declare there can be no more good church-music, he is positive the
style can never be changed with advantage, and any attempt at a change he
obviously regards as so much profanation. To us, however, the most attractive
portion of his lectures is the one relative to musical expression, in which the
sobriety, as well as the soundness of the writer’s judgment, is very conspicuous.
As an imitative art he acknowledges frankly its general impotency. In nothing
have composers shewn more extravagance in their pretensions. The union of
music with poetry it is, that has been the fruitful source of these exaggerations.
The merits of the poetry have been assigned to the music. ‘‘ But take away the
poetry,” says Dr. C., ‘* or let it be in an unknown tongue, and then see whether
music can build the walls of a city, or civilize a savage race.” It may represent
certain qualities in objects, or rather excite feelings similar to what those objects
themselves excite; but it cannot delineate the objects themselves, nor indeed
distinguish them from scores of others. It can convey no imagery, and cannot
discriminate, with any nicety, the very affections it seems at times to command.
It may speak of something serene, or troubled, or joyous, or wild, or tender ;
but what that something is poetry alone can tell us. ‘ Let the piece be unaccom-
panied by words, and the gliding, tossing, bellowing, and confusion, will repre-
sent either water, a storm, or a battle.’ ‘‘ Handel,”’ adds Dr. Crotch, ‘has
but one and the same favourite soothing melody to express the murmurings, or
perhaps the undulations of a flowing stream, the repose of the dead, the beauty
of the green, and the softness of the spring.”” Again, where waves were to be
depicted, and the roaring of a giant, Handel uses but one passage. ‘“‘ Jove’s
own thunders follow Mars’s drums,” says Pope of Handel, and says well; but
the drums are obliged to represent sometimes one, and sometimes the other.

Dr. C. commemorates, with abundant knowledge of what he~is talking about,
the chief composers of the last three centuries, in their several styles, and finally
expresses very distinctly his sense of the present state of the public taste—which
is, in spite of all he has said or insinuated, that it isin a gradual state of improve-
ment; and notwithstanding the decline of the art itself, which he still insists
upon, has attained a higher stage of advancement than it has known for half a
century. Laudari laudato, &c.

A Key To Reapine, &c., spy Joun SmitH; LecrurER ON EARLY Epvuca-

TIoN, &c. LivERPOOL.

Tue title does not convey specifically, or with sufficient precision, the object
of the book. Its purpose is to furnish a specimen or two of the way in which
he proposes to make reading useful—or rather, the way in which the teacher is
to ascertain whether his pupils understand what they read; and that is, by
questioning them minutely ard closely on every word of any passage that has
been read, together with collateral matters connected with the subject, words,
phrases, allusions, &c. ‘The book is, of course, intended for the assistance and
guidance of teachers and parents; and the plan, admirable in itself, has only
one little difficulty involved in it—that of finding teachers and parents with
intelligence enough, and self-possession enough, to make a tolerable use of it,
We can conceive the bungling of many who will make the attempt.

The grammatical picture, attached to the key, is a most ingenious contrivance
for conveying to children the distinctions of what are called Parts of Speech.
With a lot of children assembled, the teacher proposes to them to make an
imaginary picture, the materials or objects of which they are themselves to sup-
ply. One names a cottage, another a rock, a third a brook, a fourth church-

450 Monthly Review of Literature. [Ocr.

bells, a fifth a shepherd, &c. These he tells them are all nouns. Where will
you have your cottage? Near the brook—above, below, &c. ‘These are prepo-
sitions. But what kind of a cottage shall it be? Large, small, white, &c.
These are adjectives. Well, but now to give things a little life, motion, &c.—
what shall the bells do? Riny.—The trees? Wave.—The shepherd? Sing.—
These are verbs. But again, how shall the brook flow? Swiftly, merrily, &c. These _
are adverbs. Well, but now, how does the cottage look? J¢ looks beautiful, &c.
That is a pronoun. And so on, till the whole nine, not the muses, are embraced,
and thoroughly comprehended.

Fmsr Lines or Zootocy spy QUESTION AND ANSWER, IN SEVEN Parts—
Mammautia, Birps, Fisues, Reprites, Insecrs, Moutusca, Crusta-
cEA, &c., BY Ropert Muniz.

Mr. Mudie’s catechism, among the thousand and one publications of this
nature, is fairly and deservedly distinguishable by a. steady adherence to the
useful—to the inculcation of principle, instead of indulging in mere description,
or matters of detail. Works of natural history for young persons consist too
generally, he assures us, of mere scraps of description, often exaggerated, and of
little use if they were true; or they present the technicalities of an artificial
system in an unknown tongue—making thus the real knowledge of the subject
appear twice as difficult as it actually is, by adding an unexplained name to an
undescribed reality. Mr. Mudie, of course, implies that he has reformed all
this moderately, if not altogether ; and we willingly bear our testimony to the
general and particular intelligence visible in his book, and the complete success
with which he has executed his purpose.

A Synopsis oF THE Or1G1IN AND Progress of ARCHITECTURE ; TO WHICH IS
ADDED, A DICTIONARY OF GENERAL TERMS; BY WILLIAM J. SMITH.

Tue very title is untoward—the writer knows the meaning neither of synopsis,
nor of general. The latter occurs eight or ten times in a preface of a few lines.
Mr. Smith professes to give a ‘‘ general” view of the history of architecture,
first, to the period of its highest perfection in Greece, to which he attaches an
enumeration of the more remarkable specimens of antiquity in Syria, Asia
Minor, Persia, India, Greece, and Sicily. In a second division of his book, the
general history is continued to the Fall of the Western Empire, with a sort of
catalogue raisonné of the chief antiquities of Italy, France, and Spain. Tables
also are given of the dimensions of many or most of the buildings. The general
history is finally continued onwards to the days of the Gothic ; and some notices
follow of our English cathedrals, with a guess or two for solving the eternal
question of the origin of the said Gothic. We do not wish to throw any doubt
either on the completeness of the enumerations, or on the accuracy of the details,
but nothing in this world ever exceeded the ‘‘ general”? meagreness of the whole
concern. It is much drier and more costive than any thing we have had the
fortune to meet with in these loquacious and copious times, and the wonder in
consequence with us is, how any man who had so little to say, good or bad,
should attempt to say any ¢hing.

TRANSLATIONS OF THE Oxrorp Latin Prize Poems, First Series, (!)
By Nicuouas Ler Torre.

Tuts strange scheme must have suggested itself to sheer indolence—a fond-
ness for literary dawdling, without the power of starting original conceptions,
or of combining old materials— a morbid or imbecile desire to be doing, with
nothing to do. The merit of the original pieces lies wholly in the latinity; and
the latinity itself is but an evidence of some facility, and occasionally of some
felicity, in dove-tailing incongruous phrases. In the Latin the reader knows of
course there exists little or no discrimination, for the sources of the language
are all precisely the same; and as to the Translations, he may be sure they ex- _
hibit still less—for they are all “‘ done” by the same person—in the same metre

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 451

—with phrases ground in the same mill—taste, tone, and cadence, all undistin-
guishably semper unum et idem. ‘The pieces thus translated in this first series
are by Canning, Richardson, Copleston, Puller, Baker, Atkins, Herbert, Cony-
beare, and Shuttleworth ; and none of them, living or dead, can, or could thank,
the translator, for forcing them from the comfortable obscurity in which they
have long reposed, into the light which they must all be ashamed to face.

Homonymes Frangais, on THE French Homonymovus Worps, &c., By
Dominique ALBERT, AND EcEerTON Smitu, LiverRPoo..

Turse homonymous words—for the term itself may require explanation—
are words of similar sound, but of dissimilar signification, and generally dissi-
milar orthography. Words of this kind are frequent in most languages, but
abound in the French, and present formidable obstacles to speaking the language,
or at least to the learner’s discovering what the speaker means. In reading, au,
aux, aulx, eau, 0, oh, 08, nobody will confound, but to the ear they all come with
the same sound, and often bafile the learner—suggesting as they do such odd and
out of the way combinations of meanings, as if the purpose of the speaker was
merely to mystify. To get rid of this embarrassing inconvenience as quickly as
possible, the authors have ingeniously brought together in these homonymous
words single sentences, which are to be committed to memory, trusting to its
facility in retaining new associations for the success of the contrivance. Sup-
pose the homonymous words to be antre, a noun, entre, a verb, and entre, a pre-
position—they are introduced into the sentence—Pour visiter la sibylle, on entre

(enters) dans un antre (cave) profond, percé entre (between) deux énormes roches.
“ Again—On ne doit (ought) jamais montrer personne au doight (finger)—which
. at once distinguishes the words, and conveys a lesson of good manners.

Waveriey Novets. Vou. XXVII. Peveriy or tue PEAK.

Tue story of William Christian is conspicuous in the annals of the Isle of
Man. His father had been governor, and he himself eventually was one of the
dempsters, or supreme judges. Both father and son embraced the party of the
islanders, who contested some feudal rights claimed by the Earl of Derby, as
king in Man. During the civil wars, the earl, as every body knows, was
beheaded at Bolton-le-Moors; after which event William Christian placed
himself at the head of the insurgent party of the island, and opened a commu-
nication with the parliamentary fleet. The island was formally surrendered, and
the countess and her son, a child, were thrown into prison, where they con-
tinued till the restoration of Charles. On that occasion she was released; and
seizing on Christian, she, in quality of regent for her son, caused him to be
tried and executed for treason to his liege lord. For this stretch of feudal
power Charles, glad of the occasion to get money, levied a heavy fine upon the
Derby estates. ‘This masculine asserter of her regal rights was a daughter of
the French House of Tremouille, and well known in the civil wars for her
gallant defence of Latham House. Sir Walter’s preface is chiefly remarkable
for a defence of Christian and his brother, by the present representative of the
family, John Christian, Esq., who still holds the office of dempster in the isle.
Sir Walter, it will be remembered, exhibits Christian’s brother Kdward asa
wretch of unbounded depravity ; but this he did, it appears, without knowing
in fact that there ever existed such a brother. He found an Mdward Christian,
‘with whom connected, or by whom begot,”” he knows not, associated with
Blood and O’Brien in the conspiracy against the life of the Duke of Buckingham
—whose character answered his purpose, and he adopted him.

Newron’s Lire, py Dr. Brewster. Vor. XXIV. or Murray’s
Famiry Lisrary.

No person could be better qualified for writing the Life of Newton than
Dr. Brewster, from his great familiarity with the history of science down to its
minutest points: and he has accomplished his task with exemplary diligence,

452 Monthly Review of Literature. — [Ocr.

and a laudable anxiety to unearth every source of information for the clearing up
of all obscurities. From some report received by Huygens, that mathematician
spoke of Newton, in some letter, as being in a state of insanity in the year 1694,
either from intense application, or from excessive grief at the loss of his chemical
laboratory and several MSS. This story was first published in a Life of New-
ton, by Biot, and used by him to account for Newton’s not having, from that
period, done any thing worthy of his early reputation—disabled, in fact, from
the overstraining of his faculties. From the same authority, too, La Place con-
cludes, he was fit from that time for nothing but theology, to which, according
to him, Newton then for the first time betook himself. The origin of this tale,
quite new to English readers, Dr. Brewster has been at great pains to trace and
develope, and has met with more success than could have been anticipated,
Mr. Pryme, Professor of Political Economy at Cambridge, has in his possession
a MS. diary, kept by a Mr. Abraham Pryme, a collateral ancestor of his, and a
cotemporary of Newton. In this diary Mr. Pryme records, at the date of
February 2, 1692, the fact of Newton’s papers, containing the results of experi-
ments on colours and light being destroyed by fire, and its effect upon Newton.
It is, in short, the old story of his Dog Diamond ; but instead of the prodigious
tranquillity with which the philosopher bore the disaster, and of which we have
heard a thousand times, Mr. Pryme relates, that when Newton ‘‘ saw what was
done, every one thought he would have run mad, he was so troubled thereat,
that he was not himself a month after.” The accident must have occurred
towards the end of 1691, and according to Mr. Pryme, Newton was “ himself
again” in a month. But Huygens’ report was made in June, 1694, at which
time he speaks of him as then beginning to be able to comprehend his own
Principia again. In this very interval, however, and about the middle of it,
the end of 1692, and beginning of 1693, Newton wrote his letters to Bentley on
the Existence of a Deity—letters which at least shew a degree of power and
calmness quite incompatible with the alleged obscuration of his faculties. Still,
in September of that year (1693), he describes himself as not having “for a
twelvemonth either ate or slept well, or enjoyed his former consistency of mind.”
The expression is perhaps vague—though at that period it meant steadiness—
but the letter itself which contains it is a proof of some strange want of self-
possession—for it is written to Pepys, in apparent reply to a message, which it
appears Pepys had never sent. The letter is now published for the first time
from the MS. in Lord Braybrooke’s possession, along with Pepys’s correspond-
ence in consequence with his nephew. Within three days of this letter was also
written to Locke, that singular epistle published recently by Lord King, in which
he tells him, he had suspected him of embroiling him with womén—had charged
him with Hobbism—wished him dead—and ascribed to him some design of
selling him an office, &c.—some part of which, and perhaps all, Newton
appears, from another letter, about a month afterwards, to have forgotten. In
his efforts to clear up this imputation on the soundness of Newton’s intellects,
in the interval between the accident at Cambridge and Huygens’s report, Dr.
Brewster has produced two irrefragable instances of illusion, however temporary
that illusion may have been. But as to the inferences made by Biot and La
Place, nothing can well be more unfounded, or more at variance with facts.
For years after, Newton was engaged in matters of complication, that required
as clear and steady a brain as in any the most laborious period of his life. As
to his theology, indeed, it is of little value, but at all events theology was no
new study with him. He had early shared in the theological discussions of his
collegiate cotemporaries, and was not at any period, in those discussions, more
absurd than the gravest and weightiest of professional divines.

TREATISE ON THE ORIGIN, Procress, AND PreseNT STATE OF THE SILK
MANUFACTURE—OCCUPYING THE 22D vou. OF LARDNER’s CABINET Cy-
CLOPADIA.

One of the most useful volumes hitherto sent out of Dr. Lardner’s manufac-
tory. It contains abundant information in every department of this interesting

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 453

branch of human industry—in the history, culture, and manufacture of silk.
The more recent portion of its history is, of course, if not the most attractive,
the most important ; and the details will prove amply sufficient as to the actual
state of the trade in every part of the globe. The author has evidently gone to
the best sources of information, and has taken a practical and an enlightened
view of the changes brought about by Mr. Huskisson. He has shewn beyond
all cavil or contradiction, the efficacy of that statesman’s measures, and the cor-
rectness of his views—his correctness with regard to the silk-trade at least. Of
all the numerous attempts to naturalise the silk-worm in the British dominions,
the one of 1825 promised the best results. But it has, it seems, been wholly
abandoned, and the efforts of the projectors transferred to Malta, in spite of all
the patronage it received on the part of those who anticipated from it a profit-
able source of employment for the Irish peasantry. A spot of ground of about
eighty acres was chosen on the estate of Lord Kingston near Michaelston, in the
county of Cork, and 400,000 white mulberry-trees were successfully trans-
planted. A small but complete building for rearing silk-worms was adapted on
the plan of Count Dandolo, and every thing seemed to promise that success
which usually attends judicious plans and well-directed energy. The experi-
ment was also repeated in the neighbourhood of Slough, on a piece of nineteen
acres. But Malta has proved more attractive, and the proprietors of the com-
pany have reason to anticipate a successful result.

Among the more curious portions of the volume are the attempts to substitute
other food for mulberry-leaves, in rearing the silk-worm; and again, to obtain
silk from spiders and pinne. But the portion most acceptable to such as have
few or no opportunities of examining mills, and Jooms, and machinery—of seeing
things with their own eyes, will be the description of the mechanical processes,
in all the varieties of the silk manufacture—plain and figure weaving—velvet,
gauze, sarsnet, satin, gros-de-naples, crapes, &c. &c. Not that the mere de-
scription of the more complicated machinery will supersede the necessity of
actual inspection ;—distinct ideas of tangible and visible matters are seldom ob-
tainable by pen and ink sketches, with whatever skill and accuracy they are
drawn. These, before us, are unexceptionable, and the whole concern is a
very respectable performance, and does infinite credit, as we said, to Dr. Lard-
ner’s manufactory.

Dispin’s Sunpay Lisrary. Vol. V.

This is by far the best volume of Dr. Dibdin’s selections—but only because
the best of the sermons are not by divines of the church of England, but by
Blair and Chalmers of the Scotch church, and others. Allison, though strictly
of the Scotch Episcopalians, has also preferment in the English church; but
Robert Hall, at all events, was of neither establishment ; and though his sermon
on Modern Infidelity be the best of the bunch, there is no reconciling its intro-
duction with the terms of Dr. Dibdin’s title-page. The ‘ Church of England”
has no claim to it, whatever be its merits ; and, whether prompted by a “‘ liberal’’
spirit, or an usurping one, Dr. Dibdin should know he can with no propriety
do what he will with anything bit his own.

[——

FINE ARTS’ PUBLICATIONS.

Tue plates of the “ Winter’s Wreath” have afforded us the first glimpse of the
dawning beauty of the Annuals. If we are to judge by these specimens, and
take the embellishments of the Winter’s Wreath as a criterion of what its con-
temporaries will exhibit, we may say, without hesitation, that there will be no
falling off, as far as engravings go, in the Annuals of 1832. This publication has
always ranked among the most favoured ; and its present list of embellishments
will sustain its reputation to the very letter. We can give little more than a bare
list of the beauties, particularly as they will so soon come before us in another

454 [Ocr.

shape. They are, Lessing Gray (Martin), and Lago di Nemi (A. Aglio), by
Brandard; Cotter’s Saturday Night (Stothard), and Reply of the Fountain
(Liversege), by E. Smith; the Wreck (Williamson), by Miller; the Piper of
Mull (E. Goodall), and Villa of Rione, by Robinson ; the Visionary (Liversege),
by Engleheart ; Naples (Linton), E. Goodall; Abbeville (Roberts), A. Freebairn;
Sunset (Barret), R. Wallis ; and, lastly, or we should rather have said “ first,”
the Wreath itself, an elegant and tasteful design, worthy of the company it is

Fine Arts’ Publications.

intended to usher into notice.

If all the Annuals are like this, we shall hardly

feel justified in wishing their numbers diminished.

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PRESS.

By Mr. Madden ; The Ancient Scot-
tish Metrical Romances of Sir Gawayn
and the Grene Knyzt, from a MS. in
the British Museum.

- By Wm. Maugham, Surgeon: the
London Manual of Medical Chemistry,
comprising an interlinear verbal trans-
lation of the London Pharmacopeeia,
with extensive Chemical, Botanical,
Therapeutical,and Posological Notes, &c.

By Hugh Moore, Esq.: a Dictionary
of Quotations from varicus Authors in
Ancient and Modern Languages, with
English Translations, illustrated by Re-
marks and Explanations.

By F. H. Lightfoot : an Embellished |

Chart of General History and Chrono-
logy, comprising a Series of Persons,
Epochs, and Events, from the Deluge to
the Latest Period.

By the Authors of “ The Odd Vo-
lume :” the Sister’s Budget, two volumes
of Original Tales in Prose and Verse,
&e., with Contributions from Mrs. He-
mans, Miss Mitford, Mrs. Hodson, Mrs.
Kennedy, Mrs. Macfarlane, Mr. Ken-
nedy, Mr. Bell, Mr. Malcolm, and some
others.

The Law of Husband and Wife, con-
taining the whole of the Legislative Pro.
visions for the Celebration of Marriage,
by Banns, Licence, Speciat Licence;
and for its Dissolution, by Divorce, on
the ground of Crim. Con., Cruelty, &c.
&c. &e.

By Sir W. Jardine, Bart.: Wilson’s
American Ornithology ; with the Con-
tinuation, by Charles Lucian Buona-
parte; together with an Enumeration
and Description of the newly discovered
Species not included in the original
works, with copious Notes, in 3 vols,
with 100 engravings.

By R. Green: the History, Topo-
graphy, and Antiquities, of Framling-

am, compiled from the best authorities.

By Adam Taylor: the Works of the
Rev. Dan Taylor.

By B. Ererf, Esq. : the Adventures of
a Dramatist, in 2 vols.

By C. Macfarlane, Esq.: the Ro-
mance of History—Italy.

Cruikshank’s Comic Album, being a
Collection of Humorous Tales, with
numerous Illustrations on Wood.

By the Author of Gertrude: a Novel
called ‘* The Affianced One.”

By Mr. Atkinson, of Glasgow; the
Cameleon, a Volume of Original Mis-
cejlanies, in Prose and Verse.

By the Author of * Modern Fana-
ticism Unveiled :” a volume under the
title of Balaam.

Memoirs of the Empress Josephine,
by Dr. Memes, will form the 72d vol.
of Constable’s Miscellany.

By Miss Landon: a Novel, in three
volumes, called Romance and Reality.

A splendid edition of Childe Harold,
in two volumes; each volume will be
illustrated with forty Topographical
Engravings, from drawings by Turner,
Stanfield, &c.

The following Six Works will be included
in Mr. Murray's Family Library.

History of the Reformation in Eng-
land, by the Rev. J. J. Blunt.— Popular
View of Egypt and its Antiquities, from
Belzoni, &c.—The Elements of Che-
mistry, familiarly explained and prac-
tically illustrated.—The Legendary His-
tory of Mahomed, by Washington Irv-
ing. — The Eventful History of the
Mutiny in the Bounty; its Cause and
Consequences.—Journal of an Expedi-
tion to explore the Course of the Niger,
by the Messrs, Lander.

The following Annuals will be published in
November.

The Winter’s Wreath.

Heath’s Picturesque Annual; con-
taining Twenty-six Plates, from draw-
ings by Stanfield; the descriptions by
Leitch Ritchie.

1831.]

The Literary Souvenir. Edited by
Alaric A. Watts.

The New Year's Gift, and Juvenile
Souvenir.

The Keepsake.

The Forget-me-Not, a New Series,
printed on paper of larger size, and in
more durable binding.

Ackermann’s Juvenile Forget-me-Not.

_The Humourist. By W. H. Har-
rison.

Friendship’s Offering.

The Comic Offering.. Edited by Miss
Sheridan.

A new Annual, illustrated with draw-
ings by Prout, under the title of The
Continental Annual, uniform in size
with the Landscape Annual] of 1830 and
1831. The literary department, under
the superintendance of Mr. W. Ken-
nedy.’

The Geographical Annual. Uniform
with the larger Annuals, and containing
100 finely executed Engravings from
steel, of all the States, Kingdoms, and
Empires, throughout the World.

LIST OF NEW WORKS.

BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

Memoirs of Count Lavalette. Writ-
ten by Himself. In 2 vols. 8vo. 24s.
In French 18s.

Memoirs, Correspondence, and Poeti-
cal Remains, of Jane Taylor. A New
Edition. 12mo. 5s.

Curtis’s History of Leicester.
12s.

Burgess’s Antiquities of Rome, In
2 vols. 8vo. £3. 3s.

Dodsley’s Annual Register.
LXXIL., for 1830. 8vo. 16s.

The Eastern Origin of the Celtic Na-
tions Proved. By James C. Prichard,
M.D. 8vo. 7s.

Transactions of the Royal Asiatic
Society of Great Britain. Vol. IIL
Part I. 4to,

Comparative Geography of Western
Asia. 2 vols. 8yo. 24s. Atlas to
Ditto. 4to. 30s.

Geographical Illustrations of Xeno-
phon. 4to. maps 2ls.; and On the 'Topo-
graphy of Troy. 4to. 7s. 6d., by Major

ennells.

_The winged and Antiquities of
Rome, including the Recent Discoveries
made about the Forum and the Via

n

8vo.

Vol.

Sacra. By the Rev. R. Burgess.
2 vols. 8vo.

The Eventful History of the Mutiny
of the Bounty, is published in Murray’s
Family Library. 5s.

Hinton’s History of America. Vol. I.
4to. £3 3s.

List of New Works.

455

National Library. Vol. XII. Con-
tents :—Lives of Celebrated ‘Travellers. :
12mo. 6s.

MEDICAL,

Plain Rules for Improving the Health
of the Delicate, and Preserving the
Health of the Strong. By W.H. Hen-
derson, M.D. 18mo. 6s.

Severn’s First Lines of Midwifery.
8vo. 7s.

A Manual of Medical Jurisprudence.
By Dr. Ryan. 8vo. 9s.

Atkinson on Stone in the Bladder.
8vo. 5s. ‘

A System of ne Chemistry. By
Dr. Thomson, of Glasgow. In 2 vols.
8vo. £2 2s.

Winkworth on the Teeth and Gums.
4to. 10s.

Celsus, Latin and English, with the
Order of Construction. By Alexander
Lee. Vol. I. 6vo. lis.

Bright’s Medical Reports. In 2 Parts,
coloured. Royal. 4to. £9 9s.; Plain,
£7 7s.

; MISCELLANEOUS.

Elements of the Integral Calculus.
By J. R. Young. 12mo. 9s.
Wright’s improved Game Book, for

one Year. 5s.; ‘wo Years, 10s.

Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopoedia. Vol.
XXIII. Treatise on Silk Manufacture.
12mo. 6s.

An Essay on the Future Destinies of
Europe, dedicated to Earl Grey. 8vo. 4s.

Johnson’s Sportsman’s Dictionary. 8vo.
£1 11s. 6d.

Scenes in Scotland. 12mo. 4s. 6d.

Analogies of Organised Beings. By
J. L. Duncan. 8vo. 5s.

NOVELS AND TALES.

Standard Novels. Vol. VII. Scot-
tish Chiefs. 12mo. 6s.

Milman’s Tales of the Stanley Family.
12mo. 5s. 6d.

Austin Hall, or After-Dinner Con-
versations. 12mo. 5s.

The Smuggler. A Novel. By the
Author of “ Tales of the O'Hara Fa-
mily.”” In 3 vols. £1 11s. 6d.

Roscoe’s Novelist’s Library. Vol IIT.
Peregrine Pickle. vol. 1. 5s.

Mary’s Journey. A German Tale.
12mo. 3s.

POETRY.

Corn Law Rhymes. 12mo. 4s.

Love. A Poem. By the Author of
“ Corn Law Rhymes.” 8vo.

Crayons for the Commons, or Mem-
bers in Relievo. A Satirical Poem.
12mo. 5s. 6d.

The Miser.

Original Songs.
12mo. 4s.

A Poem. 8vo. 5s.
By Robert Gilfillan,

456

Irish Minstrelsy, or the Bardic Re-
mains of Ireland, with English Poetical

Translations. Collected and edited by
James Hardiman. In 2 vols. 8vo.
£3 3s.

RELIGION AND MORALS,
The History of the Christian Religion
and Church during the Three First
Centuries. By Dr. Augustus Neander.
Translated by Henry John Rose, B.D.
Vol. I. 8vo. 10s. 6d.
The Works of the Rev. Robert Hall.
Vols. II. and III. 12s. each.
The Pulpit. Vol. XVII. 8vo.7s. 6a.

List of New Works.

[Ocr.

Confessions of Faith and the Books
of the Discipline of the Church of Scot--
land. By the Rev. E. Irving. 12mo.
8s.

Sermons Preached at Clapham, by
the Rev. C. Bradley. vo. 10s. 6d.

Recognition in the World to Come,
or Christian Friendship Perpetuated in
Heaven. By C. R. Muston, A. M.
Second. Edition. 12mo. 6s. 6d. -

History of the Prospects of the
Church. By James Bennet. 12mo. 4s. 6d.

Bible Letters. By Lucy Barton.
12mo. 3s. 6d.

BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIRS OF EMINENT PERSONS.

JAMES NORTHCOTE, EsQ., R.A.
James Northcote, one of the most suc-
cessful artists of our days, was descended
from the ancient and respectable family
of the Northcotes, whose settlement in
Devonshire may be traced back to the
Conquest, and probably to an anterior
period. Ofthis family, which has given
several high sheriffs to the county, and
many representatives for it in parlia-
ment, is also the present Sir Stafford
Henry Northcote, Bart., whose ances-
tor, John Northcote, Esq., of Hayne,
in the county of Devon, was elevated to
that dignity on the 16th July, 1641.

The subject of this sketch was the son
of an eminent watch-maker, at Ply-
mouth, where he was born in the year
1746. He was designed for his father’s
profession ; but having, as it seemed, a
natural predisposition for the fine arts,
and being flattered by praises bestowed
on his early efforts, he determined to
abandon the mechanical occupation of
watch-making, and to devote himself
entirely to his favourite pursuits, draw-
ing and painting. In these he evinced
so much ardour and assiduity, that Dr.
Mudge, a physician, of Plymouth, re-
commended him, as a pupil, to Sir
Joshua Reynolds. Heaccordingly came
to London in 1771, and placed himself
under the care and tuition of his country-
man, Sir Joshua, who was then in the
zenith of his fame. With that great
man he remained five years ; living with
him in all the familiarity of friendship,
receiving from him the utmost. assist-
ance towards perfecting himself in the
art of painting, and enjoying the advan-
tage of being introduced to the most
distinguished characters of the age.

In 1776, Mr. Northcote quitted Sir
Joshua, and commenced painting on his
own account. In the summer of 1777,
following the advice and example of his
great master, he set out for Italy, at that

time the unrivalled seat of the fine arts.
He fixed himself at Rome for nearly
three years—visited every part of the
country—and laid up a rich store of
experience and information for future
use.

While in Italy, Mr. Northcote also
formed an extensive acquaintance with
the first artists of the country—enjoyed
universal respect—and had the honour
of being elected a member of the ancient
Etruscan Academy at Castoni, of the
Academy del Forti at Rome, and of the
Imperial Academy at Florence. While
at Florence he painted a portrait of
himself for the academy—a compliment
always expected from a new member,

In 1780, Mr. Northcote returned to
England; and, that he might have an
opportunity of observing all that could
be seen of the eminent masters of the
Flemish school, he took Flanders in his
way. Thus, in the enjoyment of every
advantage that could constitute him a
master in his profession, he re-entered
upon his studies in the metropolis, and
soon obtained the most distinguished
reputation in history as well as in por-
trait.

In 1786, he was chosen a member of
the Royal Academy; for a period of,
thirty years his productions may be said
to have borne a conspicuous part in the
exhibitions at Somerset House; and,
even till within the last year of his life,
a season rarely elapsed at the British
Institution, or the Gallery of the Bri-
tish Artists, without presenting one or
more efforts of his pencil. It is asto-
nishing with what firmness he painted,
to the last ; but, latterly, his eye, keen
as it was, and brilliant with the light of
mind, failed in its nice distinction, ap-
propriation, and harmony of colour.

One of the most excellent pictures -
Mr. Northcote ever painted, was ex-
hibited the very year that he was ad-

1831.)

mitted of the Royal Academy. The
subject was, the Murder of the Young
Prince in the Tower. In this, the story
is strikingly told; the drawing is per-
fectly correct ; and the assassins are
delineated with great character and
power. Alderman Boydell purchased
this painting for his splendid edition of
Shakspeare; for which Mr, Northcote
also produced some other pieces of merit.
Another of his finest works is from the
story of Hubert and Prince Arthur.
One of his best portraits, and much in
the style of Sir Joshua Reynolds, is that
of a man holding a hawk. This is in
Lord Grosvenor’s collection.

In the Somerset House exhibition of
1796, Mr. Northeote produced a series
of moral pictures, the object of which
was to shew the opposite effects of
seriousness and levity in two young
women, in menial situations of life.
Clever they certainly were, but— as
may be seen by the engravings from
them—they had little of the Hogarthian
spirit.

While in the vigour of his professional
powers, Mr. Northcote’s colouring was
chaste, forcible, and distinct ; his pic-
tures having that breadth of light and
shade which is one of the most estima-
ble properties of a good painting. Many
of his historical pieces display an accu-
rate and extensive acquaintance with
the subject treated, much study, and
that force of conception which is the true
characteristic of genius.

Mr. Northcote was an acute obser-
ver—possessed excellent sense, quick
perceptions, and great conversational
powers. Confined, first to his chamber,
and then to his bed, he would talk for
hours together, almost to the day of his
death, with untiring vivacity and un-
ceasing intelligence.

As an author, he did not altogether
appear to equal advantage. His greatest
work was the “ Life of Sir Joshua Rey-
nolds.” His * Fables,” his ‘‘ Conver-
sations,” and his * Life of Titian,” were
much indebted to the pen of Mr. Haz-
lett. As acritic, he was severe, and too
frequently cynical, Yet, as a virtuous,
well-informed, and communicative man
—ever ready with good advice—he was
greatly esteemed.

Mr. Northcote died at his house in
Argyle-place, on the 13th of July ; and,
on the 20th, his remains were interred
in the yault, under the new church, of
St. Mary-le-bone. ‘This, according to
one of the injunctions of his will, was,
that they might be near those of his long-
de ated. friend, Cosway.

“rom his great professional success,

M.M. New Series.—Vow, XII. No.70.

Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Persons.

457

and his penurious habits, Mr. North-
cote is said to have died worth £80,000.

THE EARL OF NORTHESK.

The Right Hon. William Carnegie,
seventh Earl of Northesk, Lord Rose-
hill, and Inglismaldy, Admiral of the
White, K.C.B., &c. was the representa-
tive of an ancient family, possessed of
the lands of Ballinhord, in the county ef
Forfar, Scotland, in the thirteenth cen-
tury. The present earldom dates from
the Ist of November, 1647. Lord
Northesk’s father was in the navy, and
attained the rank of Admiral of the
White. He married, in 1748, the Lady
Anne Leslie, eldest daughter of Alex-
ander, fifth Earl of Leven. His eldest
son, David, dying without issue, in the
lifetime of his father, he was succeeded
in the family honours, by his second son,
William, the subject of this notice, in
1792.

His Lordship was born on the 10th of
April, 1758; and, having been early
destined for the naval service of his
country, he embarked, in the year 1771,
with the Hon. Captain Barrington, in
the Albion. He next served with Cap-
tain Macbride, in the Southampton, and
Captain Stair Douglas, in the Squirrel.
He was made acting lieutenant in the
Nonsuch, and confirmed by Lord Howe,
in 1777, in the Apollo. He afterwards
served with Admirals Sir John Lockhart
Ross, and Lord Rodney. By the latter
he was made a commander, after the
memorable action of 1780—in which he
served as a lieutenant in the Admiral’s
ship—and appointed to the Blast, fire-
ship.

tn April, 1782, he was promoted to
the rank of Post Captain, and appointed
to the command of the Eustatius, in
which he had been present at the reduc-
tion of the island of that name. From
the Eustatius, he was ordered into the
Enterprize frigate, in which he returned
to England, and was paid off at the
peace, in 1783.

In 1788, Captain Northesk succeeded
his brother, as Lord Rosehill; and, on
the 9th of December, in that year, he
married Mary, the only daughter of
William Henry Ricketts, of Longwood,
in the county of Hants, Esq. (by Mary
Jervis, eldest sister of John, Earl St.
Vincent, G.C.B.), on whom, in April,
1801, the title of Viscountess St. Vin-
cent was granted in remainder. ,

On the death of his father, in 1792,
his Lordship succeeded to the Karldom ;
and, in January, 1793, he was appointed
to the Beaulieu, of 40 guns, in which he
sailed to the TLeeward Islands, and

ye

458

thence returned with convoy, in the
Andromeda, which was soon afterwards
paid off.

In 1796, his Lordship was put in com-
mission for the Monmouth, of 64 guns,
and employed in the North Sea, under
Lord Duncan, until May, 1797; when
the spirit of disaffection, which had ori-
ginated in the Channel Fleet, unfortu-
nately spread to that squadron, and the
Monmouth was one of the ships brought
to the Nore.

In 1800, Lord Northesk was appointed
to the Prince. of 98 guns, in the Channel
fleet, under Earl St. Vincent. In that
ship he continued till the peace of
Amiens, in 1802, when he again enjoyed
a brief period of relaxation from his pro-
fessional duties. In the same year, he
was elected, for the second time, one of
the Sixteen Representative Peers of
Scotland.

On the removal of hostilities, in 1803,
his Lordship was appointed to the Bri-
tannia, of 100 guns, in which he served
in the Channel fleet, under the Hon.
Admiral Cornwallis, till May, 1804,
when he was promoted to the rank of
Rear-Admiral of the White Squadron.
He hoisted his flag in the same ship,
and continued to serve in her, in the ar-
duous blockade of Brest, during the
tempestuous winter of 1804, and until
August in the following year, when he
was detached with a squadron, underthe
orders of Vice-Admiral Sir Robert
Calder, to reinforce Vice-Admiral Col-
lingwood, off Cadiz.

In the battle of Trafalgar, Lord
Northesk, whose flag was still in the
Britannia, bore a noble and distin-
guished part. Previously to the action,
it had been directed by Lord Nelson,
the commander-in-chief, that the Bri-
tannia, in consequence of her heavy
rate of sailing, should constantly take
a position to windward of him ; and, on
the morning of October 21, he ordered,
by signal, that she should assume a sta-
tion as most convenient, without regard
to the order of battle. Subsequently,
he sent verbal directions to Lord North-
esk, by the Captain of the Sirius,
to break through the enemy’s line
astern of the fourteenth ship. This his
Lordship effected in the most masterly
and gallant manner, though the Britan-
nia was severely galled in bearing down,
by a raking fire from several of the
enemy. Preceded by the Victorv, Te-
meraire, and Neptune in passing through
the line, and hauling up, the Britannia
was the fourth ship of the van division
in action ; and, in a very short time, she
completely dismasted_a French ship of

Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Persons.

[Ocr.

80 guns, which waived a white handker-
chief in token of submission. She after-
wards singly engaged, and kept at bay,
three of the enemy’s van ships, that
were attempting to double upon Lord
Nelson’s flagship, the Victory, which
was at that time warmly engaged with
two of the enemy, and much disabled.

During this long and bloody contlict,
Lord Northesk most zealously imitated
the conduct of his illustrious leader, dis-
playing the most heroic courage, tem-
pered by the coolest judgment and pre-
sence of mind. After the action, his
skill and promptitude, in the arduous
task of securing the captured ships, were
equally conspicuous.

As amatter of course, his Lordship
was honoured with the thanks of both
Houses of Parliament, the Corporation
of London, and several other cities and
public companies. Nor were his splen-
did and important services overlooked
by his Majesty. On the 5th of June,
1806, the noble Admiral had the honour
of heing invested with the Order of the
Bath ; and the King was further pleased
to express his approbation of his con-
duct, by granting him certain additions
to his armorial bearings.

On the 14th of June, 1814, his Lord-
ship was promoted to the rank of Admi-
ral of the Blue Squadron; and, at a
subsequent period, he was further ad-
vanced to that of Admiral of the White.

By his marriage, Lord Northesk had
afamily of nine children; of whom the
eldest, George, Lord Rosehill, a mid-
shipman on board the Blenheim, was
unfortunately lost at sea with Sir Thomas
Trowbridge, in 1807, at the age of six-
teen.

His Lordship died at his residence in
Albemarle-street, in June last, and was
succeeded by his eldest son, William
Hopetoun, now Earl of Northesk.

THE RIGHT HON. JOHN CALCRAFT, M.P.

The Right Hon. John Caleraft, M,P.,
whose existence was recently terminated
under very melancholy circumstances,
was the son of Mr. Caleraft, who, as an
army agent, accumulated a large fortune,
and became proprietor of the borough of
Wareham, in the county of Dorset—one
of the boroughs which, under the new
reform bill, are to be disfranchised. He
was born in the year 1766 or 1767. At
the general election of 1796 he was re-
turned M.P. for Wareham, and con-
tinued to represent that borough until
he was elected for Rochester. He gene--
rally voted with the Opposition ; but,
for a time, he attached himself more par-
ticularly to the interests of his late

1831.]

Majesty, George 1V., when Prince of
Wales. He warmly espoused the cause
of his Royal Highness in 1803, and
moved for the appointment of a Com-
mittee to inquire into the extent of his
embarrassments, that he might be en-
abled to resume the splendour and dig-
nity suitable to his high station.

When the Prince cast off the party
usually designated the friends of his
youth, and determined to avail himself
of the services of his royal father’s tried
councillors, Mr. Calcraft remained steady
in his opposition.

During the brief but memorable ad-
ministration of “All the Talents,’ he
sat some time at the Board of Ordnance,
where he was considered to have rendered
himself complete master of the details
of the British army.

In the debate of 1815, on the bill for
regulating the importation of corn, Mr.
Calcraft moved that importation should
be permitted when the price exceeded
72s. per quarter; but the motion was
lost, and the importation permitted only
when the price should exceed £4.

In the same year he endeavoured to
procure a reduction of the army and gar-
risons, but was equally unsuccessful as
on the corn question.

It was, we believe, in the general elec-
tion of 1820, that Mr. Calcraft lost his
seat for Rochester ; since which, he con-
tinued to sit for his own borough of
Wareham. Though not possessed of
brilliant or commanding talents, he was
a useful supporter of the party to which
he had attached himself. With other
members of that party he accepted office
under the Duke of Wellington; with
whose political views he appeared to co-
incide until the great debate upon the
reform bill, at the close of the last par-
liament, when, to the astonishment of
thousands, he voted with the majority
of 301 in favour of the measure. This
vote of Mr. Calcraft’s has since called
forth remarks which it is not our wish to
repeat.

e now approach the distressing cir-
cumstances of his death, which occurred
on the afternoon of Sunday, September
11, at his house in Whitehall Place. He

Bugraphical Memoirs of Eminent Persons.

459

had beenin a declining state of health,
low and dejected in spirits, for several
months. Having unfortunately been
left unattended, he destroyed himself, in
his dressing closet, by dividing the prin-
cipal arteries of his throat with a razor.
On the return of Miss Arabella Caleraft
from church, he was found extended on
the floor, with his face downwards, quite
dead, and with the fatal instrument of
his destruction firmly grasped in his
right hand.

On the coroner’s inquest held upon
the body on the Monday evening follow-
ing, one of the jurors—from what motive
did not appear—put the following ques-
tion to Dr. Phillips, one of the medical

entlemen in attendance on the family :-—
“* Did he (the deceased) ever feel dis-
appointed at not being elevated to the
peerage ?” .Towhich Dr. P. replied,—
“ T believe he never had any expect-
ation of being raised to the peerage. He
had latterly fancied that he was con-
tinually watched by a man sitting on the
top of a house. He was a thorough be-
liever in religion.” The verdict ascribed
his death to an act of temporary mental
derangement.

Mr. Calcraft had married, many years
since, a lady of the name of Hailes, who
was possessed of considerable property.
By her(who died in 1817) he hada family
of five children: John Hailes Calcraft,
Esq. ; Captain Granby Calcraft ; Lady
Burke (wife of Sir John Burke, Bart.
M.P. for the county of Galway) ; and
two other daughters, unmarried. At the
time of his decease, Mr. and Lady Caro-
line Calcraft were at Kempstone Hall,
the family seat, in Dorsetshire; Miss
Calcraft was on a visit in Kent ; and her
sister, Miss Arabella, was the only mem-
ber of the family residing with her
father. The remains of the deceased
were removed on the 17th of September,
from Whitehall Place, for interment in
the chancel vault in St. James’s church,
where two of his children are buried.
The funeral was strictly private; only
two mourning coaches followed, in which
were Mr. J. H. Calcraft, Captain Cal-
craft, and Sir John Burke.

2P2

[ 460 J.

[Ocr.

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BANKRUPTCIES,
‘Announced from August 20th, to September 22d, 1831, in the London Gazette.

BANKRUPTCIES SUPERSEDED.

Howel, G., now or late of Newcastle Emlyn, Car-
marthenshire, druggist.

James, G., late of George Town, Demerara, and
Graceckurch-street, London, merchant.

Hodgson, W., Birmingham, merchant and roller
of metals.

—_—

SCOTCH SEQUESTRATIONS.

Blyth, R. B., Edinburgh, merchant and agent.

Stein, A., W. Brown, J. Dudgeon, J. Burton, and
W. Ainslie, Kirkliston, distillers.

Henderson, R., Whitebalks, Linlithgow, farmer,
eattle-dealer, and grazier.

Martin, R., Glasgow, baker.

Napier, C. H., Leith, wood-merchant.

Pitcairn, J., Perth, wood-merchant,

BANKRUPTCIES.
[This Month 95.]

Solicitors’ Names are in Parentheses.

Austin, W., Powis-street, Woolwich, ironmonger,
(Watson and Sens, Bouverie-street, Fleet-
street.

Butler, W., Hampton, Northamptonshire, fish-
monger. (Hawkins and Bloxam, New Boswell-
court, Cary-street.

Beville, C., Clapham-common, upholsterer. (Da-
vies, Palsgrave-place, ‘Temple-bar. 4

Backhouse, L., Great St. Helen’s, insurance-
broker. (Rixon and Son, Jewry-street, Ald-

ate.

Santi T. R., Newtown, Montgomeryshire,
flannel manufacturer, (Bandstrom and Jones,
Newtown.

Blomeley, T., Bury, Lancashire, cotton-spinner,
(Woodcock, Bury,

Beaman, B., Catharine-mill, St. Catharine’s, So-
mersetshire, mealman and maltster. (Hellings,
Bath.

Butter, W., Chipnal-mill, Cheswardine, Salop,
miller, (Stanley, Drayton-in-Hales,

Botham, J., Derby, builder. (Ryalls, Sheffield.

Clark, J., Jewry-street, Aldgate, wine-merchant.
(Kirkman and Rutherford, Cannon-street.

Crofts, G., Wells next the Lea, Norfolk, mer-
chant. (Garwood, Wells.

Chambers, S., ,the younger, Birmingham, ivory
and tortoiseshell-worker. (Parker, Birming-
ham.

Coopland, W., Leeds, boot-maker. (Naylor,
Leeds,

Clarke, R. R., High Holborn, victualler. (Par-
nall, London.
Crockwell, S., Torquay, Devonshire, builder.

(Bell, London.

Cooper, J., Liverpool, bone-dealer and coal-mer-
ehant. (Bourne and Hassall, Liverpool.

Dempsey, J., Manchester, flour-dealer. (Makin-
son, Manchester.

Dawson, A., Park street, Grosvenor square, Mid-
dlesex, boarding-house-keeper. (Teague, Law-
rence Pountney-hill, Cannon-street.

Deudney, G., Deptford, Kent, seed-crusher.
(Druce and Sons, Billiter-square.

Darke, E., Stroud, maltster and boat-owner.
(Housman, Woodchester.

Dnfton, W., Basinghall-street, London, dealer in
wool, (Watson and Broughton, Falcon-square,

De Cantelouze Rene, Middlesex, dress-maker.
(Jones, Gray’s-inn square.

Davis, J., Birmingham, linen-draper. (Hadfield
and Grave, Manchester.

Dawsvwn, G. and J. K., Manchester, nankeen-ma-
nufacturers. (Higson, Bagshaw, and Higson,
Manchester.

Edwards, W. H., Norwich, maltster,
Norwich.

Evans, J., Northumberland-street, Charing-cross,
tailor. (Charsley and Barker, Mark-lane.

Fabbage, W.B., Great Yarmouth, Norfolk, mast
maker. (Worship, Great Yarmouth.

Emmet. R., Halifax, Yorkshire, woolstapler.
Craven, Halifax,

Force, J., Exeter, broker. (Brutton, Exeter.

Fletcher, A. and J. Young, Millbrook, Hants,
iron founders. (Makinson and Sanders, Elin-
court, Temple.

Geldart, J. S., Pultney-lodge Aeademy, Entield,
schoolmaster. (Lock, Surrey-street, Strand.
Graham, R., Liverpool, victualler. (Taylor and

Roscoe, King’s-bench-walk, Temple.

Green, A., Brewer-street, Pimlico, Middiesex,
tailor. (Whitelock, Aldermanbury.

Gillingham, T. J., Providence-wharf, Kingsland-
road, Middlesex, coal-merechant. (Burt, Mitre-
eourt, Milk-street, Cheapside.

Gray,C. G., late of Norwood-house, Iver, near
Uxbridge, Bucks, dealer. (Lowless and Pea-
cock, Tokenhouse-yard.

Howard, P., Liverpool, cabinet-maker. (Hodg-
son. Liverpool.

Harrison, T., Prince’s-place, Commoarcial-road,
Middlesex, woollen-draper. (Van Sandau, Old
Jewry.

Herapath, S., Holborn-bridge, London, hatter.
(Cole, Skinners place, Size-lane.

Hodges, T., late of the Turf Tap, Tattersall’s+
yard, victualler. (Willis, Sloane-square, Chel-
sea,

Hawker, T. R., Cheltenham, tailor.
Son, Serjeant’s-inn, Fleet-street.
Harris, B., Northleach, Gloucestershire, linen-
draper. (Hardwick and Guest, Lawrence-lane.
Hull, W., Regent-street, picture-dealer. (Holt,

Threadneedle-street.

Hawthorn and Lloyd, Burton-upon-Trent, linen
drapers- (Hardwick and Guest, Loudon.

Hutchon, T.,. Finsbury-circus, London, merchant.
(Forbes and Hall, Ely-place, Holborn.

Hodgson, J., Nicholas-lane, London, insurance-
broker. (Rixon and Son, Jewry-street, Ald-

ate.

Hollins, J., Leeds, meal-seller.
Hutchinson, Leeds.

Hurst, W., late of Bedford-square, Mile-end-road,
Middlesex, builder. (Burt, Mitre-court, Milk-
street.

Herbert, R., Old Cavendish-street, Middlesex,
builder. (Bird, Adam-street, Adelphi,

(Barnard,

(King and

(Smith and

‘James, J. C., dathford, Somersetshire, builder.

(Hellings, Bath.
Jones, T., late of the Grapes Inn, Llangollen, Den-
bighshire,inn-keeper. (Edwards, Oswestry.
Kelsey, W., Glamford Briggs, Lincolnshire, dra-
per. (Nicholson and Empson, Glamford Briggs.

Lonecraft, J., Buckington, Devonshire, worsted-
spinner, (Taunton, Totness.

Lowthian, G,, Exeter, draper. (Terrell and Son,
Exeter.

Lerew, W. H., Great Portland-street, surgeon.
(Reynolds, London.

Motley, J., Arle-mill, Gloueestershire, miller.
(Winterbotham, Weedon, and Co., Tewkesbury.

Mellar, J. and W., Castle-street, Oxford-street,
jewellers. (Swan, Bell-yard, Doctor’s-com-
mons.

Maynard, R., Durham, wine-merchant. (Moore
and ‘Thompson, Durham.

1831.]

Manning, W., F. Manning, and J. L. Anderton,
New Bank-buildings, London, West India-mer-
chants. (Freshfield and Son, New Bank-build-
ings.

Muirhead, J., Buxton, Derbyshire, inn-keeper.
(Leyes, Chancery.lane.

Miners, R., late of logan, Cornwall, victualler.
(Lambe, Truro.

Morris, R., Lawrence-lane. London, wholesale
linen draper. (Neild, King-street, Cheapside,

Miller, W. W., Bath, grocer, (Hellings, Bath.

Neighbour, T, sen. and jun., West Smithfield,
wine-inerchants. (Wadeson and Co., London.

Nettlefold, T. and W. Reid, Francis-street, Tot-
tenham-court-road, Middlesex, ironmongers.
(Hunt, Craven-street, Strand.

Nicholson, W., Bradford, Yorkshire, scrivener.
(Swan, Bradford.

Plowright, E. G. and W., Wells next the Sea,
Norfolk, wine-merehants. (Garwood, Wells.
Perks, R. H., Monckton Combe, Somersetshire,
brewer. (Hutchison and Imeson, C) own-court,

Threadneedle-street.

Pring, J. J., Bradford, Wilts, grocer. (Stone,
Bradford.

Price, R., Manchester, grocer. (Hitchcock,
Manchester.

Pickering, H.and W. Pollard, Liverpool, uphols-
terers. (Rowlinson, Liverpool.

Pottinger, C., Green Dragon Publie-house, Ste p-
ney, victualler. (Williams, Copthall-court,
Throgmorton-street.

Penningion, M., Burton Leonard, Yorkshire,
common-carrier. (Dodgson, York.

Rule, E. and A., Leadenhall-street, ship-owners.
(Baxendale and Co., King’s arms-yard, Cole-
man-street.

Rout, T.C., Portpool-lane, currier, (Ripping-
ham, Great Prescot-street, Goodman’s-fields.

Rea, P., Worcester, glove-manufacturer. (God-
son, Worcester,
Reade, H., Liverpool, victualler. (Frodsham,

Liverpool.

Bankrupts.

461

Reynolds, J., Parker’s-court, Coleman-street,
wholesale grocer (Lofty and Knight, Cheap-
side.

Rope, J., Ray-street, Clerkenwell, butcher. (Den-
ton and Co., Lendon.

Scott, @., St. Andrew’s, New Brunswick, mer-
chant. (Olivyerson and Co., Frederick’s-place,
Old Jewry.

Shaw, W., Aston, Staffordshire, china-mannfac-
turer. (Young, Lane-end.

Sleigh, W. W., Alpha-road, St. Mary-le-bone,
surgeon. (Hertslet, Norf»lk-street, Strand.

Thompson, W., Upper Thames-street, wine-mer-

chant. (BartlettandCo., Nicholas-lane, Lom-
bard-street.
(Bignold,

Tuck, W., Elsing, Norfolk, miller.
Pulley, and Mawe, Norwich,

Thomas, R., late of Clun, Salop, maltster. (Green,
Knighton.

Walton, G., Kingsland-road. timber-merchant.
(Dods, Northnmberland-street, Strand.

Withers, W., Holt, Norfolk. money serivener.
(Thomkins, Essex-court, Temple.

Williams, J., Prosnant, Monmouthshire, miller.
(Bevan and Brittan, Bristol.

Whitfield, G. T., and J. Sargent, Whitchurch,
Salop, silk.throwsters. (Harpur, Whitehurch.

Wilks, J. and J. Ecroyd, Rochdale, Lancashire,
nail-manufacturers. (Gaskell, Wigan.

Wrigley, T.,Oldbam, Lancashire, cotton-spinner.
(Radley and Clegg, Oldham.

Whitbread, J., Everton, near Liverpool, livery-
stable-keeper. (Birkett, Liverpool.

Walmslay, F., Parliament-street, Westminster,
ledging-house-keeper. (Bruce, Francis-street,
Golden-square.

Wilday, J., Birmingham, hotel-keeper. (Stubbs,
Birmingham.

Ward, J., Upper Ground-street, Christchurch,
Surrey, iron-founder. (Godmond, Nicholas-
lane, Lombard-street.

Wyatt, A., Bankside, Southwark, Roman-cement-
manufacturer. (Grimaldi and Staples, London.

MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

Iw our last we complained of the extreme difficulty of producing a consistent

and satisfactory general Report, from the irregularities and anomalies of the season
and the consequent varieties and confusion in the state of the crops. This diffi-
culty still exists in a considerable degree, notwithstanding the mass of general
information which has reached us, but with the drawback of its being so multiform
and yarious, and so repeatedly contradictory, that no small portion of the old diffi-
culty is still opposed to the formation ofa satisfactory judgment. The completion
of the harvest, however, nothing now remaining ungathered but a few beans in the
most backward districts, and a nearly general application of the barn floor test, has
furnished us with some more certain and less objectionable grounds on which to
roceed.
, In Scotland and most of the northern districts of England, the character of the
season is described as that of drought and aridity, parching up the grasses, pre-
venting, in a considerable measure, the circulation of the vegetable juices in all
other crops. Whilst in most other parts of England, in the early part of the
summer especially, the lands were sodden by frequent and heavy rains, productive
of most abundant. grass crops, but not so friendly to the perfection of those which
bear corn. But all parts agree on one point, that of the sudden setting in of a
dog-day heat, which urged on all the crops of corn and pulse to a premature ripe-
ness, rendering the last one of the shortest and speediest harvests within memory ;
its common duration being but three weeks, to a month at the utmost, in the most
backward districts. The crops so quickly harvested, were almost universally saved
in ae condition, with the exceptions of some parts, where the rains yet prevailed,
and the <3 eran of the farmers excited them to carry the corn in a damp
state. ‘The shortness and want of bulk in the straw, both of corn and pulse, seems
nearly universal, and to have prevailed to a considerable degree, even in those dis-
tricts visited by such frequent showers ; hence the farmer will obtain no fuel from

462 Agricultural Keport. [Ocs.

his bean haulm during the ensuing winter. In our last, we noted the blight in
May, which produced rust and blackness upon the stalks and chaff of the corn, but
the chief injury has arisen from an almost universal mildew which subsequently
affected the crops at the very critical period of their near approach to maturity.
This mildew, or unhealthy moisture, the product of heavy dews in a dull, unven-
tilated atmosphere, remaining unexhaled upon the superticies of the plants, and
being absorbed, causes an obstruction in the circulation of the vegetable juices,
which prevents the due filling of the grain, rendering it shrivelled, rough, and
defective in substance and colour. In sad truth, mildew is justly deemed the
heaviest malady that afflicts our corn crops. In the northern parts, and where so
much drought prevailed, they have suffered the least from this scourge. In most
parts of England it has been general, fortunately not universal, since we find some
favourable exemptions in many, or most counties.

As to the actual extent of the mildew, we have observed that Scotland, and
certain of our northern districts have been least affected. Cornwall boasts of an
exeraption, and of wheat crops above an average, quantity and quality ; the same
of oats, their barley fine, but below an average. ‘fhroughout the §.W., and the
western parts of the midland counties, the disease does not appear to have been very
prevalent. We hear little of it from Oxford and Berks, or trom South Wales. In
the eastern and most fruitful parts of the kingdom, it is reported as most destruc-
tive. In Kent, Suffolk, Norfolk, and Lincolnshire, the wheat crops have suffered
most from the opprobriwm of the season. Some parts of Essex are said to have
escaped, but we have seen many samples of rough and poor Essex wheat at market.
In Herts the mildew would have done considerable damage, but for the expedi-
tion used in cutting and carrying the wheat crop. The barley crop has also been
variously affected. In regard to quantity, even including favoured Scotland, ave-
rage or large crops universally form the exception, middling and scanty ones the
general rule. Not only the want of length and bulk in the straw is universally
noted, but the ears are not so numerous as is usual in an abundant harvest, beside
being short, and, according to our personal experience, not so well filled, and the
een small. These views urge us to speculate that the loaf will not be much re-

uced in price during the ensuing year. As usual in the 8.W., wheat seed com-
menced with September, the seed scarce and dear. With the aforesaid exceptions,
barley is a defective crop in both respects, particularly in regard to quality. In
the great barley county, Norfolk, the sample is, too generally, coarse and high
coloured; fine samples are in great request and very dear. Oats, not an average
crop, have been more successful in quality. Beans and peas are below the quantity
of last year. Winter vetches make a good figure, and the clover seed, defective in
quantity, is a great improvement upon the former crop in point of quality. With
hops there seems to remain a curious stay on which to hang a hope; the atmo-
sphere of the late season has been productive of thunder, in the opinion of our
fathers, friendly to the hop. In fine, too many of our most sanguine expectants
have acknowledged their disappointment from their most favourite crops. The
brank or buck wheat has been much blighted and mildewed.

Considerable difficulties have been experienced in the harvest from the absence
of the Irish labourers, threatened and actually ill-used by our natives; and these
last are represented, chiefly in Berks and Kent, as in a dangerous state of insub-
ordination, to quiet which will probably require additional remedies to the proposed
act for the allowance of steel traps and spring guns. Occasionally, high prices
have been obtained for harvest work, and the general rate has been somewhat
improved. In the least productive districts, wheat is deemed full one-third short
of an average in quantity. Turnips and potatoes appear likely to prove among the
largest crops hitherto obtained in this country ; mildew has occasionally visited the
Swedes, bleaching their foliage white. This great supply of roots, and that of the
grass have greatly encouraged the purchase of store cattle, and pigs, by which
their price has been advanced ; and at our well supplied fairs, with few exceptions,
the sales have been brisk. As to sheep, the late destruction occasioned by the rot
has been sufficient to enhance their price; and where the rains most prevailed
some apprehension still subsists on that score.

Under draining, wet, and poachy soils, has of late proved extremely profitable
to a few intelligent farmers in the north, who express their surprise that an im-
provement so long recommended, and of such high consequence, since a single
crop will repay the charge at the present prices, should be so generally neglected.
In the south, the old question of the early cutting of wheat has-been lately revived,
but it still remains a question. ‘The old custom of employing ‘‘ month’s men” in

1831.] 463

harvest, is still said to prevail, and the harvest to be delayed by allotting to every
man a stated number of acres; whilst it is averred that, by a more provident sys-
tem, the same number of acres might be cleared in half the time, and the corn
saved in much better condition. Considerable difficulty, however, would be expe-
rienced in effecting this improvement. During the extreme heats of the sun,
many of the harvest labourers were stricken, as iP with a coup de soleil, and rendered
for a time utterly incapable of exertion. The want of water, both for man and
beast, was also experienced. To add to the few difficulties of so favourable a
harvest season, flies and wasps were so enormously raultitudinous, that the men
were perpetually tormented, and the horses were with the utmost difficulty held to

Agricultural Report.

their labour.

Smithfield.—Beef, 3s. 0d. to 4s. 0d.—Mutton, 3s. 6d. to 4s. 8d.—Veal, 4s. Od. to
4s. 10d.—Pork, 4s. 4d. to 5s. 2d.—Dairy do., 6s. 0d —Lamb, 4s. 6d. to 5s, 6d.—

Rough fat, 2s. 5d.

" Corn Exchange.—Wheat, 50s. to 80s.—Barley, 26s. to 46s.—Oats, 22s. to 32s.—
London loaf, 4b. 10d.—Hay, 60s. to 84s.—Clover ditto, 80s. to 124s.—Straw,

24s. to 36s.

Coal Exchange —Coals, in the Pool, 19s. 0d. to 33s. 3d. per chaldron.

Middlesex, September 23rd.

ECCLESIASTICAL PREFERMENTS, MARRIAGES, DEATHS, ETC.

The Hon. Richard Ponsonby, Lord
Bishop of Killaloe, to the Bishopric of
Derry.—The Rey. John Torrens, Arch-
deacon of Dublin, to the Bishopric of
Killaloe.—The Hon. Robert Maude, to
the Archdeaconry of Dublin.—Rev.
George John Skeeles, to the Rectory of
Kirkby Underwood, Lincolnshire.—_-Rev.
Reginald Bligh, to the Rectory of Cock-
field, Suffolk.—The Rev. Duncan Ma-
theson, to the Church at Knock, in the
district of Eye.—Rev. Miles Coyle, to
the Vicarage of Blockley, Worcester-
shire.—Rev. Richard Burnet, to the Cu-
racy of Blackburn.—Rev. Christopher
Clarkson, to the Perpetual Curacy of St.
Mary’s, Mellor, Blackburn.--Rev. Rich-
ard Day, to the Vicarage of Wenhaston,
Suffolkx—Rev. Wm. Warburton, to be
one of the Domestic Chaplains to the
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.—Reyv. L.
Hay Irving, to the Church and Parish
of Abercorn, Linlithgow.—Rev. Thomas
Hartwell Horne, to the Prebendal Stall
in St. Paul's, London.—Rev. George
Ware, to the Vicarage of Winsham, So-
merset.—Rev. Cornelius Pitt, to the
Rectory of Rendcombe, Gloucestershire.
—Rey. E. Stanley, of Plumbland, to the
Rectory of W orkington.—Rev. Mr. Hill,
to the Vicarage of Kirtling, Cambridge-
shire.—Rev. J. Wenn, to be one of the
Domestic Chaplains to the Duke of Ha-
milton and Brandon.—Rev. George Cro-
ly, who has lately had conferred on him
the honorary degree of LL.D. by the
University of Dublin, to the Rectory
of North Fambridge, Essex.—Rev.
Wm. H. Wyatt, to the Perpetual Cu-
racy of Snenton, near Nottingham.—
Rev. Francis Cobbold, to the Perpetual
Curacy of St. Mary Tower, Ipswich.—

Rey. Francis T. Attwood, to the Rectory
of St. Mary, and Vicarage of St. James,
Great Grimsby.—Rev. Henry Owen, to
the Rectory of Wilby, Sutfolk.—Rev.
Wm. Pulling, Chaplain to Cambridge
Town Gaol.—Reyv. Sumner Smith, to
the Rectory of Ham, Wilts.—Iev.
Christopher Stannard, to the Rectory of
Great Snoring, with Thursford annexed,
Norfolk.—Rev. Cooke Otway, to the
Rectory of Monsea.—Rev.Wm. Homan,
to the Rectory of Modereney, County
Tipperary.—Rev. R. Neville, Rector of
Newmarket, diocese of Cloyne, county
Limerick, to the Living of Clonpriest,
near Youghall.— Rev. Samuel Fisher, to
the Perpetual Curacy of Corpusty, in
the diocese of Norwich.—Rev. Edward
Houlditch, to the Rectory of St. Leo-
nard’s, near Exeter.

MARRIAGES.

On the 30th Aug., at Hanwell, Mid-
dlesex, William Johnson, Esq., of Eaton
Place, to Sarah Jane, only daughter of
Charles Turner, Esq., of Hanwell Park,
Middlesex. — At Bedale, Yorkshire, Cap-
tain Arthur Lysaght, R.N., to Elizabeth
Dorothy, eldest daughter of Henry Percy
Pulleine, Esy., of Crakehall, Yorkshire.
— Marylebone Church, Lieut. Charteris,
R.N., eldest son of George Charteris,
Esq., of Amisfield Castle, Dumfries-
shire, to Elizabeth Cecilia, widow of the
late John Dick, Esq., of Tullymet, Perth.
shire.--At St. George’s, Hanover-square,
Lieut. E. G. Palmer, R.N., to Harriet,
relict of the late D. Bayley, Esq., of
Cape Coast Castle-—At St. Mary’s,
Bryanstone-square, B. Herteond, Esq.,
of Neufchatel, Switzerland, to Mary

464

Ann, daughter of Capt. J. Packwood,
R.N.—At Hayling Island, Wm. Hunter
Little, Esq., to Mary Katherine New-
man, only daughter of the late Rev. Jas.
Rogers, D.D., of Rainscombe House,
Wiltshire —John Fairlie, Esq., to Miss
Home Prowes, daughter-in-law to the
Speaker of the House of Commons.— At
Cheltenham, Capt. Waite, of the Hon.
East India Company’s Service, to Mary
Anne, youngest daughter of the late
John Izou, Esq., of Bournbrooke House,
Worcestershire.— Rev. Lord Charles
Paulet, second son of the Marquis of
Winchester, to Miss Araminta Rams-
den, third daughter of Sir John Rams-
den, Bart.—At Lambeth, Sir Ralph
Abercrombie Anstruther, Bart., to Mary
Jane, eldest daughter of the late Major-
general Sir Henry Torrens.—At Ply-
mouth, Mr. C, Whitford, Solicitor, to
Eliza, second daughter of Colonel Ha-
milton Smith.—At Bilney, Sam. Hoare,
Jun., Esq-, son of Sam. Hoare, Esq,, of
Hampstead, Middlesex, to Catherine
Edwards, second daughter of the Rev.
Robert Hankinson, of Bilney Lodge,
Norfolk.—At St. George’s, Hanover-
square, Thos. Metcalf, Jun., Esq., of
Portland-place, to Grace, second daugh-
ter of Wm. Shepherd, Esq., of Half
Moon-street.—At Woolwich, W. B.
Young, Esq., of the R.A., eldest son of
the late Col. Young, of Holly Hill, Sus-
sex, to Mary, daughter of Col. Trelaw-
ney.—At Wimbledon, Capt. E. B. Phil-
lips, late of the 53d regt., to Mary, eldest
daughter of the Rev. G. Secker, of Keep-
ing’s Hill, Berks.—At Aberystwith, W.
Van, Fsq., late of the 16th Lancers, to
Katherine A. M. Wilkins, eldest daugh-
ter of the Hon. Mrs. Wilkins, of Dany
Park, Breconshire.—At St. Marylebone,
Geo. I. Smart, Esq., late Capt. 76th regt.,
to Catherine Anne, eldest daughter of
the late Sir Hen. Hawley, of Leybourne
Grange, in the county of Kent, Bart.—
At Edinburgh, Hugh Dunlop, Esq., se-
cond son of Gen. Dunlop, to Ellen Cle-
pentinm, daughter of Robt. Cockburn,
Sq.

DEATHS.

At Brettenham Hall, 22, J. A. Nis-
bett, Esq., son of the late Sir John Nis-
bett.—In Upper Grosvenor-street, Lon-
don, 61, William John Bethell, Esq.,
brother of Vice-Admiral Sir Edward
Codrington.—At Glasgow College, Mr.
Professor Walker.—At Stamford Hill,

Ecclesiastical Preferments, Marriages, and Deaths.

LOcr.

Sir Daniel Williams, 79, Police Magi-
strate of Lambeth-street Police Office
for 32 years.—At Vienna, Baron O’Con-
nell, Colonel in the Austrian Army, 92.
—Charles Baring, youngest son of Henry
S. Northcote, Esq., Portland-place, Lon-
don.— At South Lambeth, London, Mr.
Peter Nasmyth, 46, the eminent Land-
scape Painter.—At Deal, Capt. Leach,
R.N.—At Deal, Captain Richard Budd
Vincent, R.N.—In Woburn-place, Rus-
sell-square, Nicholas Darlington Kent,
Esq., of Downland House, near Liphook,
Hants.—At Hampton, Edward B. Sug-
den, Esq., eldest surviving son of Sir
Edward B.Sugden.— At Corfu, the Hon.
Charles G. Monckton, son of Viscount
Galway, 26.—Anne, Countess of Morn-
ington, mother of the Duke of Welling-
ton, 90.—In Ireland, Alex. Stewart,
Esq., uncle to the Marquis of London.
derry, 85.—Sir P. Grey Cullum, Bart.,
of Hawstead, Suffolk, 99.—In Dublin,
Lady Roche, widow of Sir Boyle Roche,
Bart.—In the Island of St. Helena, Mrs.
Elizabeth Honoria Frances Lambe, re-
lict of the late Serjeant Lambe, of the
Artillery of the Island, at the advanced
age of 110 years and four months. In
the year 1731, she was housekeeper in
the establishment of Governor Pyke,
during his second government, and well
remembered having heard that Sir Rich-
ard Munden sturmed the fort which now
bears his name. Twenty-one personages
have filled the seat of Governor of the
Island during her life-time. She was
eight times married, and had numerous
generations, 260 of whomare now alive.—
At Glasgow, David Walker, Esq., Con-
sul General for the United States of
America for Scotland.—At Strasburg,
Mr. John Romain Addison, 23, the last
relative of the celebrated Joseph Ad-
dison. — Major Edward Spencer Fitz-
patrick, of the East India Company’s
Service—Andrew Strahan, Esq., 83,
King’s Printer, London.—In Downing-
street, London, A. Dawson, Esq., M. B.
for Lowth.—The Bishop of Worces-
ter, 78.—Sackville-street, London, the
Dowager Duchess of Rutland, 75,—In
Portman-square, London, the Right
Hon. Matthew, Lord Rokeby.—Sir H.
Innes, Bart., M.P. for Sutherlandshire.
—In Jamaica, at the extraordinary age
of 146, Joseph Ram, a black belonging
to Morice Hall’s estate-—At Cove, Dr.
Coppinger, Lord Bishop of Cork, 78.—
At Seaton, the Hon. Mrs. Percy, lady
of the Bishop of Carlisle.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

Vor. XII.] NOVEMBER, 1831. [ No. 71.

THE KING'S SPEECH—PARLIAMENT—THE CONTINENT.

Tue session has at length closed, after a succession of the most
stormy, anxious, and harassing debates within memory. On the 20th
the prorogation took place. The House of Commons were engaged in
a debate on petitions, and were beginning to grow angry, as usual, when
Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt appeared, and, like another Neptune, appeased
the storm by the apparition of his wand. The house followed him to
the royal presence, and the king delivered the speech of his ministers.
It was, like all king’s speeches of late years, a mere outline of the prin-
cipal measures of the time, expressed in language systematically divested
of all the materials of contradiction.

His Majesty noticed the amendment of the game laws; the reduction
of the taxes; the improvements in the law of bankruptcy ; then advert~
ing to foreign affairs, declared that he had received every assurance of
the continued amity of the continental powers. The late arrangements
of the Belgian conference naturally occupied a portion of the speech,
and we had his Majesty’s conviction that the peace of Europe was pro-
vided for without hazard, equivocation, or sacrifice, on the part of our
all-meddling and all-paying country.

The portion of the speech which applies peculiarly to the lower
house, was read with an emphatic tone, which some of the journals say
was an evidence of respect, others of remonstrance, and others of alarm.
Probably it was not one of the three. The topics, however, were slight,
and proportionably touched. His Majesty thanked his faithful commons
for their ample liberality to the Queen, in case of her widowhood—for
the supplies of the year—and for their willingness to submit to the in«
crease of the military and other establishments, which the circumstances
of the time were stated to render necessary.

The general address which by custom closes the speech, was occupied
in recommending the preservation of tranquillity in the respective
counties of the noble lords and members; a recommendation to the
people to observe order and moderation in their proceedings ; and a

2

M.M. New Series —Vou. XII. No. 71.

466 The King’s Speech— [Nov.

promise of calling the attention of. Parliament in the next session'to a
reform bill, assuring the nation of “ his Majesty’s unaltered desire “to
promote its settlement by such improvements in the representation as
may be found necessary for securing to his Majesty’s people the full en-
joyment of their rights, which, in combination with those of the other
orders of the state, are essential to the support of our free constitution.”
The king was received with applause by the multitude on his way to
the house. The galleries were filled with ladies, who, customary as the
affair may be, would make a much better figure anywhere else: some
of them, leaders of ton, for which they are fit, attempting to be leaders
of politics, in which they only make themselves ridiculous ; and deeming
that to lose any exhibition of themselves and their officiousness, would
be a loss of their station in public influence! One or two of those
bustling personages forced their way through all obstacles, to the front,
and by their looks of approbation, we hope, much comforted his Ma-
jesty, under the difficulties of his government, and by their smiles
cheered the downcast hearts of his Majesty’s ministers. When Napo-
leon was once approached by one of these female settlers of nations, who
tendered her opinions on government, he turned round, and simply
asked her, “how many children she had at home?” The lady politi-
cians would be much better employed in their nurseries.
We shall follow his Majesty’s speech in its principal features, to ascer-
tain on what footing the year leaves us with Europe. sa 3
Russia is once more mistress of Poland. This we regret, for every
reason, and first for the sake of the Poles themselves. Their insurrec-
tion was that of a brave people against an oppressive government ; of
patriots against strangers; of men demanding a government of equal
laws, and necessary rights, against a fierce and iron despotism, which
acknowledges no law but the sword. The attempt has failed. But its
failure shall not make us hesitate to pronounce that it was justifiable in
the highest degree ; that the conception of the enterprize was magna-
nimous ; that its conduct through unexampled hazards was heroic ; and
that its failure is unstained by any loss of national honour. On the’ con-
trary, the national honour has come out of this tremendous contest
raised to a nobler rank, and though the sword has been wrenched by
brute superiority of force from the Polish hand, and Poland will from this
hour be watched with a more envenomed vigilance, and loaded with a
heavier chain, yet she stands in a more distinguished rank’ with
Europe, than if she had never made this gallant effort, and, prisoner as
she may be, she has redeemed herself for ever from the name of slave.
Russia has lost formidably by the struggle. Her military name has been
tarnished by successive defeats ; her armies have been dispirited—her
most distinguished chieftains baffled. It has cost her almost two years,
the expenditure of millions of money, and little short of two hundred
thousand lives, to break down the resistance of the poorest people of
the north—a people scattered over a wilderness, without money or a
government ; with but one fortified town, and with but one army.
Russia never purchased so doubtful a victory, nor purchased any vic-
tory at so dear arate. She has no triumph to boast of in the field. To
garrison Poland, she must expend an army. The spirit of the country
is not dead, and every movement in Europe will vibrate to Warsaw.
The first sound of war among the restless powers of the south and west
will be re-echoed along the Vistula, and Russia will have justly brought

1831.] Parliament—the Continent. 467

. upon herself the waste, the anxiety, and the hazard, that belong to all
supremacy, which depends on the perpetual exercise of oppression.

A government has been offered to Poland ; but it is impossible to be-
lieve that a government of Russian bayonets can conciliate the conquered,
and, in the present stage of European feeling, that government itself
may be the means of striking a blow at the heart of Russia, of all blows
the most threatening.

The Russian soldier, savage as he is in the field, is yet a man ; he
can be taught the advantages of a state of things altogether different
from that in which he was born,—liberty may hold out its prospects
even to the Russian slave. The feelings of personal freedom have a re-
sponse in every human heart, whether under the civil rule or the
cuirass; and the Russian garrison of Poland may learn, before a few
years are past, the lessons with which every heart in the Polish terri-
tory is teeming. If those lessons shall be brought into practice by
honest guidance, and the Russian soldier be placed within view of ra-
tional liberty, it is not the distance between Warsaw and Moscow that
will stop the spreading of the flame to the heart of the empire ; nor the
distance from Moscow to St. Petersburg, that will prevent it from
reaching its head. The popular discontents in Russia are matters of
publicity. The leading writers are notoriously waiting only an op-

_ portunity to declare the sentiments of all men of manliness and honour
throughout Europe. The present reign began with the developement
of a conspiracy unequalled for extent in point of numbers, comprehen-
siveness in its objects, and we grieve, for the sake of honest and true

_ liberty, to say, for its determination to shed blood. From the few

details which the sudden and cautious extinction of that gigantic con-
spiracy has suffered to transpire, it is known that nearly two thousand
officers of the Russian army had signed their names, that the purpose of
the confederation was the total upbreaking of the present government,
the dismemberment of the provinces, and the formation of a series of
states, on the principle of America; but that in this determination was
included the sacrifice of the whole royal family,—a resolve equally
cruel, useless, and guilty, which must have disgraced the entire plan,
raised the abhorrence of Europe against its authors, and probably ex-
tinguished all the results of its triumph. It is not less probable, that to
this sanguinary determination was owing its defeat; putting out of the
question the abhorrence with which a higher power than man must look
upon all attempts at good which commence by massacre ; the know-
ledge of this desperate resolve clearly roused the government to a vigour
which struck at the heads of the conspiracy at once, repaid blood for
blood, and broke the great conspiracy into fragments—for a time !

The character of the Emperor Nicholas is favourable to the hope, that
Poland will not find in him, at least, a merciless governor. His reign
has exhibited none of the furious atrocities of the northern thrones, His
personal nature is said to be mild and just ; but, Emperor as he is, he
must be the slave of circumstances. The old English phantom of “a
power behind the throne greater than the throne,’’ in Russia is a reality.
The nobles exercise an influence which has cost Russia many a monarch.
_, Despotism always lives at the mercy of its guards. The Autocrat and
_ the Sultan are the two most despotic lords of Europe, yet how seldom
has, either an Emperor of Russia or of Turkey died in his bed. We have

_ no love for revolutions, but the eee which shall give the benefit

2Q2

468 The King’s Speech— [LNoy.

of equal laws to Russia, and secure the subject from the caprice of the
sovereign, will have no less fortunate effect in securing the personal:
safety of the King. :

An amnesty has been declared in Poland, and it will probably be
observed with reference to the inferior soldiery and the common people.
But many are excepted, and the higher orders will long have reason
to dread the grasp of a power so sensitive to popular discontent, and
with such fearful means of exerting its revenge as Russia. Witha
prison, reaching from St. Petersburg to the arctic circle, and the Chinese
sea, the emperor’s resentment must have terrors, unknown in the
narrower limits of continental vengeance. But the time is coming
when all those freaks or frenzies of power shall meet their reward, and
even the Russian mind shall feel the value of a wise, intelligent, and
well-regulated freedom.

Italy is again disturbed. The retreat of the Austrian troops has left
the popular feeling room to rise again; and in every province of the
peninsula, the seeds of revolution are rapidly sowing. Who can wonder
that this seed should be sown, or that in the harvest which must arise
from it, the whole gross oppression of the land should be overwhelmed !
Of all the lands of Europe, Italy is the most palpably intended by na-
ture for power, productiveness, and general human enjoyment; yet, for
centuries, Italy has been the toy or the drudge of foreigners: her fine
country the common field of blood and plunder to the Austrian, the
Spaniard, the Swiss, and the Frenchman; her cities, foreign garrisons,
or the residences of petty sovereigns, too feeble to protect their inde-
pendence, but too powerful for their liberties ; meagre stipendiaries of
foreign courts, haughty plunderers of the industry of their people,
useless in peace, contemptible in war, hostile to commerce, literature,
and all the great instruments of public strength and personal distinc-
tion. All the Italian cities are at this hour verging rapidly to decay ;
or, where that decay is partially checked, their remnant of seeming pros-
perity is due to the two cankers of the land—the extravagance of some
little court, or the presence of an Austrian garrison.

But this too will have an end. The popular spirit, defeated often as
it has been, is not extinct. Every account from the British travellers,
and even the paragraphs of the little Italian gazettes, timid as they are,
combine in describing an eagerness for insurrection as universal ; and
though that impulse may be restrained for a time by the fear of an
Austrian invasion, yet, let a Leader but arise in Italy—a man of popular
habits, vigorous determination, and established name—and we shall see
Italy, languid as she is, overspread with a living deluge of the sword.

One striking characteristic distinguished the Italian insurrections of
last year from all that went before. They were not for the priesthood,
but totally against it. In the little towns in the heart of the peninsula,
where, in the absence of other authority, the priest was once all-power-
ful, the sudden outcry was “down with the monks, friars, and parish
clergy, ina body.” In the Papal states, the Cardinal governors were
put to flight by mobs denouncing all allegiance to the Pope. The mobs
were Italian, but the cries were French; the spirit, the banners, the
half-naked women brandishing knives and axes, and singing songs al-
ternately blasphemous and sanguinary, were of the genuine school of
Jacobinism. Nothing can be more alarming for the hopes of Italian
freedom than this spirit. Out of a Jacobin revolution nothing but ~

1831.] Parliament—the Continent. 469

tyranny.can come. The first stage is anarchy, the second civil war, the
third military despotism. And the progress is so inevitable, that in no
instance in the history of nations, has its havoc ever failed. But if
this spirit spread, it must master all resistance! a hundred thousand
Austrian bayonets against the united furies of the peninsula, would be
but as chaff before the wind.

Italy, some -years since, contained, at the lowest estimate, fourteen
millions of people—she probably now contains eighteen ; if this whole
force were roused, and led by any one mind capable of given direc-
tion to its mighty mass, what force of Europe could shake it? Army
after army, sent across the Alps, would plunge down into the Italian
plains, with no more chance of return, than if they plunged into the
Mediterranean.

Soon or late, the whole administrative system of Italy will be des-
troyed ; whether by the desperate means of Jacobin insurrection, or by
the calmer and more effectual vigour of an enlightened and deliberate
public judgment. With the trade of this fine country extinguished by
monopolies, with her agriculture cramped by imposts, with her revenues
absorbed by the waste of her little worthless courts, the payment of
the worst troops in the world, and the luxuries of the most contempti-
ble nobility, who can feel any degree of surprise at the general disaffec-
tion?

But the heaviest blow is already openly aimed at the Italian priesthood.
That body has long furfeited the few claims that could have atoned for
its guilty employment, as a tool of the Italian despotisms. Within the
last two centuries, it has totally lost all literary distinction. The Ita-
lian ecclesiastic writes nothing, probably reads nothing but his bre-
viary, and probably knows nothing but his chess-board, and the way
to my lord cardinal’s patronage. Who ever hears of a book from the
pen of an Italian divine? The sole known representative of classical
knowledge in the Italian church, is Angelo Mai, now a decrepid old
man, and at best, only a librarian and a copyist of old manuscripts ;
some drowsy essay or some fragment of antiquity, fished up from the
Tiber, or dug up from the Forum, alone attests from year to year, the
existence of the Romish clergy. The whole body are in an atrophy ;
and the nations are beginning to note the sloth and the stupidity of those
men, whom they once worshipped much more than the Heaven to
which this worthless priesthood pretended to lead the way. The Car-
bonari conspiracy has never been extinguished. The recollections even
of the brief triumph of that time, are still living among the furious and
the fantastic; a new reinforcement has been added to the old dis-
affection, by the success of democracy in France ; and the period may
be brief which will see Italy republican, from the Alps to Calabria.
The slightest approach of war would precipitate the revolution at once,
and the unfurling of the French banner on the plains of Lombardy
would rouse every village in determined insurrection.

The Belgian question has been nominally settled by the ministers of
the five powers. The basis of the convention is the extent of territorial
possession belonging to Holland, in 1790. The Dutch, therefore, retain
all the territory on the left bank of the Scheldt. The navigation of
that river is to be regulated by the treaty of Vienna. The portion of
Luxembourg, assigned to Belgium, is more than half that province ;
and in exchange, Holland obtains part of Limburg, containing a popu-

470 The King’s Speech— [Noy,..

lation less by 50,000 persons, than that portion of Luxemburg, which ’
is relinquished by the treaty. The King of Holland holds the remain-"
der of Luxemburg, and, as grand duke of that province, is still to ‘be’:
a member of the Germanic confederation. Maestricht remains wholly’

Dutch. Antwerp is, of course, to be given up to the Belgians, as soon
as the treaty is ratified, and the latter, on their part, will surrender
Venloo. The debt is not divided equally by this treaty ; the interest
of the whole amount to about 27,000,000 of guilders, of which Belgium’
is to pay only between 8,000,000 and 9,000,000, being rather less than
one-third. The plenipotentiaries of Belgium and Holland, left London
to obtain the ratification of the treaty.

The singularity of this treaty is, that it discontents both parties.
The Dutch, proud of their fragment of victory, declare that
they will allow no five powers, nor fifty, to cut up their territories.
The Belgians, heroes, every man of them, though a little unlucky
in their late display of chivalry, are equally indignant at parting
with a square-yard of morass, or the breadth of a Flemish ditch ;
proclaim themselves the most injured people on earth, and threaten the
world with war.

In the midst of this tumult of rival courage, our unfortunate pen-
sioner, Prince Leopold, says nothing, and does nothing, but walks about,
as the journals tell us, looking twenty years older than he’ was six
months ago, and doubtless, casting many a longing glance towards the
quiet sinecure which he enjoyed among us, for the last fifteen years ;
the perpetual dejeunés of Windsor and St. James’s, the dinners, the
dances, and the innumerable easy delights, attending on the coloneley
of a regiment of horse, recognized but on the day of receiving his pay ;
the cheap residence of a national palace, for which he paid neither
rent, tithe, nor taxes, and the punctual receipt of the annual sum’ of
Pi of which he perhaps spent the fiftieth part in the country that
ed him.

Those are the truths that his Belgian majesty has left to record his
memory in the British mind ; and if the nation still condescends to feel
any interest in the quarrel between the two crapauds, or care a straw
whether the Dutchman hunts the Fleming into his own morasses, or
the Fleming swamps the Dutchman ; whether Flanders exults in the
grasp of half a dozen acres from her heavy neighbour, or that neigh-
bour deems its national existence to depend on plundering Flanders of
fifty pounds a-year ; England desires only, that however the matter
may turn out, she may get rid of her pensioner—a pensioner who
hung upon her till she was long tired of him ; who signalized his pre-
sence here by nothing but a petty economy ; who patronized neither her
arts nor her public institutions ; dragged on a lazy and obscure life for
half the life of man ; gathering money,—and at last finished his career
by a poor compromise with the future ; securing his pension as a pillow
for his head under an emergency, which this very provision would be
the first thing to hasten.

The Belgian settlement concludes with an extraordinary declaration,
that if either party refuse, the arrangement shall be carried into effect
by force of arms. This is a curious contrivance for peace-making. It
may, for the moment, produce acquiescence, but it is impossible that it
should produce agreement. France has her vulture eye fixed upon the
whole transaction, and she is, possibly, at this hour making the way

1831.] Parliament—the Continent. 471

straight for war. The dismantling of the Belgian fortresses is a step
which*no power would have demanded, whose purpose was not to take
advantage of the naked frontier. The dismantling of those fortresses
has,actually not found a single argument, except the one that it was the
desire of France—an argument, which ought instantly to have roused
the vigilance of the Continent, and to have set every engineer in
Belgium instantly at work, to render them impregnable. As to the
palliative, that their repairs would have drawn too heavily on the
Belgium exchequer, the answer is: obvious ; that supposing these re-
pairs to have been too costly for Belgium, which is by no means
proved, they might have been provided for as the fortresses were built
—out of the money of the continental powers, who are all interested in
rescuing Belgium from the grasp of France ; or, at least, it could cost
nothing to let them take the chance of time, and fall to pieces in the
course of a century.
Or if the Belgian army were too small to supply their garrisons, what
was to prevent their being garrisoned by the bands of temporary troops,
that a week would at any time put under arms. With a population of
four millions, Belgium might have a national guard of five hundred
thousand men—a force equal to have manned twenty times the number
of the fortresses. But the demand was from France—for French pur-
poses ; and in the first ripple of continental affairs, we shall see that
France knew well what she asked, when she commissioned M. Talleyrand
to insist on the demolition of the Belgian fortresses.
The Portuguese question is still unsettled. Don Miguel still sits on
his unacknowledged throne. Don Pedro still makes his pilgrimage to
the courts, protesting against having the slightest personal desire ever
to wear the “galling circle of a crown’ again, yet soliciting every
court to embark in his cause ; disclaiming all hostility, yet collecting
partizans, soldiers, and exiles ; telling Portugal that he has no wish
whateyer to divide or disturb her, yet actually arming a fleet in the
French ports, obviously for the purpose of invasion. We only hope, that
England will not be involved in the quarrels of either of the Dons. The
difference to us of Don Pedro or Don Miguel is not worth the ink that
writes their names. Don Pedro, if we had taken him by the hand, and
led him him up to his throne in Lisbon yesterday, would treat us to-day
just as every foreigner does, the day after we feed and clothe him. In
those fellows we place no faith. Don Miguel has the ill fortune of be-
ing drawn in theblackest colours by every one. We have Lord Aber-

deen loading him with a richer variety of contumely than we thought
political wrath could find words for, from the lips of that remarkably
heavy and frigid lord. We find the Duke of Wellington himself,
warmed beyond that delicacy—that notoriously prudential caution, with
which the statesman speaks of every sovereign in whose dominions he
has an estate, or in whose service a commission ; that wise reserve which
_can suffer itself to detect neither avarice in the Dutchman, nor tyranny
_ in the Spaniard, nor any thing, beyond a little excusable savageness, in

the Russian ; yet even this man of delicacy could suffer himself to glow
_into something extremely akin to contempt of the unhappy Don who

now rules the Portuguese by the right divine of the stronger. Still Don
| Miguel keeps his hold, in spite of Mr. Consul Hoppner’s ill opinion of

his proceedings,—in spite of the displeasure of the Marquis Palmella,
_ the injured feelings of little Maria de Dolores, who is now all but hope-

472 The King’s Speech— LNev.

less of being ever able to marry her own uncle,—and the royal. claims of
Don Pedro himself, whose experience in the ways of being turned ont
of one throne, must operate as an irresistible qualification for his ruling
another. ’

Again, we say, what have we to do with these coxcombs? Is.there a
hair’s breadth between the rights, the merits, or the mediocrity of both.
Should we possess the honour of the ex-emperor of Rio Janeiro’s friend-
ship an hour longer than we should that of the ex-king’s, if we turned
him out to-morrow? Let Don Pedro then go to dejeunés and dinners in
such a display of royal moustaches as never were exhibited on the human
visage before, nor on any animal visage, except the Duke of Cumber-
land’s, or a white bear’s. Let him levee princesses, and attend duchesses
to routs; or let him exhibit himself round Europe in his most glittering
‘ uniform, the very hero of melodrame, and the envy of Monsieur Ducrow.
But let not this rambling Portuguese think that England will fire a shot
to place him on any better throne than the cushions at Grillon’s hotel.
We are sick of spending our money, or throwing away our blood, upon
the quarrels of those pampered children, who arrive at manhood foolish
as ever, adding nothing but age to puerility, and who must be taught
by stern experience that the hearts and heads of men are not made for
their idle pleasure.

The breaking up of the Oporto monopoly has, we must confess, our
strongest approbation. Monopolies of all kinds are only a cover for ex-
tortion ; and the foolery which would tell us that a treaty is beneficial
which compels us to pay to strangers ten times the value of a commodity,
merely on the ground that those strangers purchase a certain quantity of
our manufactures (which are essential to them, and for which they must
pay double in any other quarter), ought to have been exploded long
since. We shall soon have the best wines of Portugal at the lowest
price, and the Portuguese wearer of our cloths will have in return just
as much of our manufactures as he wants. It is absurd to say that he
ever would have had more. The policy of supporting Portugal against
French or Spanish invasion will not be altered by our drinking port
wine of a better quality and at a cheaper rate. The Portuguese farmer
will not soften his inveterate hatred to the Spaniard, by the diminution
of sixpence a bottle in his wine; nor feel himself more disposed to be
robbed by French dragoons, or torn by French grape-shot, from the cir-
cumstance that he sells his vintage direct, and puts into his own pocket
the tax which he was once forced to pay to the chartered monopolists of
Oporto. We may fairly leave matters of this kind to the course of
human things.

The King’s speech pronounces that no nation gives evidence of hostile
intentions towards his Majesty’s realm. Hostile intentions are not usually
declared till they are on the verge of action. But whether England is
to be entangled in war, or to escape, the whole continent holds itself yet
in the most manifest preparation for war. All is recruiting, drilling,
marching, and countermarching ; autumn encampments in one province,
sanitary cordons in another, and corps of observation in a third. Prussia
boasts of having at this moment 300,000 men under arms, Austria half
a million, Russia a million. France from time to time issues a half-ma-
nifesto, and flashes in the world’s eyes her five hundred thousand braves,
backed by her two millions of national guards, and those again backed
by a population of two-and-thirty millions! every one of whom, she

3831.] Parliament—the Continent. 473

“boasts, is a true patriot or patriotess, fidéle au roi, au loi, and especially
“to France, and able to shoot from behind a hedge any Prussian, Austrian,
Swiss, or Russ, who dares invade the sacred barrier of the “ grande
nation.”
But the most prominent and fatal feature of the whole aspect of Eu-
‘Yope is, that jacobinism is rapidly penetrating the whole mass of the
“population. A wild and bitter impulse against authority has been given
"by the “three days of July.” The day of clubs is reviving, fierce ap-
“ peals to physical force are no longer matters of astonishment, deposed
sovereigns, abolished constitutions, and “ regenerated states,” are no
longer the solitary contemplations of a few beggars and exiles, those ragged
enthusiasts who cover robbery with the pretence of public good, and
differ from the highwayman only in being the baser rogue. . The most
sweeping political changes are discussed with the most perfect simplicity,
alterations to be wrought only by massacre, are calmly argued, with a
familiar knowledge of the cost ; and the time is made a matter of caleu-
lation when every man who can rob or murder, will enjoy the full fruits
of his patriotism. Philip of France is a king, so long as it shall please
the shopkeepers of Paris, and not an hour longer. But jacobinism looks
‘toa higher conquest than the tottering throne of France. A spirit
of fury is gone forth in England ; the pictures and blazoned banners of
of bleeding heads, and the exploits of the pike, are the accompaniments
of our mob meetings. This spirit may be subdued for a time, by energy
in the government, and manliness in the higher classes. But the revo-
lutionists of Europe have every eye turned upon England, and the
first’ serious convulsion here will be the signal for an explosion, which
will leave the continent without the vestige of a throne.

THE BOARD OF HEALTH, AND THE CHOLERA.

The Cholera is now the prevalent topic, and unquestionably the mere
possibility of its reaching England has excited great anxiety. A few
nights before the close of the session, the subject was brought forward
by Sir R. Vivian. In answer, Mr. P. Thomson said, that in the course
of last week government had received information that the cholera
morbus had reached Hamburgh. On the receipt of this intelligence
the government issued orders enforcing a stricter quarantine with
respect to all vessels coming from Hamburgh, and had directed further
precautionary measures to be taken with regard to vessels coming from
any part of the coast lying between the north of Denmark and Rotter-
dam. The recommendations which government had issued to the au-
thorities in the country, contained a statement of those precautionary
measures which government thought it desirable should be taken, and
he had no doubt that if carried strictly into effect, they would, if the
disease should appear in this country, check its progress, if not entirely
confine it to the place of its first appearance.

A number of letters have been since published in the papers, gene-
rally ridiculing the public alarm, and treating the attempts at precaution,

uarantine, &c., as totally nugatory. But one thing we must observe,
that almost the whole of those letters are from mercantile persons, who
dread the interruption of their trade, and who, in nine instances out of

474. The Board of Health, and the Cholera. [ Nov...

ten, are the very class by whose negligence or avarice the contagion is -
brought into countries. One of the most specious of these letters is”
from a Hamburgh merchant, detained in quarantine at Standgate Creek; *
who, of course, is rather uneasy at his position, and thinks that national!’
hazard is no reason why he should be prevented from making his’ ap-"'
pearance on ’Change, disposing of his bills, and reloading his coffee and’
sugar in the usual mode. une ‘

On the other hand, the chief part of the letters recommending pre-
caution, are from travellers and medical men, a rather higher authority ~
than the traders. The Board of Health, in the meanwhile, have pub-
lished a long and important document, pointing out the precautions
necessary to be adopted in case the contagion should actually exhibit °
itself here. .Whether the disease shall make its way here at all, or
whether, if it should, its symptoms may be not much lightened by the
better system of English medical science, and the better food and clothing
of our population ; there can be no doubt that the form in which it has
already shewn itself abroad, justifies the most extreme vigilance, It
seems to have been a horrible disease, with but the single palliative, that
its suffering soon ends one way or other.

The subjoined description of the symptoms of the disease has been
published by the Board of Health, College of Physicians, dated October
20:— The following are the early symptoms of the disease in its most
marked form, as it occurred to the observation of Dr. Russell and Dr.
Barry, at St. Petersburgh, corroborated by the accounts from other
places where the disease has prevailed :—Giddiness, sick stomach, ner-
vous agitation, intermittent, slow, or small pulse, cramps beginning at
the tops of the fingers and toes, and rapidly approaching the trunk, give
the first warning. The features become sharp and contracted, the eye
sinks, the look is expressive of terror and wildness ; the lips, face, neck,
hands, and feet, and soon after the thighs, arms, and whole surface,
assume a leaden, blue, purple, black, or deep brown tint, according to
the complexion of the individual, varying in shade with the intensity of
the attack. The fingers and toes are reduced in size, the skin and soft
parts covering them are wrinkled, shrivelled, and folded ; the nails put
on a bluish pearly white; the larger superficial veins are marked by
flat lines of a deeper black ; the pulse becomes either ‘small as a thread,
and scarcely vibrating, or else totally extinct. The skin is deadly cold,
and often damp, the tongue always moist, often white and loaded, but
flabby and chilled, like a piece of dead flesh. The voice is nearly gone ;
the respiration quick, irregular, and imperfectly performed. ‘The’ pa-
tient speaks in a whisper. He struggles for breath, and often lays his
hand on his heart, to point out the seat of his distress.”

After this we are not to listen to the nonsense of any trader, eager to
carry on his traffic at the risk of human life, or tourist, tired of the con-
finement of the quarantine. The very mention that the contagion was
once in England, would produce more evil, even to trade, than the delay
of every trafficker that could lie at Standgate Creek for half a century,
Nothing can be more obvious than that it would break up the whole
intercourse of English life, and put a stop to all commerce, from the
moment that it was clearly ascertained to be among us; and in its pro-
gress involve every description of trade and business in difficulties,
equivalent to little less than national bankruptcy.

This. we must guard against by all possible expedients, and’ we ‘can-

¥ LID VSE

1831.) The Board of Health, and the Cholera: 475.

not begin too soon. There are miserable spots in every great town in
England—even in cleanly England; where cleanliness never enters;
spots of beggary, foulness, vice, and promiscuous and wretched living,
from one end of the year to the other. Those haunts of pestilence
ought to be instantly examined and cleaned out, or utterly destroyed.
In London itself, every suburb has its peculiar haunt of disease. What
must, be the condition of St. Giles’s, of the outskirts of Westminster, of
Saffron-hill, of Wapping, of Whitechapel, of Spitalfields, if contagion
come? There is not one of those, nor of a dozen others, in which
there is not material, in filth, drunkenness, poverty, and promiscuous
vice, for the food of a national pestilence. Let the local authorities be
set to work without delay, and a general inquiry into the state of these
districts, and the mode of clearing them out, take place. But the sys-
tem of English life has even its peculiar liabilities to the effects of con-
tagion.

-s large part of our population is gathered into great masses. We
have manufactories, with hundreds of people compressed together in the
same heated atmosphere and dangerous contact. Our workhouses con-
tain crowds, equally the food of contagion. Independently of those,
our jails are continually crowded—a natural result of the temptations of
a country, where trade and opulence stimulate men to the commission
of crimes that seldom come in the way of the people of merely agricul-
tural countries.

Some curious statements to this effect have been produced by M.
Ducpetiaux, and other foreign economists. It is asserted that a fifteenth
of our whole female population is subsisting by vice. This is, of course,
a calculation taken from the commercial and manufacturing districts :—
“ One-fifteenth have no means of support but by robbery, swindling,
pickpocketing, and every species of crime. Five-fifteenths of the people
are what is denominated poor, living from hand to mouth, and daily,
nay, hourly, sinking into heartless beggary !” A comparison between a
few foreign countries and Great Britain further demonstrates the effects
of poverty and ignorance on the great mass of the population. In North
America pauperism is almost unknown, and one-fourth of the people are
being educated ; premeditated murder is alone capital—imprisonment
for debt has in several states been abolished, and crimes, particularly of
enormity, are exceedingly rare. The Dutch, who possess a competency,
and are generally educated, are comparatively free from grave offences.
France affords a remarkable illustration. M. Ducpetiaux has divided it
into northern and southern, the former being richer and more enlightened
than the latter ; their relative condition is as follow :

Population. Offences against the person.

Northern France.... 14,000,000—In 1825, 726..In 1826, 714

Southern France.... 18,000,000—Ditto, 1,340. . ditto, 1,193

Proportion of { Northern France in 1825, 238
Murders. Southern France in ditto, 593
The United Kingdom affords us a nearer illustration :-—
Scotland. England. Ireland.
Instruction of the people... lin 11..lin 20..lin 35
Criminals among the people. 1 in 5,093..1 in 920..1 in 468

. The economists pronounce that this excess of crime results from our
severity of prison punishment, &c.: but the economists always blunder

476 The Board of Health, and the Cholera. [Nov.

when they attempt to reason. They should never step beyond their
registers. The accumulation of crime in England is the consequence of
the wealth of England, the exposure of that wealth, and the general
habits of popular indulgence. There are more bank-notes plundered in
a month out of mails and letters, than would make the circulation of a
German kingdom. _ There is more pilfering from the London shops
than would make the finery of many a German court. ‘There is more
gin drunk by the populace than would make a German revenue.

If France exhibits less crime, it is because she is almost wholly agri-
cultural, and men cannot steal waggons as they can watches. If America
exhibit more :apparent honesty, it certainly is not for want of a super-
abundance of rogues, as long as America continues to be the common
refuge of all the swindlers of Europe. The truth is, that the English
jail is the natural result of the English manufactory, the English shop,
and the English mansion. But there are at this hour not less than one
hundred thousand people passing yearly through the English jail; and
no argument can be required to shew how much this influx and efflux
increases the natural hazards of contagious disease. To this let the
authorities look without delay.

The report issued by the Board of Health proceeds to state the steps
proper to arrest the progress of the disease in the first moments of
seizure :—‘ All means tending to restore the circulation, and maintain
the warmth of the body, should be had recourse to without delay. The
patients should always immediately be put to bed, wrapped up in hot
blankets, and warmth should be sustained by other external applications,
such as repeated frictions with flannels and camphorated spirits ; poul-
tices of mustard and linseed (equal parts) to the stomach, particularly
where pain and vomiting exist ; similar poultices to the feet and legs, to
restore their warmth. The returning heat of the body may be promoted by
bags containing hot salt or bran applied to different parts of it. For the
same purpose of restoring and sustainingthe circulation, white wine whey,
with spice, hot brandy and water, or sal volatile, in the dose of a tea-
spoonful in hot water, frequently repeated, or from five to twenty drops
of some of the essential oils, as peppermint, cloves, or cajeput, in a wine
glass of water, may be administered ; with the same view, where the
stomach will bear it, warm broth with spice may be employed. In very
severe cases, or where medical aid is difficult to be obtained, from twenty
to forty drops of Jaudanum may be given in any of the warm drinks
previously recommended.”

This treatment is simple enough, and is almost within every one’s
power. To restore the heat of the circulation is evidently the first
point. That done, there may be room for the physician, who should be
called in as soon as possible. The vigilance of government, however,
seems fully alive to the emergency ; and on the local authorities on the
coast, by preventing the intercourse of the villagers with smugglers and
other illicit arrivals from the continent—and in the towns, by dividing
them into districts, and instantly detecting every symptom of disease,
must now depend, humanly speaking, the protection of England from
this formidable visitation.

1831]

THE VISION OF BEASTS.

‘© All the world’s a stage.”

Lire is a drama—so hath Shakspeare said ;
The world the theatre on which ’tis played ;
Nature the prompter—but I needs must say
The devil often mingles in the play.
Sometimes he acts the licenser, and then

He blots out all that’s sacred with his pen ;

And sometimes, too, if truth may be expressed,

He damns as often as the rest.
Five acts dramatic laws demand,
(Some say ’tis seven—

The other two perhaps are spent in heaven),
And into these the different scenes expand ;
First infancy, childhood, and youth ;

And then, forsooth,
Comes manhood and old age ;
Till death draws down the curtain on the stage.
But why should man
Monopolize this plan?

I feel convinced it is a thing that suits

All kind of animals,
The civilized and cannibals—

Even from human nature down to brutes.

I’m a philozoologist, and like to see
All lively things,

Whether with legs or wings,
Treated with kindness and humanity.

«« T had a dream, which was not all a dream :”
Methought I went to Drury, where of old
Shakspeare’s immortal scenes had been the theme ;
And there did I behold
Instead of Romeo, or the jealous Moor,
Revengeful Jew, or melancholy Dane,
Or those bright things of female portraiture,
The murdering lady with the clotted stain,
The gentle Juliet, and Venetian fair,
Which once were there—
I saw strange shapes go to and fro,
Whose forms I did not know.
I asked the meaning of so odd a scene
Of one whom once I knew
As an old member of that beast-loving crew,
The Zoological Society ;
And he
Informed me that there late had been
A second Martin sent among the brutes,
To aid them in their pleasures and pursuits ;
The first had taught us not to hurt ’em,
But he, good man, was striving to convert ’em.
He preached from Shakspeare, whence they were to find
The plaudits of mankind ;
And taught that pleasure was the only good
For flesh and blood,

478

The Vision of Beasts.

Great, he said, and strange
Had been the change
Which he upon their stubborn hearts had made.
By his conversions,
And his exertions,
He threw the missionaries in the shade ;
For in a little time they were so tame,
As to seem human in all things but name.
They had their lectures and their college,
And their ‘‘ Society for Useful Knowledge,”
Read little treatises upon astronomy,
And on political economy.
And, stranger still,
They had their House of Commons and their Bill ;
For some there were that kept the loaves and fishes
From other people’s dishes.
But good king Leo had begun his reign,
And, like our own, was monarch of the mane ;
And he determined, come what would,
Even if he lost his kingdom in the storm,
As it was solely for his people’s good,
There should be a reform.
«* But what,” said I, “ has that to do
With what I view?”
«« This,” said he, “‘ I know
Is merely done to shew
Us, who are called the lords of the creation,
That they are strictly a dramatic nation.
And here
_ They will appear,
« Warbling their native Wood-notes wild!’
As for their teeth,
What Mr. Bunn
Has said, he will have done—
I’ve heard that he intends with the Gazette,
To have them filed.”

I said no more,
But looked more eagerly than I had looked before,
And saw the lion acting Romeo to his love,
Roaring “ as gently as a sucking dove ;”
But in the dying scene he made me stare—
In fact, I thought that Romeo Coates was there.
And then, the cameleopard, I saw him go,
With trembling step, and slow,
As he whose poverty but not his will
Did Romeo kill—
(By the by,
I thought he held his head somewhat too high).
An orang-outang played with great success
The gallant gay Mercutio. I confess,
Although it was his first appearance, still
He shewed a promise time will soon fulfil.
Who did the gentle Juliet? *T'was the same
Mad’moiselle D’Jeck by name,
Who, not long ago,
Acted in concert with Monsieur Ducrow.
Such loud applause her acting did create,
That I heard many say,
During the play,
Miss Fanny Kemble ne’er was half so great.

—[N ov:

41831.)

The Vision of Beasts.

«* A change came o’er the spirit of my dream,”
Which thus to me did seem—
I saw a wolf the vile Iago act,
(It is a fact),
With look and gesture quite emphatical ;
And the Othello there
(A dingy bear)

Did hug his Desdemona so dramatical,

I thought that she would faint
With the restraint.

She was the pig-faced lady ; such a star
I never saw upon the boards—for she
Moved with such grace and modesty,

’Twas said she did the character by far

Superior to a. Phillips, and the rest

That wear the tragic vest.

Again, when this was gone,
Another change past on.
Then came the fell hyena as the Jew,
Performing Shylock to the very life ;
Howling so very fiercely for his due,
And sharpening up his knife
So very Israelitishly, I thought
“«« The pound of flesh” he sought,
If even of pork, would raise a question,
Whether ’twould disagree with his digestion.

Another change—another change—and lo!
Came, gliding “on the light fantastic toe,”
A pair of boas, that appeared to view
Dancing a pas de deux ;
And then with pirouette, and leap, and sally,
A troop of monkeys formed the corps du ballet ;
While a vast flock of parrots on the wing
Did the full chorus sing.
Methought that all at once | heard
The voice of beast and bird,
Roaring and screaming horridly around,
With most discordant sound.
And then, as up the curtain drew,
Upon the frightened fiddlers on they flew,
Who soon a quicker movement made
Than they had ever played.
Then on the shrieking pit they fell
Pell-mell ;
And made, soon scaring off the men and wenches,
A beggarly account of empty benches.
I tried escaping, sorely pressed ;
But, oh! the horror !—First I heard a howl,
And next a growl,
And then a tiger You may guess the rest.
I gave a scream,
That seemed to shake old Drury’s firmest beam,
And spoiled—my dream.

R. F. W.

479

[ 480 J [Nov.

BREVITIES.

Fortune is painted blind, that she may not blush to behold the fools
who belong to her.

Fine ladies who use excess of perfumes must think men like seals—
most assailable at the nose.

Some men get on in the world on the same principle that a sweep
passes uninterruptedly through a crowd.

People who affect a shortness of sight must think it the height of good
fortune to be born blind.

He who loses, in the search of fame, that dignity which should adorn
human nature, is like the victim opera-singer who has exchanged man-
hood for sound.

Lounging, unemployed people may be called of the tribe of Joshua ;
for with them the sun stands still.

Fanatics think men like bulls—they must be baited to madness ere
they are in a fit condition to die.

There is an ancient saying—“ Truth lies in a well.” May not the
modern adage run—“ The most certain charity is at a pump?”

Some connoisseurs would give a hundred pounds for the painted
head of a beggar, who would threaten the living mendicant with the
stocks.

If you boast of a contempt for the world, avoid getting into debt. It
is giving to gnats the fangs of vipers.

The heart of the great man, surrounded by poverty and tramelled by
dependence, is like an egg in a nest built among briars. It must either
curdle into bitterness, or, if it take life and mount, struggle through
thorns for the ascent.

Fame is represented bearing a trumpet. Would not the picture be
truer, were she to hold a handful of dust ?

Fishermen, in order to handle eels securely, first cover them with
dirt. In like manner does detraction strive to grasp excellence.

The friendship of some men is quite Briarean. They have a hundred
hands.

The easy and temperate man is not he who is most valued by the
world ; the virtue of his abstemiousness makes him an object of indif-
ference. One of the gravest charges against the ass, is—he can live on
thistles.

The wounds of the dead are the furrows in which living heroes grow
their laurels.

Were we determined resolutely to avoid vices, the world would foist
them on us—as thieves put off their plunder on the guiltless.

When we look at the hide of a tiger in a furrier’s shop, exposed to the
gaze of every malapert, and then think of the ferocity of the living beast
in its native jungle, we see a beadle before a magistrate—a magistrate
before a minister: there is the skin of office—the sleekness without its
claws.

With some people political vacillation heightens a man’s celebrity—
just as the galleries applaud when an actor enters in a new dress.

If we judge from history, of what is the book of glory composed ?
Are not its leaves dead men’s skin—its letters stamped in human blood
—its golden clasps, the pillage of nations? It is illuminated with tears
and broken hearts. wy : J.

183] .J f 481 j

WHO WROTE GIL BLAS?

————__L vx altissima fati

Occultum nihil esse sinit, latebras que per omnes

Intrat et obstrusas explorat fama recessus.
CLAUDIAN.

Wuo has not read Gil Blas? Who has not dwelt with feelings of
exquisite delight on this masterly delineation of human nature, garbed_
inthe graceful mantle of romantic Spain? Possessing qualities of a
high moral and literary value, independent of the capricious tastes and
ephemeral fashions that prevail temporarily from age to age, this novel is.
one of the few works of its kind that have survived the general wreck
of the libraries of romance published in Europe during the last century 5
and may now fairly be considered as forming part of the standard, and
classical literature of the modern world.

Gil Blas —which paints with such extraordinary truth and fidelity of
colouring the manners, opinions, and vices of every gradation of Spanish
life, from the monarch to the bandit; and which, moreover, may be
considered the moral and political history of the Spanish monarchy,
from the reign of Philip the Second till the year 1646—was published
by Le Sage, in three distinct portions at different periods; the first two
volumes in 1715, the third in 1720, and the fourth and last 1735. The
first two volumes contained only six books; but Le Sage, struck with
the extraordinary success of the work, and observing that it had been
successively translated into the English, Dutch, German, and Italian
languages, conceived the idea of adding a third volume to the novel ;
and, if we may judge from the Latin distich which terminates the
volume—

** Inveni portum ; sors et fortuna valete
Sat me lusistis; ludite nunc alios’”’—

it would appear that he had no intention of adding anything more to
the work ; but, fifteen years afterwards, he added a fourth and last
volume. 4

Tn the year 1738, he also published the novel entitled “'The Bachelor
of Salamanca,” confessing that it was taken from an unpublished
Spanish manuscript, which was not, however, in the form in which it was
written by the original author. The reader is requested to bear this
circumstance in mind, as it will be shewn that “ The Bachelor of
Salamanca” forms the ground-work of Gil Blas.

Scarcely had Gil Blas appeared in France, than strong doubts were
raised, by the literary contemporaries of Le Sage, as to the justice of his
claims to the original authorship of the work. Voltaire, whose well-
organized habits of plagiarism would easily enable him to detect it in
others, has, in a theory of his own, boldy denounced it as a plagiarism
from the literature of Spain. La Martiniere, De Chaudon, and other
compilers of a French historical dictionary published in Paris in 1771,
mention the work with “ Guzman de Alfarache,” “Le Diable Boiteux,”
and “ The Bachelor of Salamanca,” among the author’s translations or
imitations from the Spanish. Although it would be extremely unfair to
adduce these facts as general principles of argument against the author-

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No. 71. 2R

482 Who wrote Gil Blas ? [Nov.

ship of Le Sage, still they prove, in no ordinary degree, that such a
report was circulated in the literary circles of France. But no formal
disquisition, we believe, had been published on the subject until the
appearance of the Spanish translation by the Padre Isla—a Jesuit, and,
as he styles himself in the title-page, “ Hum Espanol Zeloso qui no soffre
que se burlen de su nacion.” This translation was preceded by a preli-
minary discourse, in which the reverend disciple of Loyola denounces
Le Sage in the most unmeasured terms as a literary pirate.

It must, however, be candidly confessed that the dissertation of the
reverend padre contains assertion without proof, and, in some instances,
violent strictures, without either temper or moderation. His chief
objection to the claim of Le Sage rests on the authority of the French
« Dictionnaire Historique,” which is quoted by him in triumphant
illustration, but which, in fact, amounts to nothing; for it is perfectly
evident that the compilers had treated the subject loosely, possessed no
precise information upon it, and had, moreover, no intention of discus-
sing it as a questionable point. Isla’s system may, therefore, be con-
sidered as utterly baseless, and in no way substantiating the claims of
his country to the authorship of the novel in question. The Jesuit was
also inadequate to the task he had undertaken, and, in the course of his
dissertation, displays a lamentable ignorance not only of the history and
topography of his country, but of many peculiarities in its manners and
customs. The outlines of his theory as to the manner in which Le Sage be-
came possessed of the Spanish manuscript, are as follows :—He mentions a
report that he had been for some years attached to the French embassy
at Madrid, and that, during that time, he formed an acquaintance with
an Andalusian lawyer, who confided to him this and several other manu-
scripts, which were too free in their political observations for the despotic
atmosphere of Spain. The first of these facts, if true, would rather serve
to refute than to establish upon a solid basis the system of Padre Isla ;
since a long residence in Spain, under such circumstances, would furnish
the most plausible indications of the manner in which a foreign
writer might have obtained the rich mass of Spanish materials em-
ployed in this novel. But the story of the Andalusian advogado and
his manuscripts is too vague to merit attention. So far from Le Sage
having been an attaché to the French embassy at Madrid, it will be
presently proved that he was never, at any period of his life, in Spain.

The sensation produced by Padre Isla’s work was transient. The
public mind, both in France and Spain, was too deeply engrossed by
collisions of a sterner nature, to examine critically the pretensions of the
Jesuit. The dispute languished till the year 1818, when Count Fran-
cois de Neufchateau, minister of the interior under the republic, read to
the French Academy a memoir entitled, “ An Investigation of the
Question, whether Le Sage was the original Author of Gil Blas, or whe-
ther he borrowed it from the Spanish?” In this paper, which was
printed in the following year, the count warmly sustains the claims
of France ; and, in the year 1820, he published in Paris a new edition
of Gil Blas, with copious notes, in which he defends his original posi-
tion. Don Juan Antonio Llorente, the ex-secretary of the inquisition,
was at that time residing in Paris, and deeply engaged in his history of
that formidable tribunal, and other literary labours of a grave and
important character. The patriotism of the Spaniard was aroused by
the attack on the literary fame of his country ; and, abandoning for a
time his more serious compositions, he produced his “ Observations

1831.] Who wrote Gil Blas ? 483

Critiques sur le Roman de Gil Blas,’ which he submitted, in 1820, to
the Academie Francaise, and, shortly afterwards, published in a more
voluminous form. Neufchateau replied in a subsequent memoir, pre-
sented to the academy in January, 1822, and entitled, “« An Examina-
tion of the New System in regard to the Authorship of Gil Blas, in
answer to the Critical Observations of Llorente.” Here the controversy
terminated: both authors, having made out their case to their own satis-
faction, left the decision to the public.

There is a French chaleur and impetuosity of style in the memoir of
Neufchateau, which singularly contrasts with the solemn gravity of
tone, and equanimity of temper, displayed throughout the controversy
by his Spanish opponent. Deeply versed in the history and literature
of his native country, rendered by profound meditation completely
master of the subject, Llorente takes the field with an overwhelming
mass of arguments and powerful illustrations—handles the former with
admirable skill—holds the latter in hand till the favourable moment for
deploying had arrived, and then, bursting like a mountain-torrent on
his adversary, he carries in succession all his positions, and remains
master of a field which he had previously studied with the eye of a con-
summate tactician.

The existence of an original Spanish manuscript is demonstrated on the,
following grounds:—lIst. From the variety of Spanish words and
phrases scattered throughout the novel ;—2ndly. From the French
words and phrases, which do not correspond with Le Sage’s usual ele-
gance of style, and which preserve all the traces of a literal transiation
from the Spanish ;—3dly. From the immense number of Spanish proper
names—persons, families, and districts of no historical importance—
of which it was impossible for Le Sage to have had any knowledge but
from a Spanish manuscript ;—4thly. From the accurate knowledge
displayed by the author, of the moral, civil, political, heraldical, and
genealogical history of the Spanish peninsula ;—5thly. From the errors
in writing the names of persons and places, which so frequently occur in
the course of the novel, and which could only have arisen from an error
of transcription ;—Gthly. From the vast multitude of chronological errors
which we also discover, proceeding from the same cause, or from the
circumstance of the various episodes introduced in the novel belonging
to chronological eras different to that of the leading narrative ;—7thly.
That the sources from which many of the materials of the novel are
derived, are known to be Spanish ;—and, lastly, from the strong, deep,
and exquisitely vivid Spanish colouring which pervades every part of
the work down to the most minute details. Indeed it is a solecism to
suppose that a foreigner, who had never resided in Spain, could, from
the mere perusal of Spanish works, have so completely identified his
intellectual nature with the different state of society existing in that
country, as to have written Gil Blas. It is easy for the poet or the
novelist to lay the scene of his fictions in a foreign land, and to shed
around the leading features an air of truth and probability ; but the case
changes when the familiarity with foreign objects and manners supposed
by the style and fable, goes beyond a certain limit, and when the sub-
stance, as well as the form and colouring, display, in the remarkable
manner they do in Gil Blas, the peculiar characteristics of some remote
age or distant country. If Gallaud had published “ The Arabian
Nights,” or Sir William Jones his translation of the Indian drama of

2

484 Who wrote Gil Blas 2 (Noy.

“«« Sacontala” as his own, the public would have easily detected the
fraud ; and, in all such cases, the presumption of a foreign original
would be much heightened if a writer had brought out other works of
a similar kind as avowed translations or close imitations of foreign
models. If two or three volumes of “ The Arabian Nights” had
appeared as acknowledged translations from the Arabic, and the rest had
been palmed off on the public as his own composition by the French
editor, it is hardly possible that any competent judge would have been
so far deceived by this literary manceuvre, as not to see that they were
all parts of the same collection. Now, in this respect, the present case
is precisely similar. Alain Renaut Le Sage published, in the course of
his life, a considerable number of works, which he acknowledged as
translations or imitations from the Spanish ; and, afterwards, he brought
out the novel of Gil Blas as his own composition. The materials of all
these works, and the sources from which they were derived, are so
similar, that they afford the strongest presumption of being all of them
the fruits of the same common stock.

We shall now note a few of the most forcible illustrations adduced by
Llorente in proof of the Spanish origin of the work ; and, by placing
in juxta-position the opposite arguments of Neufchateau, enable the
reader to draw his own conclusions on this interesting subject.

Ist. Spanish words which are found in the French novel of Gil Blas, and
which suppose the existence of a Spanish manuscript.

In speaking of the subterraneous cavern at Cacabelos, and of the
woman who officiated as cook to the robbers, Gil Blas says, “ ‘ Tenez,
dame Leonarde,’ said one of the outlaws to this angel of darkness, ‘ here
is a young man we have brought you ;’ ”—and, a little further, he adds,
«It was La Senora Leonarda who had the honor of presenting the nectar
to these infernal gods.” The term dame Leonarde applied to a woman
of the lowest class of society, servant to a band of outlaws, supposes a
Spanish manuscript, in which was written La Senora Leonarde ; for an
original French writer would have simply expressed it—“ T'enez, Leo-
narde,” or, if he had wished to have used a more polite address, “ Tenez,
Madame Leonarde.”

Gil Blas, speaking of his intended father-in-law, the goldsmith
Gabriel Salero, describes him thus: “ C’était un bon bourgeois qui etait,
comme nous disons poli, hasta porfiar, il me presenta La Senora Eugenia
sa femme, et la jeune Gabriella sa fille.’ Here are three Hispanicisms
in as many lines. The words hasta porfiar are surely not so elegant or so
idiomatical as the corresponding French terms—jusqwd étre ennuyeux :
while the proper name Gabriella, had Le Sage been the original author,
would have been frenchified into a Gabrielle—a very common name in
France.

Again: the barber Diego de la Fuente, in giving an account of his
learning the guitar, remarks that he had for a master, “ un vieux Senor
Escudero a que je faisais la barbe.” The immediate motive for leaving
this phrase in the original Spanish was the impossibility of rendering
correctly the term escudero in the sense here intended, which is that of
a sort of upper servant personally attending on a lady of quality. There
is no corresponding term in French, or in any other modern language,
because that class of servants was never known but in the Spanish
dominions. It is long since gone out of use in Spain; and the frequent

1831.] Who wrote Gil Blas ? 485

allusion to it in Gil Blas is another strong proof of the early composition
of the work.

» Lastly, Gil Blas, when confined in the tower of Segovia, hears his
fellow-prisoner, Don Gaston de Cogollos, singing to a guitar-accompani-
ment the following simple and beautiful Spanish verses :—

|

« Ay de me! un ajo felice

Parece un soplo ligero

Pero sin dicha un instante

Es un siglo de tormento.”

It appears almost impossible that these verses could have been written
by a foreigner ; for the use of the poetical licence of felice, instead of
feliz, supposes well-trained. habits of Spanish versification, which
a Frenchman could scarcely have possessed.

2Qndly. Of the Spanish phrases and idioms which abound in the work.

Here, again, we have abundant proofs of the existence of an original
Spanish manuscript.
One of the Hispanicisms of which Le Sage makes the most frequent
use, is “ Seigneur,” in addressing persons by their Christian names.
« Seigneur” is a French word of a very limited extent. Under the old
French regime, “ Seigneur” was the style of address used to feudal
proprietors who held of the crown; and this system of tenures being
now quite abolished, the word is hardly ever used. The corresponding
term of address, “ Monseigneur,” was appropriated to princes of the
blood and other high dignitaries. To have spoken of a Seigneur cloth-
merchant, a Seigneur innkeeper, a Seigneur Gil Blas, or a Seigneur
Scipio, his laequey, would have been viewed as an intentional burlesque.
In Spanish, on the contrary, the word “ Seiior” corresponds with the
French “ Monsieur,” and is even more extensively used, being employed
as a term of address between persons of all ranks, from the monarch to
the servant. It is in this way that the French word “ Seigneur” is used
in Gil Blas. Thus, in his first sally out from Oviedo, he encounters on
the road a beggar, who levels his firelock at him, soliciting at the
same time his charity with the polite address of “ Seigneur, passant.”
The natural French term would have been “ Monsieur le voyageur.”
At Penaflor, in relating his adventure with the parasite, he describes him
© thus: “ Ce cavalier portait une longue epée et pouvait bien avoir trente
vans. Il s’approcha de moi d’un air empressé—‘ Seigneur écolier,’ me
» dit-il, * je viens d’apprendre que vous etes /e Seigneur Gil Blas de San-
»*tillane’ < Je lui dis Seigneur cavalier,” &c. Now the term “ Seigneur
© écolier,” applied to a poor little student, was too gross even for the besot-
- ‘ted vanity of Gil Blas to have digested. The word “ cavalier” also in
» French means horseman, and is never used in the Spanish sense ; cabal-
lero, a distinguished manner of saluting a person of some consideration.
Pedrillo, an old servant of Don Annibal Chinchilla’s, says to his
» master, “ You have only to inform me of the matter in hand, and I
promise you “ de faire tirer pied ou aile du premier ministre.” In French
this is an inelegant expression ; whereas in Spanish it is one of pro-
verbial expression, and in common use on occasions cited in the text—
“ Yo prometto sacar del primer ministro pata ’o alan.”
It must be recollected that Le Sage flourished during the Augustan
period of French literature—that he wrote for a people who possess an
-- almost Athenian delicacy of ear—a people with dae in literary com-
positions, style is every thing. We can only reconcile the examples we

486 Who wrote Gil Blas ? [Nov.

have given of the Spanish idiomatic phraseology and style with the
theory of a Spanish manuscript, the spirit of which Le Sage found it
impossible to entirely divest his translation.

3dly. Of the names of persons and places.

Upwards of three hundred places in Spain, and four in Portugal, are
mentioned in the course of the novel—some few of which are scarcely
known to exist but by native Spaniards. The heraldic knowledge dis-
played by the author is likewise very extensive. Thirteen dukes and
eleven marquisses are introduced into the novel by their real titles, all
of whom lived under the reigns of Philip the Third and Philip the
Fourth. Among the dukes, we find De Frias, constable of Castile ; and
De Medina de Rio Seco, admiral of Castile. It is worthy of remark,
that, at the period of the publication of the novel by Le Sage, these two
offices no longer existed. They had been abolished by Philip the
Fourth, in consequence of the noblemen who were invested with those
dignities, at the period of the war of succession, having embraced the
faction of the house of Austria. The names also of a great number of
persons of eminence who flourished at Madrid under the two reigns,
are mentioned—the characters of many of them described with a fidelity
of colouring which supposed opportunity of often repeated observation.
Such are, Padre Louis Aliaga, confessor to Philip the Fourth, archi-
mandrite of Sicily, and grand inquisitor; Don Rodriquez Calderon,
secretary to the king; Miguel Cervantes de Saavedra, the author of
“ Don Quixotte ;” Luiz Velez de Guevara, the author of “ Le Diable
Boiteaux ;” Dofia Anna de Guevara, nurse to Philip the Fourth, and
who had a great influence over him; Doiia Maria de Gusman, only
daughter of the Conde Duque d’Olivares ; Don Henri Philip de Gus-
man, his adopted son ; and several others of equal note, of whom Le Sage
could have no knowledge. The portraits of the Count Duke of Lerma
and the Count Duke d’Olivares, successively prime ministers and confi-
dential favourites of Philip the Third and Fourth, are drawn with a
spirited truth and discrimination which supposes the author to have
moved in the immediate circle of the court. The extensive knowledge
of proper names displayed by Le Sage, not only of the aristocracy, but
also of the inferior ranks of society, could never have been obtained by
a foreign writer who knew Spain but through the medium of romances
and dramatic works. But what demonstrates with stronger evidence a
Spanish manuscript in the French text of Le Sage, is the existence of
between thirty and forty names allegorical of the characters and avoca-
tions of the persons to whom he has applied them. Such are—‘ San-
grado,” in allusion to the favourite doctrine of the doctor of that name ;
“ Don Cherubini Tonto” (imbecile), in allusion to his cast of mind ; the
silversmith “ Salero” (salt-seller), from his selling such articles; Don
Vicente de “ Buena-garra’ (gripe-hard), and Don Mathias del “ Cordel”
(cord), are the names of the two leaders of the band of swindlers esta-
blished at Toledo, and are significant of their profession ; “ Mondragon,”
the bully, who frightened Gil Blas out of Valladolid ; Vicente “ Forrero,”
the innkeeper of Madrid, because the forreros (strangers) lodged at_his
house. These, and several others, would have puzzled the most skilful
translator to have rendered into French without violating their allego-
rical signification ; while a French writer would have scarcely sought
in a foreign language for names significant of the characters and avoca-
tions of the persons introduced in his work, which must have been per-
fectly unintelligible to the major part of his readers.

1831.] Who wrote Gil Blas ? 487

Ath. Of the profound knowledge of the manners and customs, the
political, topographical, and chronological history of the Spanish
peninsula, displayed by the author.

The proofs we are about to offer under these several heads will equally
demonstrate the original position of the Spanish origin of the novel: the
thd of the social condition of the Spanish people is drawn to the

ife.

The adventures of Philip the Fourth and Lucretia, daughter of the
Marquis of Marialva, are well known to be historical. The fruit of this
intrigue was the Prince Don John of Austria, the second of that name,
and not the celebrated champion of Christendom who arrested the pro-
gress of the Turkish arms at the sea-fight of Lepanto, and who was the
natural son of the Emperor Charles the Fifth. The mother is repre-
sented in the novel seized with compunctions of conscience, on account
of her illicit connection with the king, and as retiring from the world,
and taking the veil in the convent of the Incarnation. This religious
house was founded at Madrid by Philip the Third, in fulfilment of the
last will of his deceased queen, Margaret ; and no persons were admitted
into it who were not in some way connected with the royal family. The
account of the domestic occurrences in the family of Olivares—of his son,
Don Julian Valcarel, afterwards legitimatized under the name of Don
Henry Philip de Gusman, and married to the daughter of the Duke de
‘Frias, is also conformable to facts ; nor was it so easy, in the time of
Le Sage, to become acquainted with private incidents of this descrip-
tion occurring in a distant country, as it now is, when the press pre-
sents almost daily to the scrutinizing gaze of public curiosity the most
trifling details of the private life of the great.

Gil Blas, in walking the streets of Valencia, observes a crowd of per-
sons collected round a house, where, upon approaching nearer, to read
the inscription in gold letters upon a tablet, “ La posada de los repre-
sentantes.’ The nature of the inscription explains the circumstance that,
in the time of Philip the Third and Fourth, the comedians were usually
lodged in the theatre itself. This usage never existed in France, and
had ceased to exist long anterior to the time of Le Sage. Again: the
femme de chambra of Dofia Anna de Guevara, nurse to Philip the
Fourth, obtains from the king, through the interest of her mistress, the
archdeaconry of Grenada for Don Ignacio d’Ipina—* which benefice,”
says the author, “ being situated ina country acquired by conquest, was in
the gift of the king.” This passage displays a profound knowledge of
the ecclesiastical constitution of the Spanish monarchy ; for the king,
anterior to the concordat of 1753, conferred no church dignities what-
ever, excepting those of which the disposal belonged, by some specific
title, to the crown. Of this kind were the benefices which lay within
the territory acquired by conquest from the Moors.

The political feelings of the province of Arragon are also remarkably
displayed in the words which the minister Olivares addresses to Don
Antonio de Leyva, on his appointment to the viceroyalty of that pro-
vince: “ This dignity,” he remarks, “ is not above your birth ; and the
nobility of Arragon cannot murmur at the choice of the court.” This is
evidently an allusion to the dissensions which had subsisted in that pro-
vince since the latter end of the reign of Charles the Fifth. Philip the
Second appointed a Castilian to the viceroyalty ; upon which the Arra-
gonese remonstrated, alleging that, by the constitution of the kingdom,
the king should reside there in person, oF, in his absence, a prince of the

488 Who wrote Gil Blas ? [ Nov.

blood, or at least a distinguished member of the Arragonese noblesse-:
The quarrel subsisted yet in 1592, when they assassinated the Castilian
viceroy, Don Inigo de Mendoza, and appointed in his room an Arra-
gonese nobleman, Don Michel Martinez de Luna. Le Sage, who pos-
sessed but a superficial knowledge of Spanish history, was unable to
comprehend the force of the historical allusion conveyed by the words
of the minister Olivares.

The description of the tower of Segovia, its little court-yard, narrow
staircase, the window of the tower overlooking the river Erema, are all
given with a minuteness of detail which supposes the writer to have been:
an eye-witness of the scene he describes. The minor details of this
picture of social life are equally conformable to the truth. It is remark-
ably displayed in the description of the inkhorn, which Gil Blas and his
companions purchased when they were preparing to enact, the part of
inquisitors at the expence of the Jew, Samuel Simon. “ It consisted of
two pieces of horn attached to each other by a cord—one to hold the
ink, and the other to contain the pens.” This is correct description of
the inkhorns used to this day in Spain by the notaries, and which they
always carry about with them.

There is another example which demands particular attention—it is
the description of La Dame Jacintha, the housekeeper of the Licentiate
Sedillo. She wore a long woollen robe of the coarsest material, with
a wide leather girdle, from one side of which hung a large bunch. of
keys, and from the other a chaplet of large beads.” This is a faithful
portrait of the class of women in Spain, known under the name of beatas
(devotees). The manners of all courts have a certain degree of resem-
blance ; but a foreign writer, who had never been in Spain, we repeat,
could scarcely have been acquainted with certain customs, the names of
streets and churches, not existing in large and populous towns, but in
insignificant villages. There are several remarkable examples of. this
kind in the course of the work. Thus Scipio, in relating what hap-
pened to him at Toledo, speaks of the church De los Reyes. Now there
exists to this day a little church at Toledo, named San Juan de los Reyes
—a fact of which Le Sage must have been ignorant, and which again
supports the theory of the Spanish origin of the work.

We have already observed that the novel of Gil Blas may be considered
the moral and political history of the Spanish monarchy, from the end
of the reign of Philip the Second till the year 1646. All the episodes
introduced in the course of the narrative have their own peculiar chro-
nology ; and, between them and the adventures of the hero of the story, .
we find several remarkable anachronisms, which could scarely have
crept in had Le Sage been the original writer of the work.

Gil Blas relates that when he made his escape from the cavern of the
robbers, between Astorga and Cacabellos, he was between four and five-
and-twenty years of age. This event took place in 1606, which would
have brought the year of his birth to “1581.” Portugal, at that period,
was under the dominion of the Spanish crown, and continued so until
the revolt of the Duke of Braganza in “ 1640.” Yet Dojia Mencia, in
relating her history to Gil Blas, states that her father, Don Martin, was |
killed in Portugal at the head of his regiment. Now supposing, with
Gil Blas, Dojia Mencia to have been five-and-twenty, her father must
have been killed in 1580—at which period no war existed between the
two states. She again relates that her husband was killed in Africa, in
the battle in which Don Sebastian lost his life and crown—another impos-

1831.] Who wrote Gil Blas ? 489

sibility ; for, since the birth of Dofia Mencia, no such war had ever
existed. The truth is, that the History of Dona Mencia is a Spanish
novel altogether independent of Gil Blas, and which Le Sage inserted.
because he did not perceive that it belonged to the time of Don Sebas-
tian. The same thing occurs with the story of the “ Marriage de Ven-
geance,” which Dofa Elvira de Silva relates to Dofia Aurore de Gus-
man. All this history belongs to the time of the celebrated Sicilian
Vespers, three centuries anterior to the events related in the novel—an
anachronism, which proves at the same time Le Sage’s ignorance of his-
tory. There are also several instances in which the dates of events
have been positively anticipated ; and, although the facts are historically
correct, it is certain that they had not transpired at the period in which
in the romance they are related as passed. Thus, in the year 1607, Gil
Blas was in the service of Don Bernardo de Castilblanco ; and he says
that the obscure and mysterious life which his master led had given rise
to suspicions of his being a spy of the king of Portugal’s. Now, there
was no king of Portugal till the year 1640. There are numerous other
examples of this nature. In fact, Llorente cites no less than twenty-two
chronological errors in the course of the work—some resulting from the
episodes introduced by Le Sage, foreign to the leading narrative—some
from errors of transcription—and others from a poetical licence made
use of by the original author in anticipating dates and events ; none of
which have either been remarked or corrected by Le Sage, who has left
by that an infallible proof that he is not the creator of the romance, but
that he has compiled it, if we may use the expression, from foreign
materials.

5th. Of the topographical errors, which indicate a Spanish MS. badly
copied.

The'nicest observations of the critics have discovered in Gil Blas a
vast number of errors, more or less obvious, principally in the manner
of writing the names of places and persons ; to which may be added
one or two topographical errors of so glaring a nature that, at first sight,
it is difficult to reconcile them with anything in respect to the author.
But these rather tend to confirm the supposition that the work is a trans-
lation from the Spanish ; for they may be naturally accounted for by
considering them the errors of a person but superficially acquainted with
the language and geography of the Spanish peninsula. In detailing his
journey from Madrid to Oviedo, Gil Blas mentions that he slept the first
night at Alcald de Henares, and the second at Segovia. These two
places, situated at opposite points of the compass, are among the most
noted cities in Spain. The former is celebrated for its university ; the
latter was distinguished in its better days as a great manufacturing town,
and is now remarkable for its Moorish alcazar, its Roman aqueduct, and
gothic cathedral. The first of these edifices acquires additional cele-
brity from being the scene of Gil Blas’ imprisonment. Aleala is about
ten English leagues east of Madrid, and Segovia about thirty west. The
commentators are sadly at a loss how to reconcile the fact of Gil Blas
being made to pass through the former place in his way to the latter.
An author, whether native or foreign, would scarcely have committed
a geographical error of such magnitude. Isla dogmatically asserts that
Le Sage committed the blunder on purpose, with the view of conceal-
ing the plagiarism. Neufchateau makes no attempt to account for this
circumstance. Llorente considers it as an error of the transcribers: he

490 Who wrote Gil Blas ? [Nov.

supposes that in the original manuscript, Galapagar was written instead
of Alcala, which would have been topographically correct. Again, in
proceeding from Oviedo to Lirias, he says, ‘““ We took the road to Leon,
and, afterwards, that of Palencia; and, continuing our journey by easy
stages, we arrived on the evening of the tenth day at Segorbe, from
whence, on the following morning, we proceeded to Lirias, which is
only three leagues distant.” Here are two other topographical errors :
the first, to suppose that, in a caleshe drawn by two mules, they could
have gone in ten days by easy stages to Liria ; the second, that Segorbe
is only three leagues from Liria. Now, these places are distant five
leagues from each other; while to go from Oviedo to Liria, by easy
stages, would occupy at least twenty days. This is evidently an error in
the transcription. In speaking of Liria (written in the novel Lirias),
Le Sage says, that it was “ un hameau de cinq ou six feux ;” and, on
another occasion, “ gu’il n’y eut neuf ou dix familles.” This is another
proof of the early composition of the work. Liria was given to Gil Blas
by Don Cesar de Leiva and his son Alphonso. The family of Chiva
possessed, during the regime of the Austrian dynasty, the fief of Chiva,
of which the hamlet of Liria constituted a part. Philip the Fifth of
Bourbon confiscated the fiefs of those who followed the Austrian faction ;
among others, those of Chiva, Liria, and Gercia; and, after the victory
of Almanza, gained by the celebrated Marshal Duke of Berwick in
1707, he invested him with the confiscated fiefs of the De Chiva family,
and, on the 10th of October of the same year, he created him Duke de
Liria, and a grandee of the first class. If Le Sage had been the original
author of the novel, he would scarcely have spoken of Liria in 1707 as
amere hamlet. He has likewise changed the family name of De Chiva
into Leiva—a name which never existed in Valencia. Le Sage
must have possessed a Spanish MS. which was incorrectly copied—a cir-
cumstance of daily occurrence among the French, who are remarkable
for their blunders in writing the names of foreign places. In the pre-
sent case, the ignorance of Le Sage of the history and topography of
Spain did not allow him to rectify the errors of the transcriber.

Of the manner in which he became possessed of the original MS.,
Llorente has a theory, which, in our opinion, rests upon a broad basis of
probability, and of which the outlines are as follows :—

In the year 1656, Hugues, Marquis de Lyonne, went to Madrid as
ambassador extraordinary of Louis the Fourteenth. The object of his
mission was to negotiate a peace between the two courts, and the mar-
riage of the French monarch with the Spanish Infanta, Maria-Theresa
of Austria, daughter of Philip the Fourth.

The marquis was a nobleman of high literary taste and accomplish-
ments, passionately fond of the romantic literature of Spain. He col-
lected at considerable expence, during his residence at Madrid, an
extensive Spanish library, including a large collection of unpublished
manuscripts. This library, on the death of the marquis, came into the
possession of his third son, the Abbé Jules de Lyonne, aumonier du
roi, &c. &c. The abbé entertained the warmest friendship for Le Sage,
allowed him a yearly pension of 600 livres, taught him the Spanish lan-
guage, and, at his death in 1721, he bequeathed to him the aforesaid
collection of manuscripts. This collection now forms part of the royal
library at Paris. It is from this connection with the Lyonne family,
that the notion of Le Sage’s having been an attaché to the French
embassy of Madrid has arisen. The marquis was accredited to the

1831.] Who wrote Gil Blas ? 491

Spanish court in 1656, twelve years before Le Sage was born; and it
appears, from the dates of his literary productions—which succeeded
each other, with short intermissions, from 1695 till his death—that it is
impossible that he could have been, at any period of his life, absent for
any length of time from France.

These facts serve to shew how Le Sage may have obtained access to
the rich store of Spanish materials of which his other works furnish
such abundant proof. Llorente maintains that the “ Bachelor of Sala-
manca,” in its primitive form, was the original of Gil Blas ; that it con-
tained, in the first instance, the substance of both these novels ; and
that, for the formation of the first six books, he dismembered the MS.
of the “ Bachelor” of all that relates to the personal adventures of Gil
Blas, and availed himself of the vast number of novels and tales which
he found in the abbé’s collection to compose the episodes. Thus, in the
first book, the history of Doiia Mencia is taken from an old Spanish
novel. In the second book, the history of the Barber Diego de la Fuenta,
from the life of the Escudero Marcos d’Obregon. In the third, the his-
tory of Don Pompeyo de Castro, and the story of Don Bernardo de Cos-
telblanco, from two Spanish tales. In the fourth book, the history of
Doiia Aurora de Gusman, from the old Spanish comedy entitled, “ Todo
es enredos Amor, y el Diablo son los Mugeres”—“ There is no Love with-
out Intrigue, and Women are the Devil.’ The “ Marriage de Ven-
geance”’ in the same book, and the histories of Don Raphael and of his
mother Lucinda in the fifth book, are likewise taken from Spanish
novels. In the sixth book, again, the story of the robbery of the Jew,
Samuel Simon, is derived from some narrations of autos-de-fé; for it
appears that a great number of criminals, under the reigns of Philip the
Third and Fourth, suffered the extreme punishment of the law for
offences of this nature. In the formation of the third and fourth volumes,
the MS. of the “ Bachelor” again underwent a dismemberment. He
despoiled it of all that relates to the secretaryship of the Archbishop of
Grenada, and to the similar office which Gil Blas held under the suc-
cessive prime-ministers, the Duke de Lerma and the Conde d’Olivares,
drawing again on the well-stocked collection of his friend, the Abbe
de Lyonne, for his episodes. Having thus skilfully wrought up his
materials into four volumes, that appeared under the title of Gil Blas, as
his own composition, he finally published the remaining portion as an
avowed translation. By this manceuvre, he expected to secure the
credit of the authorship of the work, and lull the suspicions of those who
were aware that he possessed a manuscript of this kind. The identity
of the “ Bachelor of Salamanca” and Gil Blas is established on the
following grounds.—The general plan and time of action of the two
novels is precisely the same. They both consist of a series of adven-
tures occurring to a hero taken from the lower walks of life, interspersed
with episodes. In each, the hero, from a rather humble condition, rises
to that of confidential secretary to the prime-minister. Gil Blas fills the
station during the ministry of the Duke of Lerma, is enveloped in his
disgrace, and recovers his former post under the ministry of Olivares.
The “ Bachelor,’ on the other hand, figures at court precisely in the
same manner during the short ministry of the Duke Useda, son and suc-
cessor of the Duke of Lerma, which intervened between those of his
father and Olivares. The style of the two works is likewise very similar,
and many of the adventures of their respective heroes have a striking
resemblance even in the language. 'Thus—to give a single instance of

492 Who wrote Gil Blas ? [Nov.

the analogy between them—Gil Blas is maintained, when a boy, by a
rich and avaricious uncle, a canon of Oviedo: the “ Bachelor,” in like
manner, is supported by a rich and parsimonious relation, a doctor of the
university of Salamanca. At precisely the same periods in the lives of
their protegées, both these worthies become fatigued with the trouble and
expence of educating them, send them out into the world to seek their
fortunes, addressing them on the occasion in language substantially and
almost literally the same ; and if the reader would take the trouble of
perusing the parallel established by Llorente between the books, they
will afford something like a decisive proof in favour of his theory.

We have at length brought to a close the arguments in favour of the
Spanish original of this celebrated novel. We shall now group within
as narrow a space as the limits of this paper permit, a few of the leading
arguments adduced by the learned academician, the Count de Neufcha-
teau, in support of the claims of his countryman, Le Sage, to the author-
ship of the work.

He maintains that, 1st, the novel of Gil Blas is a satire on the court of
France, and on the personages who flourished from 1701 until the death
of Louis the Fourteenth, and in the first years of the reign of Louis the
Fifteenth. So apparent is this, that although Le Sage endeavoured to
veil it by laying the scene of the novel in Spain, almost every body in
Paris was able to point out, without the assistance of a key, the French
originals designated under Spanish names. The Compte de Tressau
told M. de Neufchateau that Le Sage, in 1746, at Boulogne-sur-Mer,
had named to him the originals of several of the characters, and thus
confirmed the opinions of the public. °

2d. The description of Doctor Sangrado is a faithful picture of a
Dr. Hecquet, a physician of Paris, of great celebrity in the time of Le
Sage. Hecquet prescribed a moderate diet, abstinence from wine, and
copious draughts of water: he published two volumes in support of his
doctrine.

The story of Valerio de Luna is said to be founded on the adventures
of the unfortunate Chevalier de Villiers, who committed suicide in Paris
in 1671 for the love of his grandmother, the celebrated Ninon de |’Enclos.
The anecdote of the two physicians, Andros and’ Oquetos, evidently
alludes to a dispute which occurred between two French doctors, Andry
and Hecquet, whose names are thus slightly disguised. Again, Lucinda
the actress relates that her lover, the Duke de Medina Celi, publicly
insulted her, in order to avenge the honour of his duchess, whom her
insolence had outraged. ‘This scene actually took place in Paris, where
a nobleman of high rank once said to an actress celebrated for her
beauty, under similar circumstances, “ Aimable vice, respectez la vertu.”
In the History of Don Roger de Rada, it is related that his’ son, the
Chevalier d’Antiguera, killed Don Huberto de Hordales, at the instance
of his mother. This adventure, which is eminently dramatic, also
occurred in France in an illustrious family. A lady of quality, whose
husband had been killed by a brutal prince, brought up her two male
children with the design of avenging him. For this purpose, they were
taught the use of arms by the most skilful masters ; and when they had
attamed the age of maturity, she presented to them the bloody shirt of
their murdered father. The next morning the prince fell beneath their
avenging daggers, and the king pardoned them. “ This fact,’ adds
Neufchateau, “ is well known; and Le Sage could not have derived it
from a Spanish source.”

1831.] Who wrote Gil Blas 2 493

Again: Doctor Sangrado speaks to Gil Blas of the virtues of antimony
— Curris lriumphalis antimonii.” This is an evident allusion to the
work of a physician named Basile Valentine, published under this title
in the year 1677—a work that could not have been known to a. Spanish
writer in “1655.” In the course of another conversation, the same
doctor speaks of the kermis—a mineral, which, according to Neufcha-
teau, was not known before the time of Louis the Fifteenth, and which
was introduced by a French apothecary, who obtained the prescription
from a German chemist. ‘“ Of this circumstance likewise,’ he adds,
«a Spanish writer must have been also ignorant in the year 1655.”

Numerous other examples, of a nature equally striking, have been
triumphantly adduced by Neufchateau in support of the claims of Le
Sage. Llorente combats these arguments with considerable ingenuity
and critical acumen ; he proves that events similar to those in the novel
actually occurred in Spain. But even were this not the case, they
ought in our opinion to weigh but little against the overwhelming mass
of direct evidence in favour of a Spanish original; for their introduction
may be easily reconciled with such a theory. An elegant writer, in
dressing up a foreign work which he intended to palm off on the public
as his own composition, would naturally modify, in some degree, the
form of it by a judicious introduction of original matter—would seek to
pique the curiosity of the public by skilful allusions to some recent
popular events of the day. Such a course would powerfully tend to
strengthen the reality of the illusion by removing all suspicions of the
fraud. Under this point of view only, can Le Sage be considered as the
author of Gil Blas—his only original conception that of forming two
novels from the substance of one, by the addition of a number of Spa-
nish tales and romances. With foreign materials he has raised up a
beautiful superstructure that commands the admiration of the world,
constructed with such admirable skill that, like Don Ignacio Ypigna in
the novel, he may exclaim—

“Furto letemur in ipso.”

But while we allow him this glory—one, too, of which he might justly
be proud—the merit of the original invention of the fable, and the con-
ception of the character of the hero, the truth and fidelity of the details
of the picture, we feel, must be awarded to a Spanish master.

Who this Spanish master was, Llorente also undertakes to determine.
After enumerating thirty-eight persons who lived at Madrid about the
middle of the seventeenth century, and after weighing the probabilities
in favour of each, he finally fixes on Don Antonio Solis de Ribadenaria,
a writer of very considerable eminence, and known to the public
-by his “ History of the Conquest of Mexico.” There are several circum-
stances in the character of Antonio Solis, which are likely to have
occurred in the author of Gil Blas, and which could hardly be expected
‘to meet in two persons living at the same period. Solis was a dramatic
‘writer of great repute, and some of his productions have, by good judges,
been ranked with the best of those of Calderon and Lopez de Vega.
He was also the author of some historical inquiries written in a style of
classical purity and elegance. In the latter part of his life, he embraced
the ecclesiastical profession, and abandoning his profane compositions,
he wrote some “ Mysteries’—a species of drama still represented in
Spain during Lent. The events of his own life are similar to. those
which form the ground-work of the latter part of Gil Blas. He was

494 Who wrete Gil Blas 2 [ Nov.

secretary to the Conde de Oropeza in his successive viceroyalties of
Navarre and Valencia, and was afterwards appointed one of the under
secretaries of state in the ministry of Don Luis de Haro, successor to
Olivares. If we, therefore, suppose—what is pretty clear from exter-
nal evidence—that the last volumes offer a sketch of the personal
adventures of the author, it must follow that he must have occupied, at
the same time when Solis was in the department of the state, some post
of a similar description. It is, therefore, easy to imagine why Solis—
if he were, in fact, the author—should not wish to publish at Madrid a
novel which describes, in so free a manner, the secret intrigues of the
court for thirty years immediately preceding, while Philip the Fourth,
and several other persons of high rank, whose characters are drawn with
the pencil of a satirist, were still alive. To Philip the Fourth, Solis was
under great obligations ; and he could not, without incurring the tax of
the basest ingratitude, have put his name to a work which published to
the world his intrigues with the actress Maria Calderon. The residence
of the Marquis de Lyonne at Madrid, his taste for this species of litera-
ture, his intimacy with Don Luis Mendez de Haro, Marquis del Car-
pio, in whose department Solis was secretary, and from whom it is
reasonable to suppose that he may have obtained the MS., and if to this we
add, that the author makes not the slightest allusion to the ministry of his
patron, the Marquis del Carpio ;—all these facts will present a remark-
able chain of presumptive evidence, in favour of the theory which ascribes
to Don Antonio de Solis the authorship of this second Don Quixote.

But, fruitless (deprived as we are of all direct evidence) as may
justly be deemed, at this distant period of time, every attempt to dis-
cover the real author of the novel of Gii Blas, all difficulties immediately
vanish when the country of his birth becomes the object of our
researches. To those acquainted with the language and manners
of the people of the Iberian peninsula, neither subtlety of argument or
laboured dissertation is necessary, to establish the Spanish origin of the
work. But even to those who are not so fortunately circumstanced in
this particular, the powerful mass of evidence which, in the course of
this paper, we have adduced in favour of the claims of Spain, we flatter
ourselves is of a nature to convey to the mind of the most prejudiced,
the conviction that this exquisitely finished picture, which pourtrays
with such wonderful truth and fidelity all the lights and shadows of
Spanish life, could not have been traced by any other hand than that
of a Spanish master—and by one, too, who for grandeur of conception,
and beauty and variety of detail, must be ranked only second to that
great name which, amid the desolation of his country, still excites in the
bosom of the Spaniard feelings of pride, enthusiasm, and delight—Miguel
Cervantes de Saavedra! But while three of the most celebrated cities
in Spain lay claim to the honour of being the birth-place of the author
of Don Quixote, and while Europe may with justice envy their preten-
sions, a veil of impenetrable mystery enshrouds the name of the author
of Gil Blas ; or, we should rather say, the authorship of the work has
hitherto been erroneously attributed to a Frenchman. And so impenetra-
ble is the halo which time sheds round even the existence of error, that,
in all human probability, the mass of mankind—those who skim lightly
over the surface of things—will, to the remotest posterity, continue to
allow to Renaut Le Sage the authorship, and to the literature of France
the undisputed right to the property, of one of the brightest jewels in
the magic circlet of romance—the noyel of Gil Blas de Santillana.

1831.] [ 495 J

THE PERILS OF PENMANSHIP.

A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life. I canread your print hand very
well. But here, there are such handles, and shanks, and dashes, that one can scarce tell the head
from the tail. She Stoops to Conquer.

I wonder whether this will be legible to the printer! I marvel
whether this dull prose will appear as such, or glitter in the pages of
the Monthly “ in the gewgaw of verse!” No matter ; for the sake of a
thousand in my own situation I will risk all: besides, I have begun to
reform! Portentous word—what does it mean? But phsa! I must
keep that for a political article.

Among Lord Chesterfield’s dogmata on minor morals, is an impera-
tive injunction to write a clear and legible hand. This was very easy
for his lordship to recommend, but I should like to know whether he
practised what he preached. Let that, however, be as it may, this I
know, that for the whole of my life I have been trying to realise his di-
rection, without being able to arrive at its consummation. But though
I cannot improve my hand-writing, I can improve Chesterfield; and
when I publish an edition of his works, so far from its being a minor
moral, I shall give it a brevet of majority, as its importance deserves,
and as the few remarks which I have here thrown together will satisfac-
torily prove. Whether I shall convince the world, I know not; but, at
all events, I preach with an honest conscience, in token whereof I am at
this moment paying six guineas a quarter to a writing master, to teach
me a new mode of executing pot-hooks and hangers—ecce signum! This
is my first specimen: I hope it will not lead the printer far a-field—that
he will be able to intypify the lesson I would convey, so that it may not
remain like every other written communication I have ever made—a la-
byrinth of black strokes upon white paper—as full of meaning, and as
impossible to be understood, as an original copy of Confucius. I have
often wondered why, considering that my case is no uncommon one, it
has not become customary, in this improving age, to establish private
printing-presses, for the embodying and expression of all epistolary cor-
respondence whatever. We have a glimmering of the propriety of this
plan in the printed formula of invitations. We do not entrust them to
the misconceptive hazards of the autographic art; then why far dearer
things—our love-letters—the sacred communications between man and
wife? When I consider the events of only my own life, I am lost in
wonder to imagine the blindness that leads us to consign these vital con-
cerns to mere ordinary penmanship. The only way in which I can ac-
count for it is, that bad writers, with that self-esteem which is one of the
innate qualities of our nature, pretend to make easy work of reading
their own scratches for the sake of coming to the conclusion—not that
their scrawl, but the perverse reading of their correspondents, is to
blame. My eyes, however, are opened. May these confessions of a
modern hieroglyphicer bring other people to their senses.

The foregoing observations may be looked upon in the light of a ge-
neral admission. I will now come to particulars. I was almost about to
say that I was born with a natural incapacity for forming those outward
and visible signs of our inward thoughts, by which so much of the
action of our life’s drama is carried on ; but, though I have read of him
who “lisped in numbers,” I never heard of any infant that was pre-
cocious enough to write either billet-doux or lettre peremptorie in his

496 The Perils of Penmanship. [Nov.

cradle. But, alas! I cannot get over even this first stage with so con-
solatory a reflection ; for boys can and do write, at an age when I was
still labouring at the acquirement, or, rather, the non-acquirement, of
the penmanlike employment of ‘ these pickers and stealers.” My mis-
fortunes, consequently, began early. My exercises were always incor-
rect—not per se, but because the master therein read any thing but that
which was actually written down :—my letters home never said what I
intended to say :—many treats were prepared for me, a week before I
was able to partake of them :—I received a brilliant new pair of skaits,
“ at my own particular request,” as it was said, on Midsummer day;
and a severe reprimand for my gormandizing propensity, in asking for
* peaches in March,” when, as Heaven is my witness, what I wrote was,
that my “ teaching was on the march.”

Things grew worse as I grew older. I was suspected of numberless
«white lies,’ for observations which really deserved the “ albo lapide
notata” of Ovid for their truth; nay, I was even suspected of pro-
founder falsehoods, at the very time that I was priding myself on my
immaculate veracity. I received the character of being addicted to the
vulgar propensity of inflicting hoaxes on my friends, while in reality I
never was guilty of a mystification during the whole course of my life.
Once I put a whole family—father, mother, three sons, five daughters,
and two maiden aunts, into deep mourning, by what I intended to be a
most joyous announcement of a wedding: nor was this the worst part of
the business ; they went to a race-ball in crape, and met the defunct as
a bride, bedecked with white satin, and the rosiest of smiles ; the conse-
quence of which was, that one of the five daughters, a dark beauty, and
my especial favourite, never forgave me for having thus interrupted a
prosperous flirtation, up to that time existing between her and a marry-
ing baronet ; he danced the whole evening with a girl dressed in couleur
de rose—a blushing evidence that the odious black was the cause of his
defalcation.

This was but one out of many disasters. A grandmother, through
my ingenious hieroglyphics, received intimation that her grandson
intended to cut her, because he had heard that she was going to marry
again. An octogenarian uncle vituperated me for asking for a legacy,
when the outside of my demand was, to be allowed to pay my respects.
A maiden aunt was furious, on my congratulating her on the birth of
twins, overlooking a whole line about her pretty lap-dog, Flora, which
I had flattered myself I had made particularly legible ; and my father,
in a fit of the gout, hurried up to town, on reading that his house was
burned down, when all that I had done was, to tell him a comical story
about an old prude, who had fainted away because the cat spit at her,
and who could not be recovered till burnt feathers had been put under
her nose. But, in all these instances, the most cruel part of the affair
was, that the whole of the blame was thrust upon me, as poor Malvolio
had his greatness thrust upon him; when, if my correspondents would
but have dealt candidly, they ought at least to have consented to share
the blunder, owing to their want of skill in decyphering what I am sure
I was able to read pleasantly enough. At first I used to be very eager
to establish their mistakes, to decypher the letters myself, and to prove
by the written word that I was innocent ; but I never got any thing by
it, but a renewal of grumbling, and an insinuation that I possessed the
disreputable art of making black look white.

So much for my youthful days; but matters got worse as I advanced

1831.] The Perils of Penmanship. 497

towards manhood. A college friend of mine wrote a volume of poems:
in my burst of enthusiastic admiration of his talents, I addressed him as
follows: —“ Dear Charles, your volume has afforded me no despicable
pleasure. It would be insulting to compare it to the trash of the day;
whose only merit consists in making us feel the more grateful for your
valuable or, may I say, value-less, effusions, by their contrast with such
ineffable nonsense.’’—By return of post 1 received the following
answer :—‘ Dear Jack, I lose not a moment in assuring you, that your
opinion of my poor poems shall in no way militate against our friend-
ship. Be assured, Iam very far from imagining that you insult me,
though it seems I do you, by offering-you a volume which you find
despicable from its ineffable nonsense.”—Charles was never cordial with
me after this, and at last dropped my acquaintance entirely, om my en<
treating him to permit me to point out his mistake: “ that’s rather too
much,” said he; “I won't stand upon my writing—but d—n it, I can
read !”
.. The next dilemma to which my hieroglyphics reduced me, was te
lose’ a girl—and such a girl!—to whose mother I wrote, offering
hand—heart—life—fortune—adoration—all I had to give—in her
daughter’s behalf.. The respectable matron replied, by forbidding me
her house, and ordering her daughter to cut me. As I am not a detri-
mental, this proceeding surprised me. Soon after, the fair one married,
and we became better acquainted, when I learned that my offer of
marriage to her own sweet self, had been interpreted by her. mother into
an insolent attack upon her own immaculate and five-and-forty-year-old
virtue.
On the instant I made a vow. I swore that I might write invitations
‘and circulars, but I would print all my more tender communications,
and that my next proposal should be obvious, to a very tyro, in the
alphabet. My oath was registered—my printing-press was ordered—
and a first-rate compositor engaged, to give me a two-hours’ lesson“in
the noble art of printing every morning. But the types, and the press,
and the rest of the apparatus, could not be got ready in less than a week,
so that, for that interval at least, it was necessary to find some occupation
to divert my chagrin. What was it to be ?—Well bethought !—There
could be no mistake upon this subject for an epistle ; so I sat down to
indite a short note to ahem !—a very amiable young lady
—short, decidedly short—somewhat stubby, too, like a dwarf oak—
and though I now think her unquestionably pretty, at that time I had
not made the discovery. I wrote simply to ask her whether she thought
her father would permit me to shoot on his preserves, during a three
days’ visit that I was going to make in his neighbourhood. I received,
in reply, a hurried, quicksilver billet, from the young lady ;—there
seemed mischief in it, the moment I took it in my hand ;—I could
almost imagine it made of the Chinese sensitive leaf—it actually ap-
peared to vibrate as I broke the seal. Well matched, thought I, as I
peowd at the contents; for the only words I could decypher, down a
ong page of round-about, zig-zag, up-and-down, indescribable pen-marks,
were “love” and “happiness.” Well matched, indeed; for this two-
worded epistle was accompanied by a most legible one from her father, ac-
cepting my proposal “ for his daughter's hand with both pride and plea-
sure.” ‘The old fellow seemed at once so delighted and so flattered, and
“love” and “ happiness” were such a pretty present from a lady toa gentle
M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No. 71. 28

498 The Perils of Penmanship. LNov.

man, that, hang it! I had not the cruelty or the courage to undeceive him.
It would have been too ridiculous to have laid the mistake on a hand-
writing, which Providence, for inscrutable purposes, always chose to
make say one thing, when I meant another. I therefore submitted with
a good grace, married my fair correspondent, and limited my remon-
strance to a modest request, made a few days after our wedding, to be
allowed to see the precious manuscript which had brought us together.
It was burned. “ I would have preserved the dear relic in cotton and
roses,” said my bride ; “ but it was such a scrawl, that I could not read
one word of it.””—“ May I then ask,” cried I, “ how you knew that it
was a proposal of marriage?”—‘“ Heavens, John! how can you ask
that? What else could it be, dear ?”

After all, I never had reason to regret this chance-medley. My wife
is a sensible, agreeable, good-tempered woman—and our sole matrimo-
nial disaster is that we cannot read each other’s letters. I confess it, to
my shame, that when I became a married man I grew utterly regardless
of my graphic improvement, and my printing-press was never bought.
I fancied that there would be small necessity for written communications
between my wife and me; and, besides, scrawl as he will, I imagined
that a woman had some natural instinct bestowed on her for the purpose
of making out her husband’s writing. I do not know which of us
wrote the most illegibly :—mine is a sort of straggling hiatus-looking
scrawl, right up and down, with a flourish at intervals by way of
emphasis :—My wife skims over the paper, for the most part, in a mean-
dering zig-zag, which disdains stops and paragraphs, with the additional
advantage of a word being now and then dashed under—and that, of
course, the most really unreadable word of the whole sentence.

What is it that I have said?—A woman can always make out her
husband’s writing! Fond delusion! fatal mistake! Ihave a hundred
examples to the contrary ; but two or three, I doubt not, will suffice as
scarecrows. I presented her with a copy of verses on the anniversary of
our marriage ; and if I may be allowed to say as much, in my own be-
half, there were some peculiarly interesting lines amongst them: but
just as I fancied her fond look was melting over their tenderness, she
threw them with the air of a tragedy-queen into the fire, and burst into
a Belvidera-ish flood of tears:—I never could learn why. I was only
told that “ I was a barbarous wretch,” and that “ I wanted to sacrifice
her—a victim to my cold-blooded philosophy :” and this, too, though I
did all in my power to induce her to believe in the authenticity of a
copy I possessed, written in a neat round-text hand (the spelling, to be
sure, a little incorrect) by my valet. I once wrote from the shooting-
lodge of Lord B for a fresh supply of gunpowder, and by the next
coach received half a dozen tooth-brushes, a pound of prepared char~
coal, and six wash-balls. On another occasion, she was away on a visit,
and having overstayed her appointed time, I wrote her a letter full of
tender remonstrance ; by a customary fatuity she contrived, in her read-
ing of it, to heighten the remonstrance and sink the tenderness, so that
her answer, which was unusually hieroglyphical, flashed indignation
and reproach from one end of the crowded paper to the other ; at least to
the best of my conscience and belief it did :—but there was a postscript,
and as I have often heard, and even believed, that a lady’s P.S. is
the gist of her correspondence, I dedicated four hours and a half con-
secutively to the most serious study of it ; after which I rose from my

1831.] The Perils of Penmanship. 499

chair fully convinced that the only terms of renewal of peace that she had
to offer were that, as she was prolonging her visit on account of the hunt
that was about to commence, my calumet must be tendered to her in the
shape of “a habit;” after which were a multitude of mantua-making
directions from which I gleaned that the said habit was to be “ blue,”
and “rather long ;” and that above all, to be in time, it must be at ——
by the 29th.

With this postscript I had every reason to be pleased—first, on ac-
count of my own indefatigable ingenuity that had enabled me to
decypher it so correctly, and secondly, because I was able to trace in it
a kindly feeling on the part of my wife, though she had chosen to read
my letter wrong, and then fly in a passion with her own interpretation
of it: the dear creature knew how anxious I was that she should become
an accomplished horsewoman, and how it pained me to see her so timid
when in the saddle, and had determined with her wonted affection to do
all in her power to meet my wishes. These reflections gave me fresh
vigour ; and incredible were the pains I took to procure the desired
habiliments, and to have them ready in time, though the tailor protested
that he had never made a habit before at such short notice. “Omnia
vincit amor,” cried I, and actually stood over him for a day and a half
counting his stitches. At last it was finished ; and determined to com-
plete what I had so meritoriously begun, I actually took a post-chaise for
the purpose of myself being the bearer of the welcome present: as ill
luck would have it, however, one of the horses in the last stage fell dead
lame—could not be made to move an inch for love or money—and there
was I with the superb habit eight miles from ——. What was to be done?
There was no post-house, or chance of a horse between ; and the inn that
we had last quitted was seven miles in the rear. ‘“ Omnia vincit amor,’
again cried I; and with the box, in which the habit was carefully
packed, slung at my back, I trudged manfully forward, and: positively
accomplished the eight miles in an hour and forty-one minutes, which,
considering I carried weight, was what any of the Melton Mowbrays
would call a pretty rattling pace, especially as there was a sharp hill to
be drawn about midway: when at last I reached my wife’s abode, a
little before ten at night, I found that she had been waiting, as women
do wait for such things, in grumbling and in terror :—but what boded
her appearance? Her pretty, pretty feet were shod in white satin—
a wreath of roses in her hair—her favourite necklace of pearl and
emerald clasped round her neck—and yet all these brilliancies checked by
her dressing-gown being still undoffed. “ My dearest !’’ cried I. “ The
dress!” cried she. “ ’Tis here—'tis here,” I exclaimed ; and cutting
the cord impatiently asunder, I held up to view the dearly-earned habit !
Good heavens! a piercing shriek burst from my wife. But the reader,
no doubt, has anticipated me—it was no habit she wrote for, but a ball-
dress of “ blue” and silver, with strict cautions that it was not to be
* over long.”

Could anything exceed this? Could hieroglyphic mischiefs be carried
further >—Yes, yes, yes! And yet I thought I had learned caution.

Being one day unexpectedly detained at Lord’s to make one in a
cricket-match, I would not trust a letter, but sent a special messenger to
tell her that I should not be back till eight. At that hour I reached
home, as hungry as a Cossack after a skirmish in Kamschatka, and fully
expecting to find her waiting dinner for me. But no! there was no

252

500 The Perils of Penmanship. [Nov.

Maria; and I waited, and waited, in gloomy doubt till half-past nine,
when a three-cornered billet with her well-known superscription was
brought tome. One glance at the contents paralysed me ;—I jumped
up from my seat like a madman—lI ordered four post-horses—and in less
than a quarter of an hour was on my way to Dover, in pursuit of my
faithless spouse and her seducer, filling up the time, between counting
the mile-stones, with thinking how I would look her into a petrefaction,
and riddle him into a honeycomb. At Rochester, while I was waiting
for a relay of horses, I bethought me that I would add fresh fuel (for
such is the perversity of man that he hugs that which will destroy him)
to my rage, by again reading the dreadful missive: when, lo, a mist
seemed dispelled :—as if by magic art the characters shifted and re-ar-
ranged themselves, and instead of a flight with a seducer to Dover on her
way to France, the letter seemed to say that she had been “ seduced”
by her cousin to stay dinner in “ Dover-street,” on the promise of being
introduced to a most amiable lady just arrived from “ France.” There
was but one thing under these circumstances to be done—the postboy was
ordered to turn his horses’ heads towards London ; and as he urged them
to the height of their gallop, I read and re-read the dear, fatal, mislead-
ing epistle again and again by the light of the moon, that was high in
the heavens in all the splendour of her fulness. As we were galloping
through Dartford I observed another chaise approaching—we neared—
we met !—gracious heaven, it was my wife! She saw me—I saw her:
but we were both going at so prodigious a pace that to hope to be able
to stop was out of the question: it seemed as if we were destined to be
a kind of pair of wandering Jews, never more to be allowed to be in the
same place at the same time! A scream was our only recognition, and in
another moment we should again have been separated ; when our good
genius, alive to our miserable situation, dashed the two chaises against
each other :—crash went the wheels—splash went the panels—smash
went the springs—and in one and the same moment we enjoyed the ex-
quisite sensation of being upset into each other’s arms.

It is impossible to narrate all that was said by us on this momentous
occasion: but the resolution to which we came deserves to be recorded
for the benefit of all practisers of modern hieroglyphics. “Let us
forget the past, my Maria,” I exclaimed ; “ the future is ours :—this very
day will 1 engage the most eminent writing-master that London pos-
sesses; while for you I will purchase a dozen large-text copy-books ;
and together we will learn to write.”

1831] fF 501 J

TO MARY—IN ITALY.

And thus all things have comforting
In that, that doth them comfort bring ;
Save I, alas! whom neither sun,
Nor aught that God hath wrought and done,
May comfort aught; as though I were
A thing not made for comfort here :
For, being absent from your sight,
Which are my joy and whole delight,
My comfort and my pleasure too,
How can I joy? How should I do?
EARL OF SURREY’S POEMS,

——

I warr for thy coming
In the sweet-scented eves,
When the birds are humming
In the gloom of the leaves,
And the fountain danceth
Its path along,
Like a creature that loveth
To speak in song.
The bird and the fountain
Rejoice in their lot ;
But my spirit is sad,
For I see thee not.

I wait for thee, love :
On the emerald deep
The sun, like a warrior,
Is sinking to sleep.
I see the leaves shining
Around the dove’s nest ;
Why doth she sit pining
Alone in her rest?
Her companion returneth
From the cool orange-tree ;
But thy feet return not—
Return not, to me!

I am weary of listening
To the voice of the breeze,
And the white bird glistening
Among the almond-trees ;
It leapeth on the boughs,
While its silver wings glow
With the light through the leaves,
As it darts to and fro.
I turn away in tears
From the fountain and tree ;
I care not for bird or flower,
If thou comest not to me, .W.

[ 502 7 {Noy.

SPANISH HIGH-WAYS AND BY=WAYS.—N’°. v.*

I passep two days pleasantly with my friend the Marquess of Roca
Verde, at St. Sebastian, on my return to Madrid, and arrived at the capital
just in time to witness a grand bull-fight. Having already given a full
description of one of these national exhibitions in my paper on Seville,
I can now only observe, that the costliness of this spectacle was deemed
worthy of the metropolis of Spain. The sport was declared to be
excellent — several banderillos being disabled, one picador mortally
wounded, and twelve bulls, with as many horses, left dead in the arena.

By the way, during the progress of my journey from London, a sin-
gular discovery was made near Bordeaux, of eighty human bodies in a
singular state of preservation, having, it was supposed, been buried for
many ages. I was dining at the Table d’Hote at Bordeaux, when I
heard of the circumstances, and was prompted by curiosity to inspect
them. I was conducted to a tower near the church of St. Michael,
whither they had been removed, and descending a flight of stone steps,
entered one of the dungeons belonging to the place, and beheld the
bodies arranged in an erect position around the walls. They presented
the appearance of embalmed corpses ; for the place of their sepulture
had proved of so antiseptic a nature, that they, for a time, had escaped
the lot of mortality. Their skin resembled hard leather ; but their
features were still distinct, and the hair on their heads and beards was
perfect. The violent nature of the death of one was sufficiently evident.
The forehead had been perforated by a ball.

The morning after my arrival at Madrid, the sentence of the law was
carried into effect on an unfortunate shoemaker, who had been found
guilty of treasonable practices against the constitutional government.
The mode of execution was rather novel, at least to aforeigner. A plat-
form about sixteen feet square, was erected, at the height of eighty feet
from the ground, in the Plaza de Cevada. In the centre of the platform
stood an upright post, to which was affixed an iron collar, and a seat for
the criminal. About half an hour previous to the time appointed for the
culprit to suffer, the executioner ascended the stage, and adjusted the
apparatus of death—after which, the prisoner appeared, accompanied by
his confessor and two priests. The unhappy man betrayed no symp-
toms of fear ; but immediately addressed the multitude. In as firm and
audible a voice he confessed the crime of which he had been adjudged
guilty, and declared his intention to have been the overthrow of the
constitution. He expressed no contrition; but on the contrary, deeply
regretted that he had not succeeded in proving his blind devotion to his
sovereign. At that part of his harangue he was desired by the exe-
cutioner to desist, and more properly employ his few remaining moments
in preparing for death. The iron collar was then affixed to his neck,
his legs having been previously bound to the post during the time he
had harangued the people. The confessor placed in his hands the pic-
ture of the Virgin, and engaged with him for some minutes in prayer ;
at the conclusion of which, he desired him to repeat the apostles’ creed.
This he did in a loud and firm voice, until hec ame to the words, “ Creo
in Jesu Christo,” which being the fatal signal, the executioner by means
of an instrument attached to the collar, tightened it in such a degree, as

* Extracted from the Note-Book of Sir Paul Baghott.

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 503

to produce instant strangulation. There wasno struggle, and the hands
even in death, still retained their hold of the picture of the virgin. A
white handkerchief was thrown over the face, and the body remained
till the afternoon, exposed to the public gaze. Inever before saw a man
in whom the awfulness of such a situation produced less concern. ‘The
fear of death appeared entirely absorbed in the greatness and glory of
his crime. He had played a desperate game, and was content with the
award ; if he had a single thought of bitterness it seemed to be that the
object for which he had staked his life was snatched for ever from his
grasp. I took the opportunity of my stay in Madrid to visit the royal
manufactory at Britigua, sixteen leagues from the capital. ‘The country
through which I travelled was beautiful and well cultivated, passing
through the towns of Guadalaxara and Torico. The town of Britigua
is situated at the foot of a mountain, and contains about 3000 inhabi-
tants. It is but little frequented by strangers; and the reason may be
pretty evident to whosoever may unluckily find himself an inmate of its
solitary Posada, the “ Cross of Malta.” Never was the insignia of that
noble order emblazoned for a more unworthy purpose than in lending
its dignity to the vilest of Posadas. Nothing could I obtain to eat, no
bed to lie upon: the only accommodation the place afforded was a
little straw, not the cleanest, on which I slept in my clothes.

The royal manufactory is built on the side of the mountain along
which canals are dug, to supply the reservoirs and furnaces with water.
The establishment consists of a governor’s house and a chapel, extensive
rooms in which are erected looms for the weaving of cloth, shear-shops,
picking-loft, press-shops, dye-houses, and immense store-rooms, where
every thing is kept necessary for a manufactory on so grand a scale. No
expense has been spared to render it complete: it is supposed to have
cost upwards of one hundred thousand pounds. This manufactory was
confined to coarse woollens, and at one period its productions were highly
estimated, The inhabitants of this part of Spain are by no means pre-
possessing in their appearance, neither is the immediate neighbourhood
of the town interesting. There appeared to me an unpleasant expres«
sion of countenance, almost approaching to ferocity, peculiar to the peo-
ple, which in addition to the inhospitable fare at the “ Cross of Malta,”
rendered my stay as short as the most expeditious tourist could desire,
On my return to Guadalaxara, I had the satisfaction of learning from
my friends there, that the place I had just quitted was singularly noto~
rious for robberies and murders, and that my escape was almost a miracle.
A lady, with whose family I was on terms of intimacy at Guadalaxara,
took me to the convent of Santa Claro, to introduce me to her sister,
who was a nun of that sisterhood, and had expressed a desire to see me.
Her father was a native of Birley, in Gloucestershire, in which parish
I held considerable property, and was lord of the manor ; and it was
there that the nun had passed her childhood. We were shewn into an
anti-room, adjoining the parlour, and she presently appeared on the other
side of a grating, which separated us from it. She wore the habit of
her order, which was of grey cloth, and a large crucifix was suspended
from her neck, I was struck with her beauty; but more so with its
placid, though melancholy, expression. She asked me a great many
questions concerning her home, as she called it, and of the different
branches of her father’s family, in which she appeared to take great
interest. An excellent breakfast was prepared for us of chocolate, prune-

504 Spanish Highways and Byways. [ Nov.

cakes, and wine. I asked her particularly concerning the duties of her
conventual life, with a view to elicit the real state of her feelings.—In
reply, she declared herself devotedly attached to her order ; but when I
arose to take my leave it was not without a feeling of pain that I beheld
her eyes glisten with tears, and heard her say in the low soft accent of
emotion—“ If ever you should return hither again, bring with you some
memorial of the dear place of my youth; if it is but a little pebble from
the heath, you don’t know how dear it will be tome!” The effect of
these few words was heightened by the manner in which they were
spoken. I bitterly lamented the cruel policy that had deprived the
world of so beautiful and amiable a being.

I was accompanied by my son in this trip to the royal manufactory,
and having our guns, we determined to make our way back from Gua-
dalaxara to Madrid on foot, and take what chance of sport the road
might afford us. The distance is forty miles; but as the weather was
fine, we allowed ourselves two days for our journey. Our first day’s
sport was but indifferent. We slept that night at Alcala, which is half
way, and in the morning resumed our sport by the road-side. We met
with some good partridge-shooting, and in a vineyard close to the river
Henares, my son despatched a brace of foxes. We now entered an excel-
lent cover, and found an immense number of rabbits, and our bags were
filling quickly, when our attention was drawn from the sport before us,
by the sudden appearance of a gang of fellows, whose ruffian-like vi-
sages left us no doubt of the nature of their occupation. They were all
armed; and, surrounding us, they motioned to us, in an imperative
manner, to move with ‘them. We marched along for some time in
silence, and at length arrived at a sombre-looking house in the depth of
the wood, which appeared to me a fitting retreat for the lawless gang
which it seemed to be our ill-fortune to have fallen in with. Our arms
were taken from us, and we were secured in a dismal apartment, the
windows of which were grated. Our feelings, as may be supposed, were
not of the most enviable nature, during an hour and a half’s imprison-
ament, which the uncertainty of our fate rendered sufficiently distressing.
Our forebodings were checked, however, by the appearance of a man
‘abruptly entering our apartment. He wore a brown Spanish cloak, the
state of his dress betokening a recent arrival. The expression of his
countenance was morose and forbidding. After surveying us for some
-short time in contemplative silence, during which I made ready with
my watch and purse, he inquired who we were, and made himself ac-
quainted with our country, and situation in life. Particulars regarding
my means, I kept down as much as possible, fearing the robber’s
demand for our ransom might be exorbitant; when I was not a little
surprised to hear him say, that for this time he would excuse us, bidding
us, however, beware how we offended again. I begged to now the
nature of our offence, that we might be the better enabled to avoid a re-
petition ; when I found we had offended against the game laws, and in-
curred the gentleman’s wrath by shooting on his preserve! To finda
code of game laws, and in such strict force, reminded me of the delights
of home, and, I must confess, was a gratifying instance of the progress
of liberty and civilization—particularly when I found that we were in-
debted solely to our rank in life for the extreme courtesy with which we
had been treated. The awe, however, impressed on me by the appear-
-ance of a captain of banditti, dwindled mightily before a lord of the

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 505

manor, though I could not help thinking, if there be any truth in phy-
siognomy, that his attendants had mistaken their calling, when they
adopted that of gamekeepers. Pursuing our route, we passed a number
of bird-catchers, who supply Madrid with larks, and other small birds.
They make use of a curious trap, formed of the rib-bone of an ass or
mule, which falls on the bird as it touches a spring to take the bait, and
kills it. These traps are placed at various distances by the fowler, who
walks backwards and forwards to pick up the dead birds. In the even-
ing he fills the panniers of his ass with his traps and game, and returns
to Madrid to make his market.

I passed my Christmas with Senor Don Gamboa, at his country seat.
The snow was nearly a foot deep on the ground, so that our shooting
was but indifferent ;.but the hospitable treatment experienced within,
more than reconciled me to the loss of sport. I met witha dish at my
friend’s table. rather novel to an Englishman. It consisted of lambs not
more than a day old, fricasseed and served up whole. The cause of this
apparently extravagant dish is, that the milk of the mother is more va-
luable than the lamb, no other milk than that of ewes and goats being
used at Madrid.

I witnessed an extraordinary exhibition at the Plaza de los Toros at
this season, with which the Spaniards occasionally divert themselves,
when the regular bull fights have ceased. The bulls seldom fight well
‘in winter; therefore this game is patronized, for want of better sport.
After the usual ceremony, of the individuals engaged in the spectacle
presenting themselves to the public authorities, the exhibition com-
menced, by four men, mounted back to back on two horses, entering the
arena, each being armed with a lance. At the sound of a trumpet a
buil was let loose, which, rushing at the nearest horse, overthrew him
with his riders, and then made after the other, which shared the same
fate, to the infinite gratification of the spectators. The animal was then
secured in his den. The next combat was of a most extraordinary
nature. There was a man in Madrid born without arms, but having
hands, as it were, proceeding directly from his body, of which he could
make a very dexterous use. He was placed within a large wicker basket,
with an aperture in it sufficiently large to admit the man to creep in. He
held a lance in each hand, and to the basket was affixed a monkey, to
engage the attention of the bull, and to vary the sport. The basket was
placed upright in the centre of the arena, the man standing within, his
head and shoulders only being visible. The moment the trumpet
sounded the door opened, and out rushed the bull. He immediately
commenced a desperate attack on his strange enemy, who, for a time,
resisted him successfully ; but at length being overpowered, he with-
drew into his wicker defence, and was rolled about the arena by his
ferocious antagonist, who vainly endeavoured to pierce his strong hold.
During this time the monkey was not idle, but clung to the bull’s horns,
squalling in a hideous manner, adding thereby to the rage of the animal,
and wonderfully increasing the delight of the spectators. This act being
finished, and the bull secured, another aspirant to fame appeared, in the
likeness of a bear, who placed himself under the branches of a tree set
firmly in the ground, opposite the entrance gate of the animal. A lance
was affixed to the tree, as a protection to the bear. The moment the
bull received his liberty, he rushed blindly at Bruin, and not perceiving
the lance, he buried the weapon in his body. The courage of the noble

506 Spanisk Highways and Byways. LNov.

animal did not appear in the least daunted by this terrific shock ; he
pursued the bear, and turned him over and over on the arena, until the
unhappy adventurer was rescued by the adroitness of the bandilleros.
Still the poor animal plunged about the arena, bearing in his wounded
body the broken lance, and defying the approach of an antagonist, until
aman appeared with an instrument of steel, in the shape of a half moon,
very sharp, within the curve ; with this he divided the tendons of the
poor beast’s legs, while another man despatched him by a blow on the
spine. Two bulls were then fought in the usual way ; one shewed good
sport, by killing a few horses and maiming several men, while the other
shewed still better, by leaping the wall of the arena, seven feet high, and
clearing the theatre in a twinkling. After order had been restored,
which this contretemps had for a time disturbed, six novellios were
turned into the arena. These are young bulls, not yet arrived at gla-
diatorial honours, but were allowed to receive a foretaste of their happy
condition, by being baited by the populace. The arena was shortly
thronged with people eager to display their prowess; and presently, by
the assistance of the bulls, many were seen cutting summersets in the
air, while others, not so high-minded, were content with sprawling on
the earth. The horns of the animals were tipped, to prevent them doing
serious mischief. It is curious to observe the dexterity which the people
exert in escaping their dangerous assailants, and the hardihood with
which they brave their anger. Two boys particularly engaged my at-
tention. I beheld them carried for a distance on the horns of the bulls,
and thrown, but apparently without the slightest injury, for they im-
mediately resumed their sport. When the bulls had shewn sufficient
entertainment, some tame oxen were introduced, ‘to induce the excited
animals to make an orderly retreat. If any should prove refractory,
two of the trained oxen immediately take charge of him, and conduct
him to his stall. These animals are trained to this purpose, and to bring
up the wild bulls from the plains to taste the blessings of a civilized
life.

I attended the funeral of Don Gamboa, father of the friend with
whom I passed a few days at Christmas. At the church door I ob-
served the following inscription :—“ Hoy se saca animas.” “ To day
we take souls out of purgatory.” It is a pleasant reflection to a sinner,
in a Catholic country, that he has rich friends, and charitable withal.

Up to this period, the constitutional government had maintained its
position, and established a knowledge of its ultimate advantage on the
minds of the most sensible portion of the nation. But much remained
to be done, ere the greater part of the population of Spain could be
rescued from the tyranny of a superstitious and ignorant priesthood, by
the slow, though sure, progress of education and intelligence. The in-
tentions of the government, in this respect, were, unhappily for man-
kind, checked by foreign interference ; force, united with ignorance,
prevailed, and Spain was again condemned to a hopeless though here-
ditary bondage. Foreign foes, and domestic traitors, will eventually
overturn the wisest policy. One morning, Madrid was thrown into an
inconceivable state of agitation and alarm, by the news arriving that
Bessieres, who had raised a band of marauders in the provinces, had
suddenly made an irruption into the country bordering on Madrid, and
having taken Guadalaxara, defeating the militia and some regular troops,
threatened the capital itself. General O’Doyley was likewise forced to

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 507

retire before this numerous horde of brigands, and the city became com-
pletely panic-stricken. Such was the confusion which these events
created, that no real intelligence could be gathered; every trifling cir-
cumstance became so magnified, that I went to the gate of Alcala, ex-
pecting to witness a novel sight, in the triumphal entry of freebooters
into the capital of Spain. It was lamentable to see the wounded arrive,
some huddled together in carts, and others on mules and horses. Fugi-
tives, likewise, poured in from the same direction, without shoes and
stockings, or arms and accoutrements of any description, these gallant
fellows having wisely disencumbered themselves of all such useless com-
modities, the better to assist their speed. Not the slightest information
could be obtained from these Bobadils, their fears having acted as rudely
by their wits as Bessirus had with their valiant persons. Such was the
state of general alarm, that the shops were closed; and at Lady
A’Court’s (Lady Heytesbury) tertulia, only two Spanish ladies were
present. General Abisbal, however, relieved their anxiety, by marching
against the rebels, and speedily dispersing them. The fears of the inha-
bitants were but for a short time tranquillized, for fresh disturbances
were continually breaking out, supported by the French, with an army
of sixty thousand men, on the frontiers. It was now that the constitu-
tional government tottered. Angry diplomatic notes passed between the
ambassadors resident in Madrid and the executive, which ended, as is
well known, by these functionaries demanding their passports. The
English ambassador remained. These precious specimens of diplomatic
correspondence were read aloud, at a meeting of the Cortes, by Sefor
Galiano, and it was amusing to hear the different degrees of assumption
with which the ambassador couched the sentiments of their respective
masters, all, however, tending to one end—the extinction of liberty
throughout Europe. The crafty policy of Metternich could be traced
in the communication of Austria; the considerate care of the Bourbons
was manifested in their desire for peace, further proved by their army
marching to establish it ; but the note of Russia surpassed them all in
its arrogant presumption. It was read, as it deserved to be, amidst the
groans and execrations of the assemblage. ‘The answer of Spain to this
insulting and unjustifiable interference of strangers, was worthy of the
ancient days of her chivalry. But alas! her proud spirit was all that
remained to her; long ages of misrule had sapped the foundations of
her power, and she now lay, like a gallant ship, at the mercy of the
breakers. The Cortes did their utmost to prepare against the invasion,
and, as a measure of just precaution, the royal family removed to
Seville. The royal treasury was, at that time, at so low an ebb, that
the necessary funds for his Majesty’s journey were supplied from
private sources.

At this critical period, my affairs obliged me to return to England ;
and as the direct road from the capital was completely under the juris- ,
diction of brigands and the military, I thought it would be more agree-
able, as well as safer, to quit Spain by way of Valencia. I arrived at
that city four days after my departure from Madrid, allowing myself
but a short time for rest at night, and without daring to take off my
clothes. ‘The country presented but little interest, until we reached the
province of Valencia, the greater part being an extensive plain, without
shrub or tree, excepting at the entrance of villages, where some few
elms had been planted by the inhabitants. The soil seemed generally

508 Spanish Highways and Byways. [Nov.

light and unproductive. The towns on the road are not more worthy of
notice than the country through which we passed, until we arrived at
the “ Venta del Rey,’ which is an excellent and commodious house,
built expressly for the accommodation of travellers. We passed the
river Jucar in boats, and entered an extensive valley, abounding in corn
and fruit, vineyards and gardens. The river meanders gracefully along,
and supplies numerous canals for irrigating the soil. The climate now
became sensibly milder. The pomegranate, orange, and citron-trees
were every where in abundance, and the most careful cultivation, assist-
ing the natural fertility of the soil, made the whole country like a vast
garden.

The city of Valencia lies low, and being surrounded by lofty trees, we
entered the city without being aware of it. I found the town in a state ~
of great excitement. The military were under arms, and crowds of
people were assembled within the gates. The moment I alighted from
the coach, a gentleman inquired from me whether I was an Englishman,
and on learning that such was the case, advised me to make the best
of my way out of Valencia, as they were in hourly expectation of a
visit from the rebels, who having that morning defeated a body of con-
stitutional troops, had been joined by a numerous body of the infatuated
peasantry, and were enabled to make successful head against the autho-
rities. This was rather unpleasant news for me, and I lost no time in
presenting my letters of introduction to the police ; but I found that
business was entirely suspended, and the office deserted. Affairs were
not, however, in so desperate a condition as I at first feared, and I had
leisure to inspect the town. The next day being the anniversary of
Spanish freedom, “ Te Deum” was chaunted at the cathedral, and the
treasures of the church were displayed to the reverential gaze of the be-
lievers. There was a statue of St. Michael set with diamonds ; a superb
chalice of rare agate, of most beautiful workmanship ; a tabernacle, eight
feet in height, of silver gilt, and enriched with diamonds; and the altar
was of silver, representing the passion of our Saviour; but I was given
to understand that the treasure which they valued most, was a miracu-
lous toe-nail of the virgin, which had gained for the church a reputation
of extraordinary sanctity. A canon of the cathedral, observing that I
was a stranger, very kindly conducted me over it. There are some
fine old paintings, by Leonardo de Vinci, and other masters of repute,
and the church is altogether rich in decoration and valuables, from the
donations of the faithful. The building has witnessed strange changes ;
it has been twice converted into a mosque, by the Moors, and as often
re-consecrated for the Christian worship. On the summit of the tower
I beheld a magnificent prospect, including the Mediterranean, the beau-
tiful lake of Albufera, a highly cultivated plain studded with towns and
villages, and a chain of mountains, almost encircling the whole. From
this elevation I had an excellent view of the extent and situation of the
city. It is enclosed by high walls, watered by the river Guadalaviar,
and situated in the centre of a fertile and luxuriant plain. I observed
workmen every where busily repairing the ramparts, and banking them
up with bags of sand. The citadel was likewise being placed in a state
of defence. Several promenades add to the beauty of the city. They
are planted with orange, lemon, and pomegranate trees, and ornamented
with rare exotics from South America, which seem to thrive as well as
in their native climate. The temperature is extremely mild ; the trees

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 509

retain their leaves till the end of November, and the winter is considered
over by the 15th of January. The sky is continually serene.

The province of Valencia has not its equal in Spain for temperature,
beauty, and fertility ; it is here we see forests of palm-trees without
crossing the desert, and plantations of the sugar-cane without slavery.
-The aloe, carole, and the palm, are indigenous to the soil. The latter is
not to be found in any other part of Europe ; its branches are sent to
Italy previous to Palm-Sunday, and forms a productive portion of the
revenue. The fruit of the palm is often seen in the markets at Madrid,
and other places. The necessaries of life are in the greatest abundance,
and remarkably cheap in this city.—I only paid four and twopence a
day for excellent board and lodging at my hotel, including dessert and
wine. The ladies of Valencia are generally handsome, and are attired
much inthe French style: the peasantry retaining more of the Moorish
costume than in any other part of Spain. General Houlman, who com-
manded the rebels, did not follow up his success, therefore the people
of Valencia had time to make better preparation for defence: in the
belief that he would not attempt an advance, confidence was restored,
and the gates of the city were thrown open. I now got my passport
regulated for Barcelona, and agreed with the captain of a felucca, to
take me there for eight dollars.

.\ The first object that strikes the eye, on arriving at Barcelona, is Mon-
setrat, celebrated for its Madonna. It is usually called “Jos dedos, the
fingers,” from its summit presenting the appearance of the four fingers
and thumb. It serves as a land-mark ; and is well known to navigators in
the Mediterranean sea. The inhabitants of Barcelona were making every
preparation against the coming contest-—even the women seemed animated
with the patriotic feeling, and declared their resolution to assist in the
defence. Business of every kind was suspended ; deeds of arms were
the universal theme ; so having no ambition to gain a name that way,
I thought a speedy retreat was the most advisable. Commerce with
Franee of course ceased ; therefore I was obliged to proceed ina covered
waggon, called a Tartuna, to Gerona. We passed Pineda, Mataro, and.
many smaller towns, where we found the bustle of preparation for hos-
tilities everywhere conspicuous, troops were bivouacing by their large
fires in the streets; artillery and ammunition moving towards the dif-
ferent points of defence—the thoughts of war entirely superseding the
operation of peace. The lofty snow-capped summit of the Pyrenees soon
became visible, and Gerona, beautifully situated on the slope of a moun-
tain, with its high walls and numerous towers, and its magnificent cathe-
dral rising from the centre, opened to our view.’ On my arrival I found
letters of introduction of no use, men’s minds being entirely absorbed
in the critical situation of their country. The regiment of Arragon was
then marching into the city—a fine body of men; they escorted a train
of artillery. Gerona is an interesting city, and is celebrated for its gal-
lant defence during the last war. The garrison were reduced to starva-
tion ; animals of every description were killed for food ; and at the close
of the siege hardly a living thing besides its defenders was found within
the city : twenty-seven thousand men perished in the contest. Although
anxious to pursue my journey, I could not forbear visiting the cathedral.
It is a magnificent structure, and has the most superb painted window
I ever beheld. The treasury is exceedingly rich in gold, silver, and
jewels. The person who conducted me over the edifice appeared to

510 Spanish Highways and Byways. [Nov.
4

delight in the marvellous, and amongst other extraordinary facts, to
most of which he had. been an eye-witness, he related the following—
«* When the French entered Spain, at the commencement of the last
war,” said my vivacious friend, “they wished it to be particularly un-
derstood, that they came as friends, and expected to be treated as_ such,
but having become in a measure domiciliated, they began to take liber-
ties which not even the utmost stretch of friendship could tolerate.
They averred, that for the inconvenience and expenses they had ineur-
red for our sake, they ought to be recompensed ; and forthwith began
to levy contributions. These not succeeding so well as they could wish,
the patrimony of the church was coveted; and the little moveables, such
as plate and jewels, began sensibly to disappear. Now as our property
of this description was by far of too sacred a description to be applied to
the irreverent uses of heretics, we employed two labourers to construct
a vault under the altar, in which they were concealed. One of these
sinners, stimulated by the hope of gain, offered to betray our hiding-
place, to the French commandant, for a certain sum, which was agreed
to; but lo! on crossing the threshold of our church, he suddenly be-
came blind and palsied !’—< And the sinners who tempted the poor
man,” said I—“ what mark of divine vengeance did they experience ?”
** Why it could hardly be expected they should receive any,’ returned
my informant ;— such people are out of the pale of providence alto-
gether !”

I passed Figueros, which is considered, next to Gibraltar, one of the
strongest fortifications in Europe, and crossed the Eastern Pyrenees into
France, On the same day the French army entered Spain.

‘* LIBERAL NOTIONS.”

From the earliest of my recollection, I have always entertained liberal
notions of men and things. I have such a thorough and hearty con-
tempt for meanness of spirit, and for people of narrow ideas, that I can
scarcely regard them with common patience. My father and mother,
and my old scamp of a schoolmaster, endeavoured to chain down my
aspiring spirit, and to degrade my soul, by instilling into my youthful
mind narrow and confined ideas ; but I was incapable of receiving them,
and I spurned them as a duck, when she shakes her feathers, scatters
the water from her back. I do really think that common arithmetic
has a tendency to fill the mind with mean and pettifogging notions. There
is something so ridiculously contemptible in that silly accuracy of ad-
ding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing, even to the niceness of
a single farthing. Inever in my life could make a sum in arithmetic
precisely right, and what in the name of common sense can a trifling
half dozen or so, one way or other, signify? That exceeding accuracy
of calculation shews a narrow mind. My old fool of a schoolmaster told
me, that if I did not do my sums right, I should never be able to keep
a set of books. Contemptible fellow! Did he imagine that I was ever
going to let myself down to the meanness and sordidness of book-keep-
ing? Look at those fellows who keep books! What a mean,’ dull,
clodpated race of mortals they are,—no wit, no fire, no imagination, no

1831.] “ Liberal Notions.” 511

spirit, no humour among them. Look at them lumbering up to the
city by coach-loads every morning from Islington, Pentonville, Somers’
Town, Paddington, Chelsea, Highgate, Hampstead, Camberwell, Peck-
ham, and from ten thousand other places ; and then lumbering back
again in the evening, so stupified with book-keeping, that they can
hardly tell the difference between beef and pudding. They spend their
whole lives among figures, and so they never make a figure in life. But
if I was disgusted with common arithmetic, how much greater was my
contempt of fractions—bits, pieces, odds and ends, cheese-parings,
hair-splittings ! People may well call them vulgar fractions. Why, if
I was too liberal to care for ten or a dozen, one way or other, was I
likely to care two straws for fractions,—for halves, quarters, eighths,
and sixteenths >—Nonsense! I told the man so to his face. “ Sir,”
said I, “ give me leave to tell you, that I shall not chain myself down
to your trumpery fractions ; I have had plague enough to learn your
common rules, and I will not stoop my aspiring spirit to calculate sums
less than a farthing. Give me the generosity and nobleness of spirit
that is above the meanness of calculation.”

I believe the man was struck for a moment at the grandeur and sub-
limity of my ideas, for he looked upon me with emotion and astonish-
‘ment, while a smile of admiration was playing upon his features; but

resently, summoning up the whole schoolmaster within him, he replied:
‘All this is pretty talk—very pretty talk, indeed ; but how am I to
shew my face to your father, if I neglect to teach you what you are sent
here to learn. I am absolutely robbing your father.”

« Well, Sir,’ said I, “ rob my father if you like, I am not so narrow-
minded as to concern myself about that.”

“The boy is mad,” said the fellow. Ah, that is the way I have
always found it through life. Whenever any individual at all superior
to the common run of mortals dares to act and speak from the generous
impulses of a noble nature, forthwith all the low-minded sordid sons of
calculation exclaim “ He is mad!” Poor narrow-souled wretches ! They
have no notion of any thing that is free and generous ; they are made
to draw in harness—to follow a leader—never to act from the impulses
of a towering spirit !

A few months after I had left school, my father said to me, ‘ Bob,”
and I said “ Yes, Sir.” “It does not appear to me, Bob,” said my
father, “‘ that you are much the better for school.” “ No, Sir,” replied
I, “nor to me neither. I think it a great mercy that I am none the
worse. That mean-spirited fellow was always endeavouring to instil
into me his own narrow notions, and making such a ridiculous fuss if a
sum was not right to a farthing! Oh, Sir, I could not bear such beg-
garly notions. What is a farthing, more or less, to a gentleman, and a
man of liberal ideas ?”

My father shook his head, and said, “‘ Now, my dear Bob, let me talk
seriously to you.” Then I shook my head in return, and said * Now,
my dear father, pray don’t.”

“ But my dear Bob,” said my father, “ how do you expect to get
through the world, without a little prudence and consideration?” “ Why,
as to the matter of that, Sir,” replied I, “I may get through the world
sooner without prudence than with.” “ But,” said my father, “ it be-
comes a matter of importance that you should now choose a profession.”
“On that point,” I said, “I am perfectly indifferent ; but whatever

512 « Liberal Notions.” [ Nov.

profession I adopt, I hope and trust I shall carry into it the liberal
ideas of a man of high spirit.” “ What think you of the church ?”
«The church! Why, there are some men of liberal notions in it, but
yet they are under some kind of restraint, and it would not suit my
liberal notions to undergo an examination by a bishop's chaplain: those
fellows are sometimes apt to ask a variety of impertinent questions, which
no man of liberal notions would care to answer. Then the style of dress
—very bad—always black,—no, Sir, that would never do. Besides,
Sir, there are many pleasant amusements which a clergyman is debarred
‘from, which no man of liberal notions would choose to surrender. No,
Sir, the church will not do.” “ The law?” * As far as my observation
has gone, I have fancied that the law contracts the mind ; besides, Sir,
law depends so much upon precedents and antiquated notions, and
ridiculous out-of-the-way old fashioned acts of parliament, that ought to
cbe buried out of sight and forgotten. Then, you know, there is no
getting on at the bar without a great deal of labour and study, and
poring over disgusting and wearisome books, which by no means meet
the views of a man of liberal notions. Really, Sir, with all due respect
to you and my grandfather, I must take the liberty to say, that I have
no such very high opinions of the wisdom of my ancestors. Old people,
Sir, are much addicted to entertain narrow views of things ; and law has
so much to do with antiquity and by-gone notions, that I must decline
it as a profession.” “ Well, Bob, as you please ; but you must do some-
thing,—what think you of physic?” “ Don’t like it, Sir,—can’t bear
the smell of drugs. Then to have a gilt Galen’s head, or pestle and
‘mortar, over one’s door, a transparency in the shop-window, advice
gratis to the poor,—to be called out of one’s bed, or away from one’s
dinner,—especially if I was dining out, as-men of liberal notions are
very apt to do,—or to be called cut of church, and suddenly woke in
the midst of a sermon. To be accountable for all the crotchets and
“caprices of jalap—bah. No, Sir, physic will never do for a man of
liberal notions.” “ But, Bob, you positively must do something.”
«* Must I, Sir, I am sorry for it; that word must is very annoying toa
man of liberal notions.” “ What do you think of keeping a shop ?”
Can’t think of it at all, Sir ;—bowing behind the counter to whimsical
customers, when I am longing to kick—What’s the next article >—Oh,
no, no! shopkeeping will never do for a man of liberal notions.” ;
So I could never make choice of a profession from that day to this.
What a pity it is that the state does not make provision for gentlemen of
liberal notions! so that they need not be under the galling and degrading
necessity of stooping to some trumpery profession or peddling employ-
ment to avoid starvation. I am really quite disgusted when I look round
upon my old school-fellows, and see some of them riding in carriages,
and others established in lucrative professions, who were once not half so
well off as myself. They are rich, to be sure, but they are not to be
envied, for they have exceedingly contracted notions of things. Once
they were hearty, generous, high-spirited fellows, singing loud songs,
and drinking deep cups; but now they are as grave as judges, as sordid
as Jews, and as starched as old maids. They turn their backs on their
old friends, and all their souls are absorbed in making money. Some-
times, indeed, when I find my coat out at elbows, and my finances scarcely
equal to a dinner at an “ordinary,” I am tempted to wish that I had
adopted some profession, and had given a little attention to the meanness

1831.] Liberal Notions.” 513

of money-getting. But, however, I must not complain ; I do now and
then feel a little inconvenience for want of a dinner, and a little mortifi-
cation for want of a clean shirt and a whole coat.—Still I have retained
my independence and my liberal notions of men and things. And what
is life without liberality of sentiment? Oh, I despise the vulgar, every-
day, common-place people that pass you by shoals in the public streets,
elbowing their way along, and looking so greedily and avariciously, as
if they were born merely to gather together sordid pelf and filthy
lucre. They despise my threadbare coat and greasy hat, they look con-
temptibly on my old brown black trousers, and think foul scorn of my
gaping shoes ; but they do not see my mind—they know nothing of the
towering genius that dwells within. They do not know that the man
whom they despise is a man who despises them. I have often thought
of illuminating the world on the subject of things in general, and of giving
them new views of religion, politics, and society ; but those mean and
sordid booksellers, one and all, set their faces against every. thing that is
liberal. They talk about the march of intellect, but they do not care a
fig for intellect. They merely print and publish just for what they can
get. They have no sympathy with the towering aspirations of mind.
I had a most excellent design for a work, that should convince all man-
kind that they were a pack of fools, and that should produce such a glo-
rious change in the constitution of society, that talent and liberality
should reign triumphant; I communicated my design to a publisher,
and what was his answer? Blush, Britain, blush for the meanness of th

intellectual tradesmen! “I don’t think it will sell,” said the fellow.
“Why then,” said I, “ give it away.” The man stared at me, and said,
“ What shall I get by that?” There, gentle reader, there is a specimen
of the sordidness of booksellers: ‘“ What shall I get?” When I see
such narrowness of soul, and such degradation of mind, my heart bleeds
for humanity, and I almost blush to call such wretches my fellow-crea-
tures. I must confess that this interview had such an effect upon my
nerves—I do not know what my nerves are, but I know that they were
shocked ;—it had such an effect, I say, that for a long while I could not
apply to another publisher ; but at length I did, and to another, and an-
other. They were all in the same story, just as if they had conspired
together to thwart my views for the welfare of the human race. I will
not mention names, for I do not wish to hold them up to the contempt
and derision of mankind. I am sorry to say that their meanness has
compelled me to have recourse to a mode of instructing the public
which I should not have adopted by choice, but to which I am driven by
necessity—I allude to inscriptions on walls and stable-doors, by means of
a simple instrument called a piece of chalk. But the worst of this mode
of public instruction is, that there is not room enough for an elaborate
argument, or even a well-turned period. One is compelled to confine
oneself to a certain sententious brevity, which convinces none but those
who were convinced before. When I write ona stable-door, ““D—n the
Bisshups,” nobody d—ns them a bit the more for my recommendation.
By the way, I cannot help remarking here on the illiberality of a torified
stable-boy, who reading one of my inscriptions found fault with the
spelling. Fool! I have forgot more spelling than he ever learnt. How
exceedingly captious and illiberal is it, when no other fault is to be found
with a literary production to find fault with the spelling. Besides, what

M.M. Nen Series. —Vow. XI. No.7]. mo

514 « Liberal Notions.” [Nov.

man that loves his country would not for its salvation tolerate a little bad
spelling. It would be a rare thing for the country, if the books which
are swarming every day from the press contained nothing more objec-
tionable than a little bad spelling.

Now it is very mortifying to a man who is capable of governing an
empire, not to have sixpence in his pocket, and to have no opportunity
of convincing the world how much he is their superior. I have con-
versed with men of all sentiments, but I have found in them alla certain
narrowness of mind, and limitation of idea——There have been few, very
few, that have come quite up to my notion of liberality ——Some people
are liberal in one thing, and some in another, but none, except myself,
have I yet met with perfectly liberal in every point of view, and upon
every topic of human interest. I have endeavoured, and I think suc-
cessfully, to keep my mind free from all narrow prejudices, and it is»
often a consolation to me, when my breeches want mending, that I have
no prejudices. No, I scorn them—I don’t mean breeches, but prejudices.
The man that is prejudiced is blind to beauty and deaf to truth. I am
guided only and always by pure reason. There is not, I will venture to
Say, one person in a thousand, who is in all his actions and sentiments
guided by pure reason. People are slaves to prejudices, confined and
limited in their views. Indeed, how can people take liberal views who
do not take comprehensive views of things. Men of business are con-
fined to their shops or counting-houses, men in the law are like horses in
a mill, moving in a dull round of precedents, medical men see none but
the sick and the sad, the hypocondriac and the diseased, and what should
they know of the world? As for parsons, all the world knows that they
must be fools and idiots by virtue of their office, they absolutely know
nothing, ten times less than nothing; they walk through the streets
blindfold, they go to Cambridge and Oxford expressly for the purpose
of learning ignorance ; all that they know is which side their bread is
buttered on, and all that they desire is to have it buttered on both sides.
As for statesmen, ministers, members of parliament, commons, and lords,
they all have their prejudices, they are confined to narrow views of
things—they do not know the world, they do not see it, they have no
time to look at it, they have no time to attend to it. They must take:
things merely by report and at second hand. There is in a word no
man who can thoroughly understand human life and human nature so
well as a man of liberal notions, altogether without prejudices, who has
nothing else to do than to walk about the streets from morning to night.

BUNS

1831.] [ 515 J
BRITISH POISONS—BEER AND SPIRIT MONOFOLIES.

Wenz we to attempt to discuss one half of what has been said for
and against the use of fermented liquors, we suspect that in this our
cold, damp, and foggy atmosphere, few of our readers, especially at this
particular season of the year, would listen to arguments in favour of
total abstinence, whilst many of them would, on the contrary, practically
declare against us, by indulging in another modicum of some favourite
beverage :—in fact, since old father Noah “planted a vineyard, and
drank of the wine and was drunken,” down to modern times, when John
Bull grumbles over his pipe and his pot,—the Dutchman over his
schnaps,—the Frenchman over his sour wine :—when the North Ameri-
can Indian is praising his fire water, which he affirms to be made of
tongues and hearts, “ for when I have drank it,” says he, “I fear nothing,
and talk like an angel,”—and the negro is singing “ blessings on a rum
tuff,’—all nations and people have declared more or less in favour of
exhilirating liquids.

The more northern nations, from whom we claim to be descended,
have, from the earliest periods, practically declared that the use of fer-
mented liquors is conducive to the health and vigour of the human
frame ; and as our countrymen, if we may judge from official documents,
seem determined, in so far as quantity is concerned, to maintain the cha-
racter of their ancestors, we do not see any utility in joining with
temperance societies in defence of a different system. Our best course
appears to be to deprecate every thing approaching to habitual excess—
the abuse instead of the use of fermented liquors ; and, by giving some
account of the deleterious mixtures which, through the instrumentality
of the great monopolists, John Bull is forced to swallow ; to endeavour
to impress upon his mind the necessity of paying particular attention to
the quality of that which he consumes, especially if he wishes to transmit
to his posterity the vigorous constitution which he has derived from his
hardy ancestors.

Recent examinations of witnesses before Committees of the House of
Commons during the time that the trade in beer, and the propriety of
introducing sugar and molasses into the breweries and distilleries of this
country, were under discussion, have disclosed some very curious
information in regard to the composition and quality of British fermented
liquors ; and without entering particularly into the political part of the
question, we are desirous of making some extracts and observations for
the benefit and edification of our readers, to prove to them the kind of
liquor they do consume, and the obstacles which stand in the way of
their enjoying a sound and wholesome beverage.

By the evidence of Mr. Barclay, and of Mr. Fowell Buxton (when
examined upon the beer bill), it appears that out of about 6,500,000
barrels of strong and ordinary beer, and 1,500,000 of small beer, the
small brewers only brewed 62,000 barrels, a proof that under the past
and present system, with the present materials, the small brewers cannot
compete with the large monopolists; and that eleven great London

brewers have the whole power of raising or depressing the price
of beer. This is expressly affirmed by Mr. Buxton, who on having this
question put to him, viz. “as far as the public is concerned, they are en-
tirely at the mercy of the eleven great porter brewers of the metropolis ?”
answered “ yes!” The number of licensed public houses in London

516 British Poisons : [Nov.

prior to the beer trade being thrown open was about 4,500. About one
half of these belong to the great brewers, who have also, in one way or
other, acquired such dominion over the remainder, that very few of them
have it in their power to serve their customers with any other beer than
that which their masters, the great monopolists, choose to furnish to
them. This monopoly, as we shall see, has led to an extensive system
of the most pernicious adulteration ; and has no doubt given the hint to
many of those wretches who, by mixing an unusual quantity of opium
in beer, are in the habit of committing extensive robberies, and eyen
murder !

Mr. Golding Bird, an intelligent revenue officer, who, in the short space
of three weeks visited about five hundred public houses and made fifty-
three detections, states in evidence, that it is usual to draw off twenty
gallons from a butt of one hundred and eight gallons of porter, and sub-
stitute the twenty gallons with water mixed up with colouring prepared
from burnt sugar, treacle, salt, sugar, copperas, and liquorice. He had
reason to believe from appearances that all the five hundred houses he
visited adulterated their beer. Nearly the whole fifty-three convictions.
were at houses owned by the brewers ; he never detected those practices
at what are called free houses! The latter, at that period, sold their
beer at five-pence, while many of the former sold at four-pence. They
affirmed that the burdens imposed upon them, in one way or other, by
the great brewers were so heavy, that they could not obtain a livelihood
without adulterating their beer ; and Mr. Bird considers them as the mere
servants of the great brewers. On the premises of one person, a com-
position called multwm, composed of opium, liquorice, and some other
matter of a very strong flavour, was found. It was made up in balls,
one piece as large as a small egg being a sufficient dose for a barrel.
This composition may be laid up in so small a space that all may use it
without being detected. |

By sundry convictions, it appears, that beside this multum, the fol-
lowing materials are used in adulterating beer—viz. copperas, used,
almost universally, to give it a fine head ; (but which, according to the
evidence of Dr. Ure, a celebrated chemist, is not very pernicious ;)
opium, tobacco, quassia, powered gentian, coculus indicus, grains of para-
dise, prepared chalk, vegetable bitters, liquorice, corriander, ground
orange-peel, treacle, honey, sugar, &c.; and that it is impossible to
detect the adulteration by the taste of the beer, and in fact, “a gentle-
man at the excise office, made the experiment, and proved that the
public taste could not detect much of the adulteration, that may be
practised by the brewers ;” and that “the excise directed two kinds
of beer to be brewed, the one pure, and the other full of impurities
—the commissioners preferred the adulterated beer ! an intelligent man,
accustomed to brew beer, made the same mistake.” This observation
is also applicable, though in a less degree, to ale. Mr. Marrian,
brewer and ale-conner of Birmingham, states it on his experience,
that detection is very difficult: “sometimes there are many things,
that will make ale of different tastes, and it would not be right to
condemn ale for that only, when we know that there are many things
that will give it a different flavour ; such as cleaning it too soon, put-
ting the yeast to it too soon, or cleansing it at an improper time ;”
in short, detection by the taste or colour, is totally impossible. On
this subject, Dr. Ure, who made experiments, and was examined by

1831.] Beer and Spirit Monopolies. 517

the Molasses Committee, on the 12th of J uly last, states, that though
it is impossible to detect coculus indicus in beer, by any chemical test,
yet that opium may be detected, “and if I do not deceive myself very
much,” says the doctor, “I discovered opium in small quantity, in
genuine London porter. A man had been poisoned in a steam-boat,
on the Clyde, by the criminal administration of laudanum in porter,
and I was employed by the magistrates of Glasgow, to examine the
contents of the stomach of the deceased.” The doctor, however, acquits
the great London brewers, from any charge of that nature. Being
asked, “If you take into your consideration the price of opium, should
you think it is an ingredient, that it would generally be for the interests
of the brewer to use ?” answered, “Yes; so much so, that for one
farthing, you may double the strength of a dozen and a half of porter,
by opium; I mean, you can double the intoxicating power; you
can purshase for one farthing, nine grains of opium, its price being
about one shilling for an ounce, that is 4372 grains for 12d. or 48 far-
things, and allowing half a grain to a bottle, it will very nearly double
the intoxicating power of a dozen and half.””—We should like to know,
how many persons, of the many thousands, who, in this great metro-
polis, have been found dead in their beds in the morning, had indulged
to excess, in porter, during the preceding evening? “ Nothing can
be more easy,”’ says the doctor, “than to introduce a minute portion of
opium into dry malt ; if a man wished to be a knave, he could dif-
fuse it in any way ; throw it out of his hand ina moment, into dry
malt, or into the wort ; he might take it like snuff, and throw it in;
opium may be pulverised in particular modes, mixed up and disguised
and thrown in ;” and it appears, that subsequent maceration and fermen-
tation, would not alter deleterious qualities. Porter drinkers have there-
fore, no security against these poisonous compositions !—and, although
Dr. Ure expressly acquits the great monopolists of using opium or other
drugs, a little copperas (sulphate of iron) perhaps excepted ; yet there is
one very objectionable practice, of which most of them are by no means
guiltless—namely : that of mixing up, and re-issuing with their fresh
beer, the stale or sour beer, bottoms, and other abominable trash, sent
back to them by their publicans, under the name of returns ; now,
without any invidious meaning, we would ask, whether, in the event
of improper ingredients being actually used, this custom might not
form a cloak for illegal practices at the brewery? At all events, where
beer adulterated with mulium or opium, is returned to the brewer, he
cannot detect such adulteration ; and therefore, this vitiated beer, toge-
ther with the filthy dregs of the pewter pots, drippings from the
counters, and all manner of abominations, must of course be re-issued,
and will, with additional adulteration, go down the throats of the porter
drinkers. Indeed, many of the publicans are said to boast, that they
increase the quantity of “returns” as much as possible, by sending back
all sorts of filthy liquor collected in their tap-rooms. ;
One of the most respectable and extensive of the licensed Victuallers,
formerly examined, complained that the beer was not so good now as
it used to be in former times ; that adulteration is more frequent now,
and that, in consequence of this combination of the large brewers,
persons who buy for ready money are no better off than the smaller
dealers—all competition being destroyed ; in short, it appears, that
unless government encourage the smaller brewers, by putting it in

518 British Poisons : CN Ov.

their option to use any wholesome ingredients, which they may think
proper, such as sugar and molasses, in the manufacture of beer, the
only other alternative for people, who wish to have a strong and
wholesome fermented liquor, at half the usual price, appears to be, to
become their own brewers—a matter of easy accomplishment, and one,
in the recommendation of which, the benevolent have it in their power
to essentially benefit their poorer neighbours, especially by assisting
and pointing out to them the simplicity of the process.

Before we proceed to shew how easily this may be accomplished, we
may be permitted to notice another of the British poisons: namely, the
coarse grain spirit, which is manufactured here, but more especially in
Scotland, to be afterwards converted into English gin. This stuff, be it
observed, is not so carefully manufactured, nor made with the same
proportion of real malt, as that which is used in Scotland and Ireland,
under the name of whiskey. It is, in fact, produced not from malt, but
from inferior barley, oats, and other coarse raw grains ; and the object. of
the distiller being to obtain as great a quantity of spirit as possible, quality
is less an object ; because any bad flavour, denoting an excess of dele-
terious ingredients, is afterwards “ doctored” or disguised, in transmuting
the spirit into gin. Dr. Ure, in the course of a very particular and close
examination, by the Molasses Committee, in regard to the comparative
values of grain, and sugar or molasses, when used in the distillery and
breweries, and of the respective wholesomeness of their products, was
asked, “ What are the noxious properties developed, during the fer-
mentation of grain?” he replied, “There is a peculiar essential oil,
separated, during the fermentation of grain, especially if the grain/is
unsound, and which in cold weather assumes a concrete form, like
tallow.” “Is that the fatty substance first noticed by the chemist Scheele?”
“ I do not remember, but I have collected it myself in large quantities
in raw grain distilleries ; it has puzzled me somewhat to explain its pro-
duction, but I believe it is partly generated in the process of fermenta-
tion, and partly resides in the grain. This oil comes over in such
quantities at times as to float upon the low wines. * * * in moderate
quantities it gives spirits a milky hue, or at least the milkiness is de-
veloped on dilution with water. I consider that principle remarkably
unwholesome ; it is evidently nauseous to the smell. I believe that the
purer saccharine matter of sugar and molasses would produce none of
that crude essential oil.” ;

«When you state that you conceive this tallowy oil in grain spirit
to be noxious, what effects, as far as you are able to judge, do you con-
ceive are produced by the presence of too much of that oil?” “I have
known persons who have taken spirit highly impregnated with that, to
be instantly affected as by the presence of a narcotic poison. J have
known a person killed by it : the person had taken a quantity of very bad
spirit, which had precisely the odour of this detestable oil.’”’—This per-
son be it observed, had taken “no great quantity.”

Dr. Ure further states, that he had not been able to detect this noxious
oil in genuine rum; and that malt whiskey, an article which seldom
comes from Scotland to the London market, where it is sold at seventeen
to twenty shillings the gallon, is superior to the raw grain spirit, in
being freer from that oil. It seems to abound most in imperfect or bad
grain, and is found in rectified spirits, as well as in low wines. To con-
ceal this poison, the Doctor says he has known respectable distillers

1831.] Beer and Spirit Monopolies. 519

“talented people” disguise its presence in spirits offered for sale.
“They disguise this opalescent quality, or tendency to become milky in
the spirit containing the essential oil, by what is called the doctor ; I
shall tell you what that is made of ; the doctor consists of a combination
of oil of vitriol and oil of almonds” (the latter containing prussic acid of
course) “ triturated together, and added in small quantities to the said
opalescent spirit, after which addition it will, unless it be very bad,
stand dilution with water without becoming milky.” Such is another
of the commodities produced by the other great monoplists, with whom
the smaller distillers cannot compete—and of which twenty-one to
twenty-three millions of imperial gallons are now annually consumed in
the British empire—whilst, by an odious distinctive duty, rum, equally
a British production, and a much more wholesome spirit, is, to please a
few leading distillers, who are servilely backed by a prejudiced and un-
reasonable party of the landed interest, kept almost entirely out of the
British market ; the total quantity consumed in one year in the whole
united kingdom being little more than three hundred thousand gallons
—not an eighth part of the whole whiskey, rum, and other spirits con-
‘sumed.

It is quite evident that so long as there is not in the cabinet a single
master-mind capable of fuliy understanding these questions, and of de-
tecting and controlling such of the interests of the contending parties as

“may be at variance with the public benefit—the people of England must
“continue to suffer both in their bodily health, and by having their general
‘comforts, and collective prosperity diminished by these monopolies.

The point for which, as appears by the documents before us, the
‘West Indians contended, was simply this ;—that they should, in fairness,
and in common justice, be placed upon an equal footing with foreigners
in the English market ; but that this was not the case so long as the
foreign grower of barley could send his grain to England for consump-
tion in the breweries and distilleries, whilst the West Indian was pre-
vented from doing so, by heavy duties, and positive prohibitions——They
centended that the brewers and distillers should have the option of using
molasses instead of foreign grain, whenever, by a bad season or other-
wise, the average price of English barley should exceed thirty-four
shillings the quarter (equal to thirty-seven or thirty-eight shillings for
the best malting barley)—and they argued: that in common prudence,
and sound policy, we are bound to encourage our own, instead of foreign
“production, and to afford as much relief as possible to a suffering portion
‘of the British community, especially if by doing so we should give a
better and cheaper beverage to the people—render ourselves, to a certain
degree, more independent of foreigners—and keep at home some part
of the money which we are now obliged to send to Bohemia, and other
‘countries, for barley, whenever, by bad seasons or otherwise, our own
crop happens to be damaged, or deficient in quantity.

To shew that this substitution of molasses and sugar would not be in-
jurious to our own agricultural interests—evidence was adduced, ex-
plaining that the utmost quantity of molasses that could, in any one

ear, be imported—even supposing that this additional encouragement
should be held out—was not more than about 500 ewts., a part of which
would, as at present, be applied to other purposes, and all that could be
used in substitution for foreign barley would not be equivalent to more
than about a hundred or a hundred and fifty quarters of that grain.

520 British Poisons: [ Nov.

Now the quantity of foreign barley imported during the last ten years
amounts to about a hundred and fifty-five thousand quarters—but)as the
demand for malting barley is greatly increased since the reduction of the
duty on beer, we may in future reckon upon being obliged to buy from
foreigners probably ten times that quantity. In fact, from the evidence of
Mr. John, andseveral others, it clearly appears that the British agriculturists
have more to fear from encouragement to the growth of foreign barley,
than from the importation of this small quantity of molasses, because the
repeal of the beer duty, and the consequent increased demand for malt-
ing barley, has already attracted the attention of the foreign grower, and
he is now not only throwing many thousand acres of land, not before
dedicated to agriculture, mto barley cultivation, but is actually using
every endeavour to raise the quality of that grain so as to rival or super-
sede English malting barley in the British market :—for instance Bohe-
mian barley from its greater weight, is found equal to, and may, by
attention, be made superior to English barley for malting purposes ;
and so soon as the average price in this country shall attain such a
height as to remunerate the foreign grower, barley will be imported into
England in such quantities, as may overwhelm, or permanently dis-
courage the English farmer !—It has on the other hand been urged,
that by giving the British brewer and distiller the power of using mo-
lasses and sugar as a substitute for foreign barley whenever a scarcity of
British grain shall render that measure necessary—such an option would
effectually discourage foreign competition, because the foreigner, if this
power of having recourse to sugar or molasses. existed, could no longer
safely calculate upon a failing crop of this delicate grain in England ;
and would, consequently, find it unsafe to risk his capital upon a specu’
lation so hazardous. ANE
Although we have mentioned sugar in conjunction with molasses, yet
it seems _to be molasses only that the West Indians were desirous might
be introduced at the present moment ; and even the great porter brewers
admit that this measure would have given great facilities to the small
brewers, and produced a cheap and wholesome beverage to the public. ,
Mr. Calvert, M.P. very fairly says, “I think no manufacturer ought
to complain of being permitted to use molasses, especially when it is
left to his own discretion whether to use it or not. My belief is, that if
molasses were allowed. in the brewery, it would be used in instances.
where the grain was very much damaged in harvesting.” “I know
there is much fear in the trade that molasses would be used as a me-
dium for the conveyance of other ingredients, and thereby enable the
fraudulent brewer to undersell the fair trader ; I know, also, there
are persons who have such fears, that they cannot listen to the recom-
mendation of molasses being used at all. I possess none of these fears;
I think, in a very short time, the brewers would use molasses in colour-
ing, instead of burnt malt, which makes no return whatever ; molasses,
if used, would make a return; and inasmuch as it would lessen the ex-
pense of colouring, I think the brewers would find it their interest to
use it instead of burnt malt. I should use molasses in the cases I have
mentioned, where barley was very much injured, by being badly har-
vested, and consequently unfit for malting ; but, in that case, not in»
large proportions, on account of its not possessing any flavour of malt,
and no mucelage whatever.” And again—“ there cannot be a doubt
but sugar or molasses would make a very much better colouring for

1831-] Beer and Spirit Monopolies. 521

porter than the charred malt now used ; and coloured it must be, as long
as the public are prejudiced in favour of colour ; I think the charred matt
injures the flavour of the beer ; in my opinion, it is not so well flavoured
now, as it was when the colouring was made of burnt sugar ; I think, if
molasses were used instead of burnt malt, the flavour would be better,
and the expense less ; what we now use is a caput mortuum ; there is no
return in the present colouring ; from molasses there would be.”—Mr.
Martineau, of the house of Whitbread and Co., objects to the use of mo-
lasses, as being likely to be prejudicial to the great brewers, because
“ the beer that was brewed from molasses, would clearly, in the general
way, be brewed cheaper than from malt, and that, in consequence of the
cheapness of it, it would be taken off, or sold in our public-houses, and
mingled with that description of beer which we, of course, send out.”
«There are descriptions of beer, that would be brewed from no-
thing but molasses. I will take an instance: I should say the table
beer, not only through the metropolis, but through the whole kingdom,
would be brewed with molasses, and with molasses only.” And why
not? Is the interest of the public to be sacrificed to that of the great
porter brewers ?

Being questioned as to the quantity of molasses necessary to make
500,000 barrels of table beer, Mr. Martineau answered— Not being
a table beer brewer myself, I cannot accurately answer that question ;
but be it more, or be it less, it would be so much more to the ad-
vantage of the table beer brewer to make use of molasses, rather than
malt, that zt would be from one end of the kingdom to the other uni-
versally adopted. 1 speak confidently of that.” “ Upon the whole, are
the committee to understand, that you think it would be a very
hazardous experiment to the brewery, to admit the introduction of mo-
lasses?”’—Mr. Martineau: “ I would say, certainly, that it would, in my
opinion, be the means of lessening our consumption very much ; it would be
almost a death-blow to us !’’ We think we need scarcely proceed further, to
shew cause why the interest of the great brewers is directly opposed to
that of the public in this matter. The introduction of molasses would,
in fact, enable the small brewers to oppose the twelve great monopolists,
by giving them an article which could be zeadily made into excellent
ale, in premises that would not cost the tenth part of the large “ plant”
or buildings presently necessary for carrying on an extensive trade. In
fact, the small brewer would, upon his limited premises, be able to do
ten times the business, using sugar, molasses, and hops, or molasses and
malt, than at present, when he is confined to malt alone ; and, conse-
quently, he would be able to send out a better and cheaper liquor, than
that now generally used. The great brewer, on the other hand, alarmed
equally for his monopoly, and the value of his immense buildings, will,
as is very natural, oppose this matter, however advantageous it may be
to the public ; and the leading distillers, similarly situated, join him in
this self-interested opposition.

With regard to the quality of the beer produced from sugar and mo-
lasses, or combined with malt, two eminent chemists, Dr. Ure, and Dr.
Thomson, of Glasgow, speak most decisively in favour of the pure sac-
charine matter of sugar and molasses. Dr. Thomson, in reply to a ques-
tion respecting the quality of sugar and molasses, as an ingredient to be
used in the making of beer, says—“ I have no experience in molasses,

522 British Poisons : [Nov.

but sugar is a very safe ingredient ; I have drank beer made with sugar,
and itis very good too.”

«Should you think beer made from sugar is more apt to become
acid, than beer made from malt?”—<* I see no reason why it should.”

«< Do you know any thing of the keeping quality of beer made from
sugar ?”— I believe it keeps just as well as the beer from the other.”

Mr. Green, of Bury St. Edmonds, who learned the trade of a brewer
in Whitbread’s house, tried several experiments with sugar and mo-
lasses, in the making of beer. He says, that the flavour of that which
was made from molasses was quite as good as that made from malt. “I
think,” says he, “ it could not be distinguished after fermentation had
taken place.” Mr. Heathorn, of Hammersmith, speaks still more deci-
sively on this subject, both as to quality and capability of being kept.
He produced pale ale, made from sugar and molasses, for his own private
use, and stated, that he had kept some of it four years; and in reply to
a question from the committee, in regard to the quantity of hops requi-
site, he states—‘‘ The quantity depends entirely on how long you intend
to keep the beer ; if for a twelvemonth, a greater quantity is used than
when it is for immediate drink—nearly double.” “ There is a preserva-
tive quality in the hop, that no other ingredient possesses.” Mr.
McLeod, another experienced brewer, who had many years ago used
sugar and molasses, both separately and in conjunction with malt, stated,
in reply to a question whether the drinkers of beer approve of the beer
brewed from sugar as well as the beer brewed from malt, replied, “ there
were no complaints whatever,” and that beer from sugar fined equally
well with beer from malt. In short, the evidence, particularly of the
two eminent chemists, and all the ale brewers, are decidedly in favour of
using sugar and molasses, especially whenever malt is at a high price,
or when, from a bad harvest, the quality is inferior ; and they say, that
they would be most happy to use sugar and molasses, and have no doubt
their business would, in that event, be more than doubled.

Another remarkable discovery has been stated in the course of this
investigation, namely, that by using dried raw grain, and a little sugar,
or molasses, an excellent strong beer may be made in private families,
equal in strength to London porter—at a fourth part of the price
of the latter. Dr. Thomson states that in the course of some experi-
ments, in which he was assisted by three brewers, it struck him “to
try whether we could not make beer from raw grain; I made each of
those brewers in succession try it; they were extremely unwilling to do
it ; they said it was absurd and ridiculous; but, however, they tried it,
and found to their great astonishment that they not only made beer, but
better beer from raw grain than had been made from malt ; and after we
had done, they set up as brewers, brewed from raw grain, and got all
the business of Edinburgh; the consequence was, that the licensed
brewers, who brewed from malt, lodged a complaint ; an Exchequer
trial took place, and the Barons of Exchequer prohibited it, though
there was no law.” He afterwards states that this beer did not keep so
well as beer made from sugar. Mr. Bentley M‘Leod being asked
“ could you brew beer from a mixture of raw grain, and sugar, and mo-
lasses ?”—“* Yes, that would be the cheapest, I think, of any thing.”
“ Do you think that would be a palatable beer ?”—* It would.” Mr.
M‘Leod seems, however, to fear that the mash would not drain.» These

1831.] Beer and Spirit Monopolies. 523

difficulties have, nevertheless, been obviated ; and we know from recent
experiment, that this cheap method of making excellent beer is perfectly
practicable. It being the direct interest of the great brewers to conceal
that, and as we think it of importance that farmers and others who have
many home servants and labourers should, in these times of depression,
have a cheap and nourishing beer, which they evidently cannot ob-
tain from the great monopolists, we give an approved recipe—observing
that either larger or smaller quantities may be brewed, only following
the same proportions.* Many persons are, however, prejudiced in
favour of malt :—If, therefore, malt, with sugar or molasses, is preferred,
the second recipe will be found to make good ale.t Beer from molasses
alone, stronger than London porter, may, it is said, be made for less
than four shillings for a quantity of nine gallons.

* Put 1 peck of barley or of oats into an oven just after baking, or into a frying
pan, just to steam off the moisture, and dry it well, but on no account to burn the
grain; then grind or bruise it roughly. Boil 2} gallons of water, and when it has
stood ten minutes (say at a heat of 175 degrees, or so hot as to pain the finger
sharply), put in the grain; mash it well, and let it stand three hours; then drain
it off. Boil 2 gallons more water, which pour on the grains (rather hotter than
before, but not boiling, say 196 degrees), and mash them well, let it stand two
hours and draw it off; mash the grains again well with 2 gallons of cold water, and
in one hour and a half draw it off. The three worts will be about 5 gallons. Then
mix 7 lbs. of treacle, or 5 lbs. of the darkest sugar, in 5 gallons of water, and boil the
whole 10 gallons with 4 oz. of hops, for one hour and a half, taking care te stir it so
long as the de float on the top; let it cool, and when about milk-warm take a
good teacupful of yeast, and stir it well together, beginning with about a gallon of
the wort at a time; let it ferment for eighteen hours in a tub covered with a sack ;

ut it into a nine-gallon cask, and keep it well filled ; bung it up in three days, and
in fourteen days it will be good sound fine beer, equal in strength to London porter.
The nine gallons of beer thus brewed will cost as follows :—

1 peck of barley .......-+ MM awadvalerde ls. 3d.
7 lbs. of treacle: .......-«0- eseseere 1 9
40z.of hops .....+--6. escceccescee OF 3

3 3: or ld. per pot.

1 bushel of malt ........ aid ded Veatdinee 9s.
28 lbs. of treacle ....ssseeees dia cto a pteta 7 0
2 Ibs. of hops «+...-+4 o bemacieianteee'e Sti 0

18 0: or 1d. per quart.

Norr.—The only risk is, from using the water too hot, which will prevent the
draining off of the liquor, by setting the grain. 'The dried raw grain will drain
better by mixing with it about a handful of oat-chaff before the first water ; i will
prevent it from setting. ‘The hops will yield better if they are pretty well damped
before they are mixed with the worts. Observe, that you in no case use boiling
water to the grains.

524 Brilish Poisons : [ Nov.

When we consider the immense sums that are annually spent by the
working classes in the purchase of beer, the great benefit which would
be conferred, by letting them have a cheap and wholesome beverage,
must be quite obvious. The present state of the law prevents the great
monopolists, and even the common brewers or victuallers, from supplying
this beverage at a low price, although it does not prevent families, how-
ever numerous, brewing for their own use with any material they may
find most advantageous :—we are therefore strongly impressed with the
immense advantages that may be derived from resorting to the good old
plan of every family becoming their own brewers, in preference to
individuaily wasting their time and money at beer houses, where they
are nine times in ten supplied with a bad or indifferent article, at a com-
paratively enormous price; and we repeat, that the benevolent will
essentially benefit their poorer neighbours by teaching them to adopt
the plans pointed out.

With regard to the distilleries, we had formerly occasion to notice*
the complete monopoly of their own, and the greater part of the Eng-
lish market, acquired by the Dunlops, and other great Scotch distillers ;—
who, by some means or other, have hitherto contrived to supply about
one half of the corn spirit annually consumed on this side of the Tweed.
This circumstance, and their manner of managing the malt draw-back,
has, we believe, attracted the attention of government, and it is ex-
pected, that in future the English and Jrish distiller will have something
like fair play. This will not, however, benefit the British West Indian
distiller, so long as, by a most unjust and impolitic distinctive duty, he
is prohibited almost entirely from vending his rum in the Scotch and
Irish markets. The consequence of this most oppressive ertra duty of
six shillings the gallon of rum, is, that while about 15,000,000 gallons of
British spirits are consumed in these markets, the total quantity of rum
used is only about 170,000 gallons ! or about one-ninetieth part of the
whole, although it is a more wholesome liquor ; and now, when the
West Indians ask for the trifling boon, that their molasses may be used
in the breweries and distilleries whenever that can be done to advantage
and without injuring the British barley grower, the Scotch distillers (for
they are the most active,) backed by a few interested landlords, raise
the usual outcry, that “the landed interest is in danger, and if you admit
the use of molasses in the breweries and distilleries, you are ruined,”—al-
though it is shewn that the utmost quantity will not be more than equal
to some 100,000 or 120,000 quarters of foreign barley, or not more than
a tenth part of the average annual importation of foreign grain during .
the last ten years! It is not, however, to benefit the landed interest,
or the people either, that these spirituals are seen poking their noses into
every corner and cranny of the two houses of parliament, neither do we
blame them for their exertions to maintain their own monopoly—no, it
is the landed interest and the legislature which are blameable, for listen-
ing to these individuals, instead of studying, and firmly pursuing, that
line of policy which is for the general benefit.

Mr. George Dunlop, one of the large Scotch distillers, being asked
to state whether he objects to such an arrangement of the duty as would
practically admit of the introduction of molasses into the distillery, re-
plies—“* Most decidedly. Beside our distillery, we have large farms,

* Vide the Monthly Magazine for June, 1830, (Vol. 1X. ‘No. 54.)

1831.] Beer and Spirit Monopolies. 525

and feed a great deal of cattle, both at the farms and the distillery ; and
if molasses,were to, be substituted for corn, it would be ruinous to us
as farmers. We could not feed cattle, and, therefore, we could not
get dung for our farms.” So !—in order that one or two Scotch dis-
tillers may have dung for their farms, the people of England are to be
poisoned by a coarse spirit, made sometimes, as Mr. Dunlop confesses,
from coarse “ foreign grain, oats, pease, beans, and buck wheat!” But
the real objection comes afterwards :—‘ if they (molasses) were intro-
duced, there might be an advantage given to one over another, and I
have a distillery fitted up for corn at a great expence, which would be
obliged to be altered; and if another man is to come on, merely setting up
a washing tub to dissolve sugar in, and so on, a great part of the capital
there sunk in my distillery would be rendered useless,’—and so it is with the
whole of them: the small distiller, who might, with the aid of a new
material, make a better and cheaper spirit, must be discouraged, in
order that the large distillers may enjoy a benefit prejudicial to the
ublic.

; Mr. Archibald Dunlop grounds his objections to molasses on nearly
the same grounds, viz.—“ insecurity to the revenue, (!) the diminution
in the value of my premises, proportioned to the limitation of their use,
and my own local situation,” “the waste of my premises,” &c. He states
that the quality of spirits made from molasses in 1800 was “exceedingly
bad, and universally disliked.’ Now we happen to know, that though
at the first introduction of molasses spirits in Scotland, there was a
prejudice against that kind of liquor, yet that when once known, it was
universally admitted to be a much “ cleaner” or purer spirit than grain
whiskey, and that the public became so much attached to it, that it was
difficult, in the return to a grain distillation, to bring grain spirits again
into common use: and some of the gentlemen who heard Mr. Dunlo
give his evidence, could in that respect have flatly contradicted him !
Dr. Ure, who has paid particular attention to the subject, expressly
states, in reference to the result of recent experiments with grain and’
molasses, “that molasses would be far less productive of the nauseous
butyraceous oil (the poison already mentioned,) than grain whiskey ; for
in the experiment I made with Mr. Atlee’s wash (grain,) I was very
much troubled with that oil, but in the present case (molasses) I have
observed none of it.”

All this seems, however, to be considered as nothing. The health,
comfort, and prosperity, of the middling and lower classes must not be
put in competition with the interests of a few great monopolists, and the
political support of a few ignorant and interested members of the landed
interest, who are influenced by them! John Bull may grumble, and
make faces; but unless he has sufficient spirit to “ brew for himself,”
he must continue to swallow any poisonous stuff they choose to give
him ; for being at all times rather hydrophobious, and horribly afraid,
at the present moment, of cholera morbus,—he must, at whatever risk,
have something better than water to drink.

The leading brewers and distillers are endeavouring, by the most in-
genious tergiversation, to frighten ministers and the landed interest into
the belief, that by admitting a small quantity of molasses into the
breweries, to displace an equal quantity of foreign barley, not only the ©
agriculturists, but the revenue will be endangered. We should like to
know, how much some of the Scotch distillers, whom we could name,

526 British Poisons : DNoy.

have profited by defrauding the revenue ; and how, after they have, by a
compromise, escaped public exposure ?

With regard to any concern the distressed and ill-used West Indians
may have in the discussion of this question,—we fear their interests
will, as usual, be treated as mere dust in the balance. A committee
has, indeed, been appointed to examine into the causes of the distress,
with a view to a remedy ; but, as already stated, we fear that as long
as there is no master mind in the cabinet, capable of understanding and
adjusting these important matters, so as to have justice done to all
parties,—the West Indians must continue to regard a total separation
from the mother country as the only means of preserving their lives,
and the residue of their once extensive and valuable property. A
reprieve is of no use after execution has taken place ; and if these
colonies once escape our grasp, it will be too late to recover them or to
repair the injustice with which they are now treated : their loss to the
mother country will be irreparable !

THE MAN OF LETTERS,

Ir there is one thing in the world that I love more than another it is
quiet. My father, never once thinking of consulting my disposition, put
me at thirteen years old into the Honourable East India Company’s ser-
vice as a middy. The very first night that I spent on board I nearly
died of the noise; and though I afterwards “ followed the sea,” as the
saying is, for more than twenty years, I never was able to reconcile my~
self to the intolerable clatter that seemed to me to be the eternal destiny
of a seaman’s life. After I had duly waded through all the yarious
subaltern ranks, I at length arrived at that of captain; but even that
scarcely afforded any better refuge from noise and flurry. It was true
that I could keep the men at a distance from my cabin, and that under
one excuse or another I could pretty well avoid giving audiences to the
officers ; but still there was the general turmoil of the ship for ever
howling in my ears :—the rude dashing of the waves against the side of
the vessel, and the loud sulky whistling of the wind, with its orchestral
accompaniment of creaking timbers, whizzing cordage, and quivering
sails, were endless to my unfortunate aural nervousness, and as intoler-
able as endless.

Just as I was about to commence my second voyage as captain, my
father died, and as I was his only son, I found myself placed by that
circumstance in a situation of considerable affluence. My resolution was
soon taken: I sent in my resignation to the Company, and determined
that nothing should ever again inflict on me the unbearable hubbub of a
life upon the sea. The only portion of this transaction that gave me any
pain was the taking leave of my officers and crew: I believe I may say,
without vanity, that I had always been a prodigious favourite with all,
whether as their messmate or their superior; and for such a quiet man
as myself, it required no little struggle to muster sufficient resolution to
bid them an eternal farewell. But if this was my feeling in general, it
was still more strongly particularized in the instance of my old shipmate,
Jack Howden. Jack and I had begun our seafaring life together, within
half-a-dozen days of each other, and though I had reached the rank of
captain while he was only second mate, I sincerely felt that it. was no

1831.] The Man of Letters. 527

superior merit on my part that had so elevated me above him, but merely
a more than usual share of that worldly influence which my father, from
his long connection with the Company, possessed. Jack and I, therefore,
though our march of rank had gone on, haud passibus equis, had always
been sworn friends. Gallant, bustling, and jolly, he was in his outward
bearing a strange contrast to my subdued manner ; but still there was
something congenial in the condition of our minds which always kept
us together, though I had now and then to complain that he was some-
what too noisy for my taste. The sincerity of our sorrow at parting
was honest and real, such as a sailor’s ought to be; and I could not tear’
myself away from him till I had made him promise, over and over again,
to pay me a visit at my country-house—one which, conjointly with a
pretty estate, my father had some years before purchased in the imme-
diate neighbourhood of the little borough of Eye, in Suffolk.

At length, then, I was quit of the noisiness of a sailor’s life, and at
liberty to direct my steps which way I would. For a while I tried
London, being chiefly tempted thereto by the persuasions of my only
sister, who had been left a widow with two daughters very shortly after
her marriage, and who had made it a point, even against the solicitations
of her father, to continue in the metropolis for the purpose of furthering
the education of her girls.

At first, glad to escape the watery tumult that had beset me all my
life, I almost persuaded myself that London was a quiet place ; and with
the idea of settling in it I enlisted myself in a club,—got myself made a
fellow of the Royal Society,—and bought a renter’s share of Drury-lane,
for the purpose of securing a free admission to the theatre. But I very
soon began to make the discovery that after all London was only quiet as
compared with the uproar of an Indiaman, and that per se there fell to
its lot a pretty considerable quantity of disturbance. As soon as I had
fully made up my mind to this conclusion, I determined to try my
country seat at Eye; and then again there was another leave-taking to
go through, and, as may well be supposed, a much more noisy one than
the first, as in this case I had to deal with my sister and two nieces, in-
stead of a set of heroes, who had been too much tossed and tumbled
about the world to allow their eyes to twinkle, however much their
hearts might quiver. At length, however, after two or three floods of
tears, I was allowed to tear myself away, and to proceed on my solitary
journey to Eye, with a promise that as soon as the summer came round
I should be joined there by my weeping relations. That promise, alas,
was never performed in full. My poor sister, a month or two after I
quitted London, died suddenly, and bequeathed her two daughters to my
care. The girls, who felt their mother’s death most severely, were
glad enough to get away from the metropolis, and take refuge in my
quiet country seat, where after a while they became so domesticated, that
it seemed as if London was equally forgotten by us all, and as if I had

afted upon their feminine spirits that same love of peace and tranquil-

ity, with which I myself was so deeply imbued.

Thus for a year or two we lived in that happy serenity which con-
stitutes the great charm of a country life, and thus might we for ever
have continued but for a little incident, which, though I hope it has
blown over without any detriment, threatened at one time to disturb my
her and repose in the most unceremonious manner, and which, as a

over of my species, I think it right to relate, that I may, if possible,

528 The Man of Letters. [Nov.

warn others of the rock a-head, on which my little vessel of quiet was.

very nearly lost.

In all respectable peaceable country dwellings (and I state this for the
benefit of my town readers), and especially in those where a superior
love of good order prevails, the inhabitants make it a rule of being in
bed by ten o’clock. After this, I need not add that the established law
of our domicile at Eye is in favour of the same hour for retiring to rest.
Thus much premised, I may go on with my story.

It was about twelve o’clock one night, after having retired to bed at
my usual hour, that I was roused from my first slumber, by a pretty
smart knocking at the door. Sailor-like, my sleep was never much
sounder than a cat’s, but still though I heard the first appeal to the
knocker, I could hardly believe my senses, that anybody should. be
beating at the gate at such an hour, and I therefore laid still in my bed,
awaiting a confirmation of the circumstance ; it soon came—double-dis-
tilled, as they say of lavender water—and I then, with some hurried
thoughts about fire, thieves, and I knew not what, started up with the
intention of reaching the window, to ascertain what it was all about ;
but even before I could go. so far on my voyage of discovery, the third
summons resounded in my ears, and I responded thereto, by giving
a fillip to my alarum-bell, which laid at hand, and which presently
made the whole household as wakeful as myself. :

«For Heaven's sake, Susy,” cried I to the maid, as I heard her clat-—

tering along the stairs, “ what is the matter? Is there any danger ?”
“Danger, Sir!” quoth the wench, “ it is quite certain !—he’s come,

and says that he must see you immediately.” ‘
«Who is come ?”

“ That is just what he will not tell. I asked him to send up his

name, but all he would say in answer, was—‘ Go, and tell Captain
Burton, that I am here ; and he’ll know who you mean.’”’

Now this was prodigiously puzzling to a man who had not been
expecting a living soul at the hall for many a-day ; and I was no more
able to guess who this well-known person could be, than the reason
that had induced him, in violation of all the rules of quiet and tran-
quillity, to make his appearance at so unconscionable an hour. However,
with some curiosity to prompt me, and with still more discontent at the
ill-omened commencement of the adventure, I proceeded down stairs
to ascertain who the unceremonious visitor might be; while Susy, in
her zeal for her master, marched behind me with a rushlight in one
hand, and a sword in the other, pretty nearly as long as a serjeant’
pike-staff.

When J arrived in the library, I found a man standing near the table,
muffled up in a dark cloak of awful dimensions, while one solitary
kitchen candle gave a sort of darkness visible to his extensive figure,

still more extended by the huge mantle that fell over his shoulders and. -
enveloped his person. There was really something quite Abruzzi-ish |
in the whole affair, and I think I never made any one so grave a bow, -

as that with which I marked his presence, on my entering the room. -

stiffly.

No immediate answer was afforded; but the new-comer prepared.
himself for one, by striding up to the spot where I was standing, while
Susy, who began to think in right-earnest, that a battle was on’ the eve

«“ Whom may I have the honour of addressing?” quoth I, a little”

1831. The Man of Letters. 529

of commencing, stole up on the other side, and gave my morning gown,
which I had hastily thrown on, a vigorous tug, either as a notice to be
on my guard, or as a warning to retreat in time. Before, however, I
haa an opportunity for either the one or the other, he whom I had.
questioned, placed his mouth close to my ear, and whispered in a well-.
remembered voice—“ Jack Howden !—send young sauce-box away —and
mum !”

Half the mystery was thus in a moment explained, though as to the
other half, I could not for the life of me conceive what had brought
my old ship-mate to the hall at so uncouth an hour. However, after
thrusting my hand into the hard paw extended by my friend, and giving
it a hearty though silent shake, I obeyed his instructions, and dismissed
Susy, as much for my own sake as his, for I was not a little anxious to
have the matter elucidated.

«My dear Jack,” cried I, as‘soon as she was gone,—“ welcome, wel-
come, ten thousand times. I suppose you knew the ‘pleasure this visit
would give me, and determined to heighten it by taking me by surprise ;
if so, you have succeeded to a miracle.”

“Captain Tom Burton,” cried my friend, “ I can see by your manner,
that I have been a little out of order ; and egad, now I think of it, order
and quiet are every thing with you! But let this satisfy you, Tom:
I knew, that come what hour I might, I should be welcome !”

Another hearty and reciprocal shake of the hand between us proved
that though we had been separated for two or three years, the cordiality
of our friendship had lost nothing by absence. ;

But though the mystery of Jack’s arrival at past twelve o'clock was
at the time beyond my calculation, it admitted of an easy, though not
very agreeable solution. From his account it appeared, that just before
he had started on his last voyage for China, he had been pressed by an
old acquaintance of his, to be a guarantee for him to a considerable
amount to another person, who was a sort of mutual friend, and who,
as he then believed, would never press him to an inconvenience, even
though the guarantee should be unable to meet the demand against
him. Jack, however, had reckoned without his host, and scarcely had
he returned, when he was informed by his creditor, that the guaranteed
had disappeared, shortly after his departure for the east, without leaving
any assets, and that the guarantee was consequently counted on. Jack
madenot a few wry faces atthis announcement, but after venting his choler,
he actually paid the sum of £1500 on his bond of indemnity, congra-
tulating himself, that although it was almost a larger sum than he could
well muster with all the earnings of his long sea-faring life, it was a
comfortable thing after all to be free from debts, and that it might so
happen, that his friend would some day or other return and repay the
amount. But Jack was again without his host ; no sooner had he paid
the £1500 on the bond of indemnity, than his creditor acquainted him,
that there was likewise an I. O. U. which he held of his, for £1000
additional, and on which it was his intention to proceed, if not imme-
diately settled. It was in vain, that Jack reminded Mr. Nathaniel
Gorgle, that that I. O. U. had only been given on a contingency that had
not yet happened, and that the very fact of its being merely an I. O.U., in-
stead of a strict legal document, proved the doubtful grounds on which |
it had been given. Gorgle was inexorable, and gave my friend notice,

M.M. New Series.—Vou. X11. No. 71. 2i1U

530 The Man of Letters. ~ ENov.

that if the amount was not paid within three days, he must put, the
business into his lawyer’s hands. Jack, though he hated the name of a
lawyer worse than six-years-old junk, made up his mind not to pay
the demand, for two reasons: first, because it was not justly due under
any pretence ; and secondly, because he had not the means wherewith
to pay it. The word “ lawyer,” however, had shaken his nerves, which
against a cannon-ball would have been immoveable; and not knowing
what might be the consequence, if he should be arrested, he determined
to run for it, and play at hide and seek, till his ship should again be
ready to sail. But where was he to conceal himself? He had left
himself well nigh pennyless by paying £1500, of the value of which he
had never received one farthing ; and by his creditor having previously
been toa certain extent an associate of his, he was unfortunately ac-
quainted with most of Jack’s haunts, so as to know where to look for
him, when the alarm of his retreat should be given. Under these cir-
cumstances, Jack remembered the invitation that I had given him to
pay a visit to the hall, at Eye ; and though he could not absolutely pro-
mise himself, that Mr. Nathaniel Gorgle, the inexorable, should not
trace him thither, still it appeared to be the best chance of escape that
presented itself to his observation.

« Besides,” cried he, after having narrated all these circumstances,
“J have another scheme for misleading him ; and that, to tell you the
truth, was why I would not trust your servant with my name. I have
been thinking that you can pass me off here by some fictitious cognomen,
and put me into another line of life into the bargain ; so that, should in-
quiry be made in this quarter, it may be blunted by hearing that you
have neither a Howden nor a sailor with you.”

«© Admirably thought of,” cried I, “‘ and the name, at all events, may
be managed easily enough. Suppose we christen you after our old
shipmate, Holland: I am sure that if he were here, he would lend you
his name, and much more, with all his soul. But how about your new
vocation ?”

« Why, that is rather a puzzle. In the first place, it must not be any
thing mechanical, for I don’t know Scotch granite from Bath stone—a
turning lathe from a steam engine—or a loom from a shuttle ; so that if
any one asked me a question on one of these subjects, I should be posed
in a twinkling.”

«But do you fancy you would be any better off with one of the
learned professions at your back ?”

“ Worse, Tom, worse,” cried the newly-christened Mr. Holland ; “ if
any one was to call me a lawyer, I should be ready to knock him down;
and as to a physician, I don’t even know where the pulse lies.”

“« What do you say to being a doctor of divinity °”

« Lord bless you,” cried Jack, “ a ‘ damme’e’ would slip out in the
first half hour, and ruin the whole. The only thing that I can think of
is, that you should pass me off as a man of letters.”

« A what!” cried I astounded; “ why I don’t think that you ever
read three books in your life.”

«* There is some truth in that ; but then it opens a wider field for ori-
ginality. Besides, you cannot forget, that I always had the reputation
of keeping the best log in the whole ship. Let me tell you, that
can’t be done without some knowledge of letters. I like theman of

1831.) The Man of Letters. 531

letters, too, because it is more general than any thing else. Do you
stand up stoutly for my reputation, and then, if I should prove ignorant
here or there, it will only be thought that my vein has not yet been
discovered, and that I am like a mine that has not yet been successfully
worked.”

Though I could not help laughing mightily at my friend’s notion of
passing himself off as a literary man, I promised to give him my best
support; and, that point settled, Susy was again summoned to get
ready the spare bed-room, which being prepared, we bade each other
farewell for the night.

As I again laid myself down on my pillow, I could not help sighing
at the recollection of the unceremonious manner in which my peace had
that night been disturbed. Jack Howden was a good fellow—an ad-
mirable fellow—a kind-hearted fellow; but, alas, he was also a noisy
fellow. His burly sailor voice was still ringing in my ears, and I went
to sleep with sad foreboding that the knell of the tranquillity of the hall
had been sounded in that ominous rap, that at past twelve o'clock had
aroused me from my repose.

The melancholy foretelling of my spirit was but too true. The next
day the hall wore quite a different aspect. Half an hour served to in-
troduce the frank-hearted sailor to my nieces, Fanny and Kate. Young
girls have light hearts; and in another half hour there was more
giggling, laughing, smiling, and romping, than the old hall had wit-
nessed during the whole of the previous time that I had occupied it.
Still I contrived to bear up against my misfortune pretty well. Jack
was an old friend, and I was willing to suffer a little for his sake. But
when he got to his practical jests, my patience was put toa severe trial :
—a pound’s-worth of crockery was nothing in his eyes compared to a
hearty laugh; and the fracture of one of my best mahogany chairs
seemed with him to be justified, if it was but accompanied with the
cracking of one of his superlative jokes.

But “ bad begins, and worse remains behind.” If there is any point
on which I am peculiarly sensitive, it is that of keeping up a right un-
derstanding with my neighbours. This is sufficiently necessary in
London ; but in the country, where every body knows every body, it is
absolutely indispensable ; and the thing, of all others, that has always
most flattered me, when it reached my ears, was, “ Well, I must say,
Captain Burton, of the hall, is a man that every body must like.”

How it got about I can’t imagine; but, nevertheless, there is no
denying that, before Jack had been with me a week, every one in Eye
was aware that there was a most eminent man of letters sojourning at the
hall. I did all in my power to keep the lion to myself, and for a while I
succeeded ; but at last the fatal moment of trial came, for to resist such a
note as this was impossible, especially as it was from a lady, who, by
dint of wealth, scandal, and bluishness, had contrived to be sovereign
queen of Eye for the last twenty years.

«“ Mrs. Bluebusk presents her compliments to Captain Burton, and

“ requests the favour of his and his nieces’ company to a soirée, on Wed-

“ nesday evening. Mrs. Bluebusk, being told that a gentleman very

“high in the literary world is on a visit at the hall, hopes that the

“ captain will so far overlook ceremony, as to bring him with him, as
2U2

— ~

532 The Man of Letters. [ Nov.

“ the pleasure of half an hour’s conversation with a man of letters is the
“ richest pleasure that Mrs. Bluebusk knows.”

From this there was no retreat. The girls were delighted at the
thought of hearing their literary friend extinguish Mrs. Bluebusk, who
in her time had extinguished so many smaller wits, and thus collecting
for himself honours everlasting, on the principle on which Harry Mon-
mouth, according to Shakspeare, proposed to appropriate to himself the
accumulated laurels of Hotspur; and though the literary gentleman
himself did not much relish the invitation, I could devise no mode of
escape, unless he was willing altogether to resign his Eye retreat.

«Well, Tom,” said he, “if it must be, it must; but, for Heaven’s
sake, stand by me in the attack, for I never was superlatively given to
reading.”

“ Don’t trust to your reading,” cried I.

« T don’t intend,” said he.

« Psha! I mean—instead of trusting to your reading, draw liberally
on your invention; and keep up your brow, as if you meant some-
thing.”

re Well, we shall see,” quoth Jack, in a somewhat melancholy tone ;
* but I should not wonder if the old lady sank me.”

Wednesday night came, and we proceeded in a body to the abode of
Mrs. Bluebusk. There we found assembled some score of the elite of
the place and neighbourhood, for our hostess had gone beyond herself
in inviting all she knew, that they might be witnesses of her “ half an
hour’s conversation with a man of letters, which was the richest pleasure
that Mrs. Bluebusk knew.”

Scarcely was the first introduction over, ere the lady commenced her
attack upon poor Jack—or, as I had been obliged to introduce him—
upon Mr. Holland, the man of letters. I trembled every moment for
my friend, and yet was delighted to see that he acquitted himself with
much greater readiness than-I had dared to hope. But still his peril
seemed as if it never would end. Mrs. Bluebusk appeared to be a
lineal descendant of Anteus of old; every time she was rebuffed, she
returned with fresh vigour to the charge; and my poor friend looked
round him in vain for an opportunity of escaping.

« Really,” quoth Mrs. Bluebusk, “ your sentiments as to Chaucer are
very extraordinary, and I should like to have another opportunity of
talking the matter over with you.”

« That is just my feeling, Ma’am,” cried Jack ; “I think we had
better leave the subject alone for the present.”

« Well, then, let us choose another topic.”

«« With all my soul, ma’am.” ,

«« What say you to the Milton tribe?” asked the lady.

“Lord love you,” cried Jack, quite briskly, “ they are not to be com-
pared to the natives.”

« Jack!” whispered I, in a tone of remonstrance, wondering where
the deuce he had got to. But I had no time.

“ Natives !” cried our hostess—‘“ was not Milton a native?”

“ Ma’am,” exclaimed Jack, suspicious of a blunder, “ I thought native
oysters came from Colchester, and that the Miltons were a distinct breed.
But, probably, you know more than I do about oyster-beds.”

1831.] The Man of Letters. 533

«© Sir!” quoth Mrs. Bluebusk, with a sort of petrifying accent, “I
was speaking of the poet.”

«“ Oh—ah—the poet !—and a very poor poet, too, maam, in my
opinion.”

« Jack!” again whispered my warning voice—but in vain.

« Milton a poor poet, sir!” exclaimed the Blue; “ he is the ‘ god of
my idolatry. Pray what part of him do you object to?”

«< What part of him?” muttered Jack to himself—“< why, now she
must be gone back to the oysters again ;” and, having thus reassured
himself, he exclaimed—* The beard, ma’am.”

« My dear sir,” quoth his hostess, “ what has that to do with Milton’s
poetry ? though, perhaps, you may be thinking of Samson Agonistes,
and object to the lines—

‘Then turned me out, ridiculous, despoiled,
Shaven, and disarmed among my enemies.’ ”’

“« Very true, ma’am,” cried Jack, catching at every straw ; “ it is his
ridiculous poetry to which I object. Perhaps Milton borrowed his idea
from

‘ This is the priest, all shaven and shorn.’

I think the passage is to be found in ‘ The House that Jack built.’ ”

« You are building a pretty house, Master Jack,” whispered I, in a
thousand trepidations. But this time luck was on our side.

“J am afraid, Mr. Holland,” cried la Bluebusk, “ you are willing to
raise a laugh against my enthusiasm in behalf of Milton. Perhaps some
day you willrun through his poems with me, and point out his failings.
But, pray, if you set your face against Milton, what poet do you recom-
mend for sublimity ?”

“«« Shakspeare, Jack,” whispered I; but I was too late.

« Why, Falconer, to be sure, ma’am,” cried he in a moment ;—“ did
you never read his ‘ Shipwreck ?’”

« Certainly, Mr. Holland.”

« Hip—hip—hurrah !” roared Jack, with a smile on his face for the
first time :—“ so have 1; and now we can talk together a bit. Do you
remember his whistling wind, and creaking cordage—his mast over-
board, and his haul on the jib? Damme’e, ma’am, that’s something
like poetry !”

« Really, Captain Burton,” said Mrs. Bluebusk, “ your friend has a
most extraordinary taste; I am afraid that you must have bitten him
with your sea-knowledge. I always understood that Falconer ranked as
a fifth-rate writer.”

“ Fifth rate!” quoth Jack, indignantly—“ no such thing; he is a
right-down first-rate man-of-war, stem and stern, with sails full set,
and three tiers of guns in his broadside.”

“ Well, on your recommendation, I will read him again,” cried
Mrs. Bluebusk, half persuaded. “In the mean time, let us pass on to
Shakspeare.”

« Scuttled again!” murmured Jack ; while I did this time find an
opportunity of whispering in his ear, “ You must praise Shakspeare,
blow high, blow low.” Jack gave me a nod and a wink, in friendly
intimation of having heard and appreciated my advice.

534 The Man of Letters. [Nov.
“ Well, Mr. Holland, what do you say to Shakspeare ?” demanded

our pertinacious hostess.

“Say, ma’am!—why I say, as you said of the native Miltons: he’s
the god of my—of my—he’s the god of my high-holiday.”

“Good Heavens! Mr. Holland, you surely can’t defend his absurdi-
ties !”

Jack gave me a piteous look, as much as to say, “ What ship a-hoy !”
and then, with a desperate plunge, he exclaimed—“ Yes, damme’e,
ma’am, absurdities and all. I don’t know but what his absurdities are
the best part of him.”

« What, sir, his witches ?”

«Who calls witches absurdities?” quoth my friend, a little warmly.
“« To be sure they aren't flesh and blood; but they are very honest
folks in their way, and God forbid that I should say a word against
them !”

“ Lord, Mr. Holland,” cried our hostess’s toady, “ do you believe in
witches ?”

“« What do you mean by ‘ believe?’” replied Jack: “ I mean to say
I’ve seen ’em—sometimes in the main shrouds—sometimes between the
upper sheets.”

*«* Witches in shrouds are certainly in character,” remarked Mrs. Blue-
busk ; “ but how they get between the sheets is a little incomprehen-
sible.”

“ Well, then, damme’e, ma’am,” cried Jack, somewhat nettled at her
want of faith, “ it is still more incomprehensible how you are to get at
the upper sheets without the shrouds.”

“Why, I protest, Mr. Holland, you are quite a Johnsonian,” an-
swered the lady ; “ you not only believe in witches, but use all his
hard-worded incongruities to puzzle your adversaries. Pray, are you
ready to go the length of his sesquipedalian lucubrations ?”

« Whew !” whistled the astounded Jack: “ I'll go the length of my
own tether, ma’am, with anybody ; but as to Sess’s-queer-puddling, I
leave that to my betters.”

Mrs. Bluebusk stared ; but nothing could make her resign. “ At all
events,” cried she, “ you can have no objection to defend your favourite
Shakspeare by explaining one of his witch scenes, which, to my poor
ability, I must confess is absolute nonsense.—Miss Stibbs, my dear,
have the kindness to fetch Macbeth.”

Away toddled toady ; while Jack employed the interval in wiping
the thick-set perspiration from his forehead, and muttering to himself
something, the only wordsof which that I could hear, were “ she-shark !
—Shakspeare— Macbeth !—who the devil are they ?”

““ Now let us take this scene, Mr. Holland,” cried his persecutrix,
armed with the sixth volume of Shakspeare. “ Here, sir, this.—Pray
don’t turn away !—The third scene of the first act—If you will but
explain the first ten lines, I shall be satisfied.”

Jack, who had well nigh made up his mind to have a run for it when
Shakspeare was produced, thought that, for the sake of his reputation, ten
lines might be ventured on ; and he, therefore, took the book from her.

«“ Where am I to begin, ma’am ?”

« There, if you please, sir—‘ Enter the three Witches.’ ”

“ Yes, ma’am:; but, upon my word, you seem to read as well as I do.

1831. The Man of Letters. 535

If, you don’t understand it now, I really doubt whether you will a bit
the more, though I should read all night.”

*© Ah! Mr. Holland, that is your modesty !—Now, pray begin.”

Jack gave me a horrible look,.as if he was just entering into the last
agonies ; and then in a sepulchral tone proceeded.—“ ‘ 1 Witch. Where
hast thou been, sister ?’—Come, that is pretty clear, however. Now you
see, ma'am, supposing I was an old woman, and was to say to you,—
“where hast thou been, sister ?’—-do you mean to say you would not
understand me?”

Mrs. Bluebusk, who was at that doubtful age which the owner calls
young, and the rest of the world calls old, bridled up at the illustration,
as she exclaimed, “ Oh! I understand that, sir, of course.”

“To be sure—I knew you must,’ cried Jack, triumphantly.—
«2 Witch. Killing swine.’ ”

« Ah, what does that mean?” interrupted the hostess.

« Why, this is clearer than t’other. It comes from the Chinese. When
I was at Canton, there was a grand dispute about the way in which
pigs ought to be killed. Some were for sticking—others for hanging—
and a third party for the knock-me-down bullock fashion. Now I take
it, this witch is a disputaceous lady—these thundering old women often
are—and she starts the subject ‘ killing swine, for the purpose of
chopping a bit of logic with her sisters.”

* Well, I protest that never struck me before,” exclaimed Mrs. Blue-
busk.—*< What comes next?”

“<3 Witch. Sister, where thou ?’—Now, you see, this third witch is
a quiet, peaceable soul; and, instead of accepting the challenge, she
tries to turn the conversation another way. Suppose we do the same,
ma’am.” ‘

“« No, really,” cried the lady ; ‘ I cannot consent ; your observations
are so truly original !—_What comes next?”

*« ] Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap.’ ”

« Why < chestnuts,’ Mr. Holland?”

“ Clear again, ma’am. The author’s object is to take us back to pri-
Mitive society. Acorns first, and then chestnuts! You observe how
ingeniously he has managed it.—I admit, however, that it would have
been more natural, if he had added in a note, ‘ Let me advise my read-
ers never to eat the husks.’

‘ A sailor’s wife had chestnuts in her lap,
And mouncht, and mouncht, and mouncht.’

‘Now that is full of nature again. He means to signify that the good
wife had lost her teeth ; and how expressive is ‘ mouncht’ of the way
in which old, toothless dames get through their victuals! Perhaps you
will ring the bell, ma’am, and let us see you eat a crust. Of all things
in the world, I like practical illustrations.”

“ That you do, Jack,” cried I, with a sigh ; while a fleeting vision of
crockery and broken furniture swam before my eyes.

“* Give me, quoth I,” continued Jack, reading—‘ No one, I
presume, will dispute the nature of that.—‘Aroint thee, witch, the rump-
fed ronyon cries.’”

* Ah! now, that is what I want to know. What is the meaning of
* aroint?’”

“Lord, ma’am, can you doubt that for a moment,” answered Jack ;

536 The Man of Letters. [ Noy.

« just look back to the line before—‘ and mouncht, and mouncht, and
mouncht.’ There, you see: she does not mounch once, or twice, but
three times. Why, then, of course, she must have her mouth pretty
tolerably full ; and being in a hurry to answer the applicant, how
beautifully expressive of an indistinct palate pronunciation is the word
‘ Aroint.. We really must have the slice of bread up to illustrate all
this: and see how the picture is carried on—‘ the rump-fed ronyon
cries. That shews her good living, and accounts for her being always
mounching: she had just dined off rump-steak pudding, and was mak-
ing her dessert on chestnuts. ‘ Her husband’s to Aleppo gone, master of
the Tyger, —Now, this you see 4

«Oh, come, Mr. Holland, I fancy that I need not trouble you to
explain that. Here is my nephew, who has been two years midshipman
ina king’s ship, and I presume he must know a little more about sea
matters than you.”

Jack, with high indignation in his look, surveyed the young whipper-
snapper, who had been thus unceremoniously put over his old seafaring
head, and vehemently exclaimed “ Phoo! phoo !” which was about as
much contempt as he thought it became him to condescend to express ;
and having thus vented his spleen, he continued—

«« « But in a sieve I’ll thither sail,
And like a rat without a tail,
T’ll do, T'll do, I’ll do.’

‘ And like a rat without a tail,’—that line’s fine, ma’am, very fine.”

« Yes, Sir, but what may it mean ?”

“ Mean !”” echoed Jack: “ now that is as cruel a question as I ever
heard. I point out to you a fine line, and then you ask me what it
means ; just as if you can expect a thing to be fine, and have meaning
too |”

* And what say you to the last line you have read?”

««VIldo, Vl do, I'll do !’ why, ma’am, I say this,—upon my soul I
can’t do any more,” and without further ceremony he bounced out of
the room, whispering me as he passed, “I'll tell you what, Captain
Tom, the old lady has run me regularly dry, so I'm off to the Bee, to
get a double allowance of grog.”

Mrs. Bluebusk looked after him as he sailed along, and then turning
to me, cried, “ Upon my word, your friend is a very extraordinary
gentleman ; but it is easy to perceive that his genius is of the first-rate
order, and that entitles him, of course, to be eccentric.”

I signified my assent to the proposition by a silent bow, at the same
time inwardly congratulating myself that matters had passed off so well.
After this, the conversation gradually extended into general subjects,
when it was suddenly interrupted by a loud bustle on the stairs, which
attracted every body’s attention ; and a minute after, two brawny, top-
booted fellows strode into the apartment.

«« What may you be pleased to want here?” demanded Mrs. Bluebusk
at the top of her voice.

«Oh, Ma’am, no offence to you,” replied one of the fellows, “ but
there is a gentleman here whom we want. We are London bailiffs,
backed with the Suffolk sheriff’s writ to arrest one Mr. Join Howden,
alias Holland (as we hear he is called in these parts,) for £1000, at
the suit of Nicholas Gorgle.”

1831.] The Man of Letters. 537

Mrs. Bluebusk looked at me, with a thousand thunders in her eye.
As for me, I was all trepidation. Farewell all peace—farewell all tran-
quillity, after Mrs. Bluebusk’s sanctum had been violated by bailiffs in
search of a person whom I had introduced.

At length the storm burst forth—* Captain Burton,” exclaimed she,
«JT am astonished at your placing me in such a situation. I have every
respect for literary men, and as such feel towards Mr. Howden.”

«Lord love you, ma’am,” cried the London bailiff, “what do you
mean by a literary man? Mr. Howden is none of that sort, and I ought
to know, for I have had most of the literary men in England in my cus-
tody, at one time or another. This here defendant is an old East Indian
sailor, and, I’ll be sworn, never read a book in his life, unless, perhaps,
it was his own log, or Falconer’s Shipwreck.”

« Falconer’s Shipwreek !” screamed the Toady.

« Falconer’s Shipwreck !” screamed Mrs. Bluebusk :—“ that accounts
for it, then! Captain Burton, how dare you tell me that your friend
was a man of letters ?”

At that moment the servant entered, and put a note into my hand. I
saw in an instant that it was written by Jack. I opened it—glanced at
its contents—while Mrs. Bluebusk exclaimed “ Don’t read that im-
poster’s scrawl ; but tell me, Sir, how you dared to pass him off to me
as a man of letters ?”

« A man of letters, ma’am,” cried I, “ listen to this note, and then tell
me if he is not a man of letters.”

“To A. T. B., Esq., F.R.S., &c.

«Bee, Eye, Sept. 2,—-10, p. m., A. D. 1831.

«“ Dear T.—Tell Mrs. B., though I’ve drunk her tea, and our thoughts
“so gee, I cannot come back p. p. c., because D. I. O. with the scent
“of a bailiff at my heels. This is a word in the Q. E. D. That rascal
“N. G., who holds my I. O. U., has traced me to Eye with a ca. sa.

“ Your’s most literaliy, J. W. H.”

« P.S.—Remember me to F. and K., and beg them not to put an
«R. after my name, though for the present I am Q in the corner.”

The bailiffs, when they heard it, were off like a shot. Mrs. Blue-
busk, when she heard it, thought that a better case had been made out
than could have been expected ; upon which, Miss Tibbs thought so
too. My nieces, Fanny and Kate, when they heard it, shed a tear
a-piece for honest Jack’s misfortune ; and, lest my readers should do
the same, let me add, that I have just received news that the friend
whom he guaranteed has just returned nummi plenus, and released from
all his pecuniary difficulties this newly-dubbed “ man of letters.”

[ 538 J [Nov.
THE SYCOPHANT. find 9@ Deus or

Bearfoot Hall, January '18—.

- My pear Brorner.—You were certainly very considerate in offering
to provide for one of my boys in your own line ; you meant it kindly, I
know, and I thank you. And yet I think I should hardly have intruded
my second son, Winterton, on your protection, were it not that he has
already manifested in so many various ways the disposition of a courtier,
that, faith, I suspect he can never be an honest man.

You see, brother, I am unchanged ; the worthy representative of
those (with one exception) unbaroneted Bears, who, ever since the days
of the fifth Henry, have been ready and willing to shew and use their
tusks. My other son is a chip of the old block ; but Winterton re-
sembles you in person as well as in mind: and I never witness the
graceful bow which he makes when Lord C. pays us a visit, without
thinking of the congeé with which you never failed to salute the provost
at Cambridge; while your artless elder brother paid his respects so
awkwardly, that he excited the ridicule, and he used to fancy, the con-
tempt of professors and students. Well! in this old weather-beaten
hall, I will venture to assert that I have been as happy as you, with the
smiles of your king (God bless him) beaming on you, and the applause
of a parcel of sycophants ringing in your ears.

When Winterton has been with you a few months, perhaps you will
be able to write and tell me if he is likely to make a figure in your
world. If he is to go to the devil, it is easier travelling a road em-
bedded with golden sand, than one covered with paving stones ; and I
should like my boy to make the best of it, at all events. Perhaps you
may be able to come down to us sometime during the shooting season ;
you will hardly know the girls, they are so much improved.

My dear Basil,
To the Right Hon. Your affectionate brother,
Sir Basil Monkton Bearfoot. Haroutp Bearroor.

The baronet to whom this note was addressed, received it about two
o'clock on the afternoon of a winter’s day, in his library—a small and
silent room, where no light was admitted except through a painted oriel
window, opening into St. James’s park. A servant in a rich livery pre-
sented it to him, upon a chased gold salver, and then stood back,
evidently waiting to deliver a message. Sir Basil, after casting his eye
over the letter, looked up.

« The young gentleman who brought that letter, sir ?”—

« Let him be shewn an apartment ; he is my nephew.”

« And the messenger from Whitehall, sir ?”—

« Must wait.”

«* Mr. Granville is below, sir.”

« Let him call to-morrow, at twelve.”

«« There is a person from the city—a clerk of

« T know; let him also call to-morrow, and tell every one that I am
particularly engaged. I shall not want the carriage till four o’clock.”
The servant bowed and withdrew.

Sir Basil Monkton Bearfoot was a slight and worn-looking man, of it
might be forty or even fifty, for care had suffered no traces but its own
to remain on his aristocratic features ; his mouth when in repose was

”

1831.] The Sycophant. 539

firm and severe, but when he smiled, there was something so ineffably
sweet in its character, that you forgot the statesman, and looked only
upon a kind and benevolent friend. His forehead was high and expan-
sive, and the eyes which sheltered beneath his very shaggy and rugged
brows, were quick and even restless in action and expression. He read
over his brother’s letter without betraying any emotion, at least, none
that would have excited the attention of an ordinary observer, Again
he cast his eye upon the opening paragraph, and commented thus upon
the epistle, leaning back in the chaise-longue, and placing his feet on a
small ottoman that stood directly before the fire :-—

* Second son, Winterton.” The eldest, I suppose, is to be initiated
like Dandie Dinmont’s terriers, ‘wi rottens, wi stots, wi tods, and
brocks, until he fears nothing that ever wore a hairy skin,” and that for
the purpose of keeping the animal with just the proportion of intellect
that belonged to his ancestors ! :

* Unbaronetted bears.’ I do believe my worthy brother thinks my
accepting a baronetcy as disgraceful as if I had been knighted on Lord
Mayor's day.

‘© Manifested in many various ways the disposition of a courtier,”—
ergo—* he can never be an honest man.” Harold, Harold! An elder
brother never forgives a younger one his prosperity ; and to cut at my
advancement you resort to the old adage of “ rogues at court.”

* Use their tusks.” Aye, to gore their friends.

“ Graceful bow.” You were, indeed, a bear, and consequently
despised the ease and grace which churlish nature had denied you from
your birth; how easy it is to despise what we cannot possess. Happy,
happy,’ repeated the minister. ‘ After all, we may balance accounts,
perhaps, and place nothing to either debtor or creditor! Happiness !”
he again ejaculated; and pressing his hand on his brow, repeated the
wise observation of a wise man,—‘ Alas! we are apt to call things by
wrong names :—we will have prosperity to be happiness, and adversity
to be misery, though that is truly the school of wisdom.”

«If he is to go to the devil, it is easier travelling a road embedded
with golden sand, than one covered with paving stones!” An expres-
sion of bitterness and scorn passed over the baronet’s face as he laid
down the letter, after repeating the paragraph. “ And this,” he said,
«is the moral philosophy of an English country gentleman, in the year
of our Lord 18—! No attempt to withdraw his son from what he
affects to consider the road to destruction ; the youth has taken it into
his head, I suppose, to fall down and worship the idol of the straining
eyes and the beating heart—even ambition! and his father says ‘ you'll
be certainly damned for idolatry ; but if you get well paid for it, why,
you must e’en support the gilded curse as best you can!’ What clods
we are at best,” he continued, after a moment's pause, “ marry! this
brother of mine cannot see the difference between a courtier and a syco-
phant—between a man who, inspired by the glorious rays of God’s own
luminary, soars upwards, and upwards, and upwards, until with steady
eye and well-poised wing he looks on earth’s greatest as the mere instru-
ments of his Amprrion:—he cannot see the difference between such a
being as this, and the moping, mowing owl that feeds on mice, worships
the moon, and pays homage to all that have better eyes than itself ; both
are rapacious, and so, according to his theory, both must be the same.
I must see the youth, however, and shall soon see through him, I sus-

540 The Sycophant. [ Nov.

pect, or, despite his likeness to his uncle, he is no son of my good
brother of Bearfoot Hall.”

Winterton Bearfoot bowed in so obsequious a manner on entering his
uncle’s presence, and inclined his body, which was long and lean, so
completely after the fashion of a falling tower, that he had established
himself for some moments on the corner of a high-backed chair, before
Sir Basil could regard or observe the expression of his sharp, keen
features. It was, in truth, one of those faces which, even in age, it is
painful enough to look upon, because it tells of suspicion and mistrust :
‘but in youth—when we love the open brow, the clear calm eye, that re-
flects the purity of heaven, and brightens with the beams of truth—it is
sad, I say, to see the features in the spring of life, worn, and contracted,
and gangreened with that loathsome suspicion which narrows the eye,
furrows the cheek, and teaches the mouth to smile in such a sort, that
you would rather it never smiled at all. Winterton Bearfoot was not
yet twenty, but he had set his heart (without consulting his head) upon
being a Metternich at the very least; and, as a preparation for the
diplomatic situation he hoped to fill, commenced by practising the art of
deception upon every biped and quadruped at the Hall. He was
hardly thirteen, when his father’s game-keeper detected him snaring
hares, and bagging young partridges ; and it was the universal opinion
that he entertained no liking for any living creature except himself.
As he grew older, he practised the art of betraying upon the other sex,
and that with so much success, that all the old dames in the parish made
bonfires in honour of his departure ; nor was this much to be wondered
at :—his father gave him “ Lord Chesterfield’s Letters to his Son,” to
form his manners, and of himself he adopted “ Rochfocault’s Maxims’ to
form his mind. These precious monitors, acting upon a crafty and ill-
directed brain, aided his spurious ambition, and bid fair to make Win-
terton Bearfoot—not a second Metternich, but a smooth, creeping
scoundrel.

It requires much more talent than people are in general aware of, to
form a respectable rascal.

It is true that the aspirant’s smile was insidious, but not sufficiently
so to deceive the initiated; and his eagerness to appear what he was
not, led those versed in the world’s ways to believe that he was even
more weak than wicked. “We take cunning,” says Bacon, in his
admirable Essays—“we take cunning for a sinister and crooked wisdom,”
and certainly there is a great difference between a cunning man, and
a wise man, not only in point of honesty, but in point of ability.
True, and that was precisely the difference which existed between the
minds of the uncle and nephew ; and though the cunning may some-
times pass for the wise, a little time reads the difference clearly.

« T like our cousin so much,” said the -baronet’s youngest daughter
(he unfortunately had no sons), climbing on his knee, after Winterton
had been domesticated about six weeks in the family ; “ he is so atten-
tive to Emma, and has presented her such a sweet ring with a heart’s-ease
.upon it, and a pretty motto.” “ Indeed,” was papa’s answer. And Sir
Basil, whose observations had presented him no inclination to bestow his
eldest daughter upon his second nephew, without farther comment, sat
down, and wrote to a brother minister, requesting that he would
provide for Winterton in the Colonial Office ; quaintly adding, that he
had no particular desire to settle him in “ the home department,” but

1832.] The Sycophant. hAl

would oblige his friend in return, when he had a relative to dispose of :—
thus was his first promotion marred by his want of honest wisdom.

Cunning said, “ flirt with and secure the daughter—the eldest daugh-
ter, while you flatter the father and mother.”—* Do not flirt,” quoth
Wisdom, “ steady your eye and nerve your hand to one great purpose,
and suffer nothing to interfere with that.’,—*“ But if I marry the daugh-
ter,” replied Cunning—“ You will starve,’’ said Wisdom. But Cun-
ning laughed—not outwardly, but inwardly—and the tender token was
bestowed ; and the baronet, taking Wisdom for his monitor, got rid of
his nephew in the course of the following week, considerately placing
him in a boarding-house, to be near the situation he had procured.
The head of the department where he was now drafted, was of a
different character and bearing from Sir Basil; a man who from the
mere fact of being of low birth, looked coldly, though with a specious
diffidence, upon well-born and highly distinguished persons ; one,
who like Sir Archy Macsycophant, was aye “ booing, booing, booing,”
yet while he bowed, he sneered, and from a habit of suspecting all, had
learned to think that he was himself suspected. In the mere act of
bowing he was likely to be out-done by Winterton, whom he imme-
diately regarded with jealousy, because in the first place he was of an
old family, and secondly, because it was in compliance with a request,
which from the quarter it came, might almost be considered a com-
mand, that he was now under his protection ; and his mean small mind
imagined that there must be some peculiar reason for Sir Basil’s request.
«© Why not provide for him in his own department?” said he to his
wife, “ there must be a motive for it ; doubtless he wishes to gain more
intimate information as to my proceedings.”

“ Very likely,” replied the lady; “ or, perhaps, Lady Monkton
Bearfoot, thinks by this means to make herself acquainted with my
principles of economy.”’

« Psha!” retorted the husband, “ your ideas revolve round one
subject, and one only!” forgetting that his own were precisely of the
same nature. How often in domestic life does the husband reproach
the wife for the very errors which he implanted, without reflecting
what the fruits would be.

Winterton Bearfoot, had he possessed a little more wisdom, might
have overcome much prejudice, but as it was, he appeared (at least so
his superior thought) intent on foiling him with his own weapons. Did
a great man enter the office, Winterton out-Heroded Herod in his
attentions. Who was ever half so obsequious? Who ever listened to
the worse than nothings which fell from titled lips, with so inclined a
body—so intent an ear—so homage-like a carriage? Who laughed
and continually applauded the stale jests and antiquated “ Joes,” of an
expectant governor, with a tenth of the zeal and earnestness of Winter-
ton Bearfoot !

“The fellow leaves me nothing to do in the way of compliment,”
said his uncle’s friend (I suppose I may use the cant term for the occa-
sion) to his listening mate, one night after the departure of a dinner
party, in which the young official was of necessity included ; “ did you
not notice the compliment he paid Lord Eatemup? who is not only
a gourmé, but a gourmand : he was helped twice—yes, twice to soup, and
the second time that he called for turbot, asked particularly for the fins.
Winterton was so extraordinarily attentive to his wants, that at last his
lordship said, ‘ Sir, you make no dinner.’—‘ Your pardon, my lord,’

542 The Sycophant. [Nov.

returned the popinjay, ‘I leave that for my superiors—but too happy
to be enabled to wait on those whose rank and talent command so much
respect.’ ”

“« And how did it take?” inquied his lady.

“ Faith, not at all—Eatemup’s a fool—yet the bait was too large for
even him to swallow—he never, during the whole dinner, asked him to
take wine!”

“ He made himself quite ridiculous by his sweet attentions to the
ladies Lycett,” proceeded his wife ; “he praised the beauty of Lady
Jane’s mahogany complexion, and eulogized Lady Emily’s figure,
which every body knows is padded.”

“ I wish the devil had him,” exclaimed the husband.

“The creature is perfectly harmless ;” opined the son, who had’ a
greater portion of sense than either parent, however strongly it might
be enveloped in the bandages of affectation, which so closely entwine
our modern youths. “ Perfectly harmless—upon my honour!” and he
yawned, naturally too, as drawing his fingers through his fair and
perfumed curls, he leaned his elbow on the chimney-piece—to the let,
hindrance, and molestation, of the thousand and one knick-nackeries
which crowded its polished surface.

“I do not think so,” responded his father, in that decided tone which
papas resort too, when children presume to differ from them in a
favourite opinion. ‘ I do not think so—but upon what do you ground
your assertion ?”

“« He is too mean, too anxious to produce an effect, without knowing
how to set about it—in short he is nothing but a sycophant.”

“ Humph ! he must go elsewhere for all that,” persisted the father ;
“a little situation in the colonies.” .

“ Which Ido not think his uncle would object to—upon my honour,”
drawled forth the son, closing the drawing-room door and his obser-
vation at one and the same moment.

And “the little situation in the colonies” was procured; and the
youth shipped off, to the secret gratification of both parties concerned
in his departure. His uncle addressed the following epistle to his
brother, when Winterton went down previous to his departure, to take
leave of his family.

“My dear Brother,—Winterton has now been not only with me,
but in the Colonial Office, as you are aware, some months, and it is
with regret I assure you, he is unfit for owr courtier-like existence—will
you believe it, brother Harold—he bows too much! However, the
situation to which he is appointed is in every way advantageous, and
as he will of course explain all matters connected with it to you, I will
say no more on the subject. He is likely to make more gold in India
than in England—and as that was one of the principal, if I remember
rightly, of your desires for him, I am glad there is a prospect of its
fulfilment. ‘* Your's, my dear brother, as ever,

* To Harold Bearfoot, Esq., « B. M. B.”

* Bearfoot Hall.”

“ Bows too much,” repeated Harold Bearfoot, of Bearfoot Hall, ten
times at the very least, and with every intonation of voice that it is
possible to imagine. ‘ How the devil can that be—these courtiers
grow more incomprehensible than ever. India! I should like him to
return governor-general at the very least—if it were only to spite ‘his

1831.) The Sycophant. 543

uncle... The case is clear—clear at noon-day—he was jealous of the boy
'—that is the simple fact—Oh! it is clear—quite. Well—an open field
and fair play, and my life on’t he'll be a ” but before the old
gentleman could exactly determine what he should be—he was sound
asleep (it was after dinner) in his comfortably cushioned chair.

There are many persons, and many occurrences, in the world which
tempt us to put much faith in Lord Bolingbroke’s assertion, that ‘as
proud as we are of human reason, nothing can be more absurd than the
general system of human life and human knowledge.” This is cer-
tainly true, and the theories of various speculators or philosophers, as
I believe it is the fashion to call any set of men who start a particularly
new or peculiar doctrine, are no less singular than amusing, and more
extraordinary than the absurdity Lord Bolingbroke complains of. Ma-
homet, for instance, who understood human nature as well if not better
than any uninspired person, gravely declared that women had no souls.
And Monboddo, who says he knew the world, contends that men are
only monkies who have rubbed away their tails!! A grave Spanish
writer I have heard of, makes this theory more probable, by actually
proving that the Jews had once tails! There is no assertion, however
absurd, that will not be believed by some simple-hearted, unsophis-
ticated people, who think their system as they speak their language,
and dislike the trouble of translating either the one or the other. It was
precisely so at all events with Harold Bearfoot, who having taken it
into his head that his brother was afraid of his nephew—slept upon the
idea, and could have sworn with a clear conscience to its truth when
he awoke.

Winterton’s sisters were soon busied in the clipping and cutting of
linen, calico, muslin, and the necessary equipments for India ; his kind,
good-natured mother, the very personification of Lady Bountiful, stowed
chests of conserves, and hordes of tongues, hams, and pickles, away for
his use, enough to stock an Indiaman; while his father rang a succession
of changes on Sir Basil’s jealousy, the governor-generalship of India,
and the respectability (for that was his favourite phrase) of the Bear-
foots.

“God bless you, my dear boy! do not forget to wear your flannels
on board ship,” sobbed the tender and kind mother. The sisters wept
also ; not that Winterton was beloved by any of them, for sycophants,
at home, are always selfish, making up for their out-of-door suavity, by
in-door austerity. But the idea of parting, even with the dog that
worries, excites, for the moment, something approaching to regret.
Besides, it was right to be sorrowful, and their tears were mixed with
certain tender memoranda, as they pressed cheek to cheek in the great
hall. “ Winterton, you will not surely forget the cornelian.” ‘ Win-
terton, the carved fan.” “Oh, brother! you surely will remember the
ivory work-box.” ‘ Winterton,” sobbed forth Julia, the youngest, and
consequently the most natural of the family, as she climbed up his knees,
and circled her little arms round his neck—* dear Winterton, come
back soon, and bring me my parrot.” His father had made his adieus in
what was called—certainly without any reason—the library ; but as his
instructions were perfectly disregarded by his son, and not likely to be
of much use to any one, there is no necessity, that I know of, for re-
peating them here. One thing is certain—that when Mrs. Bearfoot en-
tered the room, more than an hour after her son's departure, she saw

a44 The Sycophant. Nov.

that her husband’s forehead still leaned against the window, and that his’
eye was fixed upon the long, unbroken line of avenue, which the sha-
dows of evening were rendering every instant more indistinct. “ What
does it signify, after all, Bess?” he murmured, drawing his hand with
no gentle motion across his eyes; “there is no doubt of his returning
governor-general, at the very least!”

Years passed on ; Sir Basil Monkton Bearfoot had paid the debt of
nature, after suffering (like most public men, who deserve well of their
country) much unmerited calumny and reproach: and his brother, also,
slept the everlasting sleep in the tomb of his fathers ; the elder girls
were either married, or old maids; and if Julia had not received her
parrot, she made up the loss, by becoming, like most other women, a
parrot herself. The eldest son of the Bearfoots bade fair to perpetuate the
lack-wit of his father, and was, to speak in homely phrase, a dosing,
smoking, club-going, English ’squire, with less money, and more neces-
sities, than had ever fallen to the share of his progenitors.

It was on a fine and cheerful day, that a group of military-looking men
were assembled under the piazzas of the United Service Club, discussing
the most current topics of conversation, and passing jests and remarks on
the pedestrians who sauntered up and down Pall-Mall, or loitered to.
gaze on the engraved glories which grace the windows of “ Moon,
Boys, and Graves.” “ Surely I know that face,” said Major Matton to
his friend, Colonel Guildford; “ I cannot be deceived ; and yet, if so,
he is strangely altered.” The gentleman who elicited this observation,
seeing that he had caught the eye of two of the party, stopped, looked
up with a smile, any thing but pleasing, and bowed twice, in so lowly a
manner, that even in these days of nods and abruptness his salutation at-
tracted the attention of several of the ordinary passengers ; the greeting
was acknowledged with so marked a coldness, that the person went on
his way, not, however, without repeating the bow, as if it had met with
the warmest reception.

“Tf a masked and draped figure were to rise out of the waves, and
salute me after that fashion, I could swear to it.”

“ And so could I,” replied his friend ; ‘* nothing can change that
man. One would have thought that his Indian experience would have
gone some way towards breaking the neck of his lies and flatteries; they
were too gross even for the East.”

“ Pardon me,” replied the other, “ poor Bearfoot had never tact
enough to discover that; it was not given him to see more than one
side of any question. You were at Madras, I believe, when he ar-
rived ?”

«I was, and he was a standing jest among us for some time, though
we discovered at last, that he was malignant and treacherous as a tiger. .
We had a good deal of leisure, and some five or six used to enter into a
combination, to make the creature contradict himself twenty times a
day. Lord Goydon, poor fellow!. would meet him with—‘ Good
morrow, Bearfoot ; I think we shall have rain to-day.’—*‘ Your lordship
is always correct ; and, with all due deference, I had just formed the
same opinion. I hope your lordship will avoid cold. At the next turn
the colonel would exclaim—‘ Ah, Bearfoot! another of our scorching
days ; we shall be cinders soon.’—* Calcined, colonel, calcined ; I never.

1831.] The Sycophant. 545

saw such indications of heat; my dear ‘sir, you ought not to venture out
without an umbrella.’

«<< Bearfoot !’ Collingwood would exclaim, with a grave countenance,
‘ I fear we shall have a change of administration—they are not content
in Old England with the way affairs are managed, nor, to tell you the
truth, am I over well satisfied.’

“« «Who has so much penetration as you, my dear Sir ?—(for Colling-
wood was high in office)—I only wish that there were such men—
(with emphasis)—as I could name, near the throne, and then, indeed,
we should be once more a great nation.’

«« Ah, Winterton, is that you?’ Sir Thomas Greville would say,
slapping him on the shoulder, with a vigour which would throw the
generality of men into undisguised passion at such a familiarity, ‘ have
you heard the news, my boy—our friends in the administration over
the water, are firm—firm in their seats; besides all rumour of change
has passed, and I am sure you are delighted at it.’

« « Undoubtedly, my dear Sir Thomas—I am delighted—perfectly so.
Ah! you always said how it would be—from first to last! What would
I not give for your powers of discernment !’

«“ We had often,” continued Colonel Guildford, “ jested, as I have
said, on the mean, sycophantish habits of this youth ; but on the night
of the day when the above conversations took place, eanag joined our
party, we were, as gentlemen generally are after dinner, more merry
than wise—and at supper managed to recapitulate our morning
dialogues.

“« Come,’ said Collingwood, laughing, ‘ you and I, Bearfoot, will
take a glass of this fine claret together, to the change we talked of this
morning.’

«« Winterton bit his lip, and coloured ; but anxious to avoid the subject,
filled a bumper immediately.

«< « What change is that?’ inquired Sir Thomas, who of course was
in the secret, ‘ change of love—has Winterton been again fickle ?’

« «No, no, no!’ vociferated Collingwood,— it is the change, the happy
change, that either is to, or has taken place in our English adminis-
tration.’

« «Winterton Bearfoot will never lift glass in such a cause,’ replied
the other ; ‘ he is a good man and true—true lipped and true hearted.
Why, it was only this morning that he assured me he was perfectly
delighted at the stability of our affairs, and congratulated me on my
powers of discernment.’

« J’ll not believe it,’ retorted Collingwood, ‘ it was my penetration
he complimented, and who can compliment so well.’

« The jest was carried on good-humouredly and gloriously, as we called
it, and the sycophant was, even in our estimation, sufficiently mortified.
The next morning his smiles, to our astonishment, were as bland as
ever; but in the course of a month or so, Collingwood was very coolly
received at the government house. For this there was no apparent way
of accounting, and we attributed it to the caprices of the great, the
intermitting fever of inconsistency. The same change, however, was
perceptible towards Sir Thomas Grenville, and all of our party, on
that evening, with the exception of Bearfoot, who had certainly bowed
himself into the good graces of the governor’s lady, at last. Many other
circumstances roused our suspicions, and at last we received information

M.M. New Series.—Vouw.XII. No. 71. * 2 xX

546 The Sycophant. [Nov.

that the villain had absolutely forged some letters, written others (ano-
nymously, of course), and moved heaven and earth, to be revenged
for our jest. He had blackened us in a most horrid degree, and when
it was all discovered his exeellency’s coldness was fully explained.
Bearfoot’s scheme was more characterised by cunning than wisdom ; but
as we were talking of our meditated punishment for his transgressions,
and of their probable result, the news burst upon us, like a thunder-
cloud, that Winterton, the lying, sycophantish Winterton Bearfoot, had
absolutely stolen a march upon the governor, and clandestinely married
the youngest and most lovely of his daughters ; we pitied the girl, and
we' sympathised most truly with her parents, and well we might, for
it nearly broke the old man’s heart. He saw the perfect and utter
unworthiness of the man she was united to, as an officer and a gen-
tleman he could not acknowledge a branded liar, and his feelings as a
father had been most deeply outraged by the duplicity she had been
induced to practise. They were obliged to leave the country without
money and without pardon ; but we heard that the governor procured
him some small situation in the West India Islands. I have known
nothing of him since ; but his salutation tells me he is unreformed.”

I must now pass over a few additional months, and then introduce
my readers to a very miserable room, in the neighbourhood of Ken-
nington—a little attic of one of those new paper-like houses, where the
wind displaces the cement intended to unite the mixture of coarse clay
denominated, in builder’s terms, “ close burnt brick.’”? A man in soiled
and worn-out garments was arranging the remains of what had been
fine and abundant hair, at a three-cornered bit of looking-glass, which
rested against the creaking window-frame, his features were ghastly
and attenuated, and a low, wheezing cough, interrupted in a most pain-
ful manner the dialogue he was carrying. on, with a slight and ele-
gantly formed woman, whose beauty had been evidently destroyed
both by want and sorrow ; but little fire crouched amid the three rusty
bars which served as a grate, yet a girl of about thirteen was endea-
vouring to heat an iron over its embers, with the evident intention
of ironing a yellowish shirt-collar, and still more yellow neckcloth, on one
end of a napless blanket, which had been half drawn off the wretched
bed for the purpose ; a boy, of, perhaps five, with the restlessness of
childhood, was endeavouring to catch those cold, blue-looking flies,
that buzz so incessantly in deserted windows, robbing even the ambushed
spiders of their prey.

** How can I get it out, love?” said the woman, in a gentle, expos-
tulating tone ; “it was my last resource, God knows, to pledge it, and I
would not have taken it but to procure them food.”

«It must be had, for all that—it is the only thing I can wear—it
hides all defects; and, indeed, I have every reason to believe that I
shall be able to obtain this situation at last.”

The woman shook her head.

“ Between both our connections—they do not know the absolute state
of starvation we are in—but I must have the cloak.”

« Winterton,” replied: she, solemnly, “even my ring—my wedding
ring, is gone—of all my jewels not a stone, not a pearl remains. We
have hardly wherewith to cover our worn limbs—and the chain—”

“Ay, woman-like, mourn over your baubles,” he replied unfeel-

1831.] The Sycophant. 547

ingly. “Then why not leave us to starve, and go at once home to your
lady mother.”

The patient wife looked at her daughter, whose tears were fast cooling
the iron she had heated, and snatching her boy to her bosom, replied
only with a burst of tears to her husband’s brutal taunt.

Somewhat softened, he continued ; “ Forgive me, Anna—but there is
your father’s picture—the miniature—I am sure neither of us have any
reason to cherish that. You could pledge it, and redeem my cloak.
Something tells me that my appeal of to-day will be successful.”

After a moment's pause she arose, and unfastening an old red leather
ease, placed the little picture in her husband's hand.

“You surely do not expect me to go to a pawnbroker’s?” he ex-
claimed, his habitual selfishness returning immediately.

«Winterton, I cannot take this there.”

«Then she can,” he said.

« What! send my child to such a place ?”

«You are much more careful of her than of me,” was the sneering
reply.

‘She again took up the miniature, and with the manner of one who
has nothing more dear to part with, descended the creaking stairs.

Winterton Bearfoot is already recognized, and it only remains to
accompany him, enveloped in his cloak, to the dwelling of the great
man, from whom he expected, perhaps, because of his importunity, as
much as any thing else, some situation.

After many hours waiting he was more bitterly disappointed than
ever, and his hurried step and hectic cheek evinced the contending
feelings of his mean, but yet human bosom. His family had long cast
him off as unworthy to bear his name—friends !—the sycophant, the
slanderer, had none—even she, who, “in evil report and good report,”
had followed—and watched—and waited—she, the high-born and the
beautiful, who in the fulness of her unworldly feelings had bestowed
her pure, her young affections, on one so unworthy the treasure—she,
he felt—he knew it—she, could not but scorn him; his children—his
own flesh and blood—they loathed—despisedehim—their father! They
clung to their mother with even more than the sweet confidence of
childhood, for they knew that if she would abandon them, her mother
would receive her to her bosom, and she would be rich—beloved as
ever.

Some—many, perhaps, of the good feelings which are always inhe-
rent with the bad in every bosom, however their cultivation may be
neglected, struggled within him, and he leant for a moment against a
tree in St. James’s Park, perhaps from a wish to arrange his ideas.
As he pressed his forehead against the rugged bark, two persons
passing, stopped, and exclaimed, at the same moment, “ Winterton
Bearfoot !” These persons were Collingwood and Colonel Guildford.

He looked at them, and the expression and brightness of his eyes,
blazing like torches in a charnel-house, rivetted both gentlemen to the
spot. At first he attempted to salute them, but the effort was made in
vain.

“ Ah !—you witnessed my disgrace, and the devil sent you here to
see my misery. Disappointed—loathed—starving—wife—children—all
starving. Well—let it be so.” A horrid change passed over his coun-
tenance, and as his hand, which was before extended towards them, fell

548 The Sycophant. [Noy.

helplessly towards the earth, he added, in a low and faltering voice,
«and as you called me the sycophant, why, you may call that the syco-
phant’s grave.”

They were his last words—he would have fallen on the earth, but
Collingwood caught him in his arms—a quantity of blood rushed from
his mouth —his face for a moment was crimson as the gore itself,
and then it faded almost as quickly, into the cold and pallid hue of
death. H.

THINGS THEATRICAL.

The winter season has begun, a season of great joy to the vicinity of
Covent Garden, Drury-lane, the Coburg, the Surrey, and a hundred
others of the chosen temples of Melpomene, Thalia, or whatever nymph
or goddess presides over tumblers, harlequins, monkeys, and melo-drames.

Covent Garden has begun, under the fortunate and extraordinary
omen of finishing a Chancery suit. This celebrated litigation, which
has cost more time, money, and law, than the luckiest decision can ever
repay ; whose briefs would cover the two Houses of Parliament with
parchment, and whose confusion would to this hour perplex the brains
of Lord Eldon himself, has closed ; and relieving Charles Kemble of
the third of an incumbrance to the amount of a hundred-and-fifty thou-
sand pounds, and Mr. Harris of the anxieties of being in Chancery for
the term of his natural life, sets the theatre afloat again, to steer through
the whirlpools and shallows of the season, arte sua.

Young has appeared, for the last season, as he threatens; but he is
too valuable an actor to be suffered to sink into his arm-chair yet, and
has too practical a sense of the wisdom of attending to the public wishes,
to transgress in this style. He may retire, and no one can help it. But
he will regret the step, every hour that he is able to take one from his
fireside, and the fact is that tragedy cannot do without him. We must
see this accomplished actor and well conducted man, leading the tragic
troop of kings and sages, for a season or two more, at least. When we
can find a hero and a lover for our Melpomene, like Charles Kemble ;
or a monarch and a sage to assist at her majesty of Helicon's councils,
like Young, we shall be disposed to give them both leave to retire, but
not till then. A long list of new performances is announced as in the
manager’s hands, and we need only say, that novelty is the great charm
with the public, and that the opulence of the manager's portfolio can-
not too soon be made public property.

Drury Lane has begun with the most vigorous resolution to melo-
dramatize mankind, to witch the world by noble lionship, and to win
golden opinions by more gold and silver scenery, more shewy prodi-
gality of procession, more lion-fighting, love-making, and tiger-cat-
hunting than ever was seen on human stage before.

The drama is entitled The Lions of Mysore. Hyder Ali is the royal
tyrant, and, under Mr. H. Wallack’s auspices, he looks the very fiercest
specimen of rage and royalty. M. Martin, the lion’s friend—as M.
Martin, of Connemara, was the donkey’s—acts the victim of his royal
rage, as Sadhusing, an Indian, who is robbed of every thing, and driven
to bivouac among the lords of the forest.

Hyder Ali pursues Sadhusing, the hero, with all the fury of an
Oriental despot ; he borrows his tongue, and then pursues his wife and

1831.] Things Theatrical. 549

daughter. Sadhusing, thus hunted, forms a league, offensive and de-
fensive, with the beasts. He sleeps with a lion, and has two to serve
as body-guards. . It is in a high degree interesting, to see a couple of
these animals, as much under his command, and as zealous in his defence
as two dogs. In the arena, which is altogether a capital scene, he fights
the lion with a javelin, and the beast seems really conquered. It under-
stands so well, however, when the fight is over, that it seems playfully
to bite the weapon before the scene closes. ‘The spectacle excited uni-
versal astonishment, and in the last scene, which, for splendour, sur-
passes every thing we have seen, a lion lay at Martin’s feet as passive
as though it were dead. There was no resisting the mass of splendour,
and the assemblage of extraordinary objects which this scene presented
—among which were two elephants, and every thing that we have been
accustomed to associate with ideas of Eastern magnificence. Since the
first night, the piece has undergone considerable alterations, particularly
as to length, and is now received with great favour. Martin zs a won-
der! he seems to regard a lion or tiger as he would a rabbit ; and, we
understand that, to any one but himself, these identical brutes are as
ferocious as the rest of their species. The various combats and pro-
cessions in this drama surpass any previous effort, and the last scene
may certainly be stamped as the ne plus ultra of scenic art.
But—

«« Envy does merit, as its shade, pursue,
And, like the shadow, proves the substance true.”

The exploits of the lions, and the rumour that Drury-lane has made
£3000 by them already, have stirred: up the genius of parody ; and
the Adelphi has produced a burlesque, bearing the same name as
the Drury-lane spectacle, Reeve the Lion of the drama; Wilkinson
enacting the Tiger ; the Ghost of the Kangaroo assumed by Buckstone ;
and Mrs. Fitzwilliam personates the Wild Cat, in which she will do
honour to the comic mews. Sad\h)using is borne by the patient Yates ;
and S. Smith is (what the magpie was to the misfortune of the maid)
the Hyder. This burlesque, besides the advantage of being acted with
great drollery, has the rarer merit of being very humorously written.

Having dispatched the lions, settled the Chancery suit of Covent
Garden, and launched the Adelphi on its way to fame, we now turn
to the lighter matters of the world of theatres.

Sinclair, one of the sweetest of our English singers, and whose ab-
sence from cur stage, temporary as it is, every lover of song must regret,
has, in the theatrical phrase, made a “hit,’’—a perfect hit among the
Yankees. He made his first appearance on the 24th ult., at the Park
theatre, in the Cabinet, was greeted with the most enthusiastic recep-
tion, and encored in every song.

The American managers certainly have discovered some peculiar act
of seduction, for they carry off our stage corps ad libitum. Among
their other exportations, they have exported Barrymore and his wife—
two of our very best contrivers of melodrame. What will Mr. Wallack do
without his bandit’s bride? They are now busy in their vocation, get-
ting up Massaniello for the singing of Sinclair, the astonishment of
America, and the triumph of gold leaf, insurrection, and themselves,
along the whole range of the Alleghanies.

The story is again revived that Joe Munden, the inimitable and un-

550 Things Theatrical. [ Nov.

rivalled comedian, having entirely subdued his dire enemy, the gout,
will perform a few nights at Covent Garden theatre during the present
season, and then take leave of the stage for ever. The story is not
merely untrue, but, as Voltaire says of the King of Prussia’s marriage,
has rien de vraisemblable. The most celebrated wit at the last levee,
on being told it, said, “ that it was nothing but a new edition of the
king’s speech, the same story every season these ten years.”

Wordsworth says somewhere, that “the child’s the father of the
man.” It would be lucky for old Kean, if he could realize the line.
Young Kean, when he returns from America, will have realized
money enough to secure him comfort during his life. The habits of this
youth are said to be remarkable for their correctness and amiability.
He is a great favourite in the United States.

Rodwell, the composer, is busy. He has already prepared two
petite operas, in which Liston is to play the lover, and exhibit new
powers in bravura. The great comedian has, we understand, been tak-
ing lessons in sottoing from Pasta, and the pas de deux trom Taglioni.
He is spoken of as having made extraordinary proficiency, and we have
no doubt will astonish the world. .The truth is, the public want some
substitute for Sinclair, who is gone, and for Braham, who seems a
long time coming. Taglioni’s sprained tendons have thrown the King’s
Theatre into despair, and we must look to the universality that always
belongs to genius, to repair the deficiency. Liston is the national hope
in this disastrous dilemma.

To talk more of our “ Miscellanea.” ‘ When Charles Kemble ap-
peared for the first time, after the late important decision, he was most
enthusiastically received by the audience. The pit rose in a body, and
gave three cheers for the Lord Chancellor!” This is fame. What will
the historian now say of popular gratitude? We doubt whether Chan-
cellor was ever huzzaed in a pit before. But, then we must recollect
the novelty of a Chancellor’s finishing a Chancery suit, before that suit
was turned into a shroud for both parties.

One of the papers rather sulkily insinuates, that Miss Lydia Kelly
was at first thought to be the celebrated Miss Kelly, and went the round
of America before the mistake was discovered, when she had amassed
sufficient money to enable her to retire. To the critical nous of the
Yankees, the name was, we presume, every thing, and Miss L. Kelly
would have been the first of singers or tragedians, if she could have
had the ingenuity to think of calling herself Catalani and Mrs. Siddons
at the same time. The Yankees, by this reserve, were defrauded of
their legitimate pleasure.

This reminds us of an anecdote, not in Joe Miller; Kelly (for the
ame is prosperous), an Irish barrister, was promoted to the bench. The
romour then began to spread, that he was no lawyer. “ Egad!” said
the old gentleman, “ it may be true ; but I, for one, am very glad they
did not found it out before.”

A semi-theatrical anecdote is running the round of the polite world.—
“Tue Lover’s Presents Recuarmep:—A curious correspondence
has been opened, between a gentleman who formerly cut no small figure
in the fashionable world, and a nobleman, who has lately married a fa-
vourite actress. The gentleman alluded to, was at one time the lover of
the lady, and hoped to be blessed with her fair hand. He changed his
mind—she brought her action—he married another lady, and she be-

1831.] Things Theatrical. 551

eame a countess. He now writes to the nobleman, setting forth his
claim in equity to the jewels which he presented to the lady, when he
expected she would become his wife. He states them to have cost 7,000/.
The husband of the lady has no disposition to give any such sum for
them, but has intimated that he would not refuse to pay what they were
valued at by a celebrated auctioneer—1,000/.’—The parties are name-
less, but the affair is piquant; and we understand that half a hundred of
our first-rate dramatists are already turning it into all shapes of comedy,
farce, and pantomime.

Anderson, the singer, who made his début at Drury-lane or Covent
Garden, last year, by singing Sinclair’s parts, his début behind the scenes
by belligerency with Madame Vestris, and his début at Bow-street, by
a general war with all that lady’s friends, has exported himself to New
York, and has, as rumour says, placed himself in a general state of belli-
gerency there too. A journal, after contradicting the story of his mar-
rying Mademoiselle Victorine, or Josephine, a matter of no great interest
to the Americans, who love a speculatrix as they doa speculation, details
some of the incidents of the passage in a style which, we think, must
have been due to the pen of a regular Yankee. Nothing can be more
graphically told:—“ One day, being pretty particularly merry, Josh.
would take the helm, which the mate resisted, and down went Yankee
No.1. The captain thought it tarnation hard to see his first officer
floored, so he planted a Mississipi muzzler upon Anderson’s ivories, which
Josh. returned with interest, and down went Yankee No.2. <‘ This will
never do, I guess,’ said the steward, a regular back-wood nigger man of
the Virginian breed, ‘I calculate this Englisher means to mallet us all.’
So blackey turned to; and although the best of the Yankee trio, he
very soon made number three. The result of this will, we fear, prove
disadvantageous to Anderson, who, besides being prevented by his
bruises from appearing on his first arrival, has also to encounter the ire
of Jonathan, provoked by the conquered Yankees, who have reported
that Anderson abused the Americans most considerably all the way out.”
Jonathan is an awkward fellow to deal with, on the best of terms, and
though many a man has been beaten into bounty, and the delight of
knocking down three Yankees must be inexpressible, yet we question
whether a hero and singer can thus pugilize himself into popularity ; as
to his beating the whole crew of the packet, of course, we have no
‘possible objection to. that.

Lacy, the author of Cinderella, is the writer of the opera now in re-
hearsal at Covent Garden theatre, in which Braham is to make his first
appearance. The music is by Aubert, the popular French composer.
-From the success which has attended many of Rophino’s productions, the
‘theatre may reasonably hope for something that, in the language of the
stage, “ will bring ’em home.”

The Strand is still in a state of unhappiness. Bricks and mortar,
hod-men and dust-carriers, are carrying on open hostilities with hackney
coaches, cabriolets, and clean clothes. The winter rains will, we hope,
drown the combatants. In the meantime, the only improvement to
which we, as lovers of the drama, look, is nipped in the bud. The
building of Arnold’s. new theatre, on the site of the old Lyceum, is a
little retarded by negotiations now pending between the worthy pro-
_ prietor and the Marquess of Exeter, relating to the extent of ground and

552 Things Theatrical. [ Nov.

the rent for it. We can only hope that these negotiations will terminate
amicably, and soon also.

Our theatrical coup d’il must close smilingly. There is strong expec-
tation that the Duke of Devonshire, being Lord Chamberlain, will pay
some attention to his office, and patronize the theatres, instead of drawing
away their fashionable audiences, to the most stupid and useless of all
amusements—his Thursday night routs. The five hundred pounds that
each of those fooleries costs him, would do great things in reviving the
stage. Let him make the experiment for once, or resign. The stage
wants not his money, but his influence. Another piece of good news is,
that the combatants in the Chancery suit are now likely to draw together.
Henry Harris, the principal proprietor of Covent Garden theatre, still
remains at his chateau, at Samure, situated between Boulogne and Calais.
His representative, however, has, we understand, most laudably agreed
to lend a helping hand to steer the state vessel of Covent Garden
safely into port. We shall be glad to see both parties yet come off with
flying colours.

NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL.

The committee have at length made their report on the Nash palace,
and a pleasant affair it turns out to be. First, let us look at the differ-
ence between the original estimate and the actual cost—no, the cost up
to this time, when the palace is still little more than a shell, and when
there is not a room fit to put a bed in, nor a bed to put in it—* A
concise view of what ‘ the alterations and additions’ were to cost—have
cost—and will cost, must be worth something asa curiosity. It appears,
then, that these were estimated at 252,690/. in 1826 ; that in May, 1829,
the estimate had been increased to 496,169/., being nearly double the
original amount ; but that it has since been ascertained that the expense
will not be less than 613,266/:, to which 31,177. is to be added for
gilding and ornamental painting, as contemplated by Mr. Nasu ; and,
in addition to all this, a further outlay will be necessary, before it can
be used for purposes of state.’ This was a gallant architectural rise ;
from a quarter of a million to nearly three times the amount, and the
building still utterly uninhabitable. So much for the estimate.

But then another point comes out in the report. Mr. Nash seems to
have been not simply the architect, but the dealer ; not merely the per-
sonage who pointed out what the workmen were to do with the materials,
but where they were to get them.—It appears in evidence, that
different tradesmen employed at Buckingham palace purchased of Mr.
Nash certain quantities of materials, for which they paid (for reasons by
them assigned) in some instances a higher price to Mr. Nash than to
other persons from whom they obtained like quantities of similar mate-
rials. The Surveyor-General, in his letter to the Treasury, of the 26th
of January, 1826, says—‘ There is another circumstance connected with
this business, which, in my opinion, is highly objectionable—namely, that
of the architect himself supplying the tradesmen with materials used in
these buildings: upon the impropriety and bad tendency of this, there
will, I am certain, upon inquiry, be found but one sentiment.’ ”

The productiveness of this mode of dealing, of course, gives a good
idea of the architect’s talent for business. But, independently of his

‘

1831.] Affairs in General. 553

being architect and dealer, he distinguishes himself by his arrangements
with other dealers :—‘ The committee declare that they are not of opinion
that Mr. Nash acquitted himself of the charge of making improvident
contracts with tradesmen, and especially with Mr. Crawshay for iron |
work. It appears in evidence that Messrs. Crawshay and Co., early in
July, 1825, contracted to furnish the iron girders for Buckingham house
at 17/. a ton, and the pillars at 18/. a ton; and that at the same period
Messrs. Crawshay agreed with the sub-contractors and founders of iron
iif Staffordshire, to provide the same at 12/. 10s. for the girders, and 14.
for the columns. For that which cost Messrs. Crawshay and Co. 12/. 10s.
the public pay 17/.—for what cost 14/. they pay 181.”

So far a Committee of the House of Commons have sifted the busi-
ness, and the result will be easily imagined to Mr. Nash. But common
sense will conceive that the question cannot stop there. The architect is
a man of business, of the world, and of the government world especially.
Is it possible to suppose that he encountered the hazard of such a report
without looking to protectors ; that he incurred the formidable respon-
sibility solely on his own impulse; or that he could have gone on in
making the charges which the committee expose, without the cognizance
of some of those persons, let their rank be what it may, whose duty it
was to check public expenditure, and who must have been perfectly well
acquainted with the nature of the charges. We, at least, cannot affect
such simplicity. We have no doubt that this rich architectural harvest
was never intended to be gathered into the sole garners of the individual
before the committee. We shall see.

These are pleasant times. The reasoners who argue with the pike in
hand, who give their opinions on public men by smashing their windows,
and reform the corruptions of parliament by setting houses on fire, de-
stroying farm-yards, and murdering their owners, are everywhere pro-
ducing such “conviction of the goodness of their cause,” that the
country gentlemen are everywhere fortifying their houses, purchasing
arms for self-defence, and preparing to stand a siege against the men of
purity, freedom, peace, and British privileges.

The Yeomanry in Derbyshire are already on the alert, to obstruct the
progress of Reform into drawing rooms and escrutoirs, in the shape of
thieves and incendiaries: —“ From an apprehended attack upon Drake-
low, the seat of Sir R. Gresley, the Litchfield troop of Yeomanry
Cavalry was called out on Tuesday morning, but went no further than
the latter place; and returned the same evening. They remain under
orders tovhold themselves in readiness for service.”

The Duke of Newcastle has had a tolerable specimen of the vigour
of Reform, in the burning of his house at Nottingham, and he now
keeps guard upon his family seat, with a little army, as the newspapers
represent it, not less than two hundred of his tenants being in readiness
to repel an attack upon a nobleman, whom the radicals represent as a
tyrant and so forth, but who is actually one of the best of landlords, as
he is one of the most manly, high-minded, and honest of British
senators. The instances are gathering fast, and in the mean while
London itself exhibits signs, by no means equivocal, of the march of
stone-throwing and mob-violence. The Marquis of Londonderry has
quietly abandoned his mansion in Park-lane, which had become a
regular object of attack, whenever any half-dozen ragamuflins thought

554 Notes of the Month on ‘[Nov.

proper to give their attention to politics. He has removed his pictures,
statues, and principal furniture, and is gone to the country, where he
will have a better protection about him, than the white-gloved gentle-
men of the lounging police. The Duke of Newcastle’s house in Port-
man-square, is boarded up, to prevent the further visits of the “ most
thinking” rabble ; and the Duke of Wellington has very wisely followed
the same course for the same reasons. His grace has taken the matter
with his usual coolness, and has even dropped a witticism on the occa-
sion, if we are to rely on report,— Before the duke boarded up all his
‘windows, on its being suggested that he should place his house under
the care of a police officer, he jocalarly replied, that ‘he could only
‘depend on Mr. Plank.”

In the mean time all these removals must act very agreeably on the
revenues of the tradesmen in the neighbourhood of those noblemen.
But what is beggary or bankruptcy to a cheesemonger, “if he has his
rights,” or gets the ten thousandth part of the glory of carrying Mr.
Joseph Hume into the House of Commons as member for Marylebone ?

We have often fought the Reverend Edward Irving’s battles. Others
gave him up, said that his invention was flagging, that he was become
dull, dry-brained, hum-drum, and all the rest, as the dramatists say.
We, on the contrary, always insisted on it, that he was not merely at
the head of all notoriety, from the first minute of his Hatton Garden
début, but that he would so continue; that he had more talents for
keeping up the ball than Liston, more odd. novelty than Kean, and
more studied and practical grimace than Grimaldi. The world of
London abounds with the evidence of our fact. We pass over his
whiskers, his fall of hair, his monstrosities of dress, deportment, and
doctrine—those were cleverly conceived and shewed the master, but
‘they were subordinate affairs. But we appeal to the dexterity with
which he made the world repeat his name, when it was already
expiring ; in the instance of his plucking out his watch and seals and
throwing them upon the receivers’ plate, with an appropriate harangue,
at the meeting of the Bible Society. Then came his quarrel with the
Scotch Church, a capital flapper to his dying notoriety, and which
brought all the tongues of all the Scotch from the equator to the poles
upon him at once; made him ludicrous, absurd, and anathematized, ’tis
true—but still made him talked of.

This too had its day, and down he went again. Again his new
chance was lucky ; his field-preaching vanquished Punch after a long
struggle, and drove him from the field, or fields, of St. Pancras ; and
‘though the victor himself was finally put to the rout by Miss Rebecca
Chainstitch, the celebrated Indian tailor’s daughter from America, who
is under a vow to preach in every field of the British empire, convert
all the kings of Christendom, knit stockings until the general conflagra-
tion, and marry the great Cham of Tartary the day after (vide her
proposals) ; this rencontre produced a very tolerable harvest of notoriety.

But what can last for ever! The preacher's fame went down again.
People thought more of M. Martin the lion-fighter, and his lions, than
of the most whiskered orator on this side of the Antipodes ; and another
week would have seen him fairly forgotten; when, lo, came another
stroke of prosperity. The papers shall tell it in their own words :—

“ The Rev. E. Irving.—This gentleman’s attraction seems to fail,

1831.] Affairs in General. 555

and some strange mountebank proceedings are now reported to have
taken place in his chapel. A pretended prophetess exhibited, on
Sunday last, who claimed the gift of tongues, and howled terrifically,
to the great edification of the congregation.”

The history is, half a dozen hypochondriacs in some remote corner
of Scotland, having discovered that they talked nonsense whenever they
opened their mouths, persuaded themselves that the nonsense was
inspiration, and that the gift of tongues was again come upon the earth.
It would of course be idle, if not directly profane, to compare their
brutish gabble to any work of miracle; yet on they go, gabbling a
parcel of brute sounds, which bear no resemblance to any language
under the sun, which the fools who gabble it cannot even conjecture to
be any human language, and which no living ear can comprehend.
When the Apostles spoke, they spoke the recognised languages of their
day ; they spoke in the midst of assemblages of natives of the countries
where those languages were spoken; and they spoke words with a
definite meaning. But these poor creatures, whether actual fools, or
worse, chatter and gibber away like so many guinea-fowl ; and only
when the flood of gibberish is run dry, attempt to interpret their own
nonsense—an attempt which settles the opinion of the hearer at once.
Yet, these people are now flourishing in the Rev. Edward Irving’s chapel,
where crowds flock to listen to their fooleries. We leave the conclusion
to the reader.

We are not likely to fall in love with Mr. O’Connell’s politics, nor to
be much charmed with his proceedings, yet it must be acknowledged
that he has played his cards with either prodigious dexterity, or prodi-
gious good fortune—we think the latter ; for we remember no charlatan
of our time, who has got into more scrapes, or more unnecessary ones.
But the time has “ worked well” for him, and he lives to set his oppo-
nents at defiance, to hold his betters in utter scorn, to trample upon
every shape of resistance in government, and to accomplish every darker
object that he can set his heart upon.

After fighting under the banners of English reform, for a reform of a
very different kind, he has returned to Ireland to lord it over the vice-
roy, and has already received the homage of his subjects, in a general
deputation from the “ Trades,” as the congregated cobblers and tinkers
of the Irish metropolis denominate themselves. Those trades presented
an address, carried up by knights of the O’Connell order of the Garter, the
liberators !—and all was haranguing and happiness. Mr. O’Connell
kissed this beloved testimony of his people’s affection, and pronounced
his political creed in a form which he is too much a man of honour to
suppress, and which the government too deeply confide in the patriot to
punish as it deserves. We give one specimen, not from our objecting
to his flogging his quondam friend, Hunt, through every village of the
empire, with either tongue or horsewhip; but for the sake of the “ sen-
timent.”

« 0’ Connell v. Hunt.—Mr. O’ Connell, on his arrivalin Dublin, harangued
a large body of his friends, and took care, in the course of his speech,
to denounce his quondam friend, Henry Hunt:—‘ At my trade, I
always go to work by degrees. I first looked for Catholic emancipa-
tion. I did not then mind parliamentary reform: I kept it in my
sleeve. Now, I want parliamentary reform ; will you help me to pro-

556 Notes of the Month on [Nov.

cure it? And when that is completed, if my country still requires
sacrifices and exertions, and if they are not made, stamp traitor upon
my grave. But I will not play the part of the paltry Hunt, and of the
Tories.”

But one part of his speech this fragment does not give. A fellow in
the mob called out, “ Won't you repeal the Union, Dan?” Dan replied
directly, “My friend, you put the cart before the horse. Let them
give me reform first, and then do you trust me, I will get you a repeal
of the Union.” The mob perfectly understood the reasoning, and nothing
could be more popular. He told them, moreover, that it was to the
repeal of the laws against popery that the whole of the disturbances of
England and of Europe, at this moment were due; that the French
mob were excited to the attempt of overthrowing their king by the
victory of popery obtained over the English parliament, and that the
parliament were now only beginning the ordeal through which they
must pass, in consequence of the convulsions of France. We will not
trust ourselves with this man’s deeper conclusions. But his speech is
full of meanings that must not be lost upon authority.

The Ivish papers, of course, triumph in all possible ways, and an-
nounce that all kinds of professional distinctions only wait his acceptance.
One of them tells us:—“ Mr. O’Connell is to have a patent of pre-
cedency, giving him professional rank next to that of the law officers of
the crown and the serjeants.. The intimation has, we understand, been
made in the handsomest manner, it having been conveyed to Mr.
O’Connell that the Irish government have resolved to confer the intended
dignity, not as a favour, but an admitted and unquestionable right. We
believe Mr. O’Connell might have had a higher precedency, if he had
not expressly rejected it.”

Another :—“ It is said that Mr. O’Connell has refused the Mastership
of the Rolls; that the Irish Attorney-Generalship had been pressed
upon him, but that he was disposed to reject that also. It is rumoured
that Baron Smith resigns, and that the Right Hon. F. Blackburn suc-
ceeds him.”

In other words, that the present attorney-general is to be put among
the puisne judges to make way for the demagogue, and this we are to
believe is but the beginning of his trophies.

In France every thing is impulse. Kings are overthrown, and sent
on their pilgrimage by impulse. Subjects are flung on the vacant throne
by impulse. Loyalty, republicanism, religion and revolution—a lounge
in the Palais Royal, or a game at the Salon—falling in love, or blowing out
one’s brains for the sake of Mademoiselle Estefanie, Angelique, prémiere
danseuse of the Academie, are all equally by impulse. But we had not
dreamt of the abolition of the guillotine by impulse—the favourite
pastime of the nation abolished! the daily delight of the ladies tri-
coteuses, who took their places from daybreak, with their knitting-
needles and chauf pieds, and singing their chansons and discussing the
politics of the day, contrived to pass away the six hours, with national
gaiety, until the grand exhibition commenced, and in the midst of senti-
mental sighs and smiles the head of the victim poured out a torrent of
blood.

Yet, if we are to believe common fame, the ladies of the Greve have
abolished the source of so much public satisfaction.—* Since the last

1831.] Affairs in General. 557

French revolution, there have been no capital punishments in Paris.
On Saturday last, however, government determined on sacrificing a
wretched culprit to the laws. He had been convicted of an atrocious as-
sassination committed near Paris, and had lain under sentence of death
during many months. The horrible implement and paraphernalia of
death were withdrawn on Saturday morning from the store, in which
they had lain during sixteen or eighteen months, and the usual prepara-
tions were made at the Place de Greve for an execution; but it soon be-
came evident that the inhabitants of that quarter were determined that
the execution should not take place without a struggle, in which more
blood would be spilt than that of the condemned. The execution was
therefore postponed.”

If this be true, we are rejoiced at it, for better reasons than French
impulse. The guillotine was the child, almost the emblem, of the revo-
lutionary era. It was invented for the express purpose of massacre.
The old methods of execution would have been too tardy for the mob
appetite for blood. Reform in Paris was thirsty, and a criminal every
half hour would have starved its passion for gore. The guillotine an-
swered the purpose incomparably. It was next in rapidity to the grape-
shot and the drownings, and it was more picturesque. It was theatrical,
bloody, and brief, to the exact degree of republican taste. The list of
those whose heads fell beneath it, within little more than two years, was
eighteen thousand, and those the principal persons of France, including
the unhappy king and queen. We shall rejoice, if this horrid source of
horrid recollections has been abolished, for ever.

If the modern principle of change were to be limited by utility alone,
it might have a fine field in the abuses of law. Time, which renders
the state of things as different in one century from their state in another,
as if man had changed his nature, naturally generates legal abuses ; and
nothing can be wiser employment for a legislature, than the revision of
the national laws. It will be recollected, that a few months since a bill
was thrown out, which had for its object the erection of local courts, or
places of cheap law, in the various counties. It was strongly opposed,
on various grounds ; but one proposal of the commission of law inquiry,
for the prevention of fraud, by individuals withdrawing themselves from
their creditors and spending their incomes abroad, was visited with pecu-
liar derision by Lord Plunkett. The evil, nevertheless, subsists, and to
an extraordinary degree. In the debate, a few nights since, Lord Hard-
wicke asked the Chancellor, “ whether it was his intention to improve the
laws respecting creditors who avoided the payment of their just debts
by leaving the country, and residing abroad. He knew a person who
resided at Boulogne for this purpose, though he regularly received an
income of 800/. a quarter, from his property in this kingdom.” Yet
this is but one case. The evil is universally acknowledged.

In reply, the Chancellor said, “a more shameful state of law could
not exist, than that of which persons could avail themselves by going
abroad and avoiding the payment of their just debts. He himself knew
aman of 8,000/. a-year, a i lived in the rules to avoid his creditors.
The expenses of law proceedings, those of the Insolvent Court, the dis-
charge of prisoners, the expenses of debtors while in gaol, and those of
collecting debts, amounted to 600,000/. a-year, and all this was abstracted
from the funds of the creditors. In addition, the sum of 116,000/.

558 Notes of the Month on [Nov.

a-year was spent in justifying bail. If the report of the commission of
law inquiry was attended to, the sum of between 700,000 and 800,0000..
a-year would be swept away from such an useless direction, and added
to the fund for the payment of creditors.”

Every man’s experience must corroborate all that can be said of the
frauds of debtors, flying away daily to live in luxury in foreign countries
on the property which belongs to others. If this abominable abuse can
be checked, every honest man will wish well to the law commission,
and the law maker.

One suggestion,thowever, of this commission, strikes us as altogether
inadmissible——* The following important recommendation appears in’
the Third Report of the English Law Commissioners, which has just
been printed. It refers to civil causes :—‘ Jury not to be kept in deli-
beration longer than twelve hours, unless at the end of that period they
unanimously apply for further time—at the end of that time, the con-
currence of nine to be a verdict. At the end of that time, and zine not
concurring, the cause to be a remanet.’ ”

Trial by jury is so essentially combined in the public feeling with all
public rights, that nothing could justify an innovation in it, but the most
extreme necessity. It is true, the proposal here relates only to civil
cases. But how soon may it not be applied to cases of life and death.
The chief dependence of an Englishman, hitherto, against arbitrary
power or false accusation, was, that delve of his countrymen must be
unanimous in finding him guilty. Now he is to have the protection only
of nine. But if this refers merely to civil cases, how often is a man’s
utter ruin dependent on the decision of a civil case. The opinion of a
jury ofnine may turn him out of doors, and make himself and his family
paupers for life ; it may banish him from his country ; it may plunge
him into a gaol; it may place him in a situation of misery, for which
death would be a most happy alternative.

But where are the practical evils of the old number? There may
be an obstinate blockhead on a jury, and he may defeat the course of
justice in a single instance, but still it is but one instance out of a thou«
sand. The law, too, provides a remedy, even for this delay of justice,
for it is no more. As for the suggestion of shortening the sitting of
the jury to twelve hours, it seems rational enough. The old system of
starving the jury into agreement, was the result of ruder times. But let
us retain the original number. The day may not be far off, when
Englishmen will require every protection that the old constitutional laws
can give.

The miserable man who desecrates the name of Reverend, Taylor, the
late haranguer at the Rotunda, and now the denizen of Horsemonger
jail, has lately had his complaints-brought once more before parliament.
The petition came from “certain frequenters of the Rotunda,” and was
transmitted through the hands of Sir Francis Burdett. That this new
body of legislators should have found an advocate within the walls of
any legislature, is a curious instance of what is called the liberality of
the times. But that Taylor’s personal complaints were altogether
groundless, was distinctly stated by every man who had an opportunity
of witnessing the facts: —‘ Mr. Denison was glad of that opportunity of
explaining to the house the unfoundedness of the complaints respecting ~
the treatment of the Rev. R. Taylor. He stated him to have been treated

1831.] Ly Affairs in General. 559

with every reasonable indulgence. He could not help wishing that every
honest and industrious labourer in England could partake of the dinner
which he himself saw on its way to Mr. Taylor a few days ago; for it
consisted of prime roast beef, peas-pudding, and potatoes, with abun-
‘dance of porter. Wine and spirits only were prohibited, as contrary to
the regulations of the prison. Then as to books, there was no restriction
even to the works of Volney and Gibbon, only so far as the dissemina-
tion of the infidel doctrines for which he was imprisoned was concerned,
.and all works of that description were strictly forbidden ; otherwise his
‘conviction and punishment would be a mischievous mockery. Having
made this statement,’ concluded the honourable member, “ in justice to
the body (Surrey magistrates,) of which I am a member, I will add,
that attached as I am to the doctrines and usages of the church of Eng-
land, I very much doubt the expediency of prosecuting the impugners
of those doctrines and usages.”

Mr. Denison is a liberal, and his last assertion is contradicted by com-
mon sense, and the practice of all rational legislation. In the first place,
christianity is by law part and parcel of the British constitution ; and to
insult it, is a palpable and most injurious insult to the law. In the
next, irreligious opinions, to the extent to which this Taylor and his
associates laboured to urge them, are directly connected with the over-
throw of the state. In the third, there can be no greater nonsense than
to say, that the best way of suppressing mischievous publications is to let
them take their way, and do all the mischief they can. We should like to
know how Mr. Denison himself would be disposed to act, if he found a suc-
cession of pamphlets published daily, holding himself up as a pest to
society, and recommending the immediate burning of his barns, and the
-pulling down of his house, with a promise to the pullers-down ofa general
distribution of his rental. Now, the recommendatien and the promise are
precisely the same in this instance, as those of the new school in the
instance of christianity. “If there were no religion,” isthe cry “there
would be no church ; and if nochurch, no priesthood ; and if neither the
one nor the other, the church lands, houses, and rents, would. na-
turally be divided among the gallant patriots of the new school.” We
are strongly of opinion, that Mr. Denison would not suffer himself and
his chattels to be placarded with patience, but that he would set about
tearing down the placards, and prosecuting the placarders with ma-
gisterial assiduity ; he would not leave “things to take their natural
course,” to the hazard of a fleece of his sheep, or a button of his coat ;
and therein we think he would do wisely. But, for the same reasons,
we think that insults to things which all honest men revere, and by
which the whole policy of the state, and the whole virtue and security
of private life are sustained, should not be left to the malignity or the
follies of the orators of the Rotunda, however free and philosophical
their scorn of a God or a king may be. The true policy in the case of
a malignant libeller is, to punish him for his libel, and if he repeat the
offence, punish him again, and soon. Experience shews, that the law is
more long-lived than the most heroic spirit of libel ; and, in consequence,
every libeller within memory has been successively lessoned into the
virtue of silence. The generation is prolific, ’tis true; but the law
is long handed, and as an instance of the salutary nature of the pro-
cess, how many of our boldest libellers are now sunk into utter ob-

560 Votes of the Month on Affairs in General. LNov.

scurity, struggling upon the basest outskirts of literature, exiles in
foreign lands, or begging their bread in their own.

The populace everywhere are furious against the bishops. Lord
Plunket’s old almanac is not so obsolete after all. The same outcry
began that brilliant epoch of our history, which finished its first act in
1648. The Bishop of Cork is thus belaboured in the Irish papers:—
“ So, his Right Reverence the Lord Bishop of Cork—he who made so
many professions of sincere attachment to the Reforming Government—
he who, when soliciting the vacant mitre, was so constant in dancing
attendance at the chamber of Sir Wm. Gossett and Baron Tuyle—who
entered with those gentlemen into such long-winded explanations of his
conduct, when his Excellency was leaving this country, in 1829, and
who assured the Lord Lieutenant himself that he approved of the mea-
sures of the Reforming Government, and would be their steady sup-
porter—so, this gentleman having, as we always thought, most foolishly
been made a bishop of—turns round, on the very first occasion that
offers, and votes plumply against the ministry who made him.”

If the bishop vowed all those things, let the Irish papers smite him
as they will. No man can serve two masters; and if he professed
« Reform” before putting on his mitre, and turned his back upon it
afterwards, why, let justice take its course. We have nothing to do
between him and his tormentors. It is for him to deny the statement,
which, it is perfectly probable, contains not a syllable of verity.

A burlesque circumstance, however, occurred in Bath. The popish
priest who calls himself Bishop of Cork, in defiance, be it observed, of
the grand, saving, single “ security,” of the Wellington healing measure,
was mistaken, in his transit through the city of Bladud, for the Pro-
testant dignitary, was dragged from the coach, and, by report, nearly
extinguished in the mire. Two chairmen rescued him, and the Bath
journals were very epigrammatic upon his giving his preservers only
siapence between them. Here was “ the portly dignitary, the vast plu-
ralist, the purple son of mother church,” &c., while it turned out that
the subject of this remorseless pleasantry was their “friend and brother,
their protegée, their companion in the struggle for liberty,” &c. after all.

But an affair equally gross has but just occurred among ourselves :—
*‘ The Bishop of London was to have preached at St. Anne’s, Westmin-
ster. The churchwardens put forth the following announcement :—‘ The
parishioners are respectfully informed, that the Rev. Dr. Macleod, the
rector, has received a letter from the Lord Bishop of London, stating,
that his lordship is unavoidably prevented from preaching in this church
in the morning of Sunday next.’

«« Eleven hundred parishioners had agreed to mark their sense of the
reverend prelate’s opinions, by leaving the church in a body, the moment
he entered the pulpit. The bishop, it is presumed, heard of what was
intended, and thought it,” the papers say, “ prudent to retreat.”

We say, thought it proper to preserve the church from so scandalous a
scene, the Liturgy from so vile an insult, and the parishioners who me-
ditated such conduct, from the sorrow and shame which they must have
felt, on a moment's reflection.

1831.) [ 561 J

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Tue Bravo, a'\VENETIAN Story, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE PrLoT, WATER-
Wircu, &c., 3 vols 12mo.

Mr. Cooper writes like a man—that is, with a direct and intelligible object.
His fictions spring from facts, and mingle with realities. All his scenes are
essentially historical—the spirit of them is truth, while the details are imagin-
ary. He makes that use of the past for which alone it is worth reverting to—
teaching the world to eschew crimes by shewing their odious consequences.
Venice was a republic in name, and, detestable as the principles on which it was
administered were, Mr. Cooper is anxious none of the detestation which attaches
to its history shall be thrown upon his own America, because she too is a re-
public. Never were two things, indeed, under the same name, so utterly unlike.
Concealment and mystery were the characteristics of the Venetian councils.
Systematically professing to be guided by justice—their ostentatious motto—
recourse was had, habitually, to the most wily and infamous expedients to exe-
cute what they dared not avow, and loudly decried. The most worthless agents
were employed—espionage penetrated into every quarter—spies upon spies—
double and treble dupe ; and no scruples were made of sacrificing any of them
whenever the policy of the government required the sacrifice. Mr. Cooper’s
immediate object is to exhibit the operation of this system in some familiar
scenes; and he appeals for a justification of the likeness to M. Daru’s well-
- known History of Venice.

The “Bravo” is one of the agents of this horrible system; but though long
bearing the imputation of assassin, he is in reality none; but one who consents
to be thus regarded for the secret purposes of the government. Assassinations
which they committed by other agents were covered by being indirectly ascribed
to him. He had been forced into this collusion by the arts and oppressions of
the government, and appears, in the scenes of the piece, to be entangled in their
net, past all extrication. :

A Neapolitan nobleman succeeds to the estates of a Venetian senator, and
claims the rank and rights of his ancestor; but the policy of the Venetian is
adverse to foreign connections, and all sorts of obstacles are thrown in his way.
He is too important a person to be got rid of by the stiletto. In the meanwhile
he rescues from drowning the young heiress of a wealthy senator, and falls of
course in love with her. She, as all heiresses were, was under the especial pro-
tection of the government, for the very purpose of precluding foreign matches—
and thus the young Neapolitan and the government were doubly in opposition.
' He was resolved to carry her, and they were equally bent on preventing him,
at the period he fell in with the Bravo. Universally shunned and detested, the
man’s burden had become greater than he could bear—he was in despair, and on
point of suicide. He excites an interest in the bosom of the Neapolitan, and
attaches himself to his fortunes. By his peculiar sources of information, he is
enabled to baffle the council, and the Neapolitan and the lady succeed in escaping
its clutches ; but the Bravo himself before he is able to complete his arrange-
ments for his own departure, is entrapped, and finally sacrificed to the interests
of the state—under cover of atoning for crimes, which had been committed at
their command by other hands. The developement of the Bravo’s character is
very skilfully managed—the interest rises to the last.

Mr. Cooper is as much at home on the lagunes and canals of Venice, as in the
harbour of New York, and the scenes furnish him with abundant opportunity of
describing matters connected with his nativeclement. A boat-race of his, rivals
Virgil’s, without broken oars, broken heads, or even a ducking. Mr. Cooper’s
only want is a little gaiety—something to cheer the sombre, and lighten the
general weight of his execution.

M.M. New Series:—Vou. XII. No. 71. 2Y

562 Monthly Review of Literature. [ Nov.

DiaLocues on THE CatHoric aND Protestant Ruizs or Fairy, &c., sy
. James Smitu, EpInpurGH.

These dialogues originated in a public discussion at Edinburgh, between the
author, a Catholic priest apparently, and a member of the British Society for
Promoting the Principles of the Reformation. The poimt debated, as usual
between Catholics and Protestants, is, in the language of controversialists, the
Rule of Faith. ‘The Catholic appeals to the sense of the Church; the Protestant
to the Scriptures. The Catholic excludes all private interpretation, while the
Protestant will listen to no other. In the case before us, it is the Catholic who
writes—it is he who selects the Protestant’s arguments, as well as his own—of
course the result is obvious. He is not such a fool as to set up what he cannot
knock down. And here is the grand absurdity of all controversial dialogues
thus written by one of the parties. A man must care a fig for the sentiments of
neither to give fair play to both; and such a man can scarcely be expected to
do justice to either. With all the professions of fairness and candour, the Pro-
testant is made to look exceedingly small—it cannot be otherwise if the Catholic
be sincere. He makes up his mind that he is right upon a most momentous
question ; and it is not in the nature of man, that he should not think contemp-
tuously of those who differ toto celo from him. Slight shades of difference may
be accounted for, and borne with, but an absolute contradiction—a direct and
full opposition of sentiment, it is not in mortals to submit quietly to. The most
remarkable omission on the Protestant side of the argument is, that of all inquiry
of a close kind, as to where the sense of the Church, whose interpretation the
Catholic regards as absolute, is to be found. It is not in the Pope, nor in the
Councils, nor in the Fathers, for they, one and all, at one time or other, have con-
tradicted each other. The reader will find all that can be adduced in support of
the Catholics, but he must look elsewhere for the Protestant’s sentiments.

Tue Porticat Works or C. B. Asu, oF ApBASTON. 2 vols. 8vo.

Defend us! As if Mr. C. B. Ash had ever been heard of before out of the
smoke of the Wrekin! We remember some few years ago meeting with the
«© Works, Prosaical and Poetical, of W. Dyason, eight volumes, 1804.” Inquir-
ing of the publisher who this voluminous personage might be, we learnt that he
was at the time an apothecary’s apprentice of Canterbury, who had thus spent
all his little patrimony upon paper-makers and printers. Not a line of the whole
mass, probably, was readable ; but they consisted of a hodge-podge of all sorts
of things, and imitations, as the writer called them, of all sorts of authors—
good, bad, and indifferent. They have doubtless long since been consigned to
the waste-paper shops, which, by the way, we hear are so much overstocked,
that the price has fallen 100 per cent. in an incredibly short period. Mr. C. B.
Ash talks a good deal of lang syne, and so is not, it may be supposed, a youth ;
but he does not require being told there are old fools as well as young ones,
though he will not put himself in the category. The poem at the head of this
mighty collection is entitled Adbaston, which proves to be the name of Mr. Ash’s
Cunabula—in the neighbourhood of the Wrekin. The said poem takes the tone
of Goldsmith, many of his lines, and more of his sentiments—of all which
Mr. Ash was not in the least aware till some good-natured friend told him of
it. Pol! me occidistis! would have been the exclamation of any body else; but
no, Mr. Ash contents himself with accounting for the fact, which he does very
satisfactorily, by telling us, that at the time of writing the poem, he had recently
been reading Goldsmith’s productions, and was so delighted, and so imbued
with them, as not to be able to distinguish them from his own.

While laurel’d bards attune the sounding strings,
And tell of battles, and the courts of kings ;

On other themes the pensive muse would pore,
And cast a thought on days that are no more.

Ye who, in ele at the midnight hour,

Ne’er feel a rapture but from pride or power ;

1931.9 Monthly Review of Literature. 563

Who seek for pleasure in the city’s din,

And shun retirement as a pest or sin ;

Charmed with more humble, and congenial flights,
For you the Muse no lofty verse indites ;

But ye who love the shady woods—the dales,

The brooks that straddle through your native vales—
To you with joy the simple reed I raise

To gain your smiles, &c.

What does he mean by raising a reed ?—and one, too, that, since the first line,
he has metamorphosed from sounding strings. But it is nonsense to be criticis-
ing what, neither in language nor sentiment, proceeds from the soul of a writer—
whom it must be difficult to believe has one at all.

Another poem, in octaves, called Zoenlinda—a poetical romance—connected
with the battle of Blore-heath, in 1459, is as obvious an imitation as the first ;
but that the author has not discovered, or rather, that has not been pointed out
to him.—

The rage of battle now no more

Was heard along the heath of Blore:
The echoing woods at length were still ;
And from the heights of Salisbury hill,
No more the warrior’s bright array
Fills the sad mother with dismay ;

No more from Muxon’s lofty tower
Anjou marks the carnage pout ;
Prostrate in death brave Audley lies,
His gallant spirit seeks the skies ;

For surely they who nobly fall

Shall rise to him who governs all.
O’er heaps of stout Lancastrian dead,
Victorious York uprears his head,
Pursues afar the foe that flies,
Reckless of him who lives or dies.

Nothing is too hot or too heavy for Mr. Ash. Ina layman’s epistle he lec-
tures Lord Byron, dead at the time some years, on the subject of morals, for
which, he says, some bishop commended him, &c. A long didactic Essay on
the Art of Acting breaks down in the middle—but there are still thirty mortal
pages of it—handled, as a cow handles a musket.

Le Trapucteur, or SeLecTIons rrom Frencu WriTERS FoR LEARNERS,
BY P. F. Merzet, Proressor 1N THE UNIVERSITY OF LONDON.

In these selections, M. Merlet’s aims have been to keep his book free from
thoughts or expressions of an immoral or religious tendency—to study variety—
to exemplify and illustrate his own grammar—and couple all with instruction
and entertainment. These purposes M. Merlet seems to have accomplished very
happily, and has thus supplied a very useful book for learners and teachers.
The selections, both as to subject and style of composition, are made for the
service of youthful pupils. He reserves for a second volume, which is soon to
appear, extracts relative to the “ higher parts of literature,” and from the “ ele-
gant writings of the present day.” Unusual pains, we observe, are taken with
the idioms, to supply the corresponding English phrases.

Remarks ON THE ConviTION or HunTERS, THE CHOICE OF HoRSES AND THEIR
ManaGEment, by Nimrod, 1831.

Tuts volume of 500 goodly pages, consists of a series of letters, originally
ublished in the Sporting Magazine between the years 1822 and 1828, contain-
ing the fruits of the writer’s large experience—himself a Nimrod of some cele-
brity. The volume will have irresistible attractions for all the Tallyhos of the
country ; and is indeed calculated to work a considerable change in the system of
management. ‘The common course has been, at the end of the season, to give

2°¥ 2

564 Monthly Review of Literature. [Nov.

horses what is called a summer’s grass, take them up again in August, and hunt
them in October or November. To think of getting a horse into prime condition—
that is, for hunting—in eight or ten weeks, seems to the writer, in the face of the
maker, absurd. As many months are required for racers, and what difference is
there now-a-days between hunters and racers? As much speed is required in the
one as the other. Change has been as active in fox-hunting of late years as in
politics. Harriers now go the pace that fox-hounds did forty years back, and
fox-hounds that of grey-hounds. Horses must keep up with them, and must be
trained accordingly. Nimrod’s book, as a piece of literature, fixed our attention
—it is written in a familiar, but still forcible style, by a perfect enthusiast, who
puts his whole soul into the subject. It is full of anecdote, deeply interesting to
amateurs, though to laymen, it must be allowed, they will appear dry facts, suffi-
ciently astounding, but utterly destitute of point—calculated only for a late din-
ner after a hard-day’s run.

a. -
Artosto’s ORLANDO Furioso, By W. V. Ross, Esa. 8 vols.

Mr. Rose has at last completed his eternal Ariosto—occupying no less than
eight volumes of mortal versification ; and now it is completed, who will, or can,
read it? Ariosto is stript of half his best and most agreeable associations, by
being torn from his native language. Mr. Rose has done all that could be done
for him in English, but all is not enough to make him attractive. The execution,
in itself, is correct, perhaps always—sometimes spirited, often felicitous, but
much, much too generally, dull, prosy, lingering, misty, rugged—for all which,
however, Ariosto is as much responsible as Mr. Rose. Take Avarice as a
specimen :—

O execrable avarice! O vile thirst
Of sordid gold! it doth not me astound
So easily thou seizest soul, immersed
In baseness, or with other taint unsound;
But that thy chain should bind, amidst the worst,
And that thy talon should strike down and wound
One that for loftiness of mind would be
Worthy all'praise, if he avoided thee.

Some earth and sea and heaven above us square,
Know Nature’s causes, works, and. properties;
What her beginnings, what her endings are ;
And soar till Heaven is open to their eyes:
Yet have no steadier aim, no better care,
Stung by thy venom, than, in sordid wise,

To gather treasure : such their single scope,
Their every comfort, and their every hope.

Armies by him are broken in his pride,
And gates of warlike towns in triumph past ;
The foremost he to breast the furious tide
Of fearful battle; to retire the last ;
Yet cannot save himself from being stied
Till death, in thy dark dungeon prisoned fast.
Of others that would shine thou dimm’st the praise;
Whom other studies, other arts would raise.

Tux County or Leicester — THE First oF A SERIES OF THE COUNTIES
or ENGLAND AND WALES— BY ‘THE Rev. I. Curtis, or ASHBY DE LA
Zovucu.

This is incomparably the best county topography hitherto produced for gene-

ral purposes. It is at once brief and full. Not a line is lost in parading—nor
a space for a line in the printing. The writer’s purpose has been to condense
the greatest mass of information in the smallest compass, compatible with the
demands of a County Topography. ‘The whole is comprised in less ‘than ‘250

a.

1831. ] Monthly Review of Literature. 565

pages. Of the different modes in which a county topography might be executed,
Mr. Curtis adopted that which gives, he says, the “‘ principal features of the sub-
divisions of the county, as to its present state; and as brief and condensed a view
of the ancient records, as would render these documents intelligible, and be generally
useful to satisfy the casual reader, and yet so much as might excite the curiosity
of those more particularly interested, whilst the sources were at the same time
pointed from whence further information might be drawn, if requisite.” The
contents of this valuable volume are thrown intoan alphabetical form, while the
more general matters, such as the history, the divisions, ecclesiastical and civil,
rivers, canals and railways, geology, botany, agriculture, manufactures, &c. are
thrown into a preface of some 40 or 50 pages.

No pains have been spared to get at precise information—proof sheets were
sent to almost every parish and hamlet, to those who were deemed competent
to correct them. The descriptions of Belvoir Castle, Bradgate, Castle Donning-
ton, Cole Orton, Gopsal and Stanton Harold—the chief places in the county—
have gone through the hands of their several proprietors. We have ourselves
some local knowledge of Leicestershire, and can bear testimony to its extraordi-
nary correctness even in small matters, in several districts. In the ecclesiastical
statistics, so much has been done, that we regret the names of the incumbents
are not given as well as the patrons. They are, to be sure, constantly changing ;
but still the names, at the period of publication, would have gratified many, and
could have added nothing to the compiler’s labours—which have been well
directed, and efficiently exercised. ‘

Memorrs oF THE Empress JosEPHINE, BY I. S. Memes, LL.D. — Con-
STABLE’S MisceLLany. Vou. LXXII.

Mr, Memes. has set up an idol, and calls upon the world to worship the work
of his own hands. Josephine is, in his hands, a piece of female perfection—-all
beauty, grace, and benignity—the ornament of womanhood—a, fascination—an
enchantment—with the voice of a syren, the seduction of a Calypso, and the
purity of a Diana. This kind of extravagance is the common folly of such as
describe persons.of whom they know nothing but from reports. It is little more
than mere accident how the character is painted. All depends on the bias of
the writer. If the turn of the dice be favourable, all is angelic—if the contrary,
all is demon-like. The materials for Josephine’s Memoirs abound; but the
more they abound, the worse is the result with such compilers as Mr. Memes—
he has just so much the more means of executing with effect his own purpose.
The more he details, the less, it is naturally supposed, is left untold. He gets.
the credit of reporting all, while, in fact, his is a system of suppressing whatever
does not contribute to his purpose.

The death of Robespierre luckily rescued her from the fate of Beauharnois.
From that period till her marriage with Bonaparte—nearly two years—she figured.
in Madame Tallien’s brilliant saloon, without any visible means of subsistence,
with Barras, the public purse at his command, a man of notorious gallantry, for
her constant attendant. This cannot be denied, nor scarcely the inference. As
the wife of Bonaparte, her conduct, in a certain sense, was probably irreproach-
able; but the eternal eulogy is but ill deserved, She set no bounds to her
expence, and scarcely to her follies. Kind-hearted doubtless she was, but only
on sudden impulses producing effect. She was liberal, profuse, prodigal—she
liked to have smiling faces about her—scattered favours at random—with un-
bounded resources, and regardless of the cost. It was easy to be what people
call good in such a position—that is, to be amiable, and win golden opinions at,
golden prices. Her conduct with respect to Napoleon’s family, however, every
one of whom hated her, proves that she had some genuine good in-her. She
never attempted revenge, but appears to have been uniformly disposed to soothe
and conciliate the very persons to whom she doubtless at last owed her divorce.
9 was his own family, who were perpetually urging him on—from jealousy of
Eugene.

566 - Monthly Review of Literature. LNov.+

Tue Eventrut History or THE Mutiny or H. M. 8. Bounry—rormine™
THE 25TH VOLUME OF MurRay’s Famity LisRary,

The story of Bligh anc the Bounty is of the last age; but its interest has been
revived of late years by the discovery of the last of the mutineers, in Pitcairn’s
Island. The whole series of causes and consequences, from the discovery of Ota-
heite, and Bligh’s expedition to the island, down to the latest intelligence relative
to the Colony of Pitcairn’s Island, is here collected, by Barrow, in a very nice
little volume, which will interest young and old.

The bread-fruit tree, found in the South Seas, was thought likely to be useful
in the West Indies, and a vessel, the Bounty, was, in 1787, fitted out by the
government, for the purpose of conveying plants to the slave islands, and the
command given to Bligh, who had been one of Cook’s lieutenants. To Bligh’s
tyranny, which Mr. Barrow does not deny, though he will let nobody find fault
with him but himself, is fairly assignable, though it does not justify, the resolve
of Christian, an acting lieutenant, to seize the ship, and send Bligh adrift. The
execution was effected with little difficulty, and less combination, from the gene-
ral unpopularity of Bligh on board. With eighteen of the crew he was forced
into a boat, with a very scanty supply of provision. They were near Tofoa,
and landed ; but on discovering their forlorn condition, they were attacked by
the “amiable” natives, and with difficulty escaped to their boat—one was killed.
The resolution was then taken to make for Timor, a distance of 1,200 leagues ;
and the men consented to be put on short—the shortest possible allowance, to

‘eke out the miserable stock of food. The details of this fearful voyage—the
firmness of Bligh—the suffering, and the general submission of the crew, are
told by Bligh. Contrary to all probability, they reached Timor, though in the
most exhausted state, and Bligh at length got home.

Such was the general feeling in favour of Bligh, from sympathy with his suf-
ferings, and his intrepidity, that he was forthwith promoted; and a vessel, the
Pandora, despatched in search of the mutineers, wherever they could be found.
Christian and his party had at first sailed to Taboai, and within a few months
had landed sixteen of the crew at Otaheite—from which place he had gone with
the ship, and the remainder of the crew, nobody knew whither. The sixteen
who had been thus put ashore at Otaheite, with the exception of two, who had
perished in some way, the Pandora took on board, and put them in irons. Most
of them had come on board voluntarily. The Captain, one Edwards, a brutal
fellow, treated them all, without discrimination, as criminals of the deepest dye.
During the voyage the Pandora took fire; and in this perilous condition, and
the ship sinking, the Captain refused to unfetter the prisoners. It was only
desperation that enabled them to escape destruction. Among them was a mid-
shipman of the name of Heywood—a mere boy at the time of the mutiny, but
a clever and intelligent one, who may be truly said rather to have been left on
board with Christian, than to have joined him. He was the only officer; with

_ the rest, on their arrival in England, he was brought to trial, and with five
others was sentenced to be shot—the rest were acquitted. Heywood, however,
found friends—was pardoned—again entered the service, and died, full of
honour, one of the oldest captains in the navy, only last year. The details of
his trial, and the efforts of his friends to save him, are given at great and merci-
less length ; but Mr. Barrow had been furnished with letters and papers by the
family, and they were found, or supposed to be, useful in giving effect to the
tale.

These men could of course give no account of Christian and the remaining
eight of the crew; but in 1814, Captain Staines, of the Briton, fell in with Pit-
cairn’s Island, and from the shore, to his surprise, was hailed in very good
English. Here was found the last of the mutineers, Adams, whose story is too
familiar to the public, through the Quarterly Review, to render repetition neces-
sary. Since Captain Staines thus lighted on the colony, they have been visited
by Captain Beechey, and, still more recently, by Captain Waldegrave. Adams
himself died two years ago. The happy Eden—the Arcadian state of the colony”
—consisting of the children of the mutineers by Otaheitan women—had been:

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 567

broken in upon of late by the accession of two or three Englishmen, one of whom
set up for preacher and schoolmaster—and despot ; and they have now, it appears,
from very recent intelligence, been all in a body removed to Otaheite by the
missionaries—to the speedy destruction of all their simplicity.

Of Christian, Adams gave different accounts—that he killed himself, and
was killed by others. In 1808 and 9, a very general opinion was prevalent in
the neighbourhood of the lakes of Cumberland, that Christian was in that part
of the country, and visited his relatives there. Heywood himself always felt
convinced that he had seen him at Plymouth. He quickened his steps to over-
take the man whom he took for Christian—the man turned—the face was exactly
Christian’s—he seemed to recognize Heywood—took to his heels, and was seen
no more,

Campaigns anp CRUISES IN VENEZUALA AND New Grenapa, &c.
3 vols. 12mo.

Of all matters of fact writers should give their names and qualities, and not
seduce the world into the belief that printing is evidence of reality—not that we
entertain any doubt of the general truth or accuracy of the Campaigns and
Cruises before us, though the writer is a dealer in fiction. Of him we know
nothing, but from his own volumes. He represents himself as having entered
the Colombian service in 1817—leaving it, after some time, for that of Chili,
and returning to England, on leave of absence, in 1830. No time was lost, on
his return, in working up his volumes for the press; and they were completed
before he had any notion of the immense collection of Personal Narratives, Jour-
nals, Tours, Wanderings, Residences, &c. which had come forth in his absence, and
forestalled the market, which he seems to have regarded.as all his own. Never-
theless, he was not willing, as nobody is, to throw away his labour; and as the
books were written, they must be printed, or the world would be never the
wiser. Nor would we by any means have had them lost—they are the produc-
tions of a man of good sense, and of large experience, though more distinctness
and sequency on the narrative of military events would have added considerably
to its value—relieved the toil of recollection, and assisted the imagination. As
it is, things are put together with too little regard to order, though, after all,
the descriptions, sprinkled over the whole, relative to the habits of the natives,
and of animals, whose peculiarities are little known, form the best and most
interesting portions of the performance.

With more facts in his possession than the writer was able to work up in the
narrative of his Campaigns and Cruises, he has attempted to give some of them
a local habitation, by introducing them into the frame-work of a couple of tales.
The second and third volumes, accordingly, bear the title of Tales of Venezuela
—the scenes of which are judiciously laid, though the details occasionally savour
too much of the minutiz of a soldier's journal. The first is called The Earth-
quake of Caraccas; but that event occurred in 1812, and, of course, did not fall
within the writer’s observation. On that fearful day, the first anniversary of
the federation of the Venezuclan States, and of course a féte day, a young
Catholic lady was to take the veil. She was the daughter of a miserly old
wretch—a pretended patriot, and a real traitor—and was sacrificed by him to
save his money. A relative, a young soldier of fortune, was warmly attached
to her, but had never told his love. On the eve of the day that was to cut her
off for ever from the world, the father gaye a splendid entertainment, as was
usual on such occasions, at which the young lady presided, and saw all her
friends for the last time. In the midst of the festivities he was arrested for
treason, and thrown into prison. Nevertheless, the young lady’s profession
proceeded next day; and just before her final acceptance of the vows, occurred
the terrible event that shook Caraccas to ruins. The youth was at hand, and
rescued the prostrate girl. The same commotion threw down the prison walls,
and the old man escaped, in company with his daughter, to some distant port,
got on board a trading vessel, and found refuge in one of the West India isles.

568 Monthly Review of Literature. [Novw.’

After sundry hopes and fears, of course, the young people seal each’ other’s!
happiness.

But the tale which occupies the last volume, called The Savannas: of Varinas;
is a far more agreeable scene, and more novel withal. These Savannas lie
between the rivers Oronoco and Apuri, and are called by the natives Los Llanos,
as they themselves are Los Llaneros. This was the scene of Paez’s early efforts ;
and which was invaded, in 1818, by Murillo, who laid waste a considerable
portion of the parts occupied by the industrious and peaceful inhabitants. The
hero of the tale is a native of these plains, and attached to a lovely cousin of the’
same regions. He had beensummoned to Old Spain by a rich relative, and had
been induced to enter the royal service. Greatly to his discomfiture, he was:
shortly after dispatched with Murillo’s troops to South America; and in the:
course of the campaign compelled to invade his native plains. On his approach
his fair cousin had an interview with him—he deserted the royal cause, and joined
the rebels—prompted it must be understood, not by the seductions of the young
lady, but by the haughty and insulting treatment he had received from Murillo
—who affected. to suspect the fidelity of all who were not Spaniards of Spanish
birth. Paez succeeded in repelling Murillo’s forces, and the young hero had
his revenge of the tyrant—preserved his own honour some how or other, and
finally married his charming cousin.

CaBineT Cyctorpapia. Vor. XXIII.

This volume, embracing the period from the Convention to the first restora-
tion of the Bourbons, completes Mr. Crowe’s brief survey of the History of,
France. The glance has, of necessity, been a rapid one, but it has also been a
distinct and penetrating one. The horrors of the French revolution he fairly
attributes to foreign interference. The invasion of the French territory produced
the 10th of August, and that led, by almost an inevitable consequence, to the
September massacres, and, finally, the reign of Terror. The ascendancy of
Robespierre is thus accounted for by Mr. Crowe ;—we had selected the piece as
a specimen of his manner, which, though a little ambitious, is not unsound in:
the matter, but our space obliges us to omit it.

A History or tHe Roman AnD Enexisn HierRarcuiEs, WITH AN EXaMINA-
TION OF THE ASSUMPTIONS, ABUSES, AND INTOLERANCE OF EPIscoPAcy,
&c., By James Apport, A. B.

Mr. Asgort, it appears on his own statement, about ten years ago, came
into possession of the old conventual chapel of Davington, in Kent, which,
though independent of all ecclesiastical control, had been occasionally used,
from the days of the Reformation, for the performance of divine worship. Just
before this occurred, Mr. A. had published certain opinions of his on the state
and corruptions of the church, and he seized upon this inheritance or purchase
of Davington chapel as a fair means of enforcing his own sentiments on these
matters more effectively. He accordingly fitted up the chapel, and preached
with great vigour, and some virulence, for a twelvemonth, to “ large and re-
pectable audiences.” This it seems gave offence to the neighbouring clergy,
and excited the “‘ jealousy” of the archbishop. Mr. Abbott was not episcopally
ordained, and to this little defect, together with his popularity, and to some dis-
play of zeal on the queen’s trial—and not at all to the printed declaration of his
hostility to episcopal government, he ascribes the jealousy, and the subsequent
conduct of the archbishop. Wishing therefore, for the better carrying into
effect his resolve of correcting the perversions of the church, to obtain episco-
pal ordination, Mr. Abbott abandoned his chapel, proceeded to Cambridge,
studied secundum artem, took his degree, and then applied to the bishop of
Norwich for ordination—why to him does not appear, except perhaps that the
old gentleman was thought to be less particular than some others. To his
amazement, he was refused. The bishop informed him, he had received a caveat
against ordaining him some years before, from the archbishop. Sutton was

1831.7 Monthly Review of Literature. © 569.

dead;. but'the archbishop, like the king, never dies: Mr. Abbott. applies, to
Howley for information, and he replies in the most courteous: terms—‘“‘ 1 have
no wish to interfere against. you, Mr. A., I must attend to my official duties.,
Ifa bishop apply to me, I must inform: him that there appears in the books of.
my predecessor a caution not to ordain you without reference to him. I can say
no more.” But he is dead, and cannot well be referred to. ‘‘I can;make-no
other reply, Mr. Abbott.” All this Mr. Abbott regards as perfectly intolerable
—it is the conduct of a despot—of the dark and tyrannical ages—of the ancient
decemviri—it is like the Roman emperors breathing revenge for what. in his)
conscience Mr. A. considers as a duty. His first grace issued, says Mr. A., an»
edict calculated to blast my character and reputation, which the second, with
the mildness and complacency of a Nerva, has renewed.

To be frank, however, is not thought to be among the duties of archbishops or
bishops—it is obviously, from a thousand. evidences, considered as derogatory to
theirdignities. In Mr. Abbott’s case, the course which common sense and com-
mon propriety prompted was clear—he had set the discipline of the church at
defiance, and had, moreover, published his belief of its corruption. Why should
he wish to join her communion? Or what views could he have, but such as
must, in the eyes of all churchmen, seem insidious ones? These were grounds
enough for refusal—if bishops are to exercise any discretion at all—and might and
should have been frankly given as such.

But what has all this to do with the book which Mr. Abbott professes to be
a History of the Roman and English Hierarchies, and their corruptions? Simply
this—that Mr. Abbott’s purpose is revenge, and of course no fair inquiry or
discussion can be expected from such a source, and with such an object. Its
merits are not worth scanning. There can be no doubt the bishops of the pre-.
sent day are not the bishops of the early ages of the church; but as long as
there are ample revenues, there will be possessors of them—there will be, occa-:
sionally at least, a bad use of them; and generally every thing will, as a matter
of course, be conducted on an exclusive principle. The public, in a personal’
view, have little to do with the matter. Nobody is bound to continue in com~:
munion with the state-church; and episcopal power over laymen is, happily,
all but a nullity. Their authority is exercised over their “ brethren,” as they
style them, and it is not to be denied that they wield that authority, like auto-
crats ; and still less can it be denied, that those who submit to such treatment,,
are only treated as they deserve. ,

Famity anp ParocutaLt SrerMoNS, BY THE Rey. W. SHEPHERD, oF CHED-
DINGTON, Bucks. i

Ir we did not know the constant demand that exists for publications of this kind
among the clergy themselves, and generally, we should naturally ask of what pos-.
sible use they could be—who could desire to have them? Sermons, of this kind,
in general, are but an eternal repetition—a mere rechauffé, a thousand times
rechauffé-ed—no noyelty—no eloquence—no vigour of conception—no force of
sentiment or of illustration—nothing to induce any person of intelligence or
taste to read one rather than another, or any of them at all. There is so much
dwelling upon trifles, at least upon wnessential matters—such an emphasis given
to insignificance—such efforts made to revive or retain fading associations—so
much taken for granted which no mortal can concede—so much of common, and
yet crude, truism, that reading is all but impossible, for there is nothing to
arrest. We see in this series, a sermon on Lent, in which, of course, an inex-
perienced person would expect to find some reasons given for enforcing periodical
repentance; but not a word is there which does not make the duty of as much
importance atone moment as at another, the whole year round.

“We must turn to him also with fasting,’ says Mr. Shepherd—“ our Saviour
fasted forty days, till he was an hungered, and then came various temptations,
all of which he resisted, and triumphed so gloriously over his tempter, that
angels came and ministered unto him. The devout Christian, in like manner, is

570. Monthly Review of Literature. [Now

ready to give up every thing to God’s service, and think it all gain ‘when called”
upon to suffer for Christ’s sake ; because, in so doing, he is made more like his»
crucified master, who was made perfect through sufferings. He is ready to
submit to any privations, or undergo any difficulties for the sake of his heavenly
calling; but-he does not esteem bodily mortifications or sensual abstinence of
any account, unless accompanied by the lowliness and humility of the inward
man,”

What does this mean? Why, if any thing, that fasting is not fasting. Christ
fasted, was tempted, and triumphed. Are we then, his disciples, to fast forty
days? No, we are to be ready—not to fast, but to renounce every thing,
if there be occasion. The analogy fails absolutely. It would puzzle an Cdipus
to connect the doctrine with the fact. The argument, if it is one at all, is rather
one for the neglect of periodical sacrifices. Besides, the fasting itself is of no use,
unless it be productive of humility ; and therefore if the humility exists, the
fasting is, ipso facto, dispensed with. This is enforcing the observance of Lent
with a witness. ‘

THE Van Dieman’s Lanp ALMANACK FoR 1831.

Tue book is got up wholly in the colony. Besides thecommon matters which
usually fill up almanacks, and the Red-book, the volume contains almost every
thing that can be desired to furnish a complete account of the colony, and its
statistics. In particular, will be found the state of agriculture, and of garden-
ing—a history of the colony—a geographical description of the island, and a
general itinerary—and the whole series of colonial regulations to the latest date.
Among these latter are the proclamations of the governor relative to the native
population, about whom we at home have long been very much in the dark. In
the year 1828 it seems, about one-half of the island was placed, with respect to
them, under “martial law ;”” and so late as October of Jast year (1830) we find
the whole island was so placed, because, it is expressly stated, it was very diffi-
cult to distinguish friend from foe—and therefore they were all directed to be
treated alike. Injunctions are given to the military and colonists, not to fire at’
the miserable wretches, if they can be captured without; but. captured, they
must be, at all events. What is to be done with them when captured, is not
stated; but apparently the adults are to be despatched to neighbouring islands,
while the children are to be drilled to the discipline of colonial civilization! The
measure is horrible in itself; but the safety of the colony demands their extir-
pation, and it is obvious the colonists will stick at nothing to accomplish their
object. The governor can only do as he is bid. The natives are said not now
to exceed 2000—but of course such a statement can scarcely be trusted—if they
were 20,000 no scruples would deter those who are past getting the complete
mastery. Of this 2000, the males are said to be to the women six to one.
What is become of the women?

Insecr MisceLLAnizsS—A VoLUME oF THE LIBRARY OF ENTERTAINING
KNOWLEDGE.

AnorTuer volume from Mr. Rennie, equally important, and more interesting
in the details than the former. The subject of insects is inexhaustible. The
number of species is endless—all have their peculiarities, and the difficulties of
tracing them, if not insurmountable, require reiterated efforts, and the aid of
numbers to surmount. It is but now and then that any thing in the shape of
satisfactory discovery, and indisputable fact, can be caught. Guesses are eter-
nally substituted—controversies spring up, and the original object almost for-
gotten in the fervours of self-defence. But it is only thus, after all, that truth
is to be got at—there is no sharpening men’s wits but by collision, and friction,
Bees and ants—the insects perhaps which have been most studied—are still in
their economy but imperfectly understood; and many of Mr. R.’s. pages are
occupied with them ; but the main points of consideration in the present volume, »

18314 Monthly Review of Literature. 571-

regard the senses of insects—their means and modes of eating—and their social
and domestic habits. The chief value of Mr. R.’s book consists in the bare ‘pre-
sentation of facts, and the exposure of blunders—he but rarely indulges in
guesses.

The purpose for which the glow-worm lights up its lamp is still as much’ in
obscurity as ever. Dumeril calls it, as others, naturalists as well as poets, the
lamp of love. It isthe female who supplies the light. She has no wings; whilst
the male hasthem. The female then is supposed to light up her lamp, like Hero
for her Leander. Mr. Knapp, in his Journal of a Naturalist, discovers evidence
of this purpose in the very conformation of the male. He—the male, not Mr.
Knapp—can see below him only, from the position of his eyes, and with good
reason, for he has nothing to do but to look out for the lamp of his mistress.’
But unluckily for this inference, the eyes of the female, though but half the size,
are precisely the same as to structure and position, as those of the male; and
she never rises from the ground. Besides the glow-worm shines in its infant,
and in its larva state, in neither of which is a love-meeting, at least love-making,
desirable or practicable. The male too, after all, shines as well as the female,
though not so brilliantly. But what is still more destructive of this theory—
shewing how ready naturalists are to run before their facts—is, that the males
are scarcely ever, or if ever, by mere accident, found among the females, when
their lamps are thus lighted up. The blaze does not, after all, answer the purpose
assigned. The males do not come. Mr. Rennie even put a lot of females in
full glow in a box on the sea-bank, near Havre-de-Grace, where the insect
abounds ; but not a male approached the concentrated blaze (perhaps they were
‘dazzled and alarmed) no, not though its position was changed several times, and
continued till after midnight, when, according to Shakspeare, and White of Sel-
borne, he, or she, or both, “ ’gin to pale their ineffectual fires.” Mr. R. as we
said, does not himself deal in guesses, but he delights in demolishing those of.
others—Mr. John Murray’s especially. This latter gentleman conjectures that
the glow-worm lights up either to find her own food, or obligingly to enable the
nightingale to find herself, for a tit-bit ;—but here too, the fact is still to be ascer-
tained whether the nightingale feeds at all onthe glow-worm. It is pretty plain
these naturalists, as well as the chemists and others, will at last leave the poets
nothing to feed on.

FINE ARTS’ PUBLICATIONS,

THE ANNUALS.

The Amulet, Edited by 8. C. Hall.—The Amulet is this year distinguished from
itself, as well as from all others, by a new and beautiful binding that unites the
durable and the decorative to an admirable degree of perfection. Some of the
annuals are evidently not meant to be read, and scarcely to be touched ; but Mr.
Hall has very rightly foreseen that the Amulet will be fondly and frequently re-
ferred to, and he has consequently provided it with a covering that will resist the
attacks of its admirers. One of the distinguishing features of this beautiful
volume, as regards its embellishments, is a set of splendid engravings from pic-
tures by Sir Thomas Lawrence; and what considerably enhances the value of
these is, that they are female portraits. Two of them flash upon us the instant
we open the book; one, The Portrait, a most fascinating and finely-executed
print; the other, a portrait of Lady Cawdor, contending for the prize of our
admiration, and fairly dividing it with its companion. Turning over a leaf or
two we come to another—Lady Londonderry and her son (every body recollects
the picture—it is dazzling us yet); and proceeding still further we light on one
—shall we say it is more beautiful ?—it is more tender, feminine, and delicate
than any of them. This is a portrait of ‘‘ Sophie,” the daughter of the ilus-,
trious Cuvier. We now turn to more general subjects; the Death of the First. .
Born is an effective engraving ; and Haydon’s Eucles an admirable one. Corinne,

572 Fine. Arts’ Publications. [Nov.

from a picture-by. the’ celebrated Girard ; and-the Greek Girl, by Pickersgill, are
interesting alike in subject. and in style; while the Rising of the Nile, and Ve- .
nice, will lose no lustre ina. comparison with the loveliest of the landscapes that
are scattered through the numerous annuals around us. A little moon-light
view of Boxall’s terminates a:series of embellishments, that equals, to say the least
of it, any single collection that we have yet. seen annualized. We now come to
the literature, respecting which we quote the editor, who tells us that he ‘* has
endeavoured to fill the: present volume with a larger proportion of articles of
permanent interest, and’ value than heretofore ; so.as to avoid, as far as possible,
a very general complaint against the annual works—that they are merely butter-
flies of a season, and lose their attraction when that season is past.”” We con-
cur with him, and with the manner in which he has carried his design into effect.
The character of the Amulet’s prose and poetry will not be lessened by any-
thing that,appears.in this volume. Jt comprises several sterling articles, as well
as some of a lighter and livelier description. Of this class we may point to Miss
Mitford’s. amusing Day of Distress, and to the Chapter on Flowers, by the .
author of “‘ Atherton.” Mrs. Hall’s tale of the Mosspits is beautifully written ;
the story well told, the characters admirably sketched, and the moral perfect.
The Betrothed, brief as it is, is a convincing evidence that L. E. L.’s pen is not
limited to verse, but that it can pour out its treasures in prose with undiminished
grace. Dr. Walsh’s Visit to Niccea is interesting to the last letter; several others
deserve almost an equal amount of praise. Mrs, Hemans, Miss Jewsbury, Mrs.
Norton, Barry Cornwall, Mr. Willmott, and others of a list rather rich than
numerous, have contributed poems, of various degrees of merit; some of them,
for our own sake as well as for the reader’s, we should extract, but that there are
nearly a dozen of the Amulet’s rivals already demanding our attention, and
pleading with all the charm of beauty to be heard. Upon the whole, the Amulet
unquestionably deserves the place we haye here given it—at the head of the
list. ;

The Friendship’s Offering opens like the Amulet, with a portrait from Law-
rence; it is less successful, though a pleasant and elegant composition. The
Fairy of the Lake,. by Richter and E. Finden, is not fanciful, but fantastic.
Milton asleep is prettily engraved, but it wants feeling. The Embarkation is
one of the loveliest in the volume. Stothard’s Dismal Tale has its pretensions
to character, though wanting force; and Wood’s Myrrhina and Myrto, though
the ladies are a little of the tallest, has as much beauty and poetry as any of its
companions. The other plates are little behind these either in interest of sub-
ject or in execution; but we pass to the literary department, where we meet
Miss Mitford telling a story of an Incendiary, and describing in her own way
her consternation at the machine-breaking in Berkshire. ‘The Substitute, and
particularly The Church-yard Watch, are in Mr. Banim’s intense way and not
entirely to our taste. Mrs. Norton’s Orphan is a touching tale of humble
life. Mr. St. John’s Athenian tale of the Golden Basket Bearer is unquestion-
ably one of the most beautiful in the volume, which contains, besides several
other excellent prose contributions, its full share of good poetry. The Editor’s
Dream of Fairyland is certainly in far too many “‘fyttes ;” but it has its touches
of grace and fancy that redeem it. The Poet’s Dream introduces a portion of
Mr. Bulwer’s fine poem of ‘‘ Milton,” a distinction which it well deserves.
Barry Cornwall’s contributions are distinguished, in several instances, by ex-
ceeding sweetness and beauty ; and Montgomery (James, of course) adds a few
things to the poetical treasures of the Offering. We regret that we cannot de-
scribe, or even enumerate, all the pieces that we have been pleased with. There
is a great variety, “‘ bearing many names ;”’ and thus, to sum up our brief notice,
we are of opinion, that whether in prose, poetry, or pictures, the Editor has
reason to be satisfied with the Offering for 1832.

We last month introduced the annuals for 1832, by paying proper tribute
to the embellishments of the Winter’s Wreath. We have now to glance at its
literature. The German Jew, by Mr. Howitt, is a potent sketeh. The Jew had
barely escaped being buried alive—his family and friends fled from him, believing

1831.] Fine Arts’ Publications. 573

his body, according to their national superstitions, to be possessed by the devil.

' He is driven to'despair, and to crime, and finally joins a band of robbers, when
the desperation and torture of his feelings prompt him to deeds of more than
mortal prowess, and a death of horror. ‘‘ An incident at Gibraltar,” told by
Inglis, is perhaps equally terrific to the imagination. The poetry is of the usual

“average, and by the usual contributors, who have admitted to their coterie, we ob-
serve, a second Archdeacon Butler, of Shrewsbury, who is complimenting Mrs. He-
mans like a youthof twenty ; while the “‘ Venerable” Wrangham, with still younger
feelings, turns Bayly’s song, “‘O ’tis the melody,”’ after his fashion, into Latin

lyrics, and a sonnet of old Sir Egerton Brydges, into iambics. ‘The same
«“Venerable”’ tries his hand at an Englishtranslation from Leopardi; but really
if he attempts English again, he must tag his rhymes a little better. Brow might
have jingled very well with bow-wow, but will not couple with woe ; nor will gaze
with trace, nor cause with close, &c. Mrs. Hemans’ Song of the Syren entitles
her to all the compliments of the archdeacon we have alluded to. Mrs. Shelley
has a spirited mythological drama, called Proserpine ; and some-of Mr. Chorley’s
contributions deserve the space they occupy—but they are somewhat numerous.
We could find a stanza or two by other contributors, which we should be
tempted to quote, but that space forbids it.

The Forget-Me-Not, parent of annualism, comes forth with renewed youth,
externally at least, as if it'saw no reason why it should not be as young as its
children. Its binding is now as crimson asthe brightest of its compeers; but we
fear there is no decided improvement in its internal features. We do not vastly
admire the Triumph of Mordecai, ‘with which it opens, though we should pro-
bably hold it to be magnificent if Martin had never done any thing else. If we

‘are not in raptures with this, still less can we be expected to be so with:a'weak
un-Lord-Byronish sort of Don Juan, clasping ‘a worse Haidee, that succeeds ‘it.
Richter’s Uncle Toby is good in every thing but character; but we can take
no exception to Purser’s view of Toka, by Carter; and as little-to Kidd’s Stage-
‘struck Hero, by Engleheart, which are excellent. Wood’s Thunder-storm is
treated-in his usual felicitous way. Mayence, by Prout, also ranks among'the
beauties. The Disappointment is very properly named, so far-as we are con-
cerned; and a note or two more praise only'can be awarded ‘to La-Pensée—
which, or something very like it, we have seen before.—We will take the-poetry
first ; which begins finely with some illustrative stanzas to the Triumph of Morde-
cai; and others quite as good, ‘but in another strain, to the Don Juan. ‘Delta’s
Harebell will pass among the other flowers. L. EK. L., Haynes Bayly, and the
Ettrick Shepherd, wind up the poetical charm. And now for the prose. The
White Lynx of the Long Knives is sufficiently Indian, characteristic, and
‘amusing. Every line in the features of Old Master Green, renders the name of
Miss Mitford ‘a superfluous heading to the sketch. The Beauty lessoned into
Love is long, but its excellence renders its length a virtue. The Ordeal of Toka
is one of the interesting points of the volume, and ‘we also like very much Mr.
Inglis’s Serjeant Hawkins. Mrs. Hofland has given aswect little sketch,accom-
‘panying the Disappointment, and is followed by others of whom we havenot

‘-space to make the particular mention they deserve.

The Juvenile Forget-Me-Not, Edited by Mrs. S.-C. Hall.—There are books

that delight us so much that we scorn to consider whether they are cheap or
‘dear. Yet cheapness is a virtue ina book, and we may as well at once therefore
say, that among many other things that we admire in this ‘‘ tender Juvenile,’
we particularly admire its price. So much could not have been expected—we

' donot mean from Mrs. Hall—but forthe money, if we had not remembered her
‘Jast year’s production. ‘The present is every way equal to it—perhaps superior.

‘ The first plate, The Provence Rose, well deserves its name ; it is a.very pretty
engraving from a sweet little picture, by Miss Fanny Corbeaux—a young artist
whom we hope to have many similar opportunities of praising. The other
plates are worthy, or almost worthy of this ; among them must be mentioned,
‘by way of contrast, The Dead Robin andthe Young Sportsman, for their parti-
cular juvenile attractions. But ‘there are other charms of ‘embellishments -in

574 Fine Arts’ Publications. [Nov.

some excellent wood-cuts, illustrating a paper by the editor, called “ Anecdotes
of Birds” —an article that will not only amuse and edify the young, but will have
an equal interest for older readers. We have already regretted our limited
space, but we regret it still more now, as it prevents us from quoting half a
dozen of these captivating ‘anecdotes.’ Mrs. Hall has also an amusing little
paper, The ‘‘ Not” Family, Every boyish reader of the “Juvenile” will be
obliged to Miss Isabel Hill for her Boyish Threats, which will be relished, both
for their liveliness and their moral ; and every girlish one, to L. E. L. for her very
pleasant account of Mabel Dacre’s First Lessons. We have also an interesting
American tale, Frank Finlay ; and a short and pretty sketch by Miss Jewsbury.
The poetry, principally by L. E. L., Barry Cornwall, and Allan Cunningham,
is quite worthy of the prose, the prose of the embellishments, and all of the
editor, and her (we hope) numberless readers and admirers.

The Humourist, a Companion to the Christmas Fireside, by W. H. Harrison.—
We think it a bad, or at least a bold plan for any one to attempt an annual,
alone and unaided. We have few giants in these days; and it really would
require something like a gigantic humour to supply eighty “‘ideas” for eighty
engravings, together with a like number of articles, prose and verse, to illustrate
them—particularly if the author were to furnish as Mr. Harrison does, some of
his superfluous thoughts to other annuals. We hardly know the writer who
could do this well, and at all events we cannot say ecce homo of Mr. Harrison.
Yet his volume is this year, as it was last, decidedly clever; and contains so
much evidence of capability that we regret to see the writer throwing away his
strength, and doing nothing, with what, if well employed, would acquire him a
better species of reputation than any thing in these annuals are likely to obtain
for him. The cuts are almost all failures as far as fun is concerned ; there are
a few, such as ‘‘ Tant Mieux,”’ a Regiment of the Line, &c. that may be endured,
but there is nothing of the illustrative kind in the volume that will ever set any
table on a roar. Mr. Harrison’s papers, prose and verse, are as we have said
exceedingly clever—the prose in general the best. The opening chaunt, about
Christmas and its departed genius, is a fair sample of the point and pleasantry
of the volume.

The Comic Offering, or Ladies’ Melange of Musical Mirth, Edited by Miss L.
H. Sheridan.—Mirth does not appear to have been so busy among the annuals
this year as last, so that Miss Sheridan has fewer rivals to contend with, This
she must almost regard as a misfortune, for she is infinitely better able to meet
them than upon her first appearance in an editorial character. Perhaps this is
partly attributable to her declining the single combat upon which she formerly
ventured, and to her calling in the aid of certain very potent assistants. At all
events her volume is a good one ; it has a few weak points we will acknowledge,
but it has more than a few brilliant ones. We shall mention some of them—
dipping, hap-hazard, among the comicalities that crowd her pages. Let any
body look at Scraping an Acquaintance, Dr. Spurtzheim, Pouring over a Book,
Sketch of Irish Character, A Bird in the hand, Slight Acquaintance, An old
Cat, Full Blow, A bit of Scandal, Family-jars, and others, and say whether
he will not quite concur with us that the “thoughts” are as happy as the style
in which they are executed. In this last particular Miss Sheridan has been
particularly fortunate ; and as most decided instances of success, we shall refer
to the first and last items of the volume ;—the Frontispiece, Writers and Readers,
executed by Smith from a design by Meadows, more fanciful and facetious than
any thing we have seen for a long time; and the concluding cut, Short and
Sweet—by the same artists we presume, for it is in the same, or a still more
successful spirit. If we are to speak our’ mind we would rather have this wood-
cut alone, than one half of the illustrations of the annuals. It remains for us to
say only a few words upon the literary pretensions of the Comic Offering, not
because they do not deserve many, but because the cuts happened to attract us
first. Miss Sheridan has herself contributed, very successfully, to the volume ;
indeed so largely that we despair of particularizing half that she has amused us
‘in. We may be permitted to say simply, that of the two we have been more

1831.) Fine Arts’ Publications. Sot)

delighted with her prose than her verse, Of her contributors we prefer the-con-

tribution of Miss Mitford and Haynes Bayly to the others—with the exception
of two pieces, one verse, the other prose, by Miss Isabel Hill—full of pith,
pans, pleasantry, (there is no end to alliteration when one does begin) playful-
ness and point. We now commit the Comic Offering to the favourable accept-
ance which it cannot fail to meet with.

The Literary Souvenir, Edited by A. A. Watts, Esq.—Of the embellishments
of the Souvenir for 1832, we have spoken in another page; in this place we
shall comment upon its literature only. It opens with a prose sketch of consi-
derable interest, The Signal, by the author of ‘‘The Romance of French His-
tory.” A Scotch Jubilee, just amusing and no more, follows; an Egyptian
tale, called The Bride of the Nile, beautifully written in parts, and pleasing
throughout—The Highlands of Ouaquahenegow, the story rather, and the name
considerably, too long for an annual—and a beautiful sketch by Mr. Macfarlane,
Benedetto Mangone, or the Brigand of Choli—form the most striking features of
the prose department. Of the poetry of which there are numerous specimens,
many of them not remarkable for their merit, we shall particularize only one or
two contributions by Mrs. A. Watts, which we like particularly ; and the prin-
cipal poetic feature of the volume, The Converzatione, by the Editor himself.
Mr. Watts has in these fifty pages of satire burst out into a fit of fine phrenzy,
that, in anannual, is most unlooked for and alarming. He travels round the
circle of literature—makes the grand tour of letters—and attacks right and left
whatever happens to fallin his way. Of course he has some personal feelings
to gratify—but with these the readers of the ‘“‘ Souvenir” can have very little to
do; and we cannot help thinking therefore that he should have reserved his
anger for a newspaper, to the ‘‘ poets’s corner’ of which it would have been a
valuable acquisition. We certainly agree with some of the hits—but in his fury
he has wounded persons who, if we had time and space, we should be chivalrous
enough to stand up in the defence of. Luckily, however, the parties are very
well able to protect themselves, and to them and to their revenge we leave Mr.
Watts. There will evidently be an annual war.

The New Year’s Gift and Juvenile Souvenir, Edited by Mrs. A. Watts.—This
is a very pretty little volume, containing a set of embellishments of a superior
order, and an appropriate collection of lessons and amusements for the young.
Little Red Riding Hood forms a tempting frontispiece ; it is sweetly engraved by
Engleheart, after no less a master than Lawrence himself. The Sleeping Child,
The Orphans, The Grandfather’s Nap, The Roman Family, The Sailor’s Widow,
and Antwerp, form as pleasing a set of little gems as we could wish to see.
With the literary part of the volume Mrs. Watts appears to have taken great
pains. We have not space to point out where it particularly excels, but it com-
prises contributions from several able writers, and will we are sure be welcomed
by a very numerous class of young and anxious admirers.

Ackermann’s Juvenile Forget-Me-Not, for 1832.—This is the last of the juve-
niles that we have to notice—but we will not call it the least, for ‘‘ compari-
sons, &c.”” It contains many attractions, less, however, in point of embellish-
ment, than in its literature. The commencement is auspicious—a Lion by the
Landseers, Edwin and Thomas. It isa beautiful and touching design, admirably
engraved. The vignette is nnworthy of it, and the Boudoir still more so.
Returning from Market, and The Ballad, may be classed among the most at-
tractive of the illustrations—but no doubt every little lover of art will have his
own favourite. Of the literature we can speak very favourably : the list is a
very rich one, as will be seen when we enumerate the names of Mrs. Hofland,
Miss Mitford, Mrs. Howitt, Miss Isabel Hill, Miss Jewsbury, Mr. Hood and
Mr. Harrison,

The Continental Annual, uniform with the Landscape Annual.—The. proprietors
of this new and splendid work are influenced by a motive which will ensure,
we should think, universal patronage to their undertaking. They are desirous
of ministering to the preyailing appetite for beauty ‘“ at a much less expence

576 [Nov.

than ‘its gratification has hitherto cost.” If this be not an inducement ‘to
purchase, we confess we shall despair of any eloquence of our:own being able
to carry persuasion with it. Yet eloquent we might well ‘be upon this exquisite
-set of gems—a collection which will rival any thing of the kind ‘that may be
produced, whether under the head of ‘‘ Landscape,” ‘‘ Picturesque,’”’ or other
appellation. The whole of these thirteen engravings are from drawings by
Prout, who, if we are to allow him his full share in the merit of this set of
designs, never did any thing lovelier. We wish our space would permit us to
do justice to them separately: we could devote a page to pointing out the
beauties of such plates as the Church of St. Pierre, by Carter; Rouen Cathedral,
‘by Wallis; the City and Bridge of Prague, Le Keux; the Porte Nigra,
Roberts ; the exquisite title page, by Fisher; and others, the finish and feeling
of which will recommend them :to every lover of engravings. Mr. W. Kennedy
is announced as the editor of this beautiful addition to the Annuals.

Illustrations of the Literary Souvenir.—If not equal to any previous set, these
illustrations are by no means destitute of beauty. In the frontispiece, Allegra,
Ensom has given a complete fac-simile effect to the drawing of Chalon. Itisa
charming piece of affectation. The Supper by the Fountain, Engleheart, is not
equal to the Stothard of last year; nor is the Marchioness of Salisbury, Ensom,
comparable to one or two of the Lawrences to be found in the present year’s
Annuals. Overwesel on the Rhine, Roberts and Goodall, is among the most
attractive of the set; though even this is surpassed by the Tower of London,
which Turner has robed with poetry. Northcote’s Lady Jane Grey we do not
altogether admire; and the Tarantella should have been excluded. Vespers
presents a sweet bit of moonlight effect, by Boxall; and the Deveria Family
forms a fascinating group. Two subjects, by Johannot, are also skilfully
treated.

Fine Arts’ Publications.

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PRESS.
__ By James Boyle, Surgeon, R.N.: The
Fevers and other Diseases prevalent on
‘the Western Coast of Africa, together
with the Medical Topography of that
Coast.

By Capt. P. Leslie Fenwick: A His-
tory of Ceylon under the Government
of Lieut.-General Sir Edw. Barnes.

By the same Author: Notes of:a Voy-
_age from Ceylon to England.

Wild Sports of the West.

Cavendish, or the Patrician at Sea. A
Novel.

By the Author of Sydenham: Alice
‘Paulet, a’Sequel to Sydenham.

By James Hope, M.D.: A Treatise
‘onthe Diseases of the Heart and Great
Vessels.

By the Rev. Arthur Johnson: A
Manual of the History of Philosophy

_from the German of 'Teneman, and A
New Argument for the Truth of the
Christian Religion, by the same Author.

By the Rev. Mr. Stebbing: A New
Edition of the Lives of the Italian
Poets, comprising several additional
Lives, including that of Ugo Foscolo,
-with Extracts from ‘his Private Letters,
&e.

The Jew. A Novel.

The False Step. A Novel. In3 vols.

By the Author of Gertrude: The
Affianced One, A Novel. In 8 vols.

Cameron. A Novel. In 8 vols.

A Translation of the Memoirs of the
Duchess of Arbantes will contain curi-
ous particulars respecting her husband
General Junot, &c.

By Mr. Taylor: Useful Geometry
practically exemplified in a Series of
Diagrams, with Notes and a Vocabu-
lary, explaining in familiar words, the
technical meaning of upwards of six
hundred scientific terms.

Time’s Telescope for 1832.

The Shakspearian Dictionary; a
complete Collection of the Expressions
of Shakspeare, in Prose and Verse.

By the Rev. H. C. O’Donnoghue:
Sketches of the Principal Events con-
nected with the History of Modern
Europe.

Selections from Southey’s Poems,
in one volume.

From the German of A. H. L. Hee-
ren: Reflections on the Politics, Inter-
course, and Commerce of the ‘Principal
Nations of Antiquity. Reed

1831.]
LIST OF NEW WORKS.

Works on Cholera.

Rechérches Historiques et Critiques
sur la Nature, les Causes, et le Traite-
ment du Cholera Morbus. Par F. E.
Foderé, D.M. Paris.

Mémoire sur un nouveau Traitement
du Cholera Morbus. Par H. F. Rangue.
Paris.

Instructions sur les Moyens propres
A se preserver du Cholera Morbus. Par
Constant Saucerotte. Paris.

Observations on Cholera as it appeared
at Port Glasgow during the Months of
July and August, 1831. By John Mar-
shall, M.D.

Neale’s Researches on the Cholera.
8vo. 8s. 6d.

The History of the Contagious Cho-
lera, with Facts explanatory of its Ori-
gin and Laws, and of a Rational Method
of Cure. By James Kennedy. 8vo.
10s. 6d.

Cholera, its Nature, Cause, Treat-
ment, and Prevention Explained. By
Charles Searle, Esq.

A Systematic and Practical Descrip-
tion of the Spasmodia Cholera, By
Alex. Smith, M.D.

On the Nature Symptons and Treat-
ment of Cholera. By Medicus,

Cholera Morbus, By James Rymer.

Advice to the Public for the Preven-
tion and Cure of the Asiatic Cholera.
From the German of Dr. J. R. Lichten-
stardt.

Observations sur la Nature et le
Traitement du Cholera Morbus d’Ku-
rope et d’Asie. Par J. T. Millenger,
DM. Paris.

CLASSICAL.

Third Greek Delectus, or Analecta
Greca Majora. Prose and Verse. In
1 large vol. 8vo. Containing the sub-
stance of Dalzel’s 3 vols. with English
Notes, &c. By the Rev. I. Valpy,
lds. 6d.

Four Dialogues of Plato, with Eng-
lish Notes, &c. Edited by G. Burges.
Valpy’s School and College Classics.
12mo. 7s. Gd.

Plutarch’s Lives, illustrated with En-
gravin Vol. I. 4s. 6d. being No. 23,
of Valpy’s Classical Library.

Livy, First Five Books, with Eng-
lish Notes. Edited by Dr. Hickie for
ot School and College Classics.
5s, Gd. ‘

MISCELLANEOUS.
_ The Passengers, comprising a Dia-
logue between three Gentlemen on a
Tour in North Wales. By the Rey.
John Parker. 12mo. 7s. 6d.

M.M. New Series.—Vou, XII, No, 71.

List of New Works.

577

Frost’s Geography and Astronomy.

2mo. 8s.

Memoirs of Miss Elizabeth Spreckley.
18mo. 2s.

Cleghorn’s System of Agriculture,
extracted from the Encyclopedia Bri-
tannica. 4to. 9s.

Lectures on Population, Marriage,
&c. By Dr. Ryan. 12mo. 2s. 6d.

Journal of the Royal Geographical
Society of London, for 1830-1831. 8vo.
7s. 6d.

Description of the Contents, Objects,
and Uses of the Public Records. 8vo. 5s.

Raikes on Education. 12mo. 5s.

Selections from the Edinburgh Re-
view ; comprising the best Articles in
that Journal, from its commencement
to the present time; with a Preliminary
Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes.
Edited by Maurice Cross, Secretary of
the Belfast Historic Society. 4 vols.

Insect Miscellanies. 18mo. 4s. 6d.

The History of Little Jack: adapted
for Teaching and Learning the German
Language, by means of a Verbal Trans.
lation, on the Principles of the Hamil-
tonian System, and an Elementary
Grammar, By Philip Orkney Skene.
12mo. 5s.

Memoir of the late War. By the
Earl of Munster, Captain Cook, &c.

The Traditions of Lancashire: Se-
cond Series. In 2 vols. 8vo. By J.
Roby.

Ivimey’s Memoir of W. Fox, Esq. 2s.

Memoirs of the Empress Josephine.
By J.S. Memes. 18mo. 3s. 6d.

The Columbia River, comprising
Scenes and Adventures during a Resi-
dence of Six Years on the Western side
of the Rokey Mountains. By Ross
Cox, Esq. 2 vols. 8vo.

Campaigns and Cruises in Venezuela
and New Grenada, and in the Pacific
Ocean, from 1817 to 1830. In 3 vols.
12mo. 21s.

Remarks on the Choice of Horses,
their Management, and on the Condi-
tion of Hunters. By Nimrod. 8vo. 12s.

Description of the Preparations in the
Museum of St. Bartholomew. 4to. 10s.

Brown’s Illustrations of American
Ornithology. Part I. folio, 12s. co-
loured 21s.

Browne’s Sketches and Anecdotes of
Quadrupeds. 12mo. 10s.

Balaam. By the Author of Modern
Fanaticism Unveiled. 12mo. 5s,

RELIGION AND MORALS.

History of the Roman Hierarchies.
By J. Abbott, 8vo. 9s.

Wardlaw’s Essays on
12mo, 5s.

2Z

‘2 vols. 8vo. 21s.

Assurance.

578

Discourses adapted to the Pulpit from
the Tracts and Treatises of Eminent

Divines. By the Rev. E. A. Bray.
Andrew Fuller’s Works. Vol. I. 8vo.
14s.

Divines of the Church of England.
No. XVIII. 7s. 6d. commencing Bi-
shop Hall’s Contemplations.

he Sacred History of the World,
from the Creation to the Deluge, at-
tempted to be philosophically considered,
in a Series of Letters to a Son. By
Sharon Turner. In 1 vol. 8vo.

The Key, which opens the Secret
Cabinet of the Vatican, and discovers
various Frauds and Forgeries that have
been foisted into the es Testament,
and upon which the Rock of Rome has
been supported for nearly Fifteen Hun-
dred Years. By Zachariah Jackson.
&vo. Part I. 6s.

The Amathyst, or Christian Annual
for 1832. Edited by R. Huie, M.D.
and R. K. Greville.

MEDICAL.

Observations and Experiments on a
New Mode of Treating Fractures of the
Leg and Fore-Arm; especially Com-
pound Fractures. By William Beau-
mont. 8vo. ls. 6d.

The Elements of Chemistry Fami-
liarly Explained and Practically Illus-
strated. Part the First, with 100 cuts.
12mo. 6s.

Otto’s Compendium of Anatomy. By
South. 6vo. 14s.

Snell’s Guide to Operators on the
Teeth. 8vo. 8s.

Lugol on Scrofula. 8vo. 8s.

List of New Works.

| LES
[Noyv.

Maingault’s Illustrations of the dif-
ferent Amputations performed on the
Human Body, represented by Plates
designed after Nature; with Alterations
and ‘Practical Observations. By Wil-
liam Sands Cox. Folio 15s.

A Synopsis of the Bones, Ligaments,
Muscles, Blood-Vessels, and Nerves, of
the Human Body. By William Sands
Cox, Surgeon to the Dispensary in Bir-
mingham. 12mo. 9s.

Elements of Surgery.
Liston, Part II. 9s. 8vo.

Bichat’s General Anatomy.
8vo, 28s.

NOVELS AND TALES.

The Bravo, a Venetian Story. By
Cooper, Author of the Spy. 3 vols.
£1 lls. 6d.

The Sister’s Budget, a Collection of
Original Tales in Prose and Verse. By
the Authors of the Odd Volume. 2 vols.
post 8vo. 21s.

Italy’s Romantic Annals. By Charles
Macfarlane, Esq. 3 vols. post 8vo.
£1 11s. 6d.

Glen Mowbray, a Tale. In 3 vols.
8vo. 28s.

By Robert

2 vols.

POETRY.

Irish Minstrelsey, or the Bardic Re-
mains of Ireland, with English Poetical
Translations. Collected and edited, with
Tilustrations, by James Hardman.
2 vols. 8vo. 26s.

Epistles to a Friend in Power, and
other Poems. By Chandos Leigh, Esq.
12mo.

The Poetical Works of C. B. Ash, of
Abdaston. 2 vols. 8vo. 21s.

BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIRS OF EMINENT PERSONS.

JAMES MONROE, ESQ.

John Adams and Thomas ‘Jefferson,
two of three Presidents of the United
States, deceased ; both diel on the 4th
of July, 1826, the 50th anniversary of
American independence ;* and it cer-
tainly must be regarded as a still more
remarkable coincidence, that a third
should have died on the same day, of
the same month, in the present year.

James Monroe was descended from a
repectable Scotch family. His ancestor,
who went to the new world in 1652, held
the rank of Captain in the army under
King Charles I. His father was Spencer
Monroe, a farmer, in Monroe’s Creek,
Westmoreland county, Virginia; his

* For Memoirs of these gentlemen,
Montuty MaGazine, Vol. I. p. 334.

vide

mother, a sister of Judge Jones, of Vir-
ginia.

The subject of this notice was born on
his father’s estate in the year 1758. His
family were not in affluent circum-
stances ; but he received a good educa-
tion at the college of Williamsburgh, in
his native province, under the patronage
of Mr. Jefferson, who had entertained a
strong regard for him from his birth.

Mr. Monroe was chosen one of the
earliest members of Congress ; but he
soon resigned his seat to enter into the
army, then fighting for the independence
of his country. He accompanied Gene-
yal Washington in his retreat through
New Jersey, and joined in the attack on
the Hessians at Tremton. He was at
that period a Lieutenant in the company

1831.]

Tuy

of Captain Washington: and, on the fall
of his superior, he was called upon to
assume thecommand. He was wounded
in the engagement, while charging two
pieces of the enemy’s artillery. After-
wards, he was attached to the staff of
-General Lord Stirling, with the rank of
Major; and he fought by the side of
‘Lafayette when that officer was wounded
at the battle of Brandywine... He was
subsequently promoted to the rank of
Colonel; but, before his regiment was
completed, the war had ceased.

Peace having thus terminated his mili-
tary career, he returned to his original

rofession at the bar; but he was almost
immediately again delegated to. Con-
gress ; and his election to that body was
annually repeated, nearly without an
interval, during ten years. In. 1785,
while Congress was sitting at New York,
he formed a matrimonial connection with
a young lady, the graces of whose person
and conversation were, years afterwards,
the theme of admiration of both Paris
and London.

In 1794, Mr. Monroe was appointed
ambassador of the United States to the
French Republic; and, on the 15th of
August, he was. introduced, in that cha-
racter, to the National Convention. He
arrived in France during a season of
great difficulty and delicacy; and, after
two years’ residence in Paris, he was ac-
cused, by the Washington administra-
tion, of being too complaisant to the
overbearing temper of the French Di-
rectory, and he was recalled under strong
‘marks of censure. Mr. Monroe reache
America in 1797, and demanded from
the secretary of state a declaration in
writing of the motives which induced
his recal. Great political clamour at
this time prevailed. Washington had
placed himself at the head of the federal
or tory party; Monroe was an inflexi-
ble republican; and he determined to
avail himself of the opportunity to ex-
pose the conduct of his opponents, and to
endeavour to turn the tide of popularity
from a set of men, and a system of opi-
nions, which he and his friends believed
to be dangerous to the republican iusti-
tutions of their country. He accord-
ingly published a statement of his own
conduct, with that of the government,
and the whole of his correspondence
ering his embassy. His fon tape ap-
peared to give general satisfaction, espe-
cially in his own province ; to the govern-
ment of which he was, in 1803, elected
by a very great majority.

_About the time that. his term of ser-
vice, as Governor of Virginia expired,

Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Persons.

station of

579

the dispute with Spain concerning the
navigation of the Mississippi began to
agitate the minds of the Americans; and
Mr. Monroe was, in consequence, ap-
pointed to join Mr. Livingston, in Paris,
to negotiate, with France and Spain, the
cession of Louisiana to the United
States ; a mission which was most suc-
cessfully terminated.

Mr. Monroe was afterwards sent to
London, to endeavour, in concert with
Mr. Pinckney, to settle the differences
between the court of St. James’s and the
United States. After some time em-
ployed in negotiation, he concluded
a provisional treaty, which, however,
proved little advantageous on either
side.

In 1811, Mr. Monroe was appointed
secretary of state; and, in 1614, after
the capture of Washington by the Eng-
lish, he was appointed commander-in-
chief of the American army. After-
wards he held the war department till
the return of peace.

At that period,

artment of foreign affairs, which he
filled till the 3d of March, 1817, when
he was elected President of the United
States, in the room of Mr. Maddison.
Shortly afterwards he undertook an ex-
tensive journey, to inspect the mountain
districts of America, and proceeded to
Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, &c.
On the 3d of. December, in the same
year (1817), he presented to Congress a
statement of the internal and external
situation of the country, which at no
time had ever been found more satisfac-
tory. He concluded this official eaposé
by congratulating the nation on its hav-
ing reached the fiftieth year of its poli-
tical existence, and having found that
experience had consecrated a free con-
stitution, and consolidated a govern-
ment, whose sole ambition was to form
the extension of knowledge, to cultivate
universal peace, and to promote the hap-
piness of mankind.

After his retirement from the high
President, Mr. Monroe
filled the humble office of Justice of the
Peace in the county of London; was
associated with Mr. Jefferson and Mr.
Maddison in the founding of the Uni-
vers of Virginia; and was subse-
quently chosen a member of the Convey-
tion for amending the constitution of
his native state, by which body he was
elected to preside over their deli-
berations.

This was the last office that Mr.
Monroe held.

he resumed the de-

2Z 2

[ 580 J

[Nov.

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BANKRUPTCIES,

Announced from September 22d, to October 21st, 1831, in the London Gazette.

BANKRUPTCIES SUPERSEDED.

Alises Green, Brewer-street, Pimlico, Middlesex,

tailor,

Thomas Jones, late of the Grapes Inn, Llan-
gollen, Denbighshire, innkeeper.

Francis Rix, George James Gorham, and Wil-
liam Inkersole, St. Neot’s, Huntingdonshire,
bankers—as far as relates to Francis Rix.

William Smith, Turnham-green, Middlesex, tailor
and draper.

Richard Alderson, Crawford-strect, linen-draper.

——

SCOTCH SEQUESTRATIONS.

Soutter, James, and William Reid. Edinburgh,
builders.

M‘Glashan, James, Edinburgh, wine-merchant.

Anderson, John, Stranraer and Glasgow, iron-
monger.

Bankier, James, Kilsyth, merchant and carrier.

Hale, Thomas, and Robert Cumming, Edinburgh,
tailors and clothiers.

Mill, William, Rdinburgh, cabinet-maker.

Watson, William, Hawkhill of Dundee, manufac-
turer.

———e

BANKRUPTCIES.
[This Month 105.]

Solicitors’ Names are in Parentheses.

Apeling, S., sen,, silk-manufacturer, Spital-
square,London. (James, Bucklersbury.

Burr, R, and C., upholsterers, Bentick-street,
Manchester-square, London. (Parker, Furni-
val’s-inn, Holborn.

Barker, J., Layton, Essex, brewer. (Smith,
Basinghall-street.

Brown, H., Liverpool, silk-mercer, (Turner,
Basing-lane, Cheapside,

Barnett, E., Liverpool, victualler. (Toulmin,

Liverpool,

Bower, G., Chipping Barnet, Herts, linen-dra-
per. (Mayhew, Johnston, and Mayhew, Cary-
street, Lincoln’s-inn.

Bush, T., London-street, Fenchureh-street, Lon-
don, H. Fergusson, Euston square, and D.
M‘Naught Liddell, London-street, late of Cal-
cutta, merchants. (Oliverson, Denby, and
Lane, Fredevick’s-place, Old Jewry.

Booth, W., Salford, Lancashire, grocer. (John- °

son and Wetherall, Temple; Booth and Harri-
son, Manchester.

Bawden, J., Chard, Somersetshire, merehant and
scrivener. (Kingdon, jun., Exeter,

Burstall, S., and F, Burstall, Hull, merchants.
(Dryden, Hull.

Crofts, Rey. J. D., of Wells next the Sea, Nor-
folk, ship-owner. (Garwood, Wells.

Cattle, C., Whixloy, Yorkshire, cattle-dealer.
(Jaques and Battye, Colman-street; Wood and
Newton, York.

Casstine, R., of Devereyx-court, Strand, Mid-
dlesex, tailor. (Dobie, 16, Buckingham-street,
Strand.

Cannon, T., Edward-street, Portman-square,
Middlesex, tailor. (Sturmy, St. Saviour’s
Church yard, Southwark.

Cox, S., Bath, boarding-house-keeper. (Fisher.
Castle-street, Holborn.

Clark, J., Storer-street, Mile-End Old Town,
Stepney, Middlesex, builder and licensed vic-
tualler. (Horseley, Berner-street, Commercial-
road East.

Crownshaw, T., late of Sheffield, and Masbrough,
Rotherham, Yorkshire, victualler and iron-
master. (Rodgers and Smith, Sheffield.

Coates, W., St. Martin’s-lane, Charing-cross,
woollen-draper, (Cross, Surrey-street_ Strand.

Dawson, J., of the Lownds Arms, Pimlico, vic-
ee (Ellson and Bloxam, Lincoln’s-inn-
field.

Davenport, T., late of Quorndon, Derbyshire, but
now of Derby, dealer. (Sol. Jessop, Derby.

Dean, W., Abbey Mill, Durham, worsted-spinner,
(Ward and Story, Durham.

Daws, J., W. Daws, and M. Daws, Lenton, Not-
erase bleachers. (Bradshaw, Notting-
ham.

Donne, H., Cardiff, Glamorganshire, scrivener
and accountant. (Williams, Cardiff.

Dunnell, R., dealer in corn, Jobn-street, Smith-
field, London. (Combe and Wright, Token-
house-yard, Lothbury.

Dawson, R. V., veterinary surgeon, Chiswell-
street, Finsbury. (Sidney, Fenchurch-street.
Elder, J., Oxford-street, iMddlesex, horse-dealer.

(Norton, Jewin-street.

Ely, C., and B. Treacher, of Swansea, Glamor-
gan, merchants, (T. R. Jones, Swansea.

Emery, T., Newport, ,Monmouthshire, corn-mer-
chant. (Cary and Cross, Bristol.

Forrest, J., Bradford, Yorkshire, innkeeper,
(Sagar, Kirkstall Brfdge.

Fox, J., Gravesend, cheesemonger. (Rixon and
Son, Jewry-street, Aldgate.

Firth, J., cotton-spinner, Manchester. (Johnson
and Weatherall, Temple, London,

Gibson, J., Manchester, commission-agent. (J.
Hampson, Manchester.

Hutchison, S., Queen-street, Golden-square, St.
James’s, Westminster, engraver. (Sylvester
and Walker, Furnival’s-inn, Holborn,

Rume, W., Manchester, timber-merchant. (Miller
and Peel, Liverpool.

Harper, T., Dudbridge-wharf, Stroud, Glouces~
tershire. (King and Son, Sergeant’s-inn;
Chadborn, Newnham.

Hall, S., Duke-street, West Smithfield, London,
brazier and tinman. (Hindmarsh and Son,
Crescent, Jewin-street, Cripplegate.

Horner, B., Bilton with Harrogate, Yorkshire,
joiner and cabinet-maker. (Stubbs, Knares-
borough.

Hoskin, R., Holsworthy, Devon, innkeeper. (Per-
kins, Bristol.

Hall, W., T.S. Hall, ard W. J. Hall, Crosby-
square and Lower Thames- street, London,
packers. eons and Marten, Mincing-lane.

Hill. R., Rotherham, Yorkshire, common-brewer,
(Frost, Hull.

Hope, D. and C., silk-manufacturers, Manches-
ter. (Hadfield and Graves, Manchester.

Harris, J., painter, Plymouth. (Pridham, Ply-
mouth.

Jones, J., New-road, Whitechapel, stationer.
(Evitt and Co., Haydon-square.

Jackson, R. P., sailmaker, Liverpool. (Clare,
Liverpool ; Taylor and Roscoe, Temple, Lon-
don.

Johnson, T., and J.J.J., carpenters, Lant-street,
Southwark. (Cruckshank, King’s Arms yard,
Colman-street. ,

Kebby, S., Bath, umbrella-maker and toyman.
(Hindmarsh and Son, Crescent, Jewin-street,
Cripplegate.

King, W., Beech-street, Barbican, Londo, vie»
tualler. (Butler, Surrey-grove, Kent-roan

Leathes, N. L. S., and T, Bradshaw, Mid.ing-
Jane, London, wine-merchants. (Bartlencand
Beddome, Nicholas-lane,

1831.]

Luddington, W., Stoke Newington-road, Horn-
sey, and Adam’s-street, Broad-street, coal-
merchant. (Evans, Gray’s-inn-square.

Lever, T., King-street, London, Manchester
warehouseman. (Neild, King-street, Cheap-

side,

Lewis, L., Piccadilly, glass-dealer. (Abrahams,
Clifford’s-inn.

Lewis, P. R., victualler, Kent-terrace, Regent’s
Park. (Burt, Essex-street, Strand.

Lomas, J. T., aud F. Cooke, Tudor-street, Picca-
dilly, Middlesex, tailors. (Gale, Basinghall-
street.

Lees, J., Alton, Staffordshire, innkeeper. (Tom-
linson, Ashborne.

Maskery, F., Birmingham, linen-draper. (Bell
and Broderick, Bow Church-yard.

Malden, I., and J. Malden, late of Clipstone-
street, Fitzroy-square, Middlesex. but now of
Caroline-place, Wellington-street, Blackfriar’s-
road, Surrey, bakers. (Tanner, Newman’s-
row, Lincoln’s-inn-fields.

Morriss, P., and S. Smith, Friday-street, London
ae (Davison, Bread-street, Cheap-
side.

Mandelson, H., Manchester, jeweller. (Barker,
Manchester.

Mercer, R., C. Ely, and B. Treacher, Swansea,
Glamorgan, coal-owners. (Oliverson and Co.,
Frederick’s-place, Old Jewry.

North, J., Southampton, grocer and oilman.
(Coombs, Sarum.

Newman, R., Old Cavendish-street, victualler.
(Glynes, America-square.

Owen, W., St. Asaph, Flintshire,
(Humphreys, St. Asaph.

Oliveira, J, A. G., and F. G., merchants, Old
Jewry. (Swain and Co., Frederick’s-place,
Old Jewry.

Parker, J., late of Birmingham, pearl-button-
maker. (Stubbs, Birmingham.

Parnall, T., and J. Frank, Clark’s-place, High-
street, Islington, linen-draper. (Hardwick and,
Guest, Lawrence-lane, Cheapside.

Peers, W., Cornwall-road, Lambeth, Surrey,
cooper. ‘Spiller, South-square, Gray’s-inn.
Prentice, W., ironmonger, High-street, South-
wark. (Brooking and Surr, Lombard-street.
Quarton, F., and S. Radford, of Middleton-place,
Lenton, Nottingham, lace -machine - makers.
(Swann and Brown, Church-gate, Nottingham.

Roberts, C., Liverpool, miller. (Gandy, Liver-
pool; Chester, Staple inn,

Rawling; J., Kelton Mill, Cumberland, miller,
(Falcon, Elm-court, Temple ; Hedgson, White-
haven.

Richards, G. H., wine-merchant, Cowley-road,
Brixton. (Young, Mark-lane.

Sheppard, J., baker, Lechlade, Gloucestershire,
(Howland, Banbury, Wilts.

Singleton, J., of Rugeley, Stafford, chemist.
(Smith, Rugeley.

Scott, T., Manchester, commission-agent. (Bent,
Manchester; Milne and Co., Temple. .

Strong, R., Thomas-street, St. George’s in the
East, baker. (Reynolds, University-street,
Fitzroy-square.
haw, .» Hudderstield, victualler. (Lever,
Grey’s-inn-square ; Barker, Huddersfield.

Shaw, J., Huddersfield, Yorkshire, grocer. (Bat-
tye and Hesp, Huddersfield.

grocer,

Bankrupts.

581

Skilbeck, G. J., and Slater, J., King-street,
Cheapside, Manchester warehousemen. (White-
Jock, Aldermanbury.

Snell, W.- East Stonehouse, Devon, coal-mer-
chant. (Gilbard, Devouport.

Smith, W., and M. Lewis, Tunstall, Stafford,
earthenware-manufacturers, (Smith, Charter-
house square.

Spier, J., Berkeley, Gloucestershire, wine-mer-
chant. (Duberly, Dursley.

Steward, J., late of Great Haywood, Colwich,
Staffordshire, but now of Stafford, surgeon.
(Barnett, Walsell.

Sansom, E.,. Oxford-street, straw-hat-mauufac-
turer. (Bull, Ely-place, Holborn.

Salmon, T., of Stoke Ferry, Norfolk, merchant
and maltster. (R. Micklefield, Stoke Ferry.
Snow, T., New-street, Covent-garden, grocer,

(Fisher, Queen-street, Cheapside.

Taylor, J. F., Cecil-street, Strand, Middlesex,
wine-merchant. (Hodgson and Burton, Salis-
bury-street, Strand.

Thomas, R. G., Lantrissent, Glamorganshire,
cattle-dealer. (Jenkins, Brigend, Glamorgan-
shire; Beyerley, Verulam-buildings, Gray’s-

inn.

Tebbut, S., Islington, Middlesex, wine-merchant
and victualler, (Browning, Hatton-garden,
Threadneedle-street.

Tidmarsh, G., late of Bow-street, Govent-garden,
Middlesex, coffee-house-keeper. (Roberts, Mil-
man-street, Bedford-row.

Tanner, J., Little Russell-street, Covent-garden,
cordwainer, (Platt, Church-court, Clement’s-
lane, Lombard-street.

Taylor, G. B., Liverpool, linen and woollen-
draper. (Moss, Liverpool.

Underwood, W. R., Coaley Mills, Coaley, Glou-
cestershire, edge-tool-mannfacturer. (Bevan
and Brittan, Bristol.

Webster, T. H., Forebridge, Staffordshire, builder,
(Webb and Hiern, Stafford ; Clowes and Co.,
Inner,Temple.

Wood, J., Liverpool, livery-stable-keeper. (J.
Cort, Williamson-square, Liverpool.

Watkinson, T., of Marsh-gate, Lambeth, and
Earl-street, Seven Dials, Middlesex, publican,
(Tilson, Son, and Squance, Colman-street.

White, G., of North-wharf-road, Paddington,
Middlesex, victualler. (Glynes, America-square.

Wilkinson, B.,late of Crown-court, Broad-street,
London, and now of Hasketon, Suffolk, wine-
merchant. (Gadsden, Furnival’s-inn, Holborn.

Weaver, S., and B. Hickman, Ludlow, Salop,
mercers and drapers, (Lloyds, Ludlow.

Williams, J., Liverpool, joiner and builder. (More=
croft, Liverpool.

West, J. G., late of Forncett St. Peter, Norfolk,
shopkeeper. (Unthank, Foster, and Unthank,
Norwich.

Welsh, J., Whitehaven, Cumberland, tallow-
ehandler. (Hodgson, Whitehaven.

Ward, J., Coventry, grocer. (Young and Val-
ings, St. Mildred’s-court, Poultry.

Williams, J., Pontypool, Monmouthshire, shop-
keeper. (Bevan and Brittan, Bristol.

Wright, D., Birmingham, lamp-manufacturer,
(Bower, Birmingham.

Zachariah, L., and G, Novra, High Holborn,
Middlesex, dealers in German and Freneh toys.
(Yates, Bury-street, St. Mary Axe.

MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

Wiru all its alternations of moisture and drought, the danger and many acci«
dents from fearful thunder-storms, in frequency beyond any late-year experience,
its sudden and continuous parching heats, urging on premature and simultaneous
ripeness in the corn, to its obvious imminent risk, unless preserved by the instant .
exertion of all the labour that could be raised, the late harvest season has proved,
and is generally acknowledged, as one of the most fortunate. So much, however,
cannot be safely averred in favour of the crops, as to the far greater proportion,
and this detvbedk unfortunately refers to the most productive corn districts.

582 Agricultural Report. [Noy.

Little novelty has occurred on this point since our last Report. The prime article,
wheat, on a-general average, is juidered; by some perhaps hastily, to be near one-
third minus. In the’ great corn county, Suffolk, too many of the lands have
returned barely three sacks per acre, much of the crop mildewed, or the grain
thin and shrivelled from its too speedy maturity. There are, however, exceptions
to this ill fortune in most or all districts, some lands escaping, the produce of which
is said to be of fine quality, the kernels plump and heavy ; but in very few parts
is the acreable quantity much boasted. Barley, not equal to last year’s crop, on
the whole, is not perhaps deficient in quantity and weight of sample, but the
quality is so generally inferior, that the maltsters will not find samples very
profitable for their purpose in great plenty. Barley, however, will be much in
demand where beans and pease have not been productive. Oats have partaken of
the uncertainty of the season, failing in some parts, but generally they are little,
if any, below an average, but, like other grain, defective in height and bulk of
straw. In the great barley county, Norfolk, that crop is said to be one quarter
short of an average, the quality still further deficient. The constant rains of the
last and Meuse of the present month, with the subsequent high temperature,
have forced an immense vegetation of the grasses, and have had a similar beneficial
effect upon the root crops. All these equal or exceed in bulk that of any year
within memory. There’ are very few failures in turnips, for the Swedes, which
have escaped the mildew, appear likely to be highly productive. Potatoes are a
vast crop over the whole cae and in Treland, and the breadth planted in England
was probably greater than in any former year. This root, improved and improving
in quality, its salubrity and indispensable use (honour to the memory of its intro-
ducer, Raleigh,) are acknowledged by all but the infallible Cobbett! Price in
Berks 2s. 6d. a sack, in Wales 1s. a cwt. Mangold or cattle beet, where the plants
did not fail in the first instance, is a fine, productive crop. Somerset seems to
stand a single exception in South Britain as to an abundance of graminous pro-
duct. The complaint from thence, early in the month, was, that their strong
grass soils, insufficiently covered, were filled with cracks and fissures, on which
the slight occasional showers had little or no effect, and that the deficiency of
ass has been severely felt in the low and backward condition of the grazing
easts. The effect has been similar on their arable lands, rendering them so
clodded and stubborn, as almost to defy the power of pulverization in the heaviest
stone rollers.

Hop-picking was finished towards the end of the last, and about the first week
of the present month, and very considerable quantities being left upon the poles,
as deemed not of sufficient quality to bring a price adequate to duty and expences,
seem to indicate that the crop is not deficient in quantity. The sample, like other
products of the year, will be variable, the mould having prevailed in some planta-
tions to a great extent. There is, nevertheless, in most hop counties, a considerable
quantity of great strength and fine flavour. The Farnham hop, as of old, retains
its full superiority of quality and price. At Weyhill fair, Farnham pockets 11/. to
127._Kent 6/. to 77. 7s.—duty estimated at 165,0007.. Apples, in the nearer parts
of the S.W., sell at:10s. per bushel. In the western and cider counties, that
beverage, surely more sanctioned by custom than its fitness to support the strength
of the labourer, seems to be gradually seceding in public estimation, and nourishin
and invigorating malt-liquor getting uppermost. The general cry of the tota
repeal of the malt duty, an impracticable demand, we fear, has probably operated
in favour of this change of sentiment. Cider is selling slowly at 50s. per hhd. The
produce of honey has been far greater than, during several past seasons ; indeed the
culture has been long in a state of neglect among both farmers and labourers.
Present price in the country, 7d. to 9d. per lb. In 1787 we purchased it from the
labourers in Essex at 2d. and 3d.

The cattle fairs and markets have, as usual, in our fortunate and plentiful
country, exhibited a supply fully equal to the demand, notwithstanding the
acknowledged depression of agriculture, and our greatly increased and increasing

opulation. Fat stock has rendered profitable prices to the feeder; and the
‘avourable circurnstance of so vast a crop of latter grass and roots, has greatly
enhanced the demand and price of stores, Store sheep (warranted) are every
where in demand, at a very large advance on last year’s price; and indeed none
would leave a market unsold, but for the want of money said to prevail so much
among farmers. In some parts the high price of three-pence per head per week
has been offered by farmers, to eat down their grass and fold their wheat land ; in
the north young sheep are taken to feed on turnips, at the low price of two-pence
each per week. Large store pigs are in demand in the bacon counties, where the

1831.) Agricultural Report. 583

opinion prevails that fat hogs will advance in price. At the great horse fairs, cart
colts of superior breed and size were worth between 30/. and 407. The Principality
still upholds its ancient character of a cheap country, good beef and mutton being
there to be purchased at four or five-pence per lb. On wool there is little or no
variation in demand or price, but much in opinion: the sellers speculating on a
rise, from the low stocks in the country, which the buyers, depending on import,
do not much apprehend.

_ Wheat sowing has been equally early and expeditious as the harvest. The
usual months for this process are September and October, and the old opinion still
prevails, that, for poor and weak soils, the first fortnight of either of those months
is to be preferred, the latter for the strong and fertile. The facilities offered by
the present season have encouraged the sowing a very extensive breadth of wheat,
which indeed seems annually increasing; and the moist and warm weather has
drawn above ground the earliest sownso quickly, on rich lands, that it is supposed
much of it will be too forward in the grass, or winter proud. All the fallows, and
even the clover and bean stubbles, said to be generally in good condition, are, or
will be, covered with wheat; whilst in less favourable seasons much land, intended
for wheat, is of necessity left in winter fallow for spring crops. Some, but not
material, impediments to sowing, from either drought or too much moisture, have
here and there occurred. The old question which has been in agitation during a
century, surely long enough for men to make up their minds, on the subject of
sowing, or drilling, or broadcasting, of seed corn, is now fresh and in dispute among
the farmers of various counties. ‘Che drill seems slowly and gradually prevalent
in the best cultured districts. It is, however, the improved drill of which we (not
speculatively) have seen no cause to entertain a very high opinion. The intervals
or rows are too narrow to admit of a thorough cleaning the land, and we not only
ever grudged the land to weeds, but were seriously ot opaiat that, as a farm is of
infinitely more importance than a garden, the former surely demands equal atten-
tion in being preserved free from exhaustion by weed vegetation. ‘The extra
labour required by a periodical and effective cleaning the land would give addi-
tional employment to our superabundance of hands, and every crop would repay
the extra expense. There is no argument in the inability of poor farmers to incur
an extra expense, since they who possess the means are equally averse to the
experiment, one, in the meantime, which, properly conducted, has left no example
of failure since the days of old Jethro Zul, its parent. We have before spoken of
the surplus of agricultural labourers, treating it as improbable to submit to any
measure short of a regular and permanent scheme of emigration under the sanction
of government. An operose calculation on the expense of this plan may be found
in Ruffy’s Farmer’s Journal of the 17th instant, a periodical of the most extensive
circulation and the highest repute on country affairs. The base, cowardly, and
treacherous crime of incendiarism, unhappily and disgracefully no novelty in this
country, still breaks out in various instances, and the apprehension of probable
victims during the coming winter, when want of employ will render pauperism
still more desperate, is really horrible. Great numbers of hands are expected to
be shortly destitute of employment. Horse stealing has lately prevailed in the
West. During the last three years upwards of one hundred thousand emigrants,
from this island, have reached Canada, yet there is still a great demand for labour
at very ample wages. We have scarcely ever before known threshing wheat for
market so extensive and universal: this appears to have two motives, tae one, and
the chief, a provision of the needful for the payment of rent, no doubt with many
in arrear; the other among monied farmers, and there must be some or many such,
a good opinion of present prices. So assiduously have the flail and threshing
machine been kept in operation, that. it was said, some time since, one quarter of
the year’s crop of wheat would be sold in flour before old Michaelmas. That
exclusive and degrading imp of feudality, the old Game Laws, is at length
repealed, to the universal satisfaction of men who have any correct idea of human
rights. ‘ No less than one-seventh of the whole criminal convictions in England
and Wales, for three years, to the end of 1830 inclusive, were for offences against
the Game Laws.”

Smithfield.— Beef, 3s. 0d. to 4s, 2d.—Mutton, 4s. 0d. to 5s. 0d.—Veal, 4s. Od. to
5s. 2d.—Pork, 4s. 0d. to 5s, 0d.—Best Dairy 5s. 0d.—Rough fat, 2s. 7d.

Corn Exchange.—W heat, 48s. to 80s.—Barley, 25s. to 44s.—Oats, 20s. to 31s.—
London loaf, 41b. 104d.—Hay, 55s. to 84s.—Clover ditto, 65s. to 120s.—Straw,
24s. to 36s.

Coal Exchange.—Coals, in the Pool, 18s. 9d. to 35s, 0d. per chaldron, addition
of about 10s. per chaldron for cartage.

Middlesex, October 2\st,

[ 584 j

[ Nov.

ECCLESIASTICAL PREFERMENTS, MARRIAGES, DEATHS, ETC.

Rev. D. A. Williams, to the Vicarage
of Llangaddock-cum-Lanthoisant Cha-
pelry.—Rev. J. Badeley, to the Vica-
rage of Halesworth-cum-Chediston, Suf-
folk.—Rev. W. G. Cantley, to the Rec-
tory of Earsham, Norfolk.—Rev. J.
Jones, Rector of St. George, Denbigh-
shire, to be Domestic Chaplain to Lord
Dinorben.—Rev. S. Paynter, to the
Rectory of Stoke-juxta-Guilford, Sur-
rey.—Rev. W. Sharpe, to the Donative
and Perpetual Curacy of Pattiswick,
Essex.—Rev. D. Morton, to the Rec-
tory of Harleston, Northamptonshire.—
Rev. W. Gee, to the Rectory of West
Buckland, Devon.—Rev. H. T. Stree-
ten, to be Minister of the New Church,
Richmond, Surrey.—Rev. R. G. Jes-
ton, to the Rectory of Marston Sicca,
Gloucestershire.—Rev. J. C. Wynter,
to the Rectory of Donnington-on-Baine,
Lincoln.—Rev. G. Dugard, to be Mi-
nister of the New Church at Ancoats,
St. Andrew, near Manchester.—Rev.
T. Halsted, to-the Rectory of Little
Bradley, Suffolk.—Rev. J. 8. Cobbold,
to the Rectory of Woolpit, Suffolk.—
Rey. 8. H. Alderson, to the Vicarage of
Buckden, Hants.—Rev. G. Bland, to
bo Domestic Chaplain to the Bishop of
Chichester.—Rev. J. Tyson, to the
Vicarage of Merrington, Durham.—
Rev. P. George, to the Perpetual Cu-
racy of St. Margaret’s, Durham.—Hon.
and Rey. E. Knox, to be the Bishop of
Killaloe.—Rev. FI. Ford, to the Rectory
of Church Lawton, Cheshire.—Rev. H.
Williams, to the Vicarage of Stanarth,
Monmouthshire.—Rev. E. Corry, toa
Minor Canonry in Peterborough Cathe-
dral.—Rev. W. R. Colbeck, to be After-
noon Lecturer of All Saints and St.
John, Hertford.—Rev. J. Warne, to be
Custos of the Vicars Choral of Exeter
Cathedral Hon. and Rev. H. F. Tol-
lemache, to the Rectory of Harrington,
Northamptonshire—Rev. T. Gaisford,
D.D.is appointed Dean of Christ Church,
Oxford.—Rev. S. Smith, D.D., to be
one of the Prebendaries of the Cathedral
of Durham.—Rev. J. W. Hughes, to
the Rectory of St. Clement’s, Oxford.
—Rev. E. Maltbey, D.D., to the see of
Chichester.—Rev. E. J. Howman, to
the Rectory of Bexwell, Norfolk.—Rev
C. Collins, tothe Rectories of Trinsted
and Milstead, Kent.—Rev. J. W. Drew,
to the Ministry of the New Church of
St. James, Halifax._Rev. W. Hor-
rocks, to the Ministry of the New
Church at Stanley, Yorkshire.—Rev.
M. J. Lloyd, to be Domestic Chaplain

to the Right Hon. Lord Templemore.
—Rev. J. WW. Tomlinson, to the Rectory
of Stoke-upon-Trent, Staffordshire.—
Dr. Robt. James Carr, Lord Bishop of
Chichester, to the See of Worcester.—.
Rev. 8. Rickards, to the Rectory of
Chelsworth, Sutfolk.—Rev. E. Patison,
to the Rectory of Gedding.—Rev, J.
H. Fisher, to the Vicarage of Kirkby
Lonsdale.—Rev. G. Pickering, to the
Vicarage of Arksey, near Doncaster.—
Rev. E. Stanley, to be Domestic Chap-
lain to Lord Dover—Rev. L. Davies,
to the Rectory of Pontfaen.—Rev. J.
H. Sparke, to the Rectory of Gunthorpe
with Bale, Norfolk.—Rev. F. Calvert,
to the Rectory of Chelsworth, Suffolk.

MARRIAGES.

Viscount Encombe, grandson of the
Earl of Eldon, to the Hon. Louisa Dun-
combe, second daughter of Lord Fever-
sham.—At the Marquis of Northamp-
ton’s, Castle Ashby, the Baron de Nor-
mann, Secretary of Legation to his
Prussian Majesty at Hamburg, to Wil-
helmina, youngest daughter of the late
Lieut.-General Maclean, Clephane of
Carslogic and Torloisk.—At Greenwich,
Matthew Fortescue, Esq., to Margaret
Eleanor, second daughter of Philip Car-
teret Le Geyt, Esq., of Greenwich Hos-
pital—_J. W. Buller, Esq., M.P., to
Charlotte Juliana Jane, third daughter
of the late Lord Henry Howard, and
niece of the Duke of Norfolk.

DEATHS.

At Cheltenham, the Hon. Robert
Moore, brother to the late and uncle to
the present Marquis of Drogheda.—QJ.
H. North, Esq. M.P. for Drogheda.—At
Bury, Charles Bloomfield, Esq., father
to the Lord Bishop of London.—At High
Wycombe, Robert Nash, Esq., 75.—At
Trincomallee, in the island of Ceylon,
Lieut. Edward Tindal, of the Royal Ar-
tillery.—At Brighton, the Hon. C. W.
Lambton, eldest son and heir apparent
to Lord Durham, and grandson to Earl
Grey.—At his house, Upper Wimpole-
street, Lieut.-General Malcolm Grant.
Sir Thomas Gery Cullum, Bart., of
Hawstead, Sutfolk, 90.—At Wands-
worth-common, William Borradaile, Esq.
—Willoughby Lacey, Esq., formerly pa-
tentee ,of Drury-Lane Theatre.—At
Blackheath, George Ellis, Esq., of Abing-
don-street, Westminster.—Ralph Rid-
dell, Esq., of Cheeseburn Grange, Nor-
thumberland.—The Right Hon. Tho-
mas Stapleton, Lord Le Despenser, 65.—

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

Vor. XII] DECEMBER, 1831. [ No. 72.

ENGLAND AT THE CLOSE oF 1831.

Ir is an important advantage of works like ours, that they allow
time for the public passions to cool, and the public judgment to
decide. Journals which appear from hour to hour must go with the
tide; they must be the mere organs of the immediate impulse, and
nothing but the clearest understanding, or the most mature knowledge,
can prevent their opinions from bearing every extravagant impression
of the hour—from being casual and heated, rash and temporary.

But we can lie on our oars, or fairly come to an anchor, while the tide
runs up—wait until the natural course of things returns, and then take
that which sober consideration demands. We shall now say nothing
of the Reform Bill, for this reason, that nothing can yet be known of it.
The Bill of the last Session is a non-existence, the Bill of the coming
Session is a non-existence too. We may fairly leave more stirring
imaginations to discuss the merits of both, and apply ourselves to
ascertain the exact state of England at the present time, and the causes
which have changed its aspect, so lately and so extensively. We cannot
bring ourselves to believe that the people of England have any desire
to see a revolution. We cannot conceive that any honest man would
desire to see a revolution for its own sake. The hideous catalogue of
evils which are included in the name, render it impossible to think that
any man capable of feeling the horrors of that last and bitterest of public
misfortunes, would desire to inflict them on this country. No doubt,
there are desperate characters among us, whose beggary, habits of crime,
or sullen hatred of every man more fortunate or honourable than them-
selves, may predispose them to public violence. But this number must
be infinitely small, compared with the mass of English feeling. In
England there exists at this hour more personal and public virtue, more
knowledge of the principles by which states are prosperously guided,
more religious sincerity, and more domestic and native attachment to
the country, as a country, than in any other portion of the world.
These are powerful influences, and not to be shaken by the changes of
things so temporary as parties. These, too, are noble foundations of
pay se strength ; almost inaccessible by the accidents of the hour, im-

edded in the soil to a depth which not even the most trying and
continued circumstances of public revolution have been able to disturb ;
and we trust, from old experience, long to last, as the basis of that

M.M. New Series—Vouw. XII. No. 72. 3A

a

[ 586 England at the Close of 183). [Dee:

prosperity and strength of character, which have raised England to
undisputed supremacy.

The unquestionable fact is, that no man of common means or common
understanding in the country, can desire any thing revolutionary. But it
is equally unquestionable, that a spirit of extraordinary discontent is
striding through the land. This is obvious in a hundred different
ways. Inthe burning and destruction of farm-stock and utensils, in
the riotous conduct of the peasantry, in the “turns out” of the manu-
facturers, in the assaults of the populace upon the King’s troops, in the
public harangues of some of the men who proclaim themselves the
friends of the people, in the Political Unions, in the popular Jour-
nals, &c.

That those discontents do not proceed from any desire of general
overthrow, we fully believe ; that they were excited by foreign agents has
been asserted, and that those foreign agents are now flowing into the
country by tens of thousands, has also been asserted, but neither do we
believe ; and that they have been stirred up to further the purposes of
party, we as little believe. They are too broad, too palpable, and too
mischievous, to be within the ‘competence of any single instrument.
The cause is undoubtedly deeper ; and we must look much below the
surface, into a source of public impulses immeasurably deeper than the
frothy harangues of mob-orators, or the contrivances of party, for the
general disturbance that now penetrates through every part of the
English mind. Nothing can be more capable of proof than that Eng-
land, in her three great branches of industry, her tillage, commerce, and
manufactures, has for some years been subject to a most extraordinary
progress of depression. To account for this we probably need have
recourse but to the one intelligible principle, that as wealth is only the
superflux of expenditure, so every man and every nation must be poor,
which spends more money than it makes. The difference of wealth
between nations or individuals, is not the quantity of money received,
but the quantity kept. National evil may even be connected with the
larger receipt of money ; as greater anxiety, labour, or misery, may be
the purchase. A nation may make a hundred millions a year more than
its neighbours, by compelling its population to more harassing exertion,
by locking up one-tenth of them in manutactories for sixteen hours a
day, by burying another tenth in mines, by condemning another to spend
life in a variety of sickly, sedentary, wretched occupations, lucrative, but
depriving man of every genuine object for which life was given ; and so on.
It is equally obvious, that if money-making be the sole object, a nation
might make money by trading in slaves, by selling its own poorer popu-
lation; or if this seemed too formidable an experiment for Europe,
though it has succeeded for somany ages in Africa, at least by hiring out
its convicts and criminals to any power that would pay for them.

By those means vast sums of money might doubtless be made. Yet
if the national expenditure still rose with the income, the national wealth
would not be increased in the slightest degree, the same pecuniary
pressure would continue, and the only difference would be our giving
more labour, and undergoing more misery, struggle, and mortality,
than our neighbours. And this is the state of England at the present
hour.

It may be heresy to pronounce this. The Englishman’s prejud ce
for toiling like a beast of burthen until he dies, may be up in armsiat
the mention of a syllable against manufactures, and yet the truth must

1831.] England al the Close of 1831. 587

be told ; that in all Europe there is no man who, with half the labour of
the English mechanic or peasant, does not live twice as happy a life.
There must be varieties of ranks in the world. There must be poverty
as well as princedoms. But from Calais to Moscow, the peasant and
the artizan have decidedly more enjoyment of life for their labour, than
the English manufacturer, or the English tiller of the ground. This is
a fact beyond all question, verified by every traveller’s common obser-
vation, by all public documents, by the acknowledgment contained. in
the memorable and melancholy emigration of multitudes from the British
isles. The present year’s return of emigration to Canada alone—to Canada
with its ungenial, marshy, and untamed soil ; with its tremendous six
months’ unbroken winter ; with its distance across a sea of three thou-
sand miles, and its long and inhospitable land journey—was 67,000.

Yet what would be the enumeration if it were to reach the multitudes
who emigrate to the settlements of the Cape and New South Wales,
or the United States, or the Continent? Out of England a perpetual
stream of anxious and miserable life is flowing hourly, to the extremities
of the earth. Any thing is better than home, with all its liberty, its
beauty, its recollections, its friendships, its fame; it gives way to the
attractions of North America, a wilderness in Africa, or a sand in the
Pacific. The Englishman, of all men the most domestic in his nature,
the least fevered by the spirit of roving, the most natural, simple, and
faithful to common sense—becomes suddenly the rambling refugee of all
lands, the habitual adventurer, the exile to a returnless distance from
his country. How can this be? Money flows by tides into England.
She is the banker of the world. Every mine in South America pours
its gold into her purse. Yet a twelfth part of the population are at this
moment living upon actual charity : and there is no country where it is
so difficult to live.

The truth is that the whole manufacturing system has been pushed
too far. The immense fortunes made by the sudden monopoly of Euro-
pean trade in the commencement of the late war, stimulated the national
avarice. The country was instantly crowded with manufactories. ‘The
peasantry were bribed by the inordinate wages to leave their natural
and simple pursuits, for the unhealthy confinement of trade ; with the
sudden increase of their wages, appetites for new and hazardous indul-
. gences grew upon them. There is more drunkenness, low gaming, ana
promiscuous vice in the vicinity of a single manufactory, than was once
spread over a whole county. There is more disease, hard labour, real
poverty, and rapid mortality in the neighbourhood of, and arising from
a single manufactory, than was once the inheritance of a province. The
cause was avarice, and we are now feeling the consequence in emigra-
tion, poor rates, and an outcry for political change.

It is remarkable that a sudden influx of money into any one country,
has always had a calamitous effect on that peculiar country. The
notorious result to Spain of the discovery of the South American mines
is but a single instance. To go to ancient times. The plunder of
Egypt and Babylon overthrew the rough and hardy valour of the Per-
sian monarchy. ‘The sudden accumulation of money vitiated the whole
administration of the conquering power ; until in a few years, it became
the object of insult to even the barbarian tribes on its borders. The
possession of the Thracian gold mines overset the supremacy of Athens,
and turned her into a beggarly nest of democracy, with one half of her
leading men living on pensions from foreign powers, and the other half

3A 2

588 England at the Close of 1831. [Dec.

intriguing to get them banished, that they might succeed to the pen-
sions. The sudden influx of money into Rome on the corquest of the
Asiatic provinces, overset Rome, turned the proud republic into a
despotism, the people into a nation of riotous paupers, and even the
noble possessors of this luckless wealth into miserable dependants on the
court, to protect their money ; harassed victims of the avarice of the
court, which cut off their heads to seize their money ; or desperate
criminals and debauchées, in the determination to have at least the
wasting of it, in their own way.

It is scar cely a century, since England felt the mischief of the sudden
Indian fortunes—in the rise of rents, in extraordinary parliamentary
corruption, and in the impoverishment of a large class of her most
valuable subjects, the squires and the lower nobility. Men who had
gone out to India with half-a-crown in their pockets, returned with
half a million. How it was gathered, was seldom the question ; the
only thing asked by the owners was, how it was to be laid out—by the
squiredom, how it was to be rivalled—and by every body else, how it was
to be shared. The coming of one of those English nabobs into a neigh-
bourhood instantly raised the price of land, the price of provisions, the
scorn of the peasantry and populace for the revenues of their old
masters—and the envy of those old masters, for the splendid entertain-
ments, equipages, and attendance of the nabobs.

From that hour, the ancient country life of England had received a
shock. Character, long residence, ancient inheritance, and hereditary
protection, had been the acknowledged claims of the gentry to the re-
spect of their tenants. But a new god of their idolatry was now set
up, and the purse superseded every thing. The man who could pay
most handsomely was the first man; and money, of all stimulants the
basest, was the grand incentive to the popular homage. In some in-
stances the country gentlemen attempted to encounter the nabob in his
own strong-hold, and many an acre was shorn of its oaks and elms to
purchase the service of plate, or the shewy stud that was to make battle
against the glittering plunderer of a Nabob of Oude, or a Rajah of
Tanjore. But the rivalry generally ended in the King’s Bench, or a
flight to the continent ; while the estate, old as William the Norman, was
put out to nurse.

A deeper evil came in the train of this money. Some of those sons of
fortune were sons of rapine too ; their purses had been made up by the
robbery of the Indians, and even ‘ghié ten thousand miles of ocean between
England and the Ganges, were not broad enough to prevent the cries of
the robbed from following the robber. To defend their plunder, or
make defenders for it, it was necessary to influence parliament ; and the
result was, that same purchase of seats, which has so long hung upon
the reputation of the senate, and which now forms the chief argument
for a total change in the representation.

Yet what was the consequence of the whole influx? The Indian for-
tunes fled: in a few years their possessors were either bankrupt, or
banished, or dead. Their money had spread over the general revenues,
and was scarcely felt in the great scale of the nation. But the evil re-
mained. The increase in the style of living, in the price of land, in the
price of provisions, the general habits of extravagance, and the general
parliamentary traffic remained. Neither the farmer nor the landed pro-
prietor was the better for the influx, but the worse; for the farmer was
forced to pay an additional rent in proportion to the price of his pro-

1831.] England at the Close of 1831. 589

duce. The man of estate expended that additional rent, and more, in
the general rise of all commodities, and in his own increase of living ;
and nothing resulted to either party but more labour and more in-
cumbrance.

The sudden influx of wealth by manufactures within the last forty
years has still more changed the aspect of England, the English cha-
racter, and the English government. Immense fortunes were, un-
doubtedly, made by manufactures. Though we may be at a loss to know
the national good derived from any one of those spinning-jenny accu-
mulations, if we except the rather delicious one of giving £20,000
a-year to Sir Robert Peel—that they spread vast sums of money
through England is equally undoubted ; that, while the war lasted,
the German smuggler was able to sell cottons and cambrics to the
noblesse of his country at two-pence a yard lower than the lowest of the
native fabricants ; and that the American dealer imported socks and
stockings into New York at a price which astonished the New Yorkers,
is equally true. But this was only while the war lasted; even then,
high wages were not high profits—the workman was often in want, and
every fluctuation of the war, or even every change of popular taste, was
like a stroke of death to their trade. The mere change from buckles to
shoe-strings threw tens of thousands out of bread. The next change,
from metal buttons to silk, cast out its ten thousands, too. Thus, upon
every trivial occasion, the welfare of vast multitudes of human beings
has been put in peril.

But a still heavier national evil consists in the quantity of severe
labour required to make manufactures profitable any longer. Even
during the war, competition in England itself compelled the manu-
facturers to urge their workmen to efforts beyond the health, or even
the life, of the ordinary human frame. The sickly hue of the artificer is
proverbial, and what but distortion can be expected from the infant,
which, instead of playing about the fields, or enjoying itself rather than
employing itself in the simple occupations of the cottage, is fixed to a
machine at five years old ; and gets all its perceptions of air, exercise, and
understanding, from the atmosphere of dye-tubs and steam-boilers,
from being tied to a spinning-jenny for life, and from twisting cotton-
thread for fourteen hours a day.

We may talk of the Negro broiling in the cane-plantations of Ja-
maica, or the Indian shivering in the American mines ; but infancy is
not there put to the torture, nor disease inflicted on a creature almost
before he has words to pronounce his complaints. Let any man look
over the report on the employment of the artificers in the cotton facto-
ries, and, if he have a human feeling, he will exempt the idolators of old
from being the solitary worshippers of Moloch. The difference is, that
we contrive to worship Moloch and Mammon at the same time.

But here comes the aggravation. The system of severe labour and
distortion to infancy, of slavish and unwholesome toil to the mature,
and of cheerless and unceasing effort to the decaying and the aged, is
now necessary—it cannot be remitted, if we would retain the market of
Europe ; it must even be made severer still if we should expect to live
by manufactures—for all Europe is making head against us, our work-
men, and our produce. British machinery is British no longer. The
steam-engine, the spinning-jenny, and the thousand other wonderful
efforts of our native ingenuity—and we give them credit for being little
short of miracles in their simplicity, and their power, and their per-
formance—are now gone through all nations. They drudge in the

590 England at the Close of 1831. [Drc;

French factory, in the German mine, or in the Swiss workshop, as
readily as within the limits of our land ; and thus divested of our ex~
clusive ally, we have to encounter an enemy unencumbered with the
weight of taxes which presses down even the colossal frame of England,

The question is, can labour be pressed’ further? Can the workman
subsist on less—can he make more diligent exertion? We think
not; and that if he could, he ought not to be suffered to make. it. No
man should be suffered to commit this suicide. But, what if the world
is already glutted with our manufactures? And this seems to be the
case. The Continent, the New World, the British Colonies, and Set-
tlements in the East, are already overwhelmed with the labour of our
looms ; and not a year passes in which they will not be advancing in the
experiment of providing for themselves. What then must be the fate
of the immense capital invested in manufactures, if the multitude of
leading merchants who live by their transit through the world ; of (still
more important consideration) the three millions of human beings, who
are actually engaged in the handicraft of these products? The prospect
is momentous. We only hope that the consequence is not inevitable ;
that some of those signal interpositions, which from time to time baffle
all conjecture, and shew man that there are secrets in heaven and earth
beyond his philosophy, may start up between us and the evil, which
seems to be hourly distending and advancing upon our eyes. The only
remedy adequate to this gigantic menace, is one which the passions and
short-sightedness of men will forbid to be adopted. England will
not give up her fatal determination to be the workshop of the world.
She will not submit to the national disgrace of ceasing to sell cheaper
muslins, buttons, and pen-knives than any dealer on the globe ; or to the
public crime of turning out of smoky dungeons, confined cellars, and
the eternal hazards of all foul and fatal effluvia, some millions of young
men and women to make their bread in the labours of the field ; to aban-
don steam-engines for “arable and tilth ;’ pestiterous hovels for hay-
making and autumn crops; distortion, vice, and death, for beauty, in-
nocence, freshness, and animation. Yet this must be done; or England
throughout its whole frame threatens some tremendous change.

The necessities of the French Revolution were shadows to the reality
of evil, born of the actual right of millions to have bread, which we
have not to give. France was thrown into fury because the nobles
were an exclusive class, and the church and military preferments were
chiefly distributed among them. This was three-fourths hurt vanity.
But in the worst times of France she could feed all her people, and the
French cottager was a happier man, and in all true worth, a wealthier
man than the English artizan. We have already reached the maximum
of labour. We have already nearly reached the lowest point of price. If
we could lower it still, we have reached nearly the maximum of the pole ;
for every corner of the world is piled with our goods. The popular
remedies applied already, are the breaking of machines, and the burning
of every thing that abridges labour. But we all know how desperately
those habits must aggravate the evil, and how naturally they lead to
robbery and assassination. The loom-burner will never be a workman,
nor capable of being trusted again.

The. oratorical remedy is decrease of taxation. But every man of
common sense knows that taxation is at this hour reduced almost to the
lowest point of the scale. All kinds of administrations have been tried
on this head. But whether Whig or Tory, the declaration has,finally:
been the same: “ Taxation is reduced to its lowest point.” It is true

1831.) England at the Close of 1831. 591.

that we might reduce taxation, by destroying our national establish-
ments. But would the remedy be better than the disease? and would
the remedy take away the disease, without inflicting another on us a
thousand times more formidable? It is incontestable, that if we were
to cut off the pension list and the sinecures to-morrow, to the last six-
pence, the whole relief would not amount to a farthing a piece in the:
population of the empire. But let them be cut away, say we, and let
every thing not absolutely vital to the country be abolished. This we
say as sincerely as the most violent of reformers. Yet the relief would
be totally unfelt. ’Tis true we might save eight millions by extinguish-
ing the British Army ; and leaving our properties open to the hand of
rioters, our colonies open to insurrection, and our country open to inva-
sion. We might save eight millions more, by burning the British Navy,
and thus extinguishing the influence of England abroad, and her safety
on her own shore, exposing our commerce to every depredator, and
abandoning the seas. We might save a million sterling by abolishing
the Civil List, leaving the Law Courts without Judges, and St. James’s
without King or Councillor. Three millions more might be saved by
confiscating the whole property of the Church. And even thirty
millions might be kept in the public pocket by spunging out the Na-
tional Debt, declaring England bankrupt, and besides driving into
‘instant and utter beggary a million and a half of people, widows, orphans,
old men, and infants.

Then, when we were without government, religion, defence of home,
power abroad, commerce or credit, we should certainly have no taxes to
pay ; and it would be well for us that we had not, for we should have
no money to pay them with. The money which we might have laid
by since the times of taxation, for the emergencies of the times of no
taxation, would be at the mercy of the first banditti, mob, or miscreancy,
which would think it worth its while to demand our last shilling ; and
England would thenceforth have all the security of the beggar, who has
nothing to lose ; and all the happiness of the culprit, who laughs at the
rope because it can make him no worse off than he was. f

Yet, even if all the establishments of the state were abolished, the
grand question would be as far from being settled as ever. What is
to be done with the three millions of men, who must make cloth and
cotton-twist, or perish ; or take up arms, and tear their subsistence from
the other classes? We defy political expediency to discover a cure for
their hunger. The utter upbreak of society would certainly not serve
their trade, for in such times all trade dies. The partial remission of
taxes would not secure their prosperity, for they have an antagonist in
the advancing industry of Europe, which disregards such remission as
we can make, and which, hour by hour, makes silent but fatal battle
against the English loom.

- Emigration has been proposed: but it is not the weaver, but the
farmer, and the mere handicraftsman, who emigrates. The farmer takes
his knowledge and his spade with him. The blacksmith embarks: his
hammer. But how shall the weaver convey with him those immense
machines, which are necessary to his produce on the only scale that can
now be effectual ; his hundred-horse-power steam-engine, or his long,
curious, and castle-establishment of machines ; of which he himself is
almost a subordinate part, and’to which he is not more necessary than
they are to him? It isin the labour, the poverty, and the dubiousness of
manufactures that we are to look for the growing discontents of the
people. ‘Those discontents may have been hurried on, or heightened

592 England at the Close of 1831. [ Dec.

by the arts of demagogues. But we cannot believe in the power of a
newspaper, a pamphlet, or an orator, to turn the blood of a whole people
into gall; to rouse honest and industrious men into furious violence
against their employers, their neighbours, and their country; or to in-
flame the spirit of the manufacturing class into a sudden political frenzy
against institutions, simply as the institutions of their forefathers, which
they are not in a situation to canvass, and which their education has
never enabled them to comprehend.

It is to this point then, that the attention of any ministry which
aspires to the merit of keeping the country in peace, must be turned.
Whatever may be the passion for improving the system of represen-
tation, we must look deeper for the sullen and unmitigated shape of
dissatisfaction, which is gradually mastering the popular mind. The
want of bread is the true motto of the rebellion. Hopelessness alienates
the native loyalty of the English heart ; and the angry determination of
the miserable, if they must fall, not to fall alone, is the true source of
the venom which hangs on every tongue of the multitude. The only
remedy is to retrace our steps, to connect the idea of national greatness
no more with that of being the most extensive manufacturers in the
world ; or, in other words, of being the diggers and delvers, the
drudges and the tools, of every nation of the earth—the dust-covered
and sweating slaves of all mankind. The wholesome pursuits of our:
forefathers must be reverted to. England, in their days, was proverbially
“merry England.” She has never been so since agriculture ceased to
be the great occupation of the people; since manufacturers absorbed
the strength, and wasted the lives of her children, and since money-
making usurped the whole mind of the community.

An outery has been raised against machinery. It is an absurdity,
because it is an injustice. The inventor has a right to bring the pro-
duce of his genius into the market, as much as the farmer the produce
of his plough. ’Tis true, that in agriculture, a landlord of common
humanity will be cautious of the evil which he may commit, by dis-
placing any large mass of human labour without due warning. If the
“ merciful man” is applauded, as “ being merciful to his beast,” how
much more distinct a duty is that of rendering good—and consideration
and compassion are good—to his fellow men. But the use of machinery
in manufactures is contested only by the low violence of the frame-
breakers ; and the use, even the most complete and universal use of
machinery, would be so far from being an evil, that we may yet hail it
as the direct means of relieving the human race from all sickly and
cruel drudgery. The time will probably arrive, when, by the perfec-
tion of machinery, all human labour in the manufactories, mines, and
other trying and deleterious trades, will be rendered superfluous ; and
neither children will be turned into idiots, nor adults into cripples, nor
promiscuous intercourse corrupt the population, nor reverses of public
taste take the bread from the lips of thousands, nor the feeling of bad
times and the fear of worse set the multitude dreaming of public over-
throw—lending its ear to every characterless declaimer, and blotting out
from its recollections.every memory of the old and natural British love
of the honour and the institutions of the country.

But this superseding of labour by machinery will be gradual, and
ought to be an object of the most constant care of Government, in
providing other employment for the discharged workmen. Canals, roads,
embankments of rivers and of the sea, harbours, all the works of
national utility, would be the safe and natural occupation of the mass of

1831.] England at the Close of 1831. 593

discharged labour; and for this the nation would gladly see the
Exchequer make its disbursements on no restricted scale. The opening
of new markets for our manufactures has been the boast of successive
administrations ; but nothing could have been a feebler policy. It
tended only to swell the number of the artizans at home. If, while it
forced the existing artizans only to more perpetual labour—if the pro-
cess had gone on, until the demand of foreign markets had turned every
man in England into a cloth-weaver—would the nation have been the
happier for it? or rather, in what would it have differed from a collection
of culprits in the dungeon? And this tread-mill prosperity would have
as rapidly extinguished the public spirit, as it would the personal com-
fort of the English people. The true policy then must be to restore
the people to that health of body and health of mind, which belong to
simple and natural occupation; to give up the feeble and narrow
policy of urging the manufacturing career of England; to think it
better to have, as of old, a nation of hardy yeomen, than a nation of
weavers; to make agriculture the leading pursuit of the people; and
leave machinery to work its way, and relieve human beings of the
miserable drudgery which perverts alike the mind and the frame of man.

In agriculture there is room for all the population which machinery
can set free. There are a million of acres in England which might be
located with the happiest effect. In Ireland upwards of one third of
the whole surface, has been given over to utter neglect ; though every
square foot of that surface could provide for human life. Two thirds
of Scotland are uncultivated. The system of large farms, and the
enclosure of commons, is now beginning to be justly reprobated ; the
spade husbandry is done justice to, the allotment of gardens to cottages,
and the revival of the whole cottage system, are signs of a return to the
sound views of our ancestors; and the time which sees England once
more what it was—the land of rural life—will alone see it the land of
peace, patriotism, and loyalty.

Parliament meets on the 6th, the ministry are pledged to bring in a
Reform Bill, and to the same extent as the last one; but with some
modifications required by their experience of the national feeling.
The future we must leave to settle itself; and until the Bill actually
makes its appearance, it must be idle to offer remarks on it. | But the
popular violence on the subject must render all grave deliberation ten-
fold more difficult than before.

It is not our purpose now to more than advert to the Bristol confla-
grations. Their atrocity has roused the fears of all rational men for the
results of any opinions, which, whether well-intentioned or ill, suffer
the people at large to erect themselves into either a legislative or an
executive. To Parliament alone the nation must look for council, and to
the King alone for putting that council into act. Deliberation is beyond
the physical means of a mob, if it were not beyond their legislative
capacity. Even where the multitude come together, with the best in-
tentions, they will be infected by the presence of ruffians, who care no
more for political objects than for personal honesty, and who can con-
template nothing in such meetings but their opportunities of rapine.
The Bristol reformers throw the whole guilt of the late melancholy
and criminal transactions upon the common thieves, who haunt every
city. Some inquiry must take place ; and it will then be seen how far
politics mingled with the rage for plunder, burning, and bloodshed.

The foreign affairs of England still linger on. Belgium is still un-

594 England at the Close of 1831. [Dxrc.

settled ; plots and counterplots still distract the pillow of King Leo-
pold the lazy ; his army is still learning its exercise, his generals are
still Frenchmen, and he is still threatened with another safeguard in
the menacing shape of a French wife. The King of Holland is still
talking of war, still proud of the triumphs of a week’s campaign against
the peasants and shopkeepers of Belgium, and still giving medals and
orders, dla Napoleon, for the burning of a few Belgian farm-houses.
By one of the absurdities which sometimes make diplomacy ridiculous,
this king, whom the fifty-five protocols exclude from all authority in
Belgium, is yet sanctioned in his retaining the title of King of the
Netherlands ; on the same wise principle in which Napoleon, when
stripped of his throne, and sent to Elba, was suffered to call himself
Emperor—a sufferance which he soon exalted into a claim, and a claim
which cost a hundred thousand lives, and a hundred millions of money.
We may not suspect the icy blood of the Dutchman of this impetuosity,
but what are we to say for the brains of the diplomatists who encourage
an ambition so senseless, for an object so recently acquired as the Nether-
land’s sovereignty ? so foolishly mismanaged, and so ridiculously thrown
away.

Polend is vibrating between the chances of being nominally and really
a Russian province. The Czar’s first decree alludes to it as a “ king-
dom,” but the few and meagre accounts which are suffered to reach
the European ear, describe Poland as a serf, more than ever reduced to
vassalage ; the nobles flying in all directions through the world, Siberia
the destination or the fear of every man who had taken a part in the
late struggles, and the Russian army not merely the lords of the soil,
but almost the only inhabitants of Cracow and Warsaw.

France, having abolished the hereditary peerage, has proceeded to
make a whole crowd of new peers. ‘The German states are undisturbed,
but by apprehensions of what France may do in the first effervescence
of her volatile spirit. Italy still murmurs, but it is too idle, too monk-
ish, and too operatic, for any serious effort. The old definition of the
Roman popular mind, Nec totam servitutem pati possunt, nec totam lber-
tatem, is true of the modern Italians, to the letter. They must always
have the picture of freedom before them, to amuse their eyes, and per-
suade them against all conviction that they are capable of public virtue.
But then—while the hero is buckling on his sword, the actor rehearsing
his speech, and the poet concluding his first stanza on the glories of the
young Republic—the bill of the night’s opera, laid upon his table, puts
posterity and its pomps to flight; he throws by all sublunary things, to
hear three hours of fiddling, cavatinas and choruses, for the fiftieth
time in the season; is an Italian to all intents and purposes for that
night, and will be, for every night to come—until the doctor or the
dungeon tells him that the world has closed upon him, and that he has
seen his last opera.

Portugal still flourishes, defying King Pedro and all his works,
keeping Spain as a rear-guard, holding France in half-pay, and England
at arm’s length. We have no love for Don Miguel, but we are just as
little enamoured of Don Pedro. The marriage of the little Donna
Maria de Dolores with her own uncle, is not so much to our English
taste, as to make us regret that she is deprived of the match; and
whether Teneriffe or Terceira constitute her empire, the only question
which concerns us is, whether this mighty war will raise or diminish
the price of white wine!

1831.)

[ 595 J

RHYMES OF THE. TIMES—N,. I.

BY AN ANTI-REFORMER.

(These ** Rhymes” are by the Laureate—and the Gem
That follows, by Lord Russell.—Ed. M. M.]
RaAGGEDNESS, reform, and riot ;
Anarchy and atheism ;
Looms demolished, commerce quiet ;
Treason and incendiarism ;
Debts and dungeons, cares and crimes—
These are Topics of the Times.

Patriots and policemen waging
Battle in unnumbered shoals ;
Winter coming—cholera raging—
(What’s the current price of coals ?)
Lawless passions, awful workings,
Bonfires, Boards of Health, and burkings.:

Furious feuds, like Lord George Gordon’s ;
Meetings, massacres, alarms; ~

Parish champions, fat churchwardens,
Special constables in arms.

Ministers quite mad—or sleeping ;

Mobs triumphant, monarchs weeping.

Unions formed for revolution,
Sworn to plunder every peer,
And to slay a constitution
Slain a dozen times a year.
Vile petitions, proclamations,
Liberty, and lamentations.

Lords their broken windows boarding,
Generous but afflicted race,
Pigmy Pitts! the times affording
Not a glimpse of pay or place—
Doomed to live, ’mid stones and rockets, ©
Upon pensions from our pockets.

Noble noodles flying from us
To their cannon-planted parks ;
Clothes dug up by Mr. Thomas,
First of culprit-catching sharks ;
English brutes, Italian boys,
Folly, phrenzy, nonsense, noise.

Children’s mourned and missing bones
Recognized by each dissector ;
Gold sent off in foreign loans,
Plans for making Hunt protector ;
Schemes for breaking all’ machines—
And the hearts of kings and queens.

Church o’erturned by steeple-chases,
Led by riot-raising writers,
Furious pamphlets, gloomy faces,
Fogs, philosophers, and fighters.
Taxes, troubles, fright and fray,
Quarrels, quacks, and quarter-day.

Cobbetts, gorgons, Wakleys, dragons,
Hydras, Hunts—unfit for rhymes—
Hungry orators in-waggons—
These are Symbols of the Times.
Fiercer grows each fresh endeavour ;
“ngland’s sun is set for ever!

[ 596 ] [Dec.

RHYMES OF THE TIMES—No. II.
BY A REFORMER.

Parriort kings, and clubs united,
Plans to cleanse the earth from crimes,
Famine’s prayer no longer slighted,
Form the Topics of the Times.
Wise electors free from vices,
Parliaments like paradises.

All that’s tragic changed to comic,

Thorns fast budding into flowers ;
Luxury turned economic,

Draughts of sweets distilled from sours ;
El Dorados, lands of pleasure,
Tread-mills gone, and hoards of treasure.

« Standing-armies”’ onward marching
In the general rush of mind ;
Fairy rainbows overarching
Mitred men that once were blind ;
Prelates yielding up their sees,
Peasants digging at their ease.

New creations, peers by dozens,
Chosen—though but lords for life—

From the Commons and their cousins,
As extinguishers to strife ;

Hundreds rushing into ermine—

If the king should so determine.

Nightly calls at both the houses

To repeat ‘‘ God save the King ;’
Every party that carouses

Sings it too—or tries to sing.
Every molehill, ere December
Comes again, shall have its member.

’

Simultaneous social meetings,
Sages speaking from balloons ;
Eyery one received with greetings,
And with Conquering-Hero tunes :
Climate changing with reform—
Summer cool, and winter warm,

Slave-trade over—not a martyr,
Black or white, confined by bars ;

And the Leadenhall-street charter
Torn, to light untaxed cigars :

All our tea and sugar sources

Freed, by negro Wilberforces.

Fundholders exclaiming “‘ satis”
To a shilling in the pound ;
Paganini playing gratis ;
Opera, the whole year round :
Clerks careering there on ponys,
Charmed by taste, and Taglionis.

Peace-and-temperance concoctors ;
Lions on and off the stage;
Railroads, reason, and no doctors—
These are Emblems of the Age.
See—as wide the vapours sever—
England’s sun more bright than ever!

1831.] [ 597 J

MY FIRST DUEL.

«« Snug lying here in the-Abbey.”
The Rivals.

THERE are some events in the life of a man that make an indelible
impression on the mind ; events that, amid the varied scenes of love, of
war, or ambition, are to the last hour of existence as forcibly impressed
on the tablet of memory, as at the moment when they were first inscribed
there by the hand of fate. Of this nature is our first duel—the recol-
lection of the first time that we stood on the boundary line that separates
the civilization of the ancient and modern worlds. There are several
kinds of courage, it has been a thousand times remarked—all of which,
if we take the trouble of metaphysically analysing, we shall find are but
the consciousness of our own force or skill. The squadron of steel-clad
cuirassiers rides gallantly at the square of infantry, heedless of the brist-
ling bayonets, of the kneeling front rank, or the murderous volley of the
rear. The sailor, lashed to the helm, looks calmly on the raging tem-
pest. The huntsman, in pursuit of game, springs fearlessly across the
yawning chasm, or boldly attacks the lion in his lair. Habit, and a
familiarity with danger, deadens the instinctive dread of death implanted
in us by nature ; yet the cheek of the bravest man may blanch, and the
life’s blood curdle in the veins, when he finds himself opposed to an
adversary, who, without exaggeration, at twelve paces, could wing a
musquito. Such was my case when quite a raw and inexperienced
youngster, exposed, at the age of sixteen, to one of the most slippery
tricks that dame Fortune, in her most wayward humour, can play aman.
Every one must recollect the rancorous animosity that subsisted between
the British and Americans for several years after the termination of the
war between the two countries. Time has now, in some degree, softened
down this hostile feeling ; but, in 1818, it blazed fiercely forth at Gib-
raltar, where a slight misunderstanding at one of the guard-houses led
to a succession of bloody, and, in some instances, fatal rencontres, between
the garrison and the officers of the American squadron, at that time in
the bay. Similar scenes were enacted at Madeira, though with less
fatal results; and, only a few months afterwards, when the United
States corvette Ontario, and the British frigate Hyperion, were lying
in the bay of Callao de Lima, to so rancorous a pitch had this feeling
risen, that the commanders of the two ships came to an understanding
to allow their officers to go on shore only on alternate days ; and by this
timely precaution they prevented a hostile collision, which would in all
probability have deprived the services of both countries of some valuable
and gallant officers. It was during the noon-tide heat of this rancorous
feeling between the two nations, that I one evening entered a Café, in
one of the Brazilian outports, to meet, by appointment, a friend, from
whom I was to receive some letters of introduction for the interior of
the country, for which I was on the eve of my departure. The streets
were silent and deserted ; the only sound to be heard was the vesper
hymn sweetly floating on the evening breeze. On entering the Café, I
found it tenanted by a group of savage-looking Minheiros, who were
drinking and listening to a love-lay, sung with great sweetness to a guitar

598 My First Duel. [Dec.
accompaniment, by a mulatto youth; and a party of four American officers,
who were going home, invalided from their squadron, round the Horn.
Forcibly as my attention was arrested by the picturesque costume of the
Brazilian mountaineers—one of those dark satanic groups that the spi-
rit of Salvator so revelled in delineating—it did not escape me that the
subject of discourse with the American party was England, against
whose institutions and people violent abuse and unmeasured invective were
levelled, in that drawling, nasal tone that so particularly distinguishes
our transatlantic brethren. No man, even of the most cosmopolitan
composition, can digest violent strictures on the country of his birth ;
the language of the Americans jarred violently on my ear, but though
it stirred up the ill blood of my nature, I did not exactly think myself
called upon to play the Don Quixote, and to run a tilt against all those
who should choose to asperse the majesty of England. By the young
and ardent this feeling, I am aware, may be stigmatized as ignoble ; but
those whose passions have been mellowed by time and experience will,
I think, own the prudence of the line of conduct I pursued.

I therefore took my seat, lighted a segar, and listened attentively to
the beautiful modinha sung by the mulatto; there was a plaintive soft-
ness in the air, and an exquisite simplicity in the words of the ditty,
that told the pangs of unrequited love—

“« Despois que Martillo partio,

Partio comelle o prazer—

Amor que pode, nao quer valer

Na ha remedio senad morer,”
that had well nigh allayed’ the angry feelings that were struggling for
mastery in my bosom ; when the strictures of the Americans, which
had hitherto been levelled at Old England in general, were directed
to me personally, and left me but one—one honourable alternative.
«© When aman openly insults you,” says my Lord Chesterfield, “ knock
him down.” If I did not on this occasion follow his lordship’s advice
a la lettre, I did something which, among honourable men, is deemed
tantamount to it, and which produced a challenge from one of the
party—a demand for immediate satisfaction on the following morning,
on the plea that their departure was fixed for the succeeding day.—
« Gentlemen,” said I, “ willing as I shall be to give you the satisfaction
you require, I doubt my ability to do so at the early hour you have -
named; for I am a stranger here, and may experience some difficulty in
finding a second among my countrymen, who are quite strangers to me ;
and are, moreover, established in a country, where the laws against
duelling are severe—banishment to the shores of Africa—I must, there-
fore, defer the rencontre till the evening, not doubting in the mean time
to find some one to do me the office I stand in need of.”

A provoking sneer played round the lips of three of the party, and
an exclamation of withering contempt was on the point of escaping
them, when the fourth, who had hitherto been quietly sipping his san-
garée, rose from his chair, and addressed me with great politenes of
manner :—‘ I cannot conceal from myself,’ were his words, “ that
this quarrel has been forced upon you, and I regret, from the turn
it has taken; that there remains nothing but the last appeal; but if, as
you say, you are a stranger here, and are likely to experience any
difficulty in finding a second, I will myself most willingly do you
that office: for I can conceive no situation so forlorn, so desolate, as that

1831. My First Duel. 599

of a man, in the solitary loneliness of a foreign land, without a friend
to stand by him in an honourable quarrel.”

The hearty pressure of my outstretched hand must have told him
better than words could do, how deeply sensible I was of the service he
was about to render me. We separated. The sun had scarcely gilded
the balconies of the east when I arose, hurried on my clothes, and having
given a few directions to my servant, hastened towards the spot where,
on the preceding evening, I had parted from my new friend. It wasa
beautiful morning, the sun had risen in all the splendour of a tropical
clime, and as I moved on through the silent streets, methought. the
fair face of nature had never looked so beautiful—not a sound was
heard, save the solemn peal of the matin bell, or the rustling of the silk
mantilla of some fair beata, as she glided past me to pour ferth her
morning orisons at the shrine of her patron saint. I at length reached
the palace square, and observed my American friend slowly pacing the
esplanade of the church St. Maria. He was tall and bony ; his. blue
frock and ample white trowsers hung about him with republican neg-
ligence of manner ; he wore his shirt collar open; and his long matted
dark hair was shadowed by a broad-brimmed hat of Chilian straw, white
in comparison to the sallow hue of his complexion; his countenance I
can never forget: it wore not the open frankness and gallant bearing
of the soldier, but there was an expression of enthusiasm of a cool,
determined cast, a stern intrepidity ; and, as he stretched out his hand
to welcome me, and fixed his large black eye on me with a concentrated
gaze that seemed to read my thoughts, it struck me that I beheld the
very beau ideal of a duellist.

We moved on, each of us wrapped up in his own meditations, when,
on clearing the city, he at length broke the silence that had prevailed,
by asking me if I had ever been out before? On my answering the
question in a negative. “I supposed as much,” he continued. “ At
your age one has seldom drawn a trigger, but on a hare or partridge ;
remember, therefore, to follow implicitly the instructions I shall give
you in placing you on the ground ; and take this segar,” he added,
handing me one from his case: “ it is a powerful stimulant, and
quickens the circulation of the blood.”

We had by this time reached the field of action, and discovered my
adversary, his second, and a medical attendant, smoking their segars
beneath the shade of a cluster of cocoa-nut trees, that stood in loneli-
ness in the middle of the valley. They arose on our approach, saluted me
sternly, and interchanged friendly greetings with my companion. “ You
will, of course,” observed my adversary’s friend, “have no objection to
sixteen paces.” —“ As the challenged party, we have the right of choos-
ing our own distance,” rejoined my second; “ say, theretore, twelve
paces instead of sixteen, and the firing down.’””—“ Twelve paces,” I
repeated to myself; “can he be playing me false?” But I did him
eg for to this arrangement I owe to all human certainty my

ife.

The ground was measured. My second placed me with my back to
the sun—a disposition that brought his rays right on my opponent’s
line of sight. The seconds retired to load. The ramming down of
the balls grated with portentous effect upon my ear. All being ready,
my second, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, bound one end of it
tightly round my right hand, and measuring the length of my arm,

600 My First Duel. [ Dec.

which he marked by a knot, brought it across the back over the left
shoulder, where the knot was tightly grasped by the left hand. “Now,
then,” he said, on putting the pistol into my hand, “ be cool! When
the signal is given, let your arm steadily fall, till you find it brought
up by the handkerchief, and then fire!” The appointed signal was
given ; both fired at as nearly the same moment as possible, but with
unequal success. My adversary’s bullet passed through my hat; mine
was more unerring in its aim—he reeled, and fell. My first impulse
was to rush towards him, but I was arrested in my course by my
second, who stood close beside me. ‘ Remain where you are, Sir,”
said he ; “he may yet stand another shot.” This was not, however, the
case—the ball had entered the shoulder ; and as the wounded man lay
weltering in his blood, he said, with a look of reproach to my com-
panion—“ B n, this is all your doing.” We conveyed him to a
neighbouring hut, till the shades of evening allowed us to convey him
on board his ship. As we walked off the ground, my companion said
to me, “ You doubtless wondered why I rather placed you at twelve
than sixteen paces. Know, then, that, at the latter distance, your adver-
sary was a dead shot. At twelve, it occurred to me that he might by
chance fire over you, that, unaccustomed to that distance, he might not
correctly allow for the parabola described by the ball on leaving the
pistol—the result,” he added, with a smile, “has proved that my cal-
culation was correct. Had you, too,’ he added, “ allowed your arm
to have fallen with greater force, the shot would have taken effect
lower, and might” (this was said very coolly) “ have proved fatal. But
I must not find fault with you, as it was your first essay.”

On the following morning my generous friend—my preserver, in fact
—my wounded adversary, and his friends, sailed for the States. I have
never seen them since, or even heard of them, save a few short lines
sent me by a vessel they spoke at sea, to inform me that the wounded man
was doing well.

I have often reflected since on the high-toned, generous feeling that
entered so deeply into the peculiarity of my situation ; the high resolve
that, once pledged, sternly devoted itself to carry me through, indifferent
to the ties of country or friendship. That my friend was a duellist, his
conduct on the ground warrants me in supposing. I am ignorant if he
yet walks this earth. But this I know, had I gone into the field with
any one else, I should now be sleeping beneath the white walls of the
English cemetery at R——.

1€31.] [ 60l J

THE SPIRIT-SEEKER.

;

Arter I had left school, I recollect being much attiacted by certain
representations of English troops plundering some Asiatic soldiers of
their costly ornaments. This print, which then adorned all the dead
walls of the metropolis, I have gazed at for hours ; and at night I could
dream of nothing but pagodas and rupees, cashmeres, hookahs, and
Damascus blades! The East Indies appeared to me to be an E] Dorado,
where the gifts of fortune were showered upon all who sought them. It
presented the same temptations to me as the golden shores of the Pacific
offered to the Spaniards and Portuguese, after Columbus had given his
glowing descriptions of their wealth and fertility. I was a tall youth,
above the height required for recruits; so finding my desires grow
stronger every day, and a soldier’s life appearing to my young fancy the
gayest under the sun, I took the king’s bounty, and enlisted in a
regiment which was on the point of proceeding to Calcutta.

It was not long before I found out how much I had been deceived,
but as I saw there was little use in repentance, I resolved to make the
best of my situation. My attention to my duties rose me from the
ranks, and by volunteering in every situation of danger, I gained con-
tinual promotion. I saw a great deal of hard service, for I lost no op-
portunity of distinguishing myself, and by embarking all my gains in
mercantile speculations, I found, in the course of fifteen years, that I
had. realized a very handsome independence for life. My yearnings
after home then became very powerful, and as there was no occasion for
my staying longer in India, I sold out, for the purpose of returning to
England, to learn how many of my friends were dead, and to find out
those who remained above ground.

I took my passage in a fine ship, well rigged and manned, and power-
fully armed ; it was the time of war, which made the masters of our
merchant vessels careful in providing for emergencies. She carried but
few passengers, none of them particularly deserving of remark save one.
He was evidently a person of some consequence, from the attentions
paid him by the captain. He was a tall and well-formed man, of dark
features, whose expression I did not always admire. No one knew him
—no one held companionship with him, for his fellow passengers seemed
to shrink from him with a feeling of dread. He would walk for hours
upon the deck with an abstracted air, as if unconscious of ali around ;
and would frequently start in the middle of his walk, as if alarmed,—
would mutter some unconnected words, and then continue his solitary
promenade.

I felt a desire to know something about so strange a being, and
endeavoured to get some intelligence from the captain—a brave, blunt
fellow, with whom I was frequently in the habit of conversing.

“Why, Sir,” said he, putting his finger on his broad forehead, “he’s a
little bit heady, or so.”

It struck me that I had observed a wild restlessness about his gaze,
which gave me some doubts of his sanity, but I did not like to rest upon
mere suspicion ; I resolved, therefore, to pay great attention to his
conduct, as I thought his strange behaviour might be the result of ec-
centricity. I wished to learn something of his history, but gained
nothing by my inquiries.

M.M. New Scries—Vou. XII. No. 72. soe 3

602 The Spirit-Secker. [Dec.

We proceeded on our voyage without any remarkable incident, till
one morning the man at the mast-head cried out “a sail!” and in an
instant all the telescopes in the ship were in requisition. I discovered,
after a long search, a speck in the distant horizon, which gradually en-
larged till it bore the figure of a ship. It was soon discovered to be a
Frenchman, of superior force, bearing down upon us with all her can-
vass set. .

The captain caught up a speaking trumpet, and shouted forth to the
crew a quick succession of orders, which were as promptly executed.
The officers bestirred themselves in every direction ; all was bustle and
activity. In what appeared to me an incredible short space of time, the
decks were cleared, the port-holes opened, and the sails furled for
action.

I offered my services to the captain, who shook me by the hand with
all the frankness of a sailor, and led me to his cabin. There he thanked
me, and declared he expected to need the help of all who were ready
to fight for their lives, for the enemy had much the superiority in point of
force, and shewed a determination of attacking. It was his intention,
he said, of defending the ship to the last, as she contained a valuable
cargo ; then pointing to the arms, which lay in all directions, he asked
me to choose for myself. I was soon equipped with pistols and cutlass,
and determined to use them with as much effect as I possibly could.

I ascended again on deck, to see how things were going on.._ I found
the men half stripped, and strongly armed. Some in groups, eyeing the
approach of the enemy ; others attending to the guns, or busied in the
rigging. Loblolly-boys were running about with powder for the gun-
ners, gliding from the gun-room to the deck, like so many imps. of
darkness. The boatswain sat on the breach of a gun, for which. he
seemed to feel a particular affection, and was holding forth to a group of
attentive listeners—occasionally stopping in his discourse to pay. atten-
tion to a capacious can of grog, that was placed within his reach... I
viewed the scene with much interest, for although I had seen a good
share of service on land, this was the first sea-fight I had ever had an
opportunity of witnessing. It was new to me, and, I must say, I felt in
a strong degree the general excitement.

The privateer, for such she proved to be, was a beautiful ship, and.
cut through the water like a swan. Her decks appeared to be covered
with men, and she carried many more guns than we did. Our sailors
viewed her with evident interest. They praised her sailing, and watched
her with the eyes of experienced judges, while she was manceuyring to
get the wind of us. When she was within shot, she tacked, took down
most of her canvass, and fired two guns. The shot came hopping along
the water, but passed us without doing any damage.

« A roll o’ pig-tail to a can o’ grog,’ exclaimed the boatswain to his
grinning auditors, “ them ’ere Frenchmen as fired them shot, got out 0’
their hammocks this morning the wrong end uppermost.”

« Brown!” shouted the captain, from the quarter-deck, “ bring your
gun to bear!”

In an instant the boatswain obeyed orders, adjusted the gun with the
precision of a finished marksman, and fired. Splinters were seen. flying
about the deck of the enemy’s vessel, and the gunner exclaimed, with
an appearance of much satisfaction, “ Aye! aye! I arn’t been at sea
man and boy for nothing!” Orders were given to continue firing, which

1331.] The Spirit-Seeker. 603

was done with good effect, while the guns of the privateer seemed to be
badly served, for their shot passed over us, or only divided a few
ropes of very trifling importance. The enemy were getting the worst of
it, which probably they themselves thought, for they bore down upon us
with a design of coming to closer quarters.

«Now, my boys,” exclaimed the captain to his men, “ stand to your
guns, and give it ’em, for the honour of Old England!” He was an-
swered by three cheers, as universal as ever came from a British vessel
preparing for action. Their shot came flying thick, but ours were re-
served for a more favourable opportunity. As soon as the ships’ sides
were parallel, we poured in broadside after broadside, with the most
murderous effect, sweeping off her men from the deck by dozens. An
obstinate engagement ensued, but we avoided most of the danger arising
from her superiority of guns, by a series of skilful evolutions. Our men,
except those actively employed, lay down on the decks, and the fire of
the enemy did comparatively little mischief among them. The fight was
kept up with great bravery on both sides ; at last the privateer closed in
upon us; her great object was now in boarding, her strength of men
giving her still an advantage. The ships were lashed together, under a
heavy fire of musketry, and the boarders came on sword in hand, where
they were met by our own brave men, and a desperate struggle ensued.
They fought hand to hand, and foot to foot, without either giving an
inch of ground. The hurrahs and shouts of the combatants, mingling
with the continual discharge of fire-arms, were truly deafening. The
enemy at last gave way before our determined resistance, and the gallmg
fire which was kept upon their decks by our top-men. This was an im-
portant crisis, and our men rushed on to the charge with renewed
vigour. Then I sawthe strange being, whom I have before noticed as my
fellow-passenger, mingling in the thickest of the fight, and hewing down
like blades of grass all who opposed him. I followed in his wake, and
soon found myself on the deck of the privateer, where the conflict was
raging in its greatest fury. There our captain, though wounded, was
fighting like a lion, and urging his men, both by voice and action, to
follow hisexample. The stranger and I fought side by side. Their re-
sistance seemed to grow fainter, except in one spot, where a group of
brave fellows were fighting round their commander, a man of gigantic
size and immense strength. We were soon among them, and I saw the
sword of my companion cleave the Frenchman’s skull, and the strong
man sunk dead at his feet. After his death, the resistance ceased. She
struck, and became our prize.

Our captain, after the engagement had terminated, came up and
thanked us for the assistance we had rendered him. The stranger
seemed to avoid all conversation, and what he said was spoken hurriedly,
as if anxious to conclude the subject.

The prize we found of little service. A number of shot had taken
her between wind and water, her sails were reduced to shreds, and her
masts were most of them shattered to splinters. The carnage on board
was dreadful ; of nearly two hundred men, scarcely fifty remained alive,
and most of them were wounded. We therefore secured the men and
valuables, and deserted the ship. As for ourselves, we paid dearly for
our victory, for many were the brave but unfortunate men, I saw lashed
to the grating and consigned to the bowels of the deep.

Little took place during the remainder of the voyage worth noticing.

3 B2

604 The Spirit-Sceker. [ Dec.

There seemed to be some deep mystery in my fellow-passenger,
which, at any risk, I was determined to fathom. I endeavoured to get
into his confidence. For that purpose, I did him many little offices of
kindness. They were at first rather unfavourably received, but as I
persevered, his unsociableness wore off, and he seemed at last to take a
pleasure in my society. When we arrived in England, I visited him
frequently. One day, after some preliminary conversation, in which I
endeavoured to make him talk of his own affairs, he said to me, “ You
have been kind, and I will confide in you. Listen, and you shall hear
a tale which nothing you have ever heard, or read of, seemed half so
strange.” I listened attentively, and he continued :—

“ From a boy upwards, I have longed for an intercourse with the
unembodied shadows of the departed, whose existence I had often heard
well authenticated in the nursery and in the hall. I had strange desires
from my birth. I loved to be alone. I was fond of darkness. I would
sit up in the depths of midnight, in ‘ hopes of high talk with the
departed dead.’ I yearned for the things that dwell not in the earth,
and yet are on it. Church-yards and cemeteries were to me as familiar
as my father’s hearth. I loved the most savage spots, and the most
unfrequented places of the wild and mountainous country in which I
was born ; and when I heard from the superstitious peasantry that such
a ruin, or such a dell, or such a wood, was the haunt of supernatural
visitors, there would I make my dwelling ; and, night and day, I called
aloud upon the Spirits of the Dead—but they came not!

“ T loved the sound of the thunder when it seemed to shake the heaven
on which I gazed, and the earth on which I stood. I courted the gaze
of the vivid lightning, and my eagle eye shrunk not at its burning
glance. I stood by the sands of the sea-shore, and drank in with
delighted ears the music of the storm. I climbed to the tops of moun-
tains ; I descended into the depths of vaults and caves; I crossed the
fathomless ocean, and penetrated into the parched deserts of the torrid
zone. I heard the famished hyena howling for her food among unburied
skeletons ; and I saw the lion crunching the bones of many a luckless
victim, as he roared exultingly in his wrath. I stood in the night sur-
rounded by the ghastly fragments of those who had endeavoured to
penetrate its inhospitable regions ; the moon shone upon their bleached
skeletons with a sickly light ; the hot breath of the simoom gave a sense
of suffocation, which had made many a weary traveller lay down and
die; and there was no sound stirring in the desert, save the scream of
the jackal. In the stillness of the deep night, I called aloud upon the
Spirits of the Dead—but they came not!

«JT went on a pilgrimage to the idol Juggernaut, whose thirst is
quenched with blood, and whose hunger is appeased with human flesh.
I saw thousands rush under his massive chariot wheels, to obtain the
glory of being crushed to death; a martyrdom which was accounted
the very highest honour. The streets were paved with carcases, and
the gutters streamed with blood. I passed on to the field of skulls,
where the vultures and the dogs were disputing over a living banquet
of quivering flesh. I stood in the middle of the festering carcases of
the worshippers of the deity, when there was not a star visible in the
heavens, and the moon had veiled her glory from the earth; and I
called with a loud voice upon the Spirits of the Dead—but they came
not ! :

1831.] The Spirit-Seeker. 605

« J heard the plague was raging afar off. I journeyed over mountains,
I crossed streams, I swam cataracts, and I forded rivers, with a feverish
impatience that hurried me on like lightning to arrive at the place where
I knew death was busy. I came. The air stunk in my nostrils with the
putrid steam which came from the dead, who lay around me mouldering
and festering in heaps. The dead-carts passed by—but those who had
loaded them had become part of the load. The graves lay open—those
who had dug them became the first occupiers of a dwelling they expected
others to tenant. The poor loaded themselves with riches, and died
before they could make use of their plunder. The rich flew from their
dwellings, but perished before they had arrived beyond the influence
of the pestilence. Thousands and thousands sickened daily, and all
shunned each other. The lover left his mistress, and the mother deserted
her children, and the friend of many years stood afar off from the brother
of his heart. They died—falling like autumn-leaves, when a strong
wind shakes the trees of the forest. Days passed—weeks passed—months
passed—and still they died. At last I stood the only living thing in a
vast and once-populous city. All was still as the grave. Nota leaf
stirred—not a stream flowed—not a wind whispered: for all the trees
were leafless trunks, and all the waters were stagnant pools. There was
not a breath stirring in the air, and the red sun glared in the sky with
an evil look, as if to curse the gazer with the quenchless fire of his move-
less eye. Solitary I stood in the high-places, as if the world had been
hushed into an everlasting sleep. Then I raised my voice, and called
aloud upon the Spirits of the Dead—the echoes died sullenly away.
Again I called—but they came not!

«I fled from the place in fear and loathing, and afterwards entered a
fortified town while it was being besieged by the enemy. Famine raged
within its walls, gnawing the gaunt frames of its brave defenders ; but
their bony hands still held the sword, and their almost fleshless limbs
still defended their impregnable city. I saw a rich man offer all his
wealth to a beggar, for a piece of putrid meat which he was devouring
voraciously—the beggar looked at the gold, and cast it from him with
scorn. A miser saved a loaf, though the rest had given up theirs for
the common good : he sold it in pieces for double their weight in silver,
and soon afterwards died of starvation. Soon there was nothing left.
Many died raving mad, screaming for water to cool their burning tongues,
and ina short time there remained not enough to man the wall. Then the
remnant of the brave bands came to a resolution to perish by each
other’s hands. Y saw them expose their naked breasts to the sword,
and they died breathing defiance on their enemies. I stood upon the
prostrate bodies of the slain, and the fleshless skeletons of thousands
lay around me. I called upon the Spirits of the Dead with a voice that
might have awoke them from their sleep—but they came not !

“ T have been on the field of battle after a bloody carnage, when
friend and foe were heaped together in the slaughter; and I have
entered conquered cities after a massacre, where the old and young, the
guilty and the innocent, the poor and the rich, the deformed and the
beautiful, were all butchered indiscriminately. I have been in all
places where I thought the Spirits of the Dead were most numer-
ous, and at all times and all seasons when I thought it most probable
they would appear to human ken; and I have lifted up my voice in
solitary places, calling upon them to appear—but they came not!

606 The Spirit-Sceker. (Dec.

“ Then I applied to those who were said to have communion ‘with
them, and I journeyed to far off lands in hopes of knowing their secrets.
I saw withered sybils and hoary magicians, I knew studious monks and
learned Jews, and I became familiar with the most famous scholars of
all nations, and the wisest priests of all religions; I asked them to
impart their knowledge to one who would use it well. I offered them
gold and much treasure ; they accepted my gifts, and I became their
pupil. But I soon found, after a short sojourn with them all, that their
knowledge was that of a fool, and their learning that of a child. They
were liars, imposters, and cheats, who lived upon the credulity of the
human race; and I cursed them in the bitterness of my heart, as I
shook off the dust from my feet in leaving the secret places in which
they dwell.—Now, said I, do I know of a verity, that all men are fools
—a superstitious race, who for two thousand years and more have lived
in a vain fear and a foolish belief.

«“ Do we not die and are buried, or rot on the face of the earth, while
the wind dries and the sun bleaches our bones till they are calcined into
dust, and we mingle again with the earth from which we came? Are
we not born more helpless than the worm we crush beneath our feet ;
and those who are so unfortunate as to last to an old age—do they not live
more miserable than the vilest thing on earth? continually complaining
with unnatural peevishness, and yet not possessing sufficient resolution
to rid themselves of a burthen they have not the courage to bear
resignedly. Do we not perish like the beasts of the field, and the fowls
of the air? and in a few short years our names are obliterated from the
earth, that none may know of what fashion we were born.—Such is our
being and existence, and such our dissolution.

« When we die, we die utterly and everlastingly. The fire’ passes
from the clay which it warmed, and the mass crumbles away into utter
nothingness ; and yet for many generations, there have been knaves to
assert, and fools to believe, that the senseless dust possesses a revivifying
power which shall start again into being at some indefinite period—that
the spark which animated the living frame, continues to reside in the
ashes, which is the residue of the crucible of existence; and that this
spirit, in an untangible and incorporeal form, wanders about the earth,
occasionally visible to the fear-struck gaze of the living, or may be
commanded to appear by those who are sufficiently fearless to invoke
them in solitary places—

« _______where graves give up their dead,
And churchyards yawn.’

« Oh! degenerate race! so credulous and easily deceived—of what
use is that reason of which you vaunt; where is that intellect of which
you are so proud! The beasts that toil in the field expect not an Eden
of rest when the butcher has led them to the shambles, and the savage
ones of the forest dream not of a Paradise beyond their green savannahs
and the liquid clearness of their refreshing streams. Wherefore shouldst
thou, O man! puff thyself up with a vain-glory, and hug to thy breast
a cloud for an imperishable hope? Wherefore shouldst thou carve
for thyself immortality, and sentence all nature to be cast in the
unfathomable ocean of oblivion? O, man—man! obdurate and proud
of heart, there shall come a time when thou shalt awake from thy sleep,

1831.] The Spirit-Secker. 607

and see through the darkness which hath enveloped thy soul in its
misty folds for so many generations.

“I left their dwelling, after discovering how vain was the search in
which I had been employed, and took ship with a determination to
return to my own country. We left port with a fair wind, and the ship
rode proudly on the bosom of the ocean. I felt a strange delight when
I found myself proceeding towards my native land, after so long an
absence, and in fancy I often thought I could discern its snowy cliffs
peering through the fog, although we were many thousand miles from
its nearest coast. The vessel in which I sailed was a pirate, the crew a
set of lawless villains of all nations; but I loved their society from the
spirit of freedom which seemed to animate them all. They were daring
as young lions, and crafty as serpents ; yet each seemed to possess a high
feeling of honour which scorned all meanness. I found myself at home
among them, for they respected my humours, and allowed me to conduct
myself as I pleased. They declared war against all governments, and
set up the black flag in opposition even to free states. The captain was
a man of considerable muscular strength, and great bravery—one as
much feared as loved by those whom he commanded. Although he
never failed to distinguish any of his men who had made themselves
conspicuous by acts of daring or good seamanship, yet his anger was fatal,
and few among such a reckless set would have chosen to risk it.

“J loved to pace the deck after the sun had gone down, and watch
the stars come forth by twos and threes in all their beauty from their
hiding places. Night after night have I gazed as they shot from their
spheres into darkness, till I became as familiar with the heavens as with
an open book, and the stars became unto me as the faces I had known
in infancy.

“One night as I was taking my usual walk on the deck, the watch
was set, and I was wrapt up in meditations of the bright things above
me. All was hushed as a maiden’s sleep; and we lay becalmed upon
the silent waters. I was startled from my reverie by a loud cry of fire,
and in an instant the ship was in one immense blaze. There was either
no time to get out the boats, or all were rendered stupified by the extent
of the danger. They leapt from their hammocks, and fled about the
vessel as if bewildered. Some ran to the spirit-room, and soon rendered
themselves incapable of providing for their own safety ;—others, in their
frenzy, leapt overboard, and the waters overwhelmed them ;—a few, with
more presence of mind, got out the long-boat. As soon as it was lowered
they jumped in—numbers followed, till it was unable to hold its bur-
then ;—they were endeavouring to put off when she sunk, and all went
to the bottom.

“ In a short time, the captain and myself were the only persons left
on board. I attempted to persuade him to jump into the sea, and save
himself by clinging to some of the planks which were floating about.
But he silenced me by saying, that he and the ship should perish toge-
ther. I committed myself to the waves, and soon swam beyond the
reach of the burning fragments of timber that were continually thrown
around me by explosions of gunpowder. As fast as the flame reached
the guns, they were discharged, and scattered the messengers of death
in all directions.

“ I lashed myself to a large plank, and then turned to take a last look
at the ship. For an instant I saw the form of the intrepid captain red

606 The Spirit-Seeker. [Dec.

in the surrounding flames—the fire reached the powder magazine—one
shriek, and all was over.

«The flames ceased, and I was left in impenetrable darkness, in a
strange sea I knew not how far from land. Yet even then the thirst that
lay at my heart for communion with the shadows of the past, did not
desert me. In that hour of peril and solitude, the longing that had
filled my breast so long came upon me with all its original force, and I
felt a strange sensation that roused every sense within me to exertion.
In that scene of horror I lifted up my voice, though the tones seemed to
fall with a cold weight upon my heart, and I called aloud upon the
Spirits of the Dead—I heard a voice answer, ‘ Here !’—then a million of
feeble voices caught up the sound, and the faint echoes fell upon my
ear, and chilled my brow with the cold dew of death.—Just then the
expiring ship sent up one bright flame of vivid light, and I saw——”

Here he looked upon me, with an expression I shall never forget.
A shadow of deep agony shrouded his features—his eyes were start-
ing from their sockets, gleaming with unnatural light—his strong frame
shook with fear—he seemed labouring under an effect of terror of the
most dreadful nature.

“ I saw,” he continued, as he caught hold of me by the arm, “a sight
that made my blood run cold with fear—that curdled the marrow in my
bones—that made my flesh quiver convulsively, and that filled my
heart with a feeling of incurable pain, and my brain with a quenchless,
burning, corroding flame, that tortures my senses into madness.

‘I see it now!” he cried, in a voice of thrilling agony, pointing with
extended arm to places where I could see nothing. ‘ There !—there !—
see how they stare upon me with their sightless orbs—how they point
at me with their fleshless hands! Hear you not a laugh like the bub-
bling of blood—the red light of the burning ship dwells upon their
skulls—I press my hand over my brows and over my ears, but though
both eyes and ears are closed, still I hear and still I see—Avaunt!
avaunt ! ye horrible fiends !—avaunt, and mock me not! Oh! look not
upon me with the blue light of those empty sockets. It sinks into my
soul, it burns my heart to ashes. Away! away !—to the fathomless
ocean from whence ye came! Down, into the depths of the dark sea,
away !—Oh, God !—Oh, God !”

He sunk upon the floor, senseless. I rendered him immediate assist-
ance, but it was long before he became perfectly sensible. At last he
recovered. He looked round the room, with a wild, unsettled gaze,
and said, “ Where am I ?—methought I was upon the deep ocean, and
darkness was around me, and”—a strong convulsive shudder passed over
his whole body—* but,” he continued, “ it was all a dream.”

I endeavoured to compose his mind, by leading it to other topics,
and it was some time before I allowed him to conclude his extraordinary
narrative.

“I know not,” said he, “ what passed for many hours after the ship
had been engulphed by the waves. The sight had frozen up the cur-
rent of life, and I lay on the bosom of the dark waters without sense
or motion. When I recovered I found myself lying on a bed, enclosed
by curtains of a light and elegant fabric. I drew ther aside, and was
surprised at the splendour of the room in which I lay. I observed a
black female, in an oriental dress, who as soon as she noticed me, left
the room. I had not been long engaged in making observations on the

1831.] The Spirit-Seeker. 609

costly luxuries with which I was surrounded, when I perceived her
return, and with her a lady of most graceful shape. I softly laid myself

down, and closed my eyes. I heard some one advance on tip-toe,
and draw aside the curtains with a gentle hand. I looked, and I beheld
a youthful face, of a most bewitching beauty, gazing upon me with an
expression of intense interest. Her features were dark, approaching to
a brown ; but the hue of the rose lay glowing on her cheek, and threw
over it a warmth and richness I had never before seen equalled. Her
eyes were of the blackest hue, and of a sparkling brightness that out-
shone the sunbeam. A few folds of fine muslin enveloped her head,
from which two or three glossy curls, as dark as the raven’s plume,
were allowed to stray. Her dress was light and graceful, ornamented
with curious designs, and her slim waist was bound with a belt studded
with jewels, on which was traced figures of an Indian character.

“She blushed slightly, as I gazed on her, inquired in the most
winning accents after my health, and hoped that I was better, as her
father would be so happy to hear of my recovery. I began asking her
numerous questions as to where I was, and how I came there ; but she
commanded silence ; for, she said that talking would be injurious to
my health, and that in a few days her father was expected, who would
tell me all. She then wished me better, and left me to my own reflec-
tions.

« I afterwards learnt that I had been picked up by a ship belonging
to her father, which had discovered the burning vessel at a distance,
and had crouded all sail in hopes of picking up some of the sufferers.
None had been found but myself, whom at first they thought dead ;
for I remained in a state of torpitude for several days, during which I
was carried into port, and taken to the merchant's country-house, where
I then lay. They found by some papers about me who I was, and I
was treated with the greatest kindness by the old gentleman as soon as
he heard of my situation.

«« He was an East Indian merchant, and had married the daughter of
a native prince. She died a few years after they had been united,
leaving a helpless infant to his care and protection. In that child he
had centred all his hopes of happiness. As she grew up his affection
increased, and every gratification that riches could procure were pur-
chased for her enjoyment. All those accomplishments which render a
female more fascinating and extend the circle of her influence, had been
taught her by the best masters that could be found. When I saw her
she had almost completed her fifteenth year, yet appeared in the full
bloom of womanhood.

“T could have loved her, with more than earthly love, but a shadow
dwelt upon my heart, which shut out with a veil of darkness all that
was fair and bright; and I was as desolate as the first murderer. I
improved, and recovered ; but though I possessed haleness of body, I
have never since been blessed with health of mind. In the society of
my kind friends, I might have enjoyed every earthly happiness, but
though they did all that friendship could do, still 1 was miserable,
I felt a secret consciousness of some impending evil, hanging over me
like an everlasting shadow, and throwing a gloom over all around me.
In my hours of gaiety, it did not leave me, and I became abstracted and
thoughtful on all occasions. I have seen and heard sights and sounds,

610 The Spirit- Seeker. [Drc.

which I dare not tell of, things which would congeal the blood to ice,
and turn the heart to stone. They were always near me, go where I
would. If I plunged into dissipation, they were still before me in all
their hideousness. In the banquet I have sat down, surrounded by
noisy revellers, but I could hear a fearful whispering above the shouts
of the rioters; the faces of those around, turned to demon forms,
and the wine-cup seemed to change its contents from the sparkling juice
of the grape, to the dark and awful hue of human blood. I could not
endure this eternal horror, it made me mad. I often attempted to
destroy myself, but some unknown power held my hand, and the wea-
pon dropt harmlessly from my grasp.

“JT determined to return to the home of my fathers, and I informed
my friends of my resolution. They attempted to dissuade me, but
without success. Every temptation was thrown in my way, to make
me give up my object, but I adhered to my determination. They then
made every arrangement for my convenience, and I parted with them.
I took with me their good wishes, and entered immediately upon my
voyage.

“I paid little attention to what was going forward in the ship; I was
wrapt up in my own reveries. The same torture I suffered on board,
as I had endured on land. It seemed as if a demon had possessed me ;
for the same sights blasted my gaze, and the same voices tortured my
ear. I have rushed to plunge myself in the wave that was roaring
beneath me, but an invisible hand held me back, and I had not the
power tomove. When I heard we were going to be attacked, and
when I saw the preparations we were making for defence, I was in
great joy ; for now said I, I shall surely die. I went and prepared
myself for the conflict with a light heart ; for I expected soon to throw
off the torture that had so long been gnawing at my brain. I listened
to the roar of the guns, and the clashing of weapons, and the groans of
the wounded, and shouts of the combatants, as to the sweetest music ;
but above the roar, and the clash, and the groan, and the shout, was the
whispering of unearthly voices. It tortured me to madness, and I
could endure it no longer. I caught up the steel, and rushed into the
thickest of the fight. I struck down all that opposed me ; their blows
fell upon me like the pattering of summer rain on the tall grass; and
the bullets whistled by my ears, but I minded them not more than the
hail in a thunder-storm. Wherever I came, they fled; I singled out
the bravest of those who remained, and cleft him down with a stroke
of my sword. Soon all was over. I retired from the fray unhurt, and
I now live !—live to endure an agony no medicine can alleviate, a pain
no art can cure. My brain burns with a scorching heat, that all the
tears the saints have shed, for the sins of the wicked, could not cool.
My heart is as a withered tree—the lightning has scorched it to the
core. Night and day, the dark and horrible shadows are around me,
and a chorus of feeble voices are eternally babbling in my ear unutter-
able things, that make my soul sick at the sound. Among crowds, I
am ina solitude. I see not, hear not, think not of what is passing around
me—I dare not think; for a curse is on my brain, and a blight is on
my heart, which makes me see things that others see not, and hear
things that others may not hear ; and never till the grave separates this
restless spirit from its corporeal frame, and the dark shadows of obli-

1831.] The Spirit-Seeker. 611

vion blot out the light from my throbbing eye-balls, may I hope to
find that peace—

‘ Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.’ ”

Such was his story. I had occasion to leave him for a few days, and
when I returned, I heard—but, as the reader may imagine, without
surprise—that he had shown such strong evidence of insanity, as to
make it a matter of necessity to place him in confinement. *W.

BREVITIES.

Tae surest way to acquire the worship of mean spirits, is to begin by
worshipping yourself.

Our reasons for excluding the Jews from political privileges tend to
make them good Jews; but our proper business is to make them good
citizens.

The press is the right-arm of reason ; though, like the arm of a mad-
man, it is sometimes used to wound its owner.

The gentry should cherish the peasantry for the same reason (if they
were incapable of a higher feeling) that they preserve the sturdy old
groves that protect their family mansions from the cutting winds. When
the bodily vigour of the working-classes is destroyed by hard fare and
ill-usage, the scions of the aristocracy will soon degenerate into slaves
and prostitutes either to a despotic court or a hardier nation. }

A man’s intimates, however free from jealousy or envy, are not in
general the best judges of the value of his literary or other intellectual
efforts ; they are equally liable to overrate what is indifferent, and to
underrate, or at least not sufficiently to admire, what is really excellent.
If they are led, by the author’s general conversation and manners, to
expect excellence, it can of course excite no sensation when it comes ;
and if his public efforts far transcend what might have been expected
from him, his friends can scarcely, in the moment of surprise, avoid sus-
pecting that there is some mystery, some legerdemain, in the matter ;
and judging the candidate for fame rather by what they hear, than by
what they read or see. Talent, however, is not the less real because it is
variously developed; and those who possess it in one form should
always be ready to hail its manifestation in another.

The vessel of the state is in danger of foundering from being over-
laden, and some of our self-called practical reformers would consent to
throw over a band-box to {lighten her :—or she is running on a rock,
and they wish to hang out a sheet of tissue-paper by way of defender.

If a man’s genius do not influence his conduct and language, it is little
better to him than a machine that he has the power of putting in motion;
and he will not be much more loved or respected on account of it, in
private life, than he would for being the possessor of an elaborate steam-
engine. O.

[ 612 J [Dec.

TOO EARLY !

Prorue talk about this faliacy, and that fallacy ; but of all the falla-
cies in the world, there is not one that equals that prodigious prejudice
that has for some hundreds of years been running in favour of getting
up early. I could shew by a thousand reasons, that, instead of such
a practice being praiseworthy, it rather gives token of a want of that
syllogistical clear headedness which enables a man to look thoroughly,
and at once, to the bottom of a subject.—“ And mind you get up early,
my dear,” cries Mrs. Tomkins to her eldest born, just as he is on the
point of quitting his native village for the great world—“ mind you
get up early ; for it is so unwholesome to lie in bed of a morning.”—
Foolish matron! never was so great a mistake pronounced with so grave
a countenance !

« But why, sir—why ?” exclaims Mrs. Tomkins, or some one of my
readers for her. Now, for my own part, I am very considerably the
friend of a system, that is daily gaining strength in this admirable world,
of making assertion not only stand in the place of, but actually take
precedence of all argument ; and I would therefore protest with Shak-
speare’s fat knight against giving any reason “ on compulsion ;” but
that, in this case, the other side happens to have the start of me on the
ground of assertion; and I must, therefore, content myself with having
the whole of the argument on mine.

So now for the “ Why, sir,—why ?”

The “ why” consists in these five reasons.—It is unwholesome. It is
unsafe. It is uncomfortable. It is impolitic. It is unwise.

Ist. It is unwholesome.—I once had a great-grandfather—the last of
our family that was ever so foolish as to indulge in what he used to call
the luxury of early rising—and what was the consequence >—That
nature one day summoned him to pay for the luxury, by bestowing on
him such an admixture of cold and catarrh as carried him in half a week
to his grave. And how could it be otherwise? If, from your comfort-
able bed-room window you chance to observe some unfortunate wretch
whose cruel destiny compels him to quit his wholesome couch for the
crude morning air and its dragele-tailed dew, you first see him striving,
as it were, to shrink within himself in the hopes of avoiding the raw
atmosphere that salutes him on every side, and then—all escape, in spite
of his ingenuity, proving fruitless—you next perceive him suddenly
struck with a sort of ague-fit that dances him along, groaning and grum-
bling, at the rate of seven miles an hour, while his teeth chatter and jar
against each other at a still more rapid pace. And after all, what is his
remedy? He has none, till the day has marched on, and the sun has
nearly approached his highest elevation: then he feels himself a little
relieved from the swamp in which he has been buried ; and he begins to
find out that his clothes hang about him damp and dreary, like a lady’s
handkerchief that has undergone the ordeal-by-water through a five-act
tragedy in the dog-days: he lifts up his leg, and resting it against a
stile, surveys with rueful countenance the streamy drops that trickle
from it, till a deep and dangerous puddle is formed beneath ; while thus
he gazes, he calls to mind how he has seen a washerwoman handle a
sheet, and he longs to try and wring his leg, that he may have one limb
dry at least: or “ with curious busy eye” he carries his reflections yet
further, and quitting the survey of his leg for that of his general condi-

1831.] Too Early. 613

tion, he sorrowfully petitions Heaven to send some Brobdignadian house-
maid that way, that she may take him up in her brawny arms, and
twirl the moisture from him as an English wench twirleth her mop.—
And this is what my poor great-grandfather used to call the luxury of
early rising !—Well, well, he paid a dear penalty for his mistake ; so
let us hope that he is by this time in another and a better world, and
never gets up till half-past nine.

2d. It is unsafe—And here, again, let me refer to the example-
giving career of my great-grandfather. Three times within the last
two years of his early rising, the consequence of his being abroad at such
unseasonable hours, was his being atttacked by highwaymen :—the first
time, he was sauntering along Hornsey-lane long before any decent per-
son (except himself) was stirring, when he suddenly perceived the
muzzle of a horse-pistol immediately under his nose, while as suddenly
he heard “ Stand, and deliver!” growled in his ear by as rugged a
descendant of Blackbeard as Hockley-in-the-Hole ever produced ;—my
great-grandfather, satisfied with one glance, ran for it, and, when he got
home, had the satisfaction of finding that the bullet, which had been sent
whizzing after him, had only carried off an inch and a half of his pig-
tail, and about a quarter of the collar of his coat:—the second occasion
of his being attacked was in the neighbourhood of Hounslow-heath, and
from that clerk of St. Nicholas he had the good luck to escape by plung-
ing into a ditch, one part water and three parts mud, and vigorously
kicking his way through slime and duck-weed to the opposite bank :—
his third adventure of this description was on the banks of the Lea
river; but by this time my great-grandfather had learned prudence ;
and, therefore, instead of running, or swimming, or being shot, he
peaceably resigned his valuables,. “on demand,” to the amount of three
shillings and twopence-halfpenny of the current coin of the realm, an
old tobacco-stopper, a silver tooth-pick, and a penknife with only half a
blade to it. Let, then, the rising generation take warning by these mis-
haps that followed my great-grandfather’s early hours, and particularly
remember that of all highwaymen those that are in practice about five
in the morning are the most dangerous,—and for this simple reason—
that they have had bad luck through the night, and are beginning
to get sulky.

3d. It is uncomfortable-—Are you a bachelor, my excellent reader ?:
If you are, I grant you a pause 4 * * * n *
just so much, to bring back to your recollection the mistake that you
probably once in your life have made—not oftener, I can well believe
you—of coming down to your snug apartment before your usual time.
Oh! the powers of patience, what a reception there awaited you! Chairs
in threefold confusion—the sad remains of a foregone supper—the ashes
of defunct cigars overlaying sofa, table, and floor—and the smoke of the
aforesaid defunct still hanging like a heavy vapour in the atmosphere
of the apartment !—Or, is the honest gentleman that is now honouring
this paper with his perusal, happy enough to be married? If so, I trust
for his own sake, as well as that of his amiable lady, that he keeps good
hours, both by morning as well as by night.—I trust, saidI ?—Nay, I
am sure !—and, therefore, the observation that I am now going to make
is hypothetical—not practical—something thrown out for the abstract
consideration of my married reader—not for his censure. Let us, for
the sake of argument, suppose a wedded gentleman so in love with

614 Too Early. [Dec.

wrong-headedness as to forestal the household economy by quitting his
bed when none but chimney-sweepers, milkmen, and house-maids have
honest licence to be stirring. What does he take by his motion, as a lawyer
would say? He tries one apartment, from which he is driven by the
cloud of dust that the busy broom is raising ; he seeks another, where
he is greeted by the fire-iron-rattle of the scullery-maid, who hates to
work—even at lighting a fire—without some sort of music as an accom-
paniment ; he attempts a third, which appears to offer a mock-repose,
if that can be called even so much as mock-repose, where all the windows
are set open to a mizzy north-easter, where all in the neighbourhood of
the fire-grate is vacuity and dreariness, and where the ear-drum is well
nigh cracked at intervals—anything but “ few and far between”—with
shrill or blustering vociferations of that sundry assortment which classes
under the general appellation of “ London Cries.”

4th. It is impolitic—This assertion is nearly self-evident, and hardly
requires a word to be said in its support ; for all mankind, through all
ages, have agreed that the really prudent man is he who steers the
middle course, neither diverging too much to the right-hand nor to the
left, or, in this instance, neither going to bed too late, nor getting up too
early. This is the judicious lie-a-bed’s doctrine ;—nor only his doctrine,
but his practice too; and, like Green’s “ jolly church-parson,” he will
ever be found priding himself on holding that equable balance which
bringeth the wise man’s conclusion—=

“¢ If you pity your soul, I pray listen to neither—

The first is in error, the last a deceiver :

That our’s is the true church, the sense of our tribe is,
And surely in medio tutissimus ibis.”

I never was more convinced of the truth of this principle than on hearing
a ludicrous anecdote that some years ago happened to a friend of my
own. Dick Lambert had but one hobby in the world—and that was
angling :—winter, spring, summer, autumn,—hail, rain, blow, snow.—
if Dick could but spare the time (and often, indeed, when he could not
spare it), away he would trudge, with a walking-stick rod in his hand,

and a large basket slung over his shoulder, in pursuit of his favourite
pastime. At the time of which I am speaking, he had been obliged, on
account of Mrs. Lambert’s state of health, to take a cottage for her at
the pretty village of Carshalton ; and, shortly after, he was fortunate
enough so to arrange his own affairs in town, that he was able to promise
himself a six weeks’ residence at hisnew country abode. Every one who
knows Carshalton knows that there is a delightful little trout-stream
running through it as clear as crystal, and as richly stored with Dick’s
speckled prey as the heart of angler could desire ; and it therefore need
be no matter of wonder when I tell that every morning regularly, at four
o'clock, Dick was stirring before the sun, and might be seen through
the first break of the morning wending his way to the brook. Now if.
ever there was a simple-hearted fellow in this world, it was Dick Lam-
bert ; and, as the prejudice goes, if ever there was a simple sport in this
world, it is angling. Yet, with all this simplicity on his side, Dick’s
bad (early) hours brought him into suspicion. Fortune so willed it that
next door to Dick’s cottage lived the very Paul Pry of the place. For
the first week or two, when no one but sick Mrs. Lambert and her maid
were the inmates of the newly-occupied cottage, Mr. Paul thought it

1831. ] Too Early. 615

rather odd that, with all his watchfulness, he could scarcely ever see any
one come in or go out of the cottage ; and, just as his curiosity began to
be whetted by this circumstance, Dick’s daily morning egress met his
observant eye. Mr. Paul thought it very odd that, every morning before
day-break, he should hear the cottage-door bang to ; and when that cir-
cumstance primed him to quit his comfortable bed, and peep through the
casement, he thought it still more odd that he should always see one
solitary man stealing through the scarcely-dissipated gloom of the night.
Mr. Paul, among his other amiable qualities, had those of invention and
of tale-bearing ; so that no sooner was a mystery at work in his brain, than
he supplied all the links that were wanting, and then ran about the
place whispering to all that would listen to him the prodigious results
of his discoveries. Of course poor Dick did not escape; for, the very
next morning after Mr. Paul had fully made up his mind as to what it all
meant, Dick’s gentle opening of the cottage-door was the signal for two
constables and three excise-officers to rush in.

* Pray, gentlemen,” cried Dick, somewhat aghast, “ what may this
mean ?”

«Come, come, my covey,” said the leading exciseman—“ no gam-
mon !—’T won't do, I tell e’e. You may as well shew us the still, and
gi up the wash.”

Dick, more aghast than ever at this elegant address, only opened his
mouth, and said nothing.

« Vot, you von’t then, my rum’un ?” said the exciseman ; “ then Ill
tell e’e wot, as ’ow,—we must ’elp oursels.”

«« Nonsense !” cried my friend, somewhat roused at seeing the whole
posse preparing to make their way towards the sanctum sanctorum of
his wife :—“ there is no private still here, and into that room you shall
not go.”

“ Oh, my eye, von’t ve tho’,” said the exciseman.— Bill, tip im your
stave, if he’s rusty.—Vy, ’ark’ye, mister, we ’as it from the first autho-
rity that your chimney is smoking all night.”

So it is,” cried Dick ; “ but that is absolutely necessary, as my wife
requires embrocations and warm drinks every two hours.”

“Hum !” sulkily muttered the exciseman, as if puzzled at so ready
an answer.— But then, I say, mister, we hears as ’ow that only yes-
terday you had a large sack brought here, chock-full!—Varen’t that
“ere malt for the still, now ?”

“ If you can make malt out of that,” said Dick, pointing to a heap
of bran that was lying in an open cupboard with the empty sack near it
—“ if you can make malt out of that, you must be a tolerably clever
fellow.—Did you never hear of bran used for ground-bait ?”

“ Hum !” quoth the exciseman again, still more sulkily than before.—
«* But, if you please, sir, they says as ow you are to be seen every morn-
ing walking off before day-light with a basket over your shoulder, and
there is a talk about a keg being inside the basket !”

“ Then, perhaps,” replied my friend, “ you can find the keg in the
basket now—for here it is :’—and he opened his wicker companion, and
displayed it well filled with reels, lines, flies, ground-bait, and gentles.

Sir,” cried the disappointed excise-officer, “ I’umbly ax your par-
don, and hope you'll not take offence at a poor fellow for being over-
anxious to discharge his duty. Sheer off, you gawks, don’t you see
that you’ve no business here? And blow me tight, if I can but catch

616 Too Early. [Dec.

hold of Mr. Paul at the Greyhound to-night, my name’s not Snookley
if I don’t physic his ale.” ;

From that day down to the present, honest Dick Lambert never goes
fishing till the afternoon ; and if you should ever meet him at Amwell
Hill, or Carshalton Brook, or Dagenham Breach, it will go hard if he
does not convince you that the fish bite much better in the evening than
the morning.

5th. It is unwise. And in support of this assertion, it might be suf-
ficient to refer to what has already been said under the first four heads,
but that I have one little anecdote which will well enough illustrate the
point without being at the pains to borrow from its neighbours. A
somewhat economical friend of mine was on a visit at Canterbury some
time ago, from which place he was suddenly recalled by urgent business
demanding his presence in London ; the hour at which he was required
to be in town was four o’clock, and having a nicely-calculating head
when it was a few shillings that were to be saved, he discovered that if
he rose-at six o’clock, he might safely walk as far as Sittingbourne—the
first sixteen miles of the journey—and there avail himself of the earliest
coach that should overtake him: he did this ; but by being “ too early”
at Sittingbourne, it was his ill-luck to engage a seat on the top of a
Faversham coach, which was the first that made its appearance ; and the
consequence was, that before he got to town he had the annoyance of
seeing himself passed by three or four others that would have conveyed
him to town half an hour earlier, if he had been half an hour later ; the
coach which he patronised being one of those which, aware of their own
awful solemnity of motion, endeavours to make up for the passengers,
which their slowness deprives them of, by being the first on the road to
pick up the stragglers and the unwary.

These, then, are five arguments in support of five assertions on the
impropriety of rising too early. But the mischief is not confined alone
to the act of rising ; for I have known men who seemed to be inflicted
by their evil genius with a too-early-mania in whatever they did—
whether by night or by day. Such a one was Master Henry Purvis.

Purvis, who had been born and bred in some uncivilized place in the
north of England, had so often had drilled into him the merit of “ being
in time,” that when he came to town for a week’s visit, and with a letter
of introduction from his father to Lord Spanker, on the strength of two
or three mortgages which he held on his lordship’s estates, he resolved
that if early hours could insure sight-seeing, he would be the first to
seize time by the forelock. Full of the pungency of this resolution he
took possession of the bed that he had secured for himself in the classic
hotel of the Swan-with-two-necks, Lad Lane, with the determination of
being up with the lark. So he was sure enough! and infinitely to the
annoyance of a choleric West Indian, per the Bristol coach, who was
ready to fall into an epileptic fit at the thought of rising before twelve,
and who about four was favoured by Purvis with an admirable oppor-
tunity of counting his stump—stump—stumps, as he stalked about over
his head in the act of dressing. His toilette completed, and little dream-
ing of the anathemas that had been launched against him by his peppery
fellow-lodger below, Master Henry Purvis bustled down stairs, delighted
at the thought of taking a ramble all by himself “ through Lunnon ;”
but just as he was preparing to make his exit, he was stopped by
the Boots, who had heard him come tramping down stairs, and was

1831.] Too Early. 617

standing at the bottom of the flight in wonderment as to whom it
might be.

« Bee your pardon, sir,” said the Boots, somewhat suspiciously
inclined ; “ are you going by any of the morning coaches?”

“Not I,” quoth Purvis; “I have just come by a night coach, and
have had travelling enough for one while.”

“Oh,” cried Boots, with a prolongation to the interjection, as if to
make it last while he was making up his mind as to what he had better
do next.

O—h—h—h—h—h—h—h !

Now Master Henry Purvis was a thickset, brawny, lusty-looking
Yorkshireman ; and though it could not be said of him as of Falstaff,
that his waist was “two yards and more” about, yet had it a most
respectable substantiality ; and as Mr. Boots eyed it with a growing
suspicicn, he muttered—* There was a gentleman here last week in a
mighty hurry in the morning, so I let him out; and presently after that
down runs Sally, squalling that the sheets were gone from the gemman’s
bed. Now, sir, I don’t mean any offence.”

“ SoI should guess,” quoth Purvis, somewhat drily ; “but as I admire
plain-dealing, I am quite ready to wait here till you have been up to
my room, No. 46, and satisfy yourself that your valuable sheets are quite
safe.”

« Thank’ye, sir,” quoth Boots, mistaking his sarcasm for civility ;
ant ayey he hopped, two steps at a time, to survey the premises,

o. 46

But if he went up two at a time, down he came three, with a mouth-
ful of apologies, superinduced by having perceived that No. 46 was the
owner of one hair trunk and one large portmanteau. He wound up his
apologetical oration, to which Purvis listened very good humouredly,
with the remark— And, after all, sir, what can gentlemen expect if
they will be too early >”

- Upon this conclusion our hero walked away, somewhat startled at the

new theory that had thus been opened on him ; for three minutes he
attempted to take it into consideration, and then witha “ Phoo, it only
comes from Mr. Boots,” he dismissed it from his attention.

My record of the adventures of Mr. Henry Purvis does not inform
me where he breakfasted that morning ; and indeed I lose all sight of
him till nine o’clock, at which hour he was in Portman-square, inquir-
ing his way to Lord Spanker’s. The abode of one so eminent as my
lord, was, of course, easily discovered ; and at five minutes past nine
Mr. Purvis knocked at the door.

A footman, in that easy undress which sits so gracefully on the gen-
teel lacqueys of the present day, opened the door ; and after a superbly
conclusive survey of the stranger, condescended—* Ha !—Oh !—What
may you want?—Ha!”

© Pray, is this Lord Spanker’s?” demanded Purvis.

« Ha!—Oh !—You may say that. But, ah, my lord’s steward never
pays nobody till the last of the month. Ha!”

_“ I did not ask for my lord’s steward,” quoth Purvis, “it is my lord
F want to see.”

“ My lord—ha!” ejaculated the footman, with both his eyes very
much open. “ Phoo! phoo!”

- “ Hark’ye, sir,” cried our hero, a little nettled, “ you will please to go

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No. 72. 3 C

618 Too Early. [Dxc.

to my lord directly, and tell him that Mr. Henry Purvis, of Beverley,
would be glad to see him.”

The lacquey, who had often heard the name of Mr. Purvis mentioned
both by Lord Spanker and his steward as a gentleman deserving all
possible respect, changed his cue in a twinkling—“ Beg ten thousand
pardons, sir,” he cried, half whimpering ; “but, ah !—really had no idea
—ah !—my lord, however, never rises till eleven ; and—ah !—perhaps
you would not wish that he should be wakened on purpose for your
name ?”

« Oh, certainly not,” replied Purvis ; “I will take another opportunity
of calling.” And, so saying, he descended the steps of the mansion,
while the footman pursued him with a thousand apologies, though he
could not help muttering when he thought that Master Henry Purvis
was out of hearing—* After all, what can gentlemen expect if they will
be too early ?”

Either our hero had very sharp ears, or else Lord Spanker’s lacquey
had miscalculated his distance, for the remark reached the gentleman
from Yorkshire, and he felt half inclined on the impulse of the moment
to'turn round and see whether it was not Mr. Boots who had followed
him from the City to repeat his admonition. “Well,” quoth he to him-
self, “I may have misjudged the time; but, thank Heaven, the day
now is wearing apace, so that for the next twelve hours there is no risk
of my being too early ;” and he wandered on up one street and down
another, staring at the shops, and blushing at the damsels, till his appe-
tite, accustomed in Yorkshire to a meal at noon, warned him that it was
time to cater for a dinner. “ Pray, sir,” asked he of a passenger, “ how
far may it be to Lad-lane?”—* About three miles and a half’’ was the
reply—a much too distant prospect for a person whose appetite was fully
primed ; so he resolved to venture on the first inn or tavern he might see
for the purpose of supplying his wants. But a gentleman from York-
shire, on his first visit to a large town, cannot be supposed to have
attained any very nice powers of discrimination ; and it therefore natu-
rally enough happened to Mr. Purvis that he was quite beyond the dis-
tinctive grades of an eating-house, a chop-house, 2 tavern, and hotel ;
and that, on seeing invitingly written up on a door-post, “ Joints always
ready,” he came to the conclusion that “ always ready” was the. very
thing to suit the immediateness of his appetite. Armed with this opinion,
he soon found himself in the interior of this semper paralus, and no sooner
had he duly deposited himself in one of the boxes, all of which pre-
sented a general vacancy to his hasty glance, than the waiter presented
himself.

« What joints have you got ready?” quoth Purvis.

“ Cold boiled beef—cold roast beef (very good cut)—cold roast pork
—cold mutton—cold veal and ham—half a cold duck—and a cold pig’s
head !”

« All cold, I declare !—Have you got nothing hot?” asked he, with
the appetite.

The waiter shook his head, as he replied in the same rapid, unvarying
tone as before—“ Cold boiled beet—cold roast beef (very good cut)—
cold roast pork—cold mutton—cold veal and ham—half a cold duck—
and a cold pig’s head !” AS at ii

‘Our Yorkshire friend, finding that all hopes of hot meat were vain,
resolved to content himself with some cold mutton, which was accord-

1831.] Too Early. 619

ingly brought him in the most approved eating-house style. But the
first mouthful was quite sufficient to enable him to make up his mind as
to the merits of the place ; and as chloruret of lime had not at that time
come into fashion, he had no remedy for it but to leave the provender
that had been set before him, in spite of the keenness of his appetite.

When he called the waiter to know what he had to pay, the latter
gravely remarked,—“ I am afraid, sir, that you have not enjoyed your
dinner.”

« No,” replied Purvis, “that I certainly have not; it requires a
pretty strong stomach to enjoy meat that is tainted.”

‘« Ah, sir,” returned the waiter, “ there is no getting meat to keep
this hot weather longer than one day. But, after all, what can gentle-
men expect if they will come too early for the hot joints ?”

Poor Purvis thought that Monsieur Tonson was come again, and not
choosing, after three rebukes of the same nature in the same day, to
attempt to retaliate, he moved off, as soon as he had discharged his reckon-
ing, without uttering a syllable, and took refuge in a pastrycook’s-shop,
for the purpose of allaying his hunger, wisely assuming that, as he saw
all the tarts, and buns, and jellies ready displayed in the window, he
should not be too early, this time at least, in venturing to make an attack
upon them.

On his again reaching his Lad-lane inn, he found that Lord Spanker
had done the civil thing by sending him a note, lamenting that he should
not have been up when honoured by his call in the morning, and request-
ing the favour of his company to a ¢éte-d-téte dinner that day, as an
amende. The note ended with an apology for fixing so early an hour
as five for dinner, but attributed it to the circumstance that a division
was expected that evening in the Lerds, at which it was absolutely
necessary for his lordship to be present, as the ministerial tactics rested
on so nice a point that a prepared proxy would not do.

Purvis, who thought that he was beginning to grow wise on the
point of being too early, had some misgivings as to the proper minute
for him to again present himself at his lordship’s house. Of all things
in the world, he was least desirous of being too early, after the lesson
that he had received there that morning ; but then, on the other hand,
he felt how cruel it would be for him to detain his lordship a moment
by being too late, when the affairs of the nation actually required his
presence in Parliament.’ After duly weighing the pro and cen with the
best judgment that he was able to give to the subject, he resolved to
reach Portman-square precisely at a quarter to five, by which he thought
that he should be adopting that judicious medium which would be most
acceptable to his noble friend, and which would best redound to his own
character for discrimination.

At a quarter to five, therefore, he punctually executed his rap with
the knocker ; and whatever sensations the footman (who happened to
be the same as in the morning) might have had on seeing him present
himself, ready for dinner, at that hour, he took especial care to conceal
ath during the time that he was ushering the guest into his lordship’s

ibrary.

The room was vacant. “ My lord,” quoth the valet, “ has not come
home yet, sir; but we expect him every minute ; and I will acquaint
him with your arrival.”

“ Not come home !” repeated Purvis to himself. “ Egad, I am afraid

3C2

620 Too Early: [ Dec.

that this is another of my too early adventures ; but—live and learn—
live and learn !”—and in this pious resolution he sat himself down, and
endeayoured to console himself with the racing-calendar till his lordship
should arrive.

At about half-past five that happy event took place.—‘ God bless
me!” exclaimed my Lord Spanker,—‘‘ you are punctual indeed! Who
would have thought of your being here so very early !’’—and then,
before he had time to go through the usual compliments and ceremonies,
a servant entered, and presented his master with a note.

“ Deuce take it!” exclaimed Lord Spanker, after having read it,—
“ how unfortunate! This billet is from the ministerial whipper-in, and
he says that I am wanted;at the House without a moment’s delay, as
the division is expected to come on directly.—How very unfortunate !”

« Pray don’t stand on any ceremony with me,” quoth Purvis.

« How very good you are!” said my lord—< just like your respected
father !—But, at all events, I can do something for you. My carriage is.
at the door ; can I set you down any where ?”

* No where, thank your lordship; I have—ahem !—I have several
friends in this neighbourhood; so I will not detain your lordship
another moment.”

And then, after a thousand flowery excuses, his lordship allowed his
guest to withdraw—dinnerless—and more and more convinced of the evil
of being “too early.”

. But, still, there was the evening to be got rid of. What should he
do with it?) Ha!—a lucky thought! He would go to the theatre—
whither, indeed, he had predestined himself when his lordship’s invita-
tion was found by him at the Swan-with-Two-Necks.

As he trudged down Oxford-street, he stopped at his old ally—a
pastry-cook’s ; and while they were putting half-a-dozen bath-buns into
paper for him, he took an opportunity of reading the play-bills—
‘* Doors open at half-past six—performance to begin at seven.”

_ © Very well,” cried he to himself ; “ now in this there can be no mis-
take—for I have often read of the house being crowded with the first
rush, and of people waiting for hours before the doors opened: so, egad,
I will hurry there with my best speed, that I may secure a good

lace.”
? By dint of a smart, Yorkshire, rattling pace, he contrived to arrive at

Drury Lane by six o’clock ; and, as he had heard that it was to the pit
that all the critics and good judges went, he resolved to go there too, in
the hope of picking up some valuable remarks to go hand in hand with
the play. But when he arrived at the pit-door, there was scarcely a
soul to be seen that appeared to be waiting for admission——There was
something very odd in this!’ He had expected to see hundreds, and
there was not a score. What could it all mean? It was certainly the
pit-door, for he saw the words written up; it was certainly Drury Lane,
for he had made his acquaintance with it in the morning, as a prelude
to his visit in the evening. Then what could the present desertion por-
tend? The play of “ Pizarro,” and the afterpiece of the “ Miller and
his Men,” ought in his opinion to have attracted half London: they
must be popular, for he had heard of both of them nearly as long as he
could remember. What, then, could it all mean? He looked about for
some congenial face that might win him into addressing a stranger, for
the purpose of obtaining an explanation ; but he saw none that looked

1831.] Too Early. 621

sufficiently promising : there was no one there on the lines of whose
countenance seemed to be written, “I can pity and feel for the igno-
rance of a Yokshireman.” While he was in this state of hesitation, a
beauishly-dressed young gentleman of amazingly insinuating address
approached him.

“ T beg your pardon, sir,” said the new comer‘ you seem to be a
So Se perhaps you have lost your party.”

«No, sir,” quoth Purvis, “I have no party to lose: but, perhaps,
you will be so good as to inform me

His further utterance was interrupted by the stranger jolting sud-
denly against him in such a manner as to bring the sharp point of his
elbow full into the pit of the Yorkshireman’s stomach, the natural result
of which was so sudden a dismission of the vital air from his interior,
that his speech of inquiry came to a conclusion perforce ; and he stood,
gasping hike a fish when, in lieu of water, it has nothing but the thin
atmosphere to draw in ; while his new acquaintance hastily pronounced,
« Ten thousand pardons, sir; this infernal piece of orange-peel nearly
threw me off my legs. __Ah! egad, there goes Will !—Will Smith!
Will Smith !—Pray excuse me—a particular friend. I must follow
him !”—and away shot Mr. Purvis’s new acquaintance with a rapidity
that was really delectable to behold.

While this quiet little scene had been passing between these two, the
pit-lobby had been gradually filling ; and, a moment after the disap-
pearance of Will Smith’s friend, Purvis heard a gruff voice at no great
distance from him exclaim, “ Take care of your pockets, ladies and
gentlemen !”

“ Good Heavens !—Pockets!—My watch!” quoth the Yorkshire
gentleman ; and, as he spoke, he pressed his hand on his fob. Alas!
it was all “ flat and unprofitable.” Will Smith’s particular friend had
ejected the timepiece at the same moment that he had ejected the breath
from Master Henry Purvis’s body.

But there might yet be time to save it ; and, at the thought, Mr. Purvis
rushed forth, to the infinite detriment of an old lady and gentleman
who were just entering the door ; and as he ran along, hardly knowing
which way he went, he bellowed. « Stop thief!” at the loudest height
of his stentorian lungs.

The cry of “ stop thief” once raised in London, and no man shall tell
where it may end. A thousand echoes seemed to rise in answer to
Mr. Purvis’s shout. Drury-lane, Russell-street, Vinegar-yard, Bridges-
street, Covent-garden-market, Bow-street, and Broad-court, all rang in
unison, and nothing was heard but “Stop thief! stop thief! stop thief !”
—while scores, guilty and guiltless, were to be seen running in every
direction. As to our hero, he followed the direction of his genius at
the height of his speed ; and, just as he turned into Hart-street, he
began to think that he caught a glimpse of the gentleman who had
absconded with his watch. Desirable thought!—and at its coming
again, he roared most lustily, “ Stop thief !’—Yes, it certainly was the
runaway whom he had in sight:—he presses on him—he nearly reaches
him: the pursued turns abruptly into anarrow court: Mr, Purvis turns
after him, confident that at length he has caught him ;—when, lo! he
finds himself caught full in a policeman’ s arms,

After puffing half a minute for breath pout to a Sra There he
goes!” quoth Mr. Purvis.

622 Too Early. [ Dec.

?

«« Never mind him, my lively,” said the policeman ; “ I have caught
you, and that is something: so just please to walk yourself along with
me to the station-house.”

« But I haven’t got the watch,” puffed Mr. Purvis.

« That remains to be seen,” replied the man in blue, with 131 on his
collar: “ so just come along, will you ?”

“ What, without the thief?”

« Come, come, master,” quoth the officer, “this won’t do. I don’t
think any one that looks in your face will say that we are without the
thief.”

Mr. Purvis, finding that all remonstrance was vain, accompanied his
custos to the station-house, where he was treated with a detail of his own
loss before he was allowed to say a word for himself. At length, when
there seemed to be a slight cessation in the plot, he managed to be heard
thus far—* But it is I, gentlemen, that have lost the watch, after all.”

« Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the inspector—“ that’s pretty well, how-
ever. I'll tell you what, my fine fellow, if the tribe of pickpockets
should ever elect a king, and impudence should be the qualification,
you'll carry the day against the field—Ill pound it.”

“ Say what you will,” exclaimed our hero, “ it is I that have lost the
watch; but as I see what sort of justice I am to have here, I beg to
wish you good night.”

“«« Not so fast—not so fast, my worthy,” cried the inspector ; “ you’ve
got to be searched yet; and, when that’s over, we’ve a delightfully
comfortable black-hole for you, where you may pass the night free,
gratis, for nothing.”

Master Henry Purvis was pretty nearly at the height of despair at this
announcement, when his good star seemed for once to predominate.
The constable, whose warning voice in the pit-lobby had reminded him
to see whether his property was safe, just at this moment entered the
station-house, and confirmed his statement that he was the robbee—not
the robber ;—upon which Master Henry Puryis was graciously permitted
to take his departure. He did not, however, go without yowing ten
thousand vengeances for the scurrilous manner in which he had been
treated.

“I wonder you should complain,” said the constable who stood his
friend.

« What!” cried Purvis, ‘“‘ have I not been taken up as the thief?”

“ That shews our vigilance.”

“ Have I not been threatened with the black-hole ?”

“ That shews our determination.”

« Was I not told that I looked like a thief?”

«« That shews our penetration.”

« And have I not been robbed of my watch ?”

« Oh, sir, as to that,” quoth the constable,—“ what can gentlemen
expect if they will come tco early to the theatre !”

This last reply quite silenced Master Henry Purvis. He had been a
day in town, and, quite satisfied with the experiment, he resolved to
return to Yorkshire by the next morning’s coach. Dinner-less, Lord-
Spanker-less, watch-less, Drury-lane-less, the events of that single day
gave occupation to his thoughts for many, many months; and, indeed,
to the very end of his life it was one of his most constant resolutions—
that nothing in the whole world should ever again tempt him to be “too
early.” :

1831.] [ 623 ]

ae

REFLECTIONS ON A RAMBLE IN GERMANY :-—N? II.

”

«« Stosst aw !—Rheindland lebe !—Hurrahi boch!!”

How rich in historical and poetical associations is Mayence! How
lovely, how martial, the aspect of this queen of the Rhine! From the
days of Drusus to the hour when the gigantic host of Napoleon poured
through her gates to find a grave amid the snows of Russia, her fate has
been invariably the same :—a frontier-fortress, beneath whose walls a
thousand battles have been fought, and fought in vain; for, when the
peal of war shall again awaken from its peaceful slumber the European
world, on Mayence will the iron tempest pour its fiery wrath ; from her
lofty battlements again will her blue-eyed maidens hear the wild hurrah
of the Tartar host, or behold the red bivouac-fires of the chivalry of
France. My first pilgrimage was to the residence of Faiist : it is a mean-
looking little house, now converted into a tavern. Was there no hand
to save it from such profanation? The fields of blood and slaughter are
marked by trophied monuments; while the walls, within which the
mind of man conceived the most powerful engine the world has yet
beheld—the moral point d’appui of Archimedes—the art of printing (an
_art, the operation of which upon the future destinies of the human race
eludes the grasp of philosophical conjecture)—are now defiled by the
mean and sordid avocations of trade‘ To what base uses we may
return, Horatio !’—I was present at the morning parade of a regiment
of Hungarian grenadiers ; they were tall and well set up, steady as walls,
and had a martial and veteran look. The effect of the white uniform on
a line of troops is fine. Their band was magnificent, composed, I was
told by an officer, of upwards of one hundred performers. They exe-
cuted with great precision some beautiful passages from the “ Oberon”
and “ Freischiitz ;’ and as the troops moved off the ground, their Turk-
ish music struck up a wild, oriental air. Mayence belongs now to the
German Confederation, and has both an Austrian and a Prussian garrison.
The deadly feuds which formerly led to so much bloodshed, have now
given place to feelings of a more amicable nature. I observed in the
evening the officers of both nations, lounging together on the most
friendly terms, in the beautiful promenade which skirts the Rhine—the
tall, swarthy, white-clad Austrian, singularly contrasting with the dark,
martial uniform and fair complexion of the Prussian. The sun was
then gilding with his setting rays the mingling waters of the Maine and
Rhine, and casting his long shadows o’er the vine-clad heights of Hoch-
heimer ; the bugles of the garrison, sounding the “ retraite,” came
sweetly over the surface of the waters. How often, on this same spot,
have the young centurions of the Roman garrison marked the decline of
day, while their thoughts were, perhaps, far away in the Circus, amid
the gorgeous festivities of imperial Rome! Mayence, the ancient
Moguntiacum, was the Quebec of the Roman world.

As I stood on the deck of the steam-boat that was swiftly cutting the
blue waters of the Maine, and gazing on the receding spire of the deep-
red miinster of Mayence, I was awakened from a pleasing reverie by the

.

624 Reflections on a: Ramble in Germany. (Dec.

line which I have chosen as a rubric to the present paper, sang in joyous
chorus by a party of German students from the university of Bonn or
Heidelberg, who in the cabin were quaffing deep potations of lauben-
heimer, and vowing the political regeneration of Germany.

What a singular race of beings are these same German students !
There is to my mind something about them, with their high, though
often mistaken sense of honour, their lofty aspirations after patriotism
and. freedom, and their fantastic notions of their own importance and
high vocation—their long-flowing hair, moustachoed lips, bare necks,
long pipes, their rakish air, and singularly wild and picturesque cos-
tume—that appeals powerfully to the imagination. Nothing can possibly
be more irregularly wild and stormy, or more opposite to studious
academic tranquillity, than the life of a German student during the three
years he passes at the university. A slave to the esprit de corps of the
Landmannschaften and its fantastic Comments, he evinces on every occa-
sion a spirit of opposition to all regular discipline ; and, looking upon
himself as one of the future regenerators of Europe, and the true repre-
sentative of the free, high-minded youth of Germany, he owns no rank
superior to his own. The morning's dawn generally sees him engaged
either as principal or second in a duel; for the point of honour and
fighting is the soul of the Landmannschaften and its Comments—a_ code
which arranges in what manner a quarrel shall be conducted. With the
most pedantic minuteness and affectation, it fixes a graduated scale of
offensive epithets, and the style and degree of satisfaction to be demanded
for each. The honour of the student is measured by the number of
duels he has fought. Utterly indifferent to the cause in which he
unsheaths his rapier, he fights not so much to resent insult, as he insults
to have a pretext for fighting and acquiring renown. From the ground
he passes to the lecture-room, tames down for a time his wild and haughty
nature, and drinks deep at the fountainof knowledge—his habits of labo-
rious investigation and profound study forming a pleasing and singular
contrast with the wild irregularity of his general life. The afternoon is
passed in the salle d’armes, or in renowning in the street, which consists
in making themselves remarkable by some mad freak, which none but a
student would imagine, much less execute. The night again is passed
in smoking and carousing in.their commerz-houses, where the founda-
tion of more duels for the following day is generally laid, or in pouring
deep libations to freedom, or celebrating in song some mystical chival-
rous ceremony—an allusion even to which is not understood beyond the
precincts of the university. Did these youths carry back with them into
the world the same irregular habits and heated ideas that distinguish
their career at college, there would certainly exist strong grounds for
the fears entertained by the different governments of Germany, and the
jealous eye with which they watched the rapid spread of the Landmann-
schaften. But, on leaving the university, the German burchen awakens
as from a dream: his mind appears to undergo a complete revolution.
Calmer views, juster notions of man and society, succeed to and replace
the heated visions of college life. The world, he sees, is no longer to be
shaken from its solid basis by the force of individual will, or old-esta-
blished systems overthrown by a burst of enthusiasm. He discovers
that, while he considers himself as most free, he is chained down by a
thousand petty and almost invisible necessities—fettered in his very

1831.] Reflections on a Ramble in Germany. 625

thoughts by the influence of prejudice and habit ; so, enthusiasm dies
within him; fiery energy and determination appear a useless struggle
against fate. Tranquillity becomes the result of this conviction ; and he
who, but a few months before, deemed himself one of the political levers
of the world, sinks down, without a struggle, into that place in society
marked out for him by nature at his birth ; even as do many of the
wild young gownsmen of our own island, who, after running a career of
fashionable dissipation at Oxford or Cambridge, sink into the narrowest
of all kuman orbits—a country curacy. So true is it, that the human
mind, however it may be exalted by temporary enthusiasm, will return
by degrees to its proper level, and will resume those passions which
appear to be best adapted to its present condition.

As the traveller approaches Frankfort—the ancient place of inaugura~
tion of the emperors, the present residence of the diet, the emporium of
commerce, and stock exchange of Germany —he is struck with the
absence of the most marked attributes of commercial cities—the forest
of tapering masts and bustling quays. A fleet of insignificant barks is all
that meets his eye ; while the quays are silent, but vast and beautiful,
and crowned with stately mansions—the fit abode of the race of merchant-
princes who, in the middle ages, first raised the standard of civil liberty,
and broke the spear of feudal tyranny. It was with some difficulty that
I succeeded in procuring quarters at the Rémischer Kaiser; for my
arrival took place during the great fair, and the city was, ‘in conse-
quence, crowded to excess. Indeed nothing can exceed the animated
aspect presented by this city at this period. Every street and square is
covered with booths, groaning beneath the rich and varied productions
of nature and art. The ear is every where delighted with the sounds of
music, and the eye amused with feats of legerdemain and antics of jug-
glers and buffoons. The tables d’héte, the cassino, the places of public
amusement, and the beautiful gardens which surround the city, are
crowded with foreigners in every variety of costume, and speaking every
language, “ from Indus to the pole.”

In spite of its disgusting filth, one of the most interesting features of
Frankfort is the Jewish quarter, with its dark, narrow streets, lofty
houses, sombre casements, and gable fronts. While these remind the tra-
veller of the Gothic splendour of the middle ages, the flowing beards of
the men, and the black eye, and olive complexions of the women—the
very smells even of the quarters are oriental, and lead back the mind to
Cairo and Damascus. There was at this period at Frankfort a financial
congress—the four Rothschilds, and some of the most wealthy bankers
of Germany, were assembled for the purpose of making some operation
in the Austrian funds. In the very city where, but a few years ago, the
people of their nation were obliged, as a mark of degradation, to walk
like beasts of burden in the middle of the streets, the Rothschilds now,
in the style of their equipage and the gorgeous splendour of their living,
eclipsed the representatives of the great powers to the German diet. The
days of Atilla and Alberoni are passed away. ‘The fate of nations now-
a-days no longer depends on the acute combinations of the diplomatist,
or the more daring conceptions of the hardy soldier. Not many years
have elapsed since the calculations and loans of these same Jew bankers
crushed in the bud the spirit of liberty, which had bloomed on the soil
of the two fairest portions of the globe—Spain and Italy.

626 Reflections on.a Ramble in Germany. [ Dsc.

The cassino of Frankfort is a noble establishment, containing ‘every
thing that can administer to studious retirement, or elegant recreation.

During the winter, balls and concerts are given twice a-week, which’are:

attended by the élite of the society of the city and its environs. |

For more than six weeks I had seen nothing in the shape of a news-
paper, but the “ Austrian Observer” and the “ Allegmeine Zeitung’”—
certainly, with the exception of the “ Gaceta de Madrid,” or the “ Diario
de Lisboa,” the two most dull and uninteresting public prints in Europe.
On the table of the reading-room my eye lighted with delight on the
« Times” and “ Courier,” and several numbers of our best periodical
works—(I must avail myself of a parenthesis to say that the «‘ Monruny”
was among them).—To an Englishman in a foreign land, what a fund of
pleasurable emotion do a file of English newspapers present. To this
day I recollect, when in the wilds of South America, with what delight
I pored over even the advertisements. What a train of pleasing associa-
tions were excited by the occurrence of the name of an intimate friend
and associate in a military gazette—a friend from whom I was separated
by nearly half the globe’s diameter !

Hesse-Darmstadt is celebrated for its opera: I could not, therefore,
resist the temptation of riding over to be present at Rossini’s “‘ Moise in
Egitto.” Two leagues from the city you enter a fine forest of fir-trees,
a noble avenue of which leads to the gates of this beautiful little capital.
We have nothing in England that can be compared to one of these little
German capitals. The aristocratic tranquillity, the regal splendour, the
military pomp, the fascinating polish of exterior that pervades every
thing, render a comparison with any thing in our island impossible.” |

The opera-house is a splendid structure, and neither care nor expense
has been spared to render it one of the most efficient in Germany. “The
late grand-duke was an enthusiast in music, and united to an exquisite
taste a profound knowledge of the art. At the repetitions he used 'to
lead the orchestra in person. Itis related of him that, when his subjects
clamoured for free institutions, he readily yielded to their demands,
stipulating only that his despotic sway over the department of the opera
should be left untouched. The reign of despotism such as this can never
be regretted, at least by the lover of music.

On the evening in question, the house was crowded to excess, graced
by the glittering splendour of the court, and presented a brilliant
coup-d’ cil. The grand-duke sat in the front of his box, and appeared to
follow the performance ‘with critical attention. The decorations were
magnificent, and the costumes splendid and classically correct through-
out.

I shall not easily forget the masterly manner in which the introduction
to this beautiful opera was executed by the orchestra, or the profound
attention of the audience. The efficiency of the choruses was wonder-
ful. Between the acts the company lounged about in a beautiful garden,
laid out in the English taste, adjoining the theatre—the ladies sipping
their ices; while the gentlemen, many of them, were cultivating the
aromatic perfume of the meerchaum.

On my return to Frankfort I found that the Grand-Duke Constantine
had arrived, and had taken up his quarters at the same hotel with
myself. I felt most curious to behold this extraordinary man, whose
career on the political theatre of events has been so singular. I eneoun-

———

1831.] Reflections on a Ramble in Germany. 627

tered himion the following morning on the staircase. The appearance
of Constantine was. striking, and one that will for ever live in the
memory. He had the face of a demon, with the figure of a god. All
the worst and most turbulent passions of our nature were broadly marked
on his flat Tartar countenance ; while his’ figure was the beau-idéal of
manly beauty and martial elegance. His amiable consort, the Princess
Lowietz, was hanging on his arm—that consort for whom he had sacri-
ficed empire, and whose gentleness could, in its fiercest moments, subdue
his haughty nature. There was, in the appearance of Madame de Low-
ietz, a mild dignity and feminine softness ; on her countenance a mixture
of sweetness and melancholy, that went immediately to the heart. Over
the abdication of Constantine there hangs a veil of mystery which, in a
future age, will excite as much curiosity and conjecture as the history of
the celebrated “‘ Masque de Fer.’”’ To obtain a clear view of contem-
porary history is always difficult: thus, though the vices of this prince
may have been exaggerated by the pen of factious malignity, his greatest
enemies must allow him the meed of a brave and gallant soldier.

In travelling on the continent, he who would avoid a constant collision
with objects long familiar to his organs of vision, must beware of taking
any of what are called the fashionable tours ; for, at stated periods of the
year he will inevitably meet, sporting their moustachios on the Prater
at Vienna—affecting the dilletanti at the theatre of La Scala—playing
the Pygmalion before the Venus at Florence—Byronizing by moonlight
amid the ruins of the Coliseum, or scrambling up Vesuvius, merely to
say ‘‘ they have been there’—shoals of the same beings, whose eccentri-
cities or fooleries daily amused or disgusted us during the preceding
season in town. On leaving Frankfort, I resolved to trace my steps back
to the banks of the Lahnn to Wetzlar, from whence I intended making
a pedestrian tour into Westphalia, in company with a German professor
of that town, and his son, a student at the university of Jéna. Turning
out of the direct road to Mayence, at the small town of Hockst, remark-
able for the splendid palace of the Italian snuff-maker, Bolingaro (I
recommend the reader to try a pinch of the “ Bolingaro”—he will get
it good at Gliddon’s Divan, in King-street), I ascended the range of the
Taunus mountains. The prospect that suddenly burst on the enraptured
vision was truly magnificent. Far as the eye could reach, it embraced
one luxuriant plain, watered by the Rhine, the Maine, and the Neckar,
and studded with beautiful towns and villages. I halted two days at
Wetzlar, to make the necessary arrangements for our trip, and, on the
third morning, started in light marching order with my two companions.
The season was already far advanced, the trees were fast losing their
foliage, the bare branches creaked responsive to the blast of winter, while
the crisped, dried leaves crackled beneath our feet. The sun’s blood-red
disk sunk beneath the frosty haze of twilight, and imparted an air of
desolation to the scenery. As we advanced into Westphalia, the face
both of nature and nian underwent a change. The country assumed
more of the forest, and with its elevated beech-clad ridges and deep
morasses, recalled to the memory the ancient description of the country
of the Chorusci. The peasantry are a tall, athletic race, with a stolid
expression of countenance. ‘They still retain their old German costume
—their long, light hair escaping from beneath their flat-crowned hats.
My friend, the student, called my attention to this feature, as a proof of

628 Reflections on a Ramble in Germany. _ [Dec.

their being the descendants of the hardy followers of Arminius. The
women, without being handsome, had an open, honest, and a frank
expression of countenance.

During a ramble of several days, I had an opportunity of becoming
acquainted with the character and condition of the peasantry, which
travelling en poste could never have afforded me ; and the result of my
observations certainly improved my opinion of my fellow-man.

Evening was fast closing around us; the moon was struggling up
through the dense frosty vapours that enshrouded the landscape. As we
approached the small town of Horn, near the city of Padeborn—* We
are treading on classic ground,” said the professor, first breaking the
silence which had long prevailed, and given place to the more animated
converse of the morning. “ Behold,” he continued, “the grave of
imperial Rome—the immortal twin-sister of Canne—the glorious field
of Wenfelt! I know not if it be a natural feeling, or an illusion of the
imagination founded on habit, that we are more powerfully affected by
the sight of those places which have been the scene of splendid actions
than when we read their details in the page of history ; but as I stood,
by the pale light of the moon, on the grove of Vaus and his legions, my
imagination was powerfully excited. Memory resorted to the fine descrip-
tion of Tacitus, the details of the fight, the solemn feeling that pervaded
the army of Germanicus on beholding the whitened bones of their coun-
trymen on the fatal plain ; while the frantic exclamation of Augustus—
© Quintilius Varus reddite mihi Legiones’—appeared to float on the even-
ing breeze.”

The student stooped down, and devoutly kissed the earth ; and then
broke forth in a stanza from the Hermann’s Schlacht :-—

«OQ Vaterland! O Vaterland !

Du warst him, mehr, als mutter, und Veib, und Brunt,
Mehr als ein bliihender sohn
Mit seiner ersten Waffen.”

On the following morning I bid adieu to my two travelling companions.
There was an originality of cast of thought and expression about both
father and son that rendered, on my part, our separation one of deep
regret—a feeling that was still uppermost in my mind, when my pass-
port being demanded by a tall grenadier in a scarlet uniform at the gate
of Hanover, reminded me that I was once more in the dominions of

England.

1831.] [ 629 J

APPARITION-ADVENTURES,

Tue sanguinary events which had taken place in “ La Isla de Acha-
quas,” more especially the death of the unfortunate Risdale, created a
sensation of horror that became generally prevalent among the officers
and soldiers of the British Legion ; yet such was the terror which the
recent acts of arbitrary power had inspired, that none dared give audible
vent to the indignation which each secretly cherished. The warm cur-
rent of social ‘sympathy had been partially frozen by the influence
of an icy despotism, and few dared even confidentially communicate
their thoughts to one another, from the dread of having such confidence
abused : in fact, doubt and apprehension exercised unlimited sway over
the British portion of the garrison.

Such was the state of affairs when mysterious reports began to circu-
late of supernatural appearances having taken place, and it was rumoured
that the troubled spirit of poor Risdale hovered in the vicinity of his
usual haunts. Several of his more intimate companions had been roused
from their sleep by strange cries ; a sentry on duty at midnight, near
Paez’s house, deciared that he had challenged a figure bearing the sem-
blance of the late lieutenant, and habited in the flannel cap and waist-
coat he had worn at his execution, which past near him, and apparently
vanished through some palings in front of his post. A little boy, of
nine years old, who had been left by his mother a few minutes alone in
her house, where Risdale had once lodged, informed her on her return,
that “el teniente”* had called, and was then in the back room. The
woman’s consternation may be readily conceived, when on entering it
she found no person there. It must be premised that there was no second
egress, the inner apartment not having even a window, and that the
child was totally ignorant of Risdale’s death. These, and other occur-
rences of a similar nature, gave rise to considerable diversity of opinion ;
many gave credence to the truth of such awful visitations, whilst others
more sceptical affected to treat them as the mere results of a diseased
imagination. Notwithstanding the avowed scepticism of these latter
persons, however, an impression of superstitious feeling became very
general. Those who had, or fancied they had, seen or heard any thing
unusual, felt disposed to rely on the evidence of their own senses, and
tenaciously defended any impeachment of their veracity. It was whis-
pered, also, that one or two of those officers who had been the prin-
cipal instigators of the tragedy so lately enacted were more especially
haunted by visions of no very pleasing nature. Trayner had changed
his lodgings several times in the course of the week ; and, as if to afford
further food for conjecture, Blosset had asked for, ang obtained: amonth’s
leave of absence, on the plea of requiring change of air. T he colonel’s
departure seemed to have removed a weight from the spirits of the
officers and men, social intercourse was re-established, and acquired fresh
force from its temporary restraint. The reported apparition was now
the constant and universal theme of conversation, and furnished matter,
by turns, for contemplation and ridicule. I have myself been ever a
sceptic, so far as related to supernatural agency ; but the dreadful scene
of slaughter which I had so recently witnessed, and the solemn asseve-
rations of individuals, whose courage and good faith I had no reason to

* The lieutenant.

€30 Apparition- Adventures. [Dec.

doubt, staggered in some measure my disbelief, and generated sensa-
tions I was wholly unable to define. My scruples (the result of early
education) opposed but a feeble barrier to the general contagion, and
I determined to seek a confirmation which others so dreaded and avoided.
Accordingly one night, about the hour of twelve, I rose silently from
my hammock, into which I had thrown myself ready dressed, and taking
my sword in my hand (not as a precautionary measure, but merely as
a usual appendage), I sallied forth into the street. The garrison and
inhabitants were buried in profound repose. As I traversed the dif-
ferent streets, not a sound met my ear but the monotonous tread of my
own footsteps, except the occasional “qui viva’ of the sentinels as I
approached their respective posts. At length I reached the. Grand
Plaza. As I gazed tremulously round me, I felt an inward conscious-
ness that something unearthly was about to meet my view; and though
my mind could not fully embody this creation of my fancy, the outline
presented such spectral horror that my blood curdled in my veins. The
night was unusually sultry: it was with the utmost difficulty that I
respired. At length my glances fell upon the low wall which divided
the square from the cemetery—it was exactly at that spot which had
been the scene of the late execution. At this instant, as if to form a
climax to my sufferings, the semblance of a human head projected itself
above the wall in my front. Its large full eyes glared frightfully—
mine nearly started from their sockets—-the involuntary strain superin-
duced by the vision that attracted them was excruciating. No part of
the body was visible, yet the fatal head, with all the withering influence
attributed to the Gorgon’s, still continued stationary. It wore a sort of
cap, the lappets of which falling on each cheek, unconfined by a chin-
stay, gave to the contour of the face an appearance altogether cadaver-
ous. My spirit, after the first shock, did not shrink from the view ;
on the contrary, it recovered its pristine energies. I was about to solye
an enigma which had puzzled the crude theories of ancient and modern
philosophy, and incited by the vain glory which this idea inspired, I
rushed forward to the achievement of my purpose ; but at that moment
the phantom-head disappeared. I paused for a moment, irresolute, and
then slowly advanced, until the stone barrier impeded my further pro-
gress. I looked over it, and there I beheld—nothing but the curate’s
large white milch-goat browsing quietly on the green shrubs that grew
in the cemetery. I returned to my quarters resolved to keep my own
counsel, and not an individual in the garrison ever suspected my mid-
night excursion.

Blosset, after five weeks’ absence, returned to Achaquas; he did not
appear, however, to have derived much benefit from the change of
scene: a visible mutation had certainly taken place in the outward man,
but it was far from being an advantageous one ; he had become sullen
and morose, he shunned the society of his officers, and scarcely recog-
nized their salutations when he casually met them. It was observed
that even Trayner was rarely admitted to his presence, and these visits,
unfrequent as they were, rather appeared to increase than diminish his
melancholy.

_ Three nights after the colonel’s arrival an occurrence took place
which paralysed conjecture, and produced a catastrophe as unexpected
as impressive. I must here make my reader acquainted with some cir-
cumstances which are necessary for the better elucidation of my tale.

1831.] Apparition- Adventures. 631

An officer of the name of Power had lately arrived at Paez’s head-quar-
ters with the rank of general, with which he had been invested (as he
supposed under the authority of Bolivar*) by Devereux ; his commis-
sion had been forwarded to Santa Fé de Bogota for the commander~
in-chief’s confirmation, and he was anxiously awaiting the answer.
Blosset and Power had been brother-officers m the same British regi-
ment (the 28th foot), and served together in Egypt—on that burning
soil they had shared the same hardships, and confronted the same dan-
gers, and destiny had now re-united them on the plains. of Venezuela,
not however with the view of cementing their ancient companionship.
No. Ambition had usurped the place of friendship. Blosset in his
old comrade saw only his rival. If Power’s rank was confirmed, it was
possible he might assume the command of the legion, and his own hopes
of promotion would be annihilated. The bare idea of such an event
was wormwood to him: its consummation would have been madness or
death. Pending Bolivar’s decision, an extreme coolness (on Blosset’s
side, amounting to antipathy) existed betwixt the two officers ; they sel-
dom came in contact with each other, and then the stiff and formal bow
(the result of natural politeness) afforded no token of former acquaint-
anceship. Blosset’s house stood in a street which ran parallel with the
square, the back part of it opening into a veranda overlooking the rear
of the men’s barracks ; these last were merely roofed, being otherwise
open on all sides, and thus affording an uninterrupted view of the inte-
rior from the colonel’s quarters. On the night to which I would now
bring back my reader’s attention, Blosset had retired early to his couch.
Power, on the contrary, who resided in the Plaza, was enjoying himself
with a party of officers, when all at once a melancholy cry, accompanied
By a sound like the sudden rush of footsteps, startled them in the midst
of their conviviality. On opening the door nota being was visible;
the night was clear and bright. It could not have been imagination, all
present had heard it. Whatever the cause, the effect was instantaneous ;
it had thrown a damp over the spirits of the society, most of whom
retired, whilst two or three only resumed their seats—where we will
leave them to discuss the singularity of the incident, and return. to Blos-
set, at whose residence a scene was enacted that occasioned. still greater
surprise. Between the hours of eleven and twelve, the men who were
sleeping in the neighbouring barracks were roused. from their rest. by
piercing cries, which apparently issued from the colonel’s apartments,
and the next instant the folding-door communicating with the veranda
was burst open, and a man in his shirt rushed forth, uttering wild
shrieks for mercy, and threw himself on his knees, with his hands
clasped, in the attitude of deprecation. Several of the soldiers hastened
to his assistance, and were astonished at recognizing their commander in
the individual who had thus disturbed them. He was speedily re-con-
veyed to his bed, the cold perspiration falling in large drops from his
brow. The event was by himself attributed to incubus, though some
of the by-standers, by a shake of the head, seemed to intimate that. it
sprang from a more mysterious origin. Whatever cause it arose from,

* Bolivar subsequently refused (by a letter which the author translated) to con-
firm this appointment, stating that Congress had alone the power of conferring any
grade superior to that of lieutenant-colonel, which rank he offered Major Power ;
and it would probably, haye been accepted by him, had not his duel with Blosset
occasioned his departure from the country.

632 Apparition Adventures. [ Dec.

it is plain that Blosset experienced greater agitation than he was willing
to confess—sleep refused to revisit his eyelids—he rose and dressed him-
self. It appeared as though his evil genius had compelled him to seek
the fulfilment of his destiny ; half an hour had scarcely elapsed since
the scene I have described, when he was observed traversing the Grand
Plaza ; his clothes were in disorder, and he had the air of one inebriated.
Power and his visitors were on the point of separating for the night,
when the door opened, and Blosset made his unexpected entrance. With
regard to what then ensued I have to plead ignorance ; the result was
a hostile meeting between Power and Blosset on the following morning,
in which the latter was wounded. The second day the wound evinced
dangerous symptoms, which increased during the night, and ere the
dawn of the third morning, gangrene having become manifest, the sur-
geons (three of whom were in attendance) pronounced it mortal. The
patient continued at intervals restless and uneasy, with occasional fits
of lethargy, until an hour previous to his death, when he raised himself
in his bed, and inquired for Trayner; a messenger was dispatched to
seek him, but as he did not make his appearance for some time, Blosset
betrayed considerable anxiety. At length he arrived, and in compli-
ance with the sign made him, approached the bed-side of his dying
patron, who conversed a few minutes with him, in so low a tone as to
be wholly inaudible to any but himself. The subject-matter of the con-
ference remained therefore a secret, though Trayner’s countenance,
which more than once assumed a pallid hue, denoted it to have been of no
pleasing nature. The tide of life was now at the last ebb, the unhappy
man appeared struggling with some inward feeling to which he essayed
to give utterance; his eyes, gleaming faintly, were directed towards
Trayner, of whom he at length, by an extraordinary effort of nature,
gathered strength to inquire “in what position the three last criminals
had submitted to their sentence?”* On receiving the reply to this
question, his glances became stedfastly fixed on a corner of the apart-
ment; he continued for some moments in a state of mute observance,
and then feebly exclaimed, ‘Great God! I behold them now!” In
another minute he was dead.

The death of Blosset, or that of any other officer (an event, however,
to be regretted in itself), would have occasioned no extraordinary sensa-
tion of wonder, had it not been preceded, and attended by circumstances
of a nature peculiarly singular. The mysterious occurrences which
took place nearly at the same moment at two different quarters of the
town, yet so apparently connected in their fatal results, as likewise the
strange coincidence, that Blosset’s wound and demise should have exactly
tallied with the hour of Risdale’s execution, gave rise throughout the
garrison to much speculative reasoning. For my part I have con-
tented myself with relating facts, leaving the reader to form his own
conclusion. G, B. Hi.

* The two private soldiers had their faces towards the wall ; Risdale, with his eyes
unbandaged, knelt fronting the death-dealing platoon.

[ 633 J

PASSAGES FROM THE LIFE OF FREDERICK WELLBURG.

FREDERICK WELLBURG was seated at his easel ina small room which
looked upon one of the most deserted streets of Florence. He was just
about putting the last touches to a painting upon which he had been for
some months occupied ; and, as he gazed upon the almost-finished work,
his mind was insensibly drawn away from the little attic, with its scanty
furniture, to a brighter and a happier home in the kingdom of fancy.
Frederick was young, and comparatively poor; but the glow of health
upon his cheek, and the proud consciousness of genius which beamed
forth in every glance of his dark eye, told plainly the nature of the food
on which he lived—Hope, the best and purest emotion of which the
heart is capable, but, alas! the most short-lived.

He drew aside the little casement, and sat down to gaze upon the
bright blue sky, and—to dream. The sun was throwing his last splen-
dour upon the distant hills; and a few clouds, which hung round the
horizon, were tinged with a mild glory, which deepened slowly into the
soft livery of approaching twilight. The stillness of the scene, when
contrasted with the turmoil of the city which lay immediately beneath,
awoke in the mind of the young painter an unconscious sadness. He
looked round his little chamber, and upon the dingy walls of the mud-
coloured buildings beneath—the narrow streets, dark and devious, with

here and there the remains of some noble edifice, which served only, by’

its air of desolation and meanness, to point out the silent victory of decay
over the labours and the fortune of man ; and then, by some transition,
which was to himself unaccountable, he thought of his own native Rhine
and of his mother’s dwelling. The happy memories of youth rushed
like a soft stream across his heart, and the pride of anticipated fame,
with the pain of present toil and poverty, were alike forgotten.
Wellburg had come to Italy with little to rely upon besides his own
enthusiastic nature, and the hope of eminence in his profession. The
new religion which, about this time, spread itself through every part of
Germany, whilst it was embraced with transport by a great proportion
of the people, was received with equal dissatisfaction by others, whose
hearts still clung with a kind of reverence tothe splendid rites of Catho-
licism, and to the associations of Romance, with which that creed has
ever dazzled the imagination, and excited the sympathies of its follow-
ers. To a mind imbued, as Wellburg’s was, with the prejudices of this
latter class, heightened by the enthusiasm of an ardent nature, the shrines
and palaces of Italy possessed a charmed name. He viewed them not
only as the seat of his religion, but also as the home of all that was
noble in genius and art, and more especially in that to which he had
devoted the best energies of his youth. The noble paintings by which
they were adorned, and the liberal patronage which the church was ever
ready to afford to genius exerted in her cause, were the realities which
furnished the motive of his sojourn in Italy beyond the period of his
years of study ; whilst the romance of life and adventure, which had
diversified the history of her poets and her men of art, was the dream
which contributed to feed the enthusiasm of his youthful imagination.
A distinguished painter was, in his estimation, greater than the kings of

the earth ; and, as he witnessed the homage bestowed upon the works of .

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No. 72. 3 D

‘

634 Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. [Dec,

some of his predecessors, and the almost reverence attached to the names
of those who had risen to the summit of their profession, a glow of emu-
lation would rise up in his heart, and the proud thought would burst
forth, “‘ Why may not I become as one of these ?”

His efforts had not hitherto been altogether unsuccessful. He had
already found more than one to patronize him; and possessed of
undoubted talents, aided by perseverance and industry, he had
succeeded in raising himself above that state of immediate dependence,
the consciousness of which has worn down the energies and depressed.
the hearts of so many of his profession. His present work had been
undertaken at the request of the Count di Venuto, whose gallery it was
intended to augment ; and if its intrinsic merits, as a work of art, were
insufficient to secure it some portion of notice amongst the creations of
an inspired age, the beauty which it represented could scareely fail to
preserve it from utter neglect. It was the portrait of a female, glowing
with the full radiance of youth and the beauty of her own sunny clime.
The form was slight—almost sylph-like ; yet an air of majesty, inextri-
cably mingled with its grace, redeemed it from the imputation of girlish~
ness. The face was that of a high-born maiden of Italy, in which the
beauty of mould was almost overlooked in the beauty of expression.
The chastened fire of the dark eye beamed with a mild lustre from
beneath the high, pale brow; whilst the smile which radiated every
feature seemed as if it strove vainly to soften the haughty expression of
the lip on which it played. To the casual observer this would have
conveyed little save the consciousness of triumphant beauty ; but one to
whom the meanings of the human countenance were familiar, would
have been able to trace there the indices of other and of deeper feelings.
He would have marked the wild enthusiasm of woman’s nature, sup-
pressed only by a stern effort of the will; and, in that one expression.
which mingled with her smile, he would have recognized the upward:
flashing of a slumbering passion, which seemed—like the sudden gleam
which breaks at times through the calm of a torrid sky—to warn him of,
the frail tenure of its repose.

Such was the painting upon which Wellburg was now engaged. He:
had bestowed upon it the full power of an imagination excited almost to
passion by the continual presence of the fair being whose beauty it was
intended to perpetuate. He had wrought and felt, during its progress,
as one breathing a charmed air; and, as it advanced nearer to perfec~,
tion, on each succeeding day its completion became an object of more
absorbing interest to his mind, until at length—like the sculptor of old—
he became almost enamoured of the creation of his own hand. At times:
—in his solitary hours—his breast would thrill with the delightful con-,
sciousness of triumphant art; and it was only when he gazed upon the
living form—when he listened to the rich melody of her tongue, and
watched the thousand. flitting graces which human skill—even the
enthusiasm of genius—could never hope to pourtray—that his mind was
insensibly sobered down to a calmer and more humble feeling. He felt
then that Adeline di Venuto was the ethereal presence, of which his own
work was but a dumb and lifeless shadow.

Wellburg was roused from the reverie into which he had unconsciously
fallen by a light tread in the passage leading to his chamber. The
intruder was habited in a short cloak, the common walking-dress of a,

1831.] Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. 635

female of the lower class, the hood being drawn around her face so as
effectually to conceal its features ; and as she entered with a hurried
step, and advanced towards the open window, the painter rose from his
seat half-alarmed. She threw herself upon the vacant chair, and pro-
ceeded to unloose the coarse garment in which she was attired —“* How
now, Sir painter !” she exclaimed, when she had shaded the dark tresses
from her eyes—“ methinks there is small occasion for your weapon here,
unless you wish to practise attitude for your morning’s study —Ay—
there now—that is well ; a smooth brow and a smile are sweeter for a
lady’s welcome than those tragedy-looks.—Heigho !”

*« Pardon me, gentle lady ; I was not prepared for this unexpected
pleasure.”

** Doubtless, fair sir,” interrupted the lady ; “ and, therefore, Adeline
di Venuto wiil do well to announce her coming by the bell of the cathe-
dral, in case she should again have occasion to intrude upon the leisure
of the most renowned painter, Frederick Wellburg !”

* The daughter of his patron needs scarcely use so much ceremony
with the illustrious painter you mention.”

* Santa-Maria! you grow complimentary, Mr. Wellburg,” replied the
lady, hastily. “Is it your pleasure to finish the colouring you spoke of ?
For, in that case, methinks you will require a somewhat brighter light
than this dusky atmosphere can supply.”

“If you have visited my poor dwelling for that purpose, I shall cer-
tain] ”

« if Sir painter !—methinks Adeline di Venuto would scarcely have
visited you for any other purpose—except, indeed, it were to furnish an
hour’s scolding for her trusty duenna, whose tongue, you are aware,
needs no such provocative.” Wellburg was about to comply with her
request, when she checked him ; and a smile of mingled playfulness and
feeling beamed upon her face as she gazed upon the changing features
of the confused painter.—* Softly, softly !” she added, in an insinuating
tone; “ suppose that, after all, I did not come hither to be scanned by
thy beauty-seeking eyes, and have every feature jotted down by thine
immortalizing pencil ?”

* In that case,” replied the painter, whilst a glow of mingled pride
and enthusiasm passed his brow—“ in that case, lady 3

« You would do—what? Worship me, I dare say, and stammer a
little, and conclude by being ‘ very proud !’—an old tale, Mr. Well-
burg!”

The painter bowed with an expression of proud humility, as he replied
to her half-sarcastic speech, “ I might be proud that the Lady Adeline
should visit me, whatever were her purpose ; but presumption has never
been reckoned amongst the number of my failings.’

« Heyday! what a romantic monster have we here!—But I have
offended you, and I came not hither for so wicked a purpose. Yet
wherefore did I come?” She seemed to startle at her own question,
which burst from her lips with an energy unequal to the outward import
of the words. Wellburg caught the glance of her eye at that moment ;
and his heart revelled with a sudden emotion which himself scarcely
dared to understand. It was not hope—for the love of one so far above
his sphere was a dream too wild even for his enthusiastic nature ; and
yet, as she had sat before him oftentimes during the progress of his

38D 2

636 Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. (Dec.

nearly-finished work—whilst he scanned every line and every character
of that speaking face; and in his solitude—when the living form was
gone, and only the splendid portraiture of his own art was left to fur-
nish matter for his never-tiring fancies—had he not often so dreamed,
even when le knew that such a dream was worse than vain? It was
not hope—it was scarcely love—he would have called it only admira-
tion ; yet it lent a crimson to his cheek, and a fire to his eye, and a deli-
cious frenzy to his heart.

“ Methinks,” she resumed, “ you are gathering inspiration for your
morning’s task ; and wisely, fair sir ; for I much question if your oppor-
tunities of study extend much further than this night.—Nay, start not,
lest your eyes be too dim to catch the last sight of her whom you would
immortalize.—Ay, the last, Wellburg.—Can it pain you ?”

The beginning of her speech was uttered in a playful tone; but the
expression of the last few words was soothing and almost sorrowful.
Her voice acquired a tremulous earnestness, and there was a sudden
wildness in the glance of her dark eyes, and the changeful expression of
her pale features, which excited wonder—nay, even fear—along with
the admiration due to their beauty. Every sound in the streets beneath
—the stir of the frail casement, as it shook with the faint wind—the
deepening shadows of the sky, or the flutter of a bird across the light,
seemed to strike her with a sudden apprehension; and, at times, she
listened anxiously as some voice came upon her ear, and then died away
along the dark streets of the city. She rose at length from her seat, and
stood before the painting, upon which the last rays of the dimly-lighted
sky were now shed. Her slight frame trembled violently, and a tear
started from her pale eyelid as she gazed.—“ Ay, for this,” she mur-
mured, in a voice almost choked with emotion—“ for this vanity hath
the daughter of a noble race bowed down her soul to poverty—to love—
to madness!” She took a purse from the bosom of her robe, and threw
it at the feet of the painter—‘ Thou art poor, Wellburg; there is
gold—nay, pardon me—the world’s price for my father’s picture—for
his daughter’s misery !—And now. She caught a knife from the
table, tore the unfinished work from its frame, and trampled it passion-
ately beneath her feet. The painter sprung towards her, to arrest the
work of destruction. “ You are mad, lady,’ he exclaimed, as he
stooped to recover the precious object upon which the best efforts of
his art had been expended.—“ Ay, mad!” she answered—“ mad ; thou
hast it. For that accursed thing, Adeline di Venuto has stained her
noble birth—has stooped to love!” She laid her hand upon his shoul-
der, and approaching her lips to his ear, she whispered, “ to love thee,
Wellburg !”—and, with a groan of agony and shame, she sunk down at
his feet, and burst into tears.

The painter raised her from the ground, and would have folded her
in his arms; but she repulsed him.

« Off—off! I am not thine ; though fallen, I am not yet thine. I have
loved thee—true ; I have gazed upon thee—dreamed—worshipped ; but
it is madness! I have come now to tell thee that thou seest me no
more. ‘To-morrow

She sunk into his arms, and hid her face in his bosom. A few days
afterwards, it was told that the only daughter of the Count di Venuto
had taken the vows in the house of St. Agatha of Florence.

1831. Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. 637
* * * * *

Months passed away ; but that one hour had cast a shadow over the
heart of Frederick Wellburg which time could never efface. A tone of
sadness was mingled with his enthusiastic thoughts ; and the bright
hope of fame, which had formed the master-chord of all his many
impulses, was now a dead, or at the least a slumbering feeling. He
wrought only by starts, and apparently with no purpose save the embo-
diment of some passing thought ; yet even these few and comparatively
humble productions served effectually to preserve their author from
complete neglect. They had caught an inspiration from the mood of
which they were born ; and, like the casual mission of some pent-up
flame, they reflected the brightness and the beauty which only slum-
bered for a brief season.

Months passed away ; and to all but him the name of Adeline di
Venuto was but a half-remembered dream. One day it was whispered
to him that the nun was ill ; and the painter half-smiled as they told him
of her approaching death. Could she have been happy ?—No. His
heart told him—no ; and imagination pictured the many weary days
and sleepless nights haunted by the one memory which even the gloom
of a convent had failed to obliterate. She had not forgotten him. She had
renounced the world—her high hopes and the advantages of her noble
name ; him only, whom she had scorned, she could not renounce !

Another day, and another passed ; and then his dream was realized.
A few brief lines, bearing her own signature, were laid upon his table
by an unknown hand ; and, except the orphan youth who had lately
dwelt with him, more as a companion than a pupil, none knew of their
delivery or their import. They told him that her hour was at length
come, and that “she had not forgotten him.” Wellburg read the trem-
bling scroll ; and then only the mist which had obscured his better
feelings was withdrawn. He shuddered at the consciousness that he
had founded even a moment’s gratification upon the misery of—his vic-
tim. Yes, his victim; for was she not his? Had she not stooped from
the elevation of her lofty station ?—had she not struggled—fearfully
struggled ?—and had she not even preferred death—for to her a convent
was but a step to the grave—death for his love, rather than the world,
without the one living object for which alone life was to her aught else
than misery? Yes—and she had loved him; with the consciousness
before her of all which she had lost—youth—beauty—wealth ; of all
which she had suffered ; with the grave before her, dark, but not darker
than that future to which the grave is but a path: with the conscious-
ness of all this, she had yet loved—with the deep love which dwells
only in the heart of woman—and with her dying lips had blessed even
him, the cause of her desolate existence! Wellburg cursed his cruel
satisfaction. His guilt was but in thought ; yet he loathed it—he loathed
himself. His imagination brought up to his mind the fair being as she
had first crossed his path, arrayed in the bright smile of youthful gaiety ;
and then the scene was changed. The clayey features of death seemed
to glare upon him with an upward gaze ; and a voice whispered to him
that he had trampled upon the grave of her whom he had destroyed.
The thought haunted him—day and night it haunted him; until his
cheek became haggard, and his sunken eye reflected the very midnight
darkness of his soul.

638 Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. [Dec.

It was a fine clear evening in spring ; and Wellburg sat by his epen
casement, and looked out upon the fading clouds and the deepening
sky. The air was sunk in a delicious calm; and the few faint sounds
which came upon the passing breeze, served only to heighten the effect
of the succeeding silence. He had sunk into a reverie; and, as dream
after dream flitted across his sight,—thought, and voices, and feelings,
which rose up as if from a hidden world of darkness—and then, as the
light smote them, shrunk, waned, and passed away into the abyss from
whence they sprung—a strain of music floated softly on his ear—so
softly, that he scarcely knew whether it was indeed an earthly sound,
or the sweet promptings of a bewildered fancy. Yet what memories
did that strain awake !—thoughts long buried and forgotten, but which
seemed to rise again in all the vividness of their first birth. He listened
again; and the strain, rich and sweet, swept like a gush of feeling
through his heart. He had heard it once: and as the memory of her
who had first breathed it rose up before him, and his mind insensibly
wandered through the long vista of past sorrow to that bright spot in
the distance, a burst of tears—the first which he had shed for years—
relieved the swollen current of his feelings. He wept—he knew not
how long he had wept; but when he ceased, the voice had died away.

He rose, and approached the door of an inner apartment from whence
the sound had proceeded. The boy of whom we have spoken was seated
at a table, upon which were spread a few unfinished sketches, pencils,
and other implements of his profession. A taper, almost burnt away,
“was placed before him; and, whilst the fingers of one hand uncon-
sciously beat the oaken table, his head was rested upon the other in an
attitude of deep abstraction. He had just been singing, and: his: voice
continued to repeat the closing notes of the strain in a faint and almost
inaudible tone, whilst a few tears glistened from beneath his dark eyelash,
as if he had lately wept.

The boy was of a slight and graceful form ; his complexion, dark and
almost swarthy, gave a singular effect to the rich crimson of his lip, and
the whiteness of his teeth within. His features were small ; and their
extreme regularity was only broken at times by the wild glancing of his.
full dark eye. When excited by any passion—by the presence of Well-
burg, upon whom he looked as at once a father and a friend ; or by any
less agreeable emotion—they seemed to reflect every change and every
shade of feeling with a peculiar vividness; whilst, in his calmer
moments, they generally wore an expression of settled sadness, which
betrayed the consciousness of his dependent state. We have said that he
was an orphan ; and when we have added that he had been received into
the protection of the painter with no other introduction than his own
story of his evil fortunes, we have said all concerning him which can be
of interest to the reader.

He rose up from his seat, and, having trimmed the expiring taper, he
unfolded a roll of canvas which had been cut out from its frame, and
spread it on the table before him. It was the portrait of a young and
beautiful female ; and as the youth gazed upon the glowing features and
the graceful form, an observer might have noticed the strong emotion
which was depicted in every line of his expressive countenance. His
lips became pale, and were compressed by a violent effort; his glance,
as it occasionally wandered round the apartment, and again reverted to

1831.] Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. 639

the object before him, had an expression of singular wildness ; whilst
the tumultuous heaving of his breast, contrasted with his slight and
boyish frame, gave an appearance of fearful intensity to the passion by
which he was agitated. A sigh burst from his lips—‘“ And this was
Adeline di Venuto!” he muttered; “ these features, glowing with the
pride of conscious nobility, can they be also those of the pale nun—of
‘ Sister Adeline?’” He uttered the last words in a tone of deep mock-
ery.—* Yet how beautiful she was!” he added ; and a smile of gratifi-
eation—almost of pride—beamed through his dark features—“ how
beautiful !”

Wellburg was standing by his side, and unconsciously repeated his
ejaculation. The boy started back, and gazed with a pleading and
. almost guilty look upon his face. He seemed to cower beneath his eye ;
and at length, with a faint sob, he clasped his hands upon his forehead,
and burst into tears. Wellburg started in surprise at this unaccountable
emotion. He attempted to soothe him; but the boy shrunk from his
notice. Heraised his eye but once ; and as he encountered that of the
painter, fixed upon him in a gaze of mingled pity and surprise, a faint
smile broke through the tears which hung upon his dark features. He
clasped the offered hand with a trembling eagerness, and again released
it, as if ashamed of his momentary boldness. Wellburg felt the thrill
of some inexplicable thought in every pulse of his agitated frame. He
knew not wherefore, but that smile seemed to cover some mysterious
meaning, which he vainly strove to discover. It could not be—the
feeling which had shot like an inspiration through his mind. It could
not be! “ Yet that beauty!” he muttered—“ his confusion, and the
song too—those bewitching tones—the same which she once breathed !—
But they told me she was dead—dead! and for me too !”—and his mind
reverted to those bitter fancies which had haunted him like an evil sha-
dow. Yet the thought would present itself—* Have I not heard her
voice? Was it not her smile? It could not be; yet at that moment
he was beautiful—most beautiful! The poor—poor boy! He too,
perhaps, has loved her; for did he not weep? I saw him weep, and
in his tears—oh, he was beautiful—most beautiful!” He raised his
eyes, and they fell upon the portrait of Adeline. — “That smile
again!” A strange feeling of mingled doubt and hope rose up again
within his mind. “I have seen her,” he exclaimed—“ it was her voice
—it was her smile!” He glanced hastily round the apartment ; but
it was deserted.

Frederick Wellburg was seen that night wandering alone through
the streets of Florence. All night he rested not; and the next day
he quitted the city for ever. The boy Marina was seen no more—he
too had disappeared !

* * # * *

In the dusk of a dull evening in November, a muffled figure was seen
to emerge from the confessional of a convent of the Dominican order in
Rome. The agitation of his manner, as he hurried from the open
squares into narrow and unfrequented streets—now seeming almost to
crawl, as if held back by some strong impulse, and again starting for-
ward with fresh energy—might have excited surprise, had not the place
from whence he came, and the power exercised by a still dominant
though humbled church over the passions and imagination of its follow-

. 640 Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. [Dec.

ers, furnished at once a clue to his excited feeling. After traversing a
great portion of the city, he entered a dark and narrow street which
stood upon the banks of the Tiber, and at length stopped before the door
of a small house, the only one which wore any apparent traces of habita-
tion. He hesitated as his hand approached the latch ; and for a while he
paced the grass-grown pavement with a hurried and deeply-agitated
step. Again he approached the door. He listened—but there was no
sound. A faint light glimmered through a chink in the closed casement,
and, with a stealing tread, he placed himself opposite the aperture, and
gazed into the apartment.

A female form was placed by a small table in its centre, her head
resting upon her open hand, in an attitude of deep and mournful
thought. Her dark hair flowed down her shoulders unconfined, and.
almost completely hid the expression of her features ; whilst the plain,
coarse dress in which she was attired gave a deeper charm to the exqui~
site symmetry of her form. The stranger gazed, and a burst of uncon-
trollable emotion convulsed every feature of his countenance. He knelt
down upon the pavement, and, with an appealing look to Heaven, he
prayed in his agony, “ Holy Mother of God! look down upon us; and
pardon her—at least pardon her—the beautiful !—Yet,” he muttered,
« she has sinned, fearfully !”—and a shudder ran through every muscle
of his frame.—“ But, oh! have we not suffered?” he resumed, with a
pleading earnestness. ‘ Have we not wept—prayed, without hope ?—
ay, without hope!” His voice sunk, and he bowed his head upon his
clasped hands, whilst his bosom seemed ready to burst with its strug-
gles. The low wail of an infant was heard from within. Again it
ceased ; and a sweet voice stole upon his ear, breathing in wild cadence
the strain which soothed it to slumber. The stranger rose, and, again
approaching the aperture, he gazed upon the inmates of the apartment—
a mother and her child. He saw her pale features as she gazed upwards ;
whilst the wan, yet beautiful lips still trembled with the last thrill of
song ; and, when the notes were hushed, looked down again with a pro-
tecting smile upon her sleeping child, and bent forward to impress a
mother’s kiss upon his unconscious brow. He saw her then; and he
heard a name—his name—breathed with a blessing from her lips; and
then he turned away his face, and burst into tears. He raised the latch
with a trembling hand; and the mother and her child lay sobbing in
his arms,

They sat down by the small wood-fire which shed a feeble light over
the apartment ; whilst the awakened child knelt upon his mother’s knee,
playing with the long tresses which hung down upon her shoulders.
She had again become thoughtful, and gazed with an anxious silence
upon the grief-worn features of her husband. She remarked his
increased paleness, his contracted brow, and the dejected and, at times, —
wild expression of his sunken eye ; a presentiment of some impend-
ing evil shot painfully through her mind. “ You are ill, Wellburg,”
she exclaimed—*“ are you not ill?” The painter attempted to smile;
but the ghastly expression of his features served only to confirm her
fears. She saw the feeling which was rankling in his mind. “ Nay,
nay,” she continued, with an assumed playfulness, “ you must not—
indeed you must not—despair. Have we not something left even yet?
Our child, Wellburg—look on him. Oh! he is beautiful! Is he not

1831.] Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. 641

beautiful ?”—and she held out the child, and laid him upon his father’s
breast. Wellburg clasped him in a passionate embrace—“ My poor,
poor boy! would that he were in his grave!”—“ What saidst thou,
Wellburg ?—in his grave! Oh, God !—the innocent—our own—amine,
mine—and in his grave!” She sprung towards him, and, as she held
him to her breast, she gazed upon the painter with a reproachful g‘ance,
and burst into tears. “ Cruel, cruel!” she exclaimed, bitterly ; “ but I
have deserved it—all! ay, even this. Yet I thought once that he, at
least, might have spared me!” The painter tried to soothe her; and
as he clasped her in his embrace, she looked up again, and a faint smile
beamed through her tears.—“ You will love us still, Wellburg ; I know
you will love us.”

There was a pause for some moments.—“ We are poor,” she continued,
at length, with a calmed voice, “and we have sinned, deeply ; but there
is yet hope—there must be hope.” Wellburg turned aside his face, and
groaned. “ Thou art young,” she continued, and her eye kindled as
she spoke—* thou art still Wellburg the painter, for whom Adeline di
Venuto has spurned wealth, rank, every thing but life ; and wilt thou
despair? Is not the world ours—its beauty and its power? the bright
sun and the blessed stars—are not they freely ours >—and cannot genius
draw from all these a crown, to encircle his brow with the living light
which men gaze upon and worship? Look around thee, Wellburg—
not to these dim walls, but to the bright world within thee—the world of
dreams and shadows, through which the gifted walks, like a present
deity, summoning the sleepers in their dull graves to cast off the gar-
ments of corruption, and appear in the fresh glory of the immortal light.
Look around that beaming world; and as the shadows breathe upon
thy face, and give inspiration to thine eye, then answer me—wilt thou
still despair ?”

Wellburg’s features assumed a momentary brightness. He gazed
with a look of admiration upon the fair being who stood before him,
her eyes beaming with the inspiration of a lofty spirit, and her slight
frame trembling with the earnestness of impassioned feeling ; and, for
awhile, he also dared to hope“ May it not be ever thus?” he
exclaimed, mentally ; “ am I not still the same?” An anxious expres-
sion settled upon his brow, and he seemed to struggle with some convic-
tion which forced itself irresistibly upon his mind.—“ It will not pass
away !” he resumed ; “ this vampire, which draws the life-blood from
my heart—which sits scowling amid my dreams—this shadow, which
steps between my fainting spirit and the face of the God of mercy—it
will not pass away! Guilt—the confessor told me it was guilt—unre-
pented—unatoned ; and he urged me to confess—nay, he threatened—
the wretch! he dared to threaten.” He paced the apartment with an
absorbed and thoughtful mien ; and his countenance assumed a mourn-
ful expression as he gazed upon the two timid beings who looked to him
for support and comfort. ‘“ No, no!” he muttered, with the tone of
one whose mind had been suddenly relieved from the oppression of
some intolerable burthen—“ it was a fiendishthought! I am changed ;
I have lost power—youth—genius—all these ; yet, oh God! I cannot—
will not—give her up to misery !—And our child too——” He took
the unconscious infant to his arms ; and as the mother gazed up in his
face, his features had assumed the expression of settled despair.

642 Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. (Dec,
* * * * *

_ He rushed from the door of the confessional. “‘ Damnable tempter !”
he muttered ; “I will seek him no more,” and he paced the dark front
of the building with a hurried and deeply-agitated step. “ Yet he told
me that the mark of crime was upon my brow ; that men gazed upon me
—shr-nned—cursed me,” and again the thought haunted him. “ Has
it not withered every feeling? Am I not without power—without
hope? Yet, to give up her—oh, God, I could not! to regain peace—
to win Heaven, I could not.” He approached the open porch ; and as
the sound of the full choir swept upon his ear, he passed on and stood
within the aisle. They had commenced the service for the dead ; and
as he listened to the deep rich voices of the singers, now rising in a
burst of passionate supplication, which swelled along the arched roof, and
through the long cloisters, until it died away with a wailing sound in
the distance, Wellburg’s heart beat with a calmer feeling; and the
words of that solemn and affecting service fell like a healing balm upon
his spirit.

He felt a hand placed softly on his shoulder, and he turned round.
The stranger stood behind a pillar, which shrouded her from the light ;
and as she raised her slight form to his, she placed a finger upon her
pale lip, and beckoned him to listen. ‘ There is hope, Wellburg,”’ she
at length whispered—“ there is hope—doth it not say ?—for the dead.”
The painter started, and grasped the hand of the speaker. “ Let us
kneel,” she continued ; “we will pray together for the dead, and for
the dying.” Her voice assumed a tremulous tone as she uttered the last
word ; and she gazed upon him with a faint smile whilst they knelt
down upon the carved floor. Wellburg shuddered at the expression
which he then read for the first time upon her wasted features. Could
it indeed be? His Adeline—dying! and how came she there? He
gazed upon her; and, by the light which fell upon her pale face,
examined every feature, and watched every flitting grace—for she was
still beautiful; and as the dazzling whiteness of her brow beamed from
beneath her dark hair, whilst the soft tinge upon her cheek spake of
life, and health, and hope, his heart beat again; and the cloud passed
away from his features. Yet her eye—how bright it was! and her
hand, which lay within its own, so thin and wasted; and her white,
wan lips, from which the warm life-blood seemed to have receded for
ever. She looked up again, and smiled upon him with a mournful
expression; and then he prayed with her. They prayed together for
the dead—and for the dying!

* * * * *

She was seated by the fire, and the sick child lay within her arms. His
lips were now livid and parched with the fever, whilst his cheeks, except
one burning spot, were of a death-like paleness. At times he uttered a
low moaning cry ; and again, as he sunk into an uneasy slumber, the
sound of his short and painful breathing was all that broke the deep
stillness of the apartment.

Wellburg had resumed his task. It was the painting of a Madonna
and Child, and already bore traces of that deep beauty which had once
beamed from every production of his pencil. Yet it was no ideal por-
trait. The mother, attired in the exquisite softness of matronly beauty,
looked down upon the babe, which lay upon her bosom, with a smile

1831. Passages from the Life of Frederick Wellburg. 643

which seemed to mingle the fondness of a mother’s heart with the hal-
lowed feeling of a heavenly triumph ; and the child—oh, he was exqui-
sitely beautiful! The painter seemed to have caught an inspiration
from some blissful revelation ; and he wrought as if he feared that the
light which had shone down upon his spirit would pass away, and leave
him to the darkness of an earthly nature. And the light was passing.
Day by day he saw it waning; and now he only feared that, even
before he had imparted its spirit to his work, the last spark would die
away ; for he felt that upon its presence was alone depending the impulse
which had raised him from the abjectness of mere sensation to the con-
sciousness of his invaluable possession—a soul instinct with the creative
power of genius. That light was the beauty which had shed its hal-
lowing influence around his habitation; and of which the presence of
its destroyer, Death, had first told him the inestimable value—Adeline.
He gazed upon her haggard features; and her frame worn down by
weariness, and watching, and sorrow ; and the beauty, which still lin-
gered round the ruined shrine, was transferred to the glowing canvas,
with a feeling which said—“< This—this, at least, shall not die!’ Yes—
she was his Madonna; and her child—its livid, wasted features, and
the death-moan, which sounded shrill and harsh upon his ear, seemed
to warn him of his passing power ; and he caught a deeper, purer feel-
ing of their beauty. as he knew that it must soon be his no more.

She had laid her child upon his bed, and she now stood by Wellburg’s
side and watched the progress of his work. A smile beamed upon her
features ; and as she laid her thin arm upon his shoulder, and gazed
with a look of proud emotion upon the painting, and then upon his face,
the expression which beamed from her rich dark eyes was exquisitely
touching. “Said I not there was hope?” she asked, in a low sweet
voice—* said I not so, Wellburg?” The painter clasped her slight
frame with a fond pressure to his breast ; but he answered not, for he
felt that to them hope had come too late.

* * * * *

He stood and gazed with a mournful pride upon his finished work.
He felt that the last triumph of his art was accomplished, and that her
light, which had shone down upon his spirit, was now but a feeble
glimmer. One beloved image had passed away from his dwelling ; and
the other—he knew too well that she also was about to depart. A thin
damp hand was placed within his own, and drew him gently towards
a bed in the corner of the apartment. She lifted up the white coverlet,
and, as she held the taper in her trembling grasp, they gazed together—
he and the dying mother—they gazed upon the pale and placid features
of their dead child.—* Does he not sleep sweetly, Wellburg—oh, does
henot? And, now—look upon me—we shall sleep together !”

G. J.

[ 644 J

SPIRITS.

A riock of wingless birds!
That float but do not fly
On the dewy air of a summer night,
Beneath a star-lit sky.

Phantoms of earthly forms!
On their path the moonlight gleams,
When fear cometh over a mortal’s heart,
And he lives in the land of dreams,

They wave before his eyes,
Like tall dark forest-trees,
Keeping time with their long green boughs
To the song of the midnight-breeze.

They are dancing now on the land—
They are passing to and fro;
And no man knoweth whence they come,
Or whither they will go.

But ever as on they moye
With their dim and fleshless frames,
A low voice breaks on the mortal’s ear,
And it whispereth o’er their names.

Look—look—look
At the shadowy face of thy mother,
As she passeth by with thy sister’s shade,
And the form of thy parted brother !

Look—look—look
On thy lover’s hollow cheek !
And see how the bright eye sparkleth now,
When the blushes may not speak !

A shudder !—a gaze !—a bound !—
He is after his earthly ties ;
But they only flitted there—like clouds—
They have passed away like sighs.

A light gleams over his brow—
A wild and mystic light ;
And the moon has gone to her resting-place,
And the Spirits have taken flight.

[Dec:

1831.] [ 645 J

MY ACQUAINTANCE WITH KARAMZIN.

Ir was in the winter of 1819, says M. Bulgarin* (the writer to whom
we are indebted for the following sketch of one of the most distinguished
literary characters Russia has hitherto produced), that I was invited to
a soirée, where I was assured I should meet one or two individuals of
considerable eminence in the republic of letters.

Having just before returned from a very long tour through various
parts of Europe, I was not acquainted personally with lany of our litté-
rateurs, and therefore looked forward with some impatience to the
appointed evening. I happened to be one of the earliest of the com-
pany, and as often as a fresh visitor entered the saloon, did not fail to
inquire his name. To my astonishment, however, although I heard
many titles that rank high in the Address Calendar, I heard, as yet, not
a single name to which any literary importance could be attached. Not
a little chagrined at this disappointment, I seated myself in a corner,
abandoning myself to my own splenetic reflections.

And so, thought I, my host has deceived either himself or me most
egregiously, for it appears that he has far more acquaintance among
the fashionable, than among the literary world. The reputation of an
author is appreciated very differently in the former, from what it is in
the latter of these ; those who have produced a few printed pages, or
some rhymes—which, it is not unlikely, were previously corrected by a
friend ; loquacious and arrogant pretenders to wit; and critics, who
impose by their authoritative tone, while they retail at second hand the
opinions of others, and make a dazzling display of the encyclopedical
knowledge they have picked up from abridgments and journals, figure
in what is termed good company, as wits and men of letters; but their
pretensions are justly derided by those who really merit the titles they
so undeservedly assume. The fashionable world may be compared to
a citadel, in which etiquette acts the part of commandant ; nor will it
suffer any to enter who do not belong to the garrison. Nevertheless,
it will capitulate, or surrender up the whole fortress, to the first who,
supported by a troop of slavish idolizers, shall be hardy enough to
attack it by storm. Among that privileged class, literary success is not
difficult of attainment, since it depends chiefly on a man’s situation in
society. Birth, connections, patronage, will secure applause; yet it
generally happens that such applause is echoed by mortifying hisses from
the better informed part of the public.

While I was giving way to these somewhat cynical cogitations, the
reading of one of Moliére’s comedies had commenced ; and, shortly
afterwards, the door was gently opened, and a tall:man, past the meri-
dian of life, but of extremely prepossessing exterior, entered the apart-
ment. Stepping across the room as softly as possible, that he might
not interrupt the reader, he seated himself upon a chair, at the extre-
mity of the semicircle formed by the company. I was the more struck
by this unassuming demeanour on his part, as the star of the order he
wore, which was rendered more conspicuous by the dark colour of his
dress, convinced me that this humility did not arise from the conscious-
ness of insignificance. Another man would, on such an occasion, have

* Some account of Bulgarin and his literary productions, especially his two last
novels, has recently appeared in No. XV. of the Foreign Quarterly Review.

646 My Acquaintance with Karamzin. [ Dzc.

endeavoured to shew his importance by the noise he would have made,
and instead of being contented with the first seat that was vacant, would
have sought one in that situation to which he might consider himself
entitled. I could not help looking at the stranger with more than ordi-
nary curiosity and interest; neither could I help thinking that his fea-
tures were not quite new to me, although I could not then recollect
when or where I had seen him before. His face was rather long, with
a high forehead, and a Roman nose. There was something particularly
agreeable in the expression of the mouth and lips, which, if I may so
express myself, appeared to breathe forth benignity ; while the eyes,
notwithstanding that they were small, and a little closed, beamed with
intelligence and liveliness. His hair, in which there was a mixture of
gray, was combed up from the sides to the crown of the head. His face
was strongly marked by two deep wrinkles, extending from the lower
part of the cheeks beyond the mouth; yet his whole physiognomy
plainly indicated no ordinary degree of benevolence, accompanied by
equal penetration of mind.

His attention was immediately given to the subject of the piece, and
his animated countenance visibly reflected all the varying impressions
it made upon his mind. Not a single point, ingenious thought, or
happy trait of character, appeared to escape his attention ; on the other
hand, his dissatisfaction was equally marked, whenever the reader
arrived at any of those insipid or trivial expressions which, in com;
pliance with the taste of his contemporaries, Moliére introduced into his
comedies. :

At length the turn came to my article, which was read by M. Saint
Maure, who had also corrected the style, as I do not pique myself upon
an intimate acquaintance with all the niceties of French idiom. It had
been composed by me shortly after my controversy with the French as
to the merits of German tragedy, and consisted of a short examination
of Schiller’s dramas. On former occasions of this kind, I had submitted
my literary essays without any anxiety as to the sentence they might
receive, being well aware that I had not to encounter any very for-
midable critics; but now I felt some trepidation, as I could not but
know that, in the stranger of whom I have been speaking, I should
meet with an experienced judge. Whilst, therefore, Saint Maure was
reading my production, I anxiously watched the countenance of the
Unknown, that I might ascertain my sentence; and, to my great joy, I
could perceive that he was not dissatisfied.

As soon as the reading was concluded, and the company had began to
disperse themselves about the room, I took an opportunity of inquiring
of my host, what was the name of the stranger who had so much
interested me. “It is Karamzin,” replied he, at the same time going
up to him to thank him for the honour of his visit.

« Karamzin !” exclaimed I, in so loud atone, that he turned his head
and looked at me. The name vibrated through my whole system; and
at the very sound of it, all the recollections of my youth were instantly
awakened. Is there a single individual throughout the whole of Rus-
sia, at all capable of reading, who is unacquainted with the name of
Karamzin? It is equally familiar in the palace and the cottage—in
Kamtschatka and on the banks of the Vistula, Nay, is there even
among foreigners a man of letters who does not associate with this name
the idea of our intellectual progress? Having seen an engraving of

1831.] My Acquaintance nith Karamzin. 647

him, I now fancied that I recognized features long ago familiar to me—
those of an author of whom I had more than once perused every line
that he had printed. From my earliest youth I had been a witness of
his triumphs and renown in the career of authorship ; for I belonged to
that generation during which his writings established a new era in our
literature. It was he who, by his “Moscow Journal” and “ European
Herald,” first created among us a taste for periodicals in our national
idiom ; it was he who, by his “ Aonides’” and “Aglaia,” introduced
into our country the fashion of literary almanacks ; while, by his “ Let-
ters of a Russian Traveller,’ he taught us how to treat similar subjects
in a pleasing and animated style. His inimitable “ Tales” first turned
the attention of our people of ton, and the fair sex, to their mother
tongue. To him also belongs the merit of having formed a light and
familiar prose style ; and of having been the first to impart grammatical
accuracy end regularity to our language, in which he has given us
models of every species of composition, Lastly, he has rendered their
national history familiar to Russians of all ranks, and purified it from the
dust of mouldering chronicles. Such are the obligations he has con-
ferred on his countrymen.

I now asked St. Maure to introduce me to the illustrious writer, a
request that was immediately complied with. “I quite agree with
you,” said Karamzin to me, after the first salutations had been exchanged
between us, “as to what you say on the subject of tragedy. The
classic party insist upon a too vigorous observance of the three unities ;
the Romanticists, on the other hand, reject with disdain all artificial
principles and rules; and you, therefore, have very justly observed,
that we ought to choose the medium between these two extremes. If
strictly adhered to, the unities must necessarily contract the action into
very narrow limits; while the bringing together remote intervals of
time distracts the attention, and weakens the importance of the piece as
a whole. Let another Racine appear in France, and he will produce a
revolution in popular opinion, for the public are to be convinced as to
what constitutes excellence, by actual examples, not by mere theories.”
Here he smiled, and added, in a tone of pleasantry, “ Iam not speaking
against your theory ; although politeness ought not to prevent any one
from uttering the truth.” He then put some questions to me relative
to my travels abroad ; yet as neither the time nor the place allowed us
to enter into a long conversation, I was, to my great regret, compelled
to make room for others, who now addressed themselves to this interest-
ing visitor. I therefore contented myself with begging permission to
visit him; on which he shook me cordially by the hand, and said,
“ Ten o'clock of an evening is the hour when I take tea with my family.
That is my time of relaxation. Do me the favour to come, as I shall
always be happy to see you; and do not stand upon any ceremony
whatever.”

I did not fail to avail myself of this permission, but, a few days after.
wards, proceeded to Karamzin’s. He then resided in the Tontanka, not
far from the Anitchkor bridge, in the house of Madame Muravier, where
he occupied an upper floor. In the first room which I entered, I found
the whole family around the tea-table, and Karamzin himself, seated at
some little distance from it, among a circle of visitors. He advanced to
meet. me, and, after saluting me in a very friendly manner, introduced
me to his family and to the company present, ‘To a perfect knowledge

648 My Acquaintance with Karamzin. [Dec.

of the forms of good breeding, his demeanour united much of the sin-
cerity and simplicity of the patriarchal times: every word, every ges-
ture, addressed itself to the heart. In short, his manner made me feel
completely athome. The company consisted of persons of various ranks and
professions ; among whom were many individuals holding distinguished
offices under government; literary characters, and foreigners. But,
however much his visitors might differ as to their respective pretensions
or avocations, they were all happily amalgamated into one harmonious
society by the intellectual fascinations of their host. His cordial polite-
ness admitted no distinctions: he addressed himself to every one with
the same affability, and listened in turn to each with the same attention.
He was the centre that preserved the whole equipoise: his presence
appeared to diffuse a feeling of perfect equality among all; while his
influence imperceptibly swayed them.

Before I say anything of Karamzin’s conversational talents, it may not
be altogether superfluous to premise a few general remarks on what
ought to be understood by that term. Not only among ourselves, but
even in France, which has long been considered as the very focus of
social intercourse, it is complained that the art of conversation is on the
decline, and that the secret will ere long be quite lost. Who, now-a-days,
goes into company for the sake of conversation? Who, too, are those
who constitute what is denominated the best society. People of rank
and fortune invite their acquaintance to a dinner, or an evening-party,
where the guests fare luxuriously, play at cards, and dance; but con-
versation does not constitute any part of the entertainment. Neither the
master of the house nor his visitors are called upon for any mental exer-
tion: on the contrary, silence appears to be considered rather as a
recommendation than otherwise. While grand dinner-parties resemble
a formal public ceremony, the ball-room has become a place for stage
effect and theatrical display ; and we find both the former and the latter
dull and uninteresting. In France and England intellect and talent
still continue to be deemed recommendations, and obtain for their pos-
sessors admittance into every society; but there, political discussions
altogether banish agreeable conversation; so that what should be a
relaxation becomes a task, and that by no means a light one. It is true
that here, in Russia, literary persons and men of learning are admitted
into the higher classes of society; but the compliment is paid more to
the official situations they hold, or to their private connections, than to
their intellectual value: consequently, the degree of attention shewn
them is not so much in proportion to the latter as to the former. It
seldom happens, too, that they are invited to the tables of our great men,
except when their services are required in some business connected with
the pen: like physicians, they are then called in, in a case of urgency.
Will a man of real talents—one who entertains a proper feeling for his
own character—conceive such an honour worth striving for, as that of
being permitted to occupy a place at a splendidly-covered table, to play
at whist in gilded drawing-rooms, and to remain a silent spectator of the
parade of fashion? Assuredly not. People of rank, on the other hand,
do not care to seek, in the conversation of literary men, for information
on such subjects as they either know but imperfectly, or are altogether
ignorant of ; or should they affect to patronize the followers of learning,
they treat them as mere dependants and hangers-on. These, and other
circumstances which I shall not here mention, have erected a kind of

ee

1831.] My Acquaintance with Karamzin. 649

Chinese wall between the great and the learned world. Literary men
lose little by this ; or, rather, they are gainers by it, since they thereby
save that time which is so valuable to them: but the others are deci-
dedly losers, since, after spending their fortunes in balls and entertain-
ments, and sacrificing half of their existence in order to acquire noto-
riety, they generally fail of success, in consequence of neglecting the
fame that literature only can confer. How many high-sounding names
will be utterly forgotten by the next generation, together with the
Address Calendar of the year ——; while those of Shuvalov, Stroganov,
and Rumianzov will be venerated by posterity, solely because they loved
to entertain men of learning at their tables, and patronized literature
and the arts. Without Horace, we should hardly have known that
Meceenas existed.

At the period of which I am speaking as that when I became ac-
quainted with Karamzin, there were but very few houses in St. Peters-
burgh which were open to literary men, or where the reception the
guests experienced depended on their personal merits. But I will now
return to Karamzin: in society this distinguished writer was the most
agreeable and delightful of men ; for no one understood the art of con-
versation better than himself. This talent must not be confounded with
that of being able to talk fluently ; an eloquent talker may be entertain-
ing enough when we are disposed to be mere listeners; but he who
knows how to keep up conversation, and render it interesting, is always
welcome, because he is as ready to listen to others as to speak himself.

Karamzin invariably gave the preference to his native language, never
employing any other in conversation except it was with foreigners. He
expressed himself elegantly, but without either studied tournure of
phrases or quotations from books, which are generally tiresome ; his
language, however, possessed a certain fulness and roundness in the
periods, nor were his sentences at any time abrupt. Generally quiet
and placid in his manner of speaking, he would, nevertheless, display a
considerable degree of warmth and energy whenever the conversation
turned upon Russia, on history, or on any of his old friends. -At such
times his countenance would beam, and his looks would kindle with
particular expression. On no occasion did his politeness induce him to
acquiesce in opinions contrary to his own conviction; yet neither did
this conviction render him disputatious ; but he would at such times throw
so much suavity and condescension into his manner of expressing his
own sentiments, as invariably to disarm his adversary, who, if he was
not convinced, was at least prevented from replying. Karemzin, how-
ever, never sought to triumph over an opponent in argument, but, if
he observed that the latter was ready to yield, he would, with great de-
licacy and. address, and apparently by accident, give a different turn to
the conversation, leading those with whom he was speaking to that sub-
ject on which they were qualified to shine.

In the course of the evening, the comparative condition of the lower
orders in Russia and France happened to come under discussion ; on
which I observed, that France might be compared to a piece of bijou-
terie composed of delicate filagree work and enamel, while Russia might
be likened to an ingot of gold; the former has the advantage in point of
appearance, the latter in weight. “It is true,” replied Karamzin,
smiling, “ Russia has some weight in the political scale, and that the
solidity of her substance will long secure her from being either broken
or trodden to pieces. Yet, excuse me,” added he, “ you have forgotten

M.M. New Scries.—Vou. XII. No. 72. 3 E

650 My Acquaintance nith Karamzin. [Dec.

to describe, in your comparison, the form of the ingot.” —“ Every form,”
answered I, “is agreeable, provided a certain harmony be observable in
it.’—* Certainly ; there I quite agree with you.” One of the company
now launched out in praise of the gaiety and natural cleverness of the
natives of France. “ You are right,” said Karamzin; “but the same
qualities are at least equally innate in those of Russia. Beneath the
bright skies of France, under the shade of chestnut-trees, in the midst of
vineyards, and in the neighbourhood of large cities, it is not difficult to
be cheerful ; but, deprived of all these excitements, the Russian peasant
is equally gay ; surrounded by forests, shut up in his smoky cabin, or
toiling during his short summer, he is always joyous, always singing or
joking. Without schools, the inhabitants of our villages instruct them-
selves in reading, and the number of poets and romancers to be found
among this class of our population is hardly inferior to that of our pro-
fessed literati. Can we, in fact, reckon so many among the latter whose
productions, will live as long as the songs and traditionary tales of
the former? It is admitted, as a general rule, that happiness consists in
being satisfied with little ; and there is certainly no one who has fewer
artificial wants than the Russian peasant, or who submits to labour so
contentedly and cheerfully.”” The conversation now turning upon our
popular Russian songs and tales, Karamzin pointed out some of their
characteristic peculiarities and merits, adding, “It has for a long time
been my intention to publish a collection of some of the best poems of
this class ; to arrange them, as far as possible, in chronological order ;
and to illustrate them by historical notes and critical remarks. _ Other
occupations have hitherto prevented me from prosecuting this design ;
still I do not even yet abandon it entirely. I am not satisfied with any
collection of the kind that has yet appeared, for there is not one that
exhibits either choice in the selection of the pieces, or systematic order
in their arrangement.”

It is unnecessary to say that we all expressed our wishes. that, he
would seriously engage in such an undertaking. Were any one of our
really eminent writers now to put into execution this idea of Karamzin’s,
he would thereby perform a most meritorious service for our national
literature. It would also be desirable to possess a similar collection of
our popular tales, both of such as have already been printed, and of
those which, although they remain unedited, circulate tradition-wise
among our peasantry. In preparing such a work, however, care should
be taken to expunge certain indelicacies, but, in other respects, to ad-
here to the language of the originals. It would form an interesting
monument of our traditional literature; but it is an undertaking that
would require an enterprizing publisher, and an editor who should be
intimately conversant with Russia, both locally and historically.

_My visit lasted about two hours, during the whole of which time the

* All the Russian tales and narratives of this class that we are acquainted with,
combine, niore or less, the colouring of western romance with that of oriental fic-
tion. Like the productions of the latter, they abound in necromancy and enchant- ,
ments; yet, although they do not yield to them in extravagance, they do not
exhibit equal ingenuity in their coustruction, nor do we meet in them with those
trails of actual manners which are there interwoven amid the chimeras of imagi-
nation. Many of the Russian tales are, in fact, mere nursery stories, and interest-
ing only when considered as evidences of national taste, or to those who are
engaged in researches into this species of composition. There are a few, however,
which are really very clever, and may be perused with satisfaction both for their
originality and for the naiveté they occasionally display. Some of these might

furnish materials for similar lezends in the hands of' a skilful adapter, but few
would bear to be translated entire, or in their original form.—7r.

1831.] My Acquaintance with Karamzin. 651

conversation was so intelligent, animated, and agreeable,—fraught with
so much to instruct the mind and to engage the feelings, that I could
hardly tear myself away. According to the present etiquette, I was
about to depart without taking leave of any one, when Karamzin per-
ceiving my intention, rose from his seat, and shaking me by the hand
(after the English fashion), requested me to repeat my visit. In the
course of my travels I have seen nearly all the most eminent literati in
every part of the continent of Europe, and I must confess that very few
among them made such an impression upon me at first sight as Karam-
zin did ; in the first place, because few possess so much simplicity of
manner and bonhommie ; next, because to the information of the scholar
and the philosopher he added the conversational powers of the man of
the world; and, lastly, because there was cordiality and sincerity im-
pressed on every word. That was the all-attractive magnet !

A few days afterwards I met Karamzin abeut eight o'clock in the
morning, proceeding on foot through an unfrequented street. The wea-
ther was exceedingly severe, and a heavy fall of snow was driving full in
his face. Nothing, in fact, but very urgent business could have induced
any one to stir from home at such atime; I therefore expressed my sur-
prise at finding him abroad. “It is my daily custom,” replied he, “to take
a walk every morning till ten o’clock, at which hour I return home to
breakfast. Bad weather, as you see, does not prevent me, for so far
from doing me any harm, it only renders me more sensible to the com-
fort of my own snug cabinet.”—“ Still I must observe,” returned I,
“that you do not select the most agreeable part of the town for your
promenades.”—“I will not make any mystery of it to you,” said he:
“you must therefore know that my object in coming here is to find out
a poor fellow, who has often solicited my charity for his famished chil-
dren. I took his address, and am going to see what I can do for him.”
Upon this, I proposed to accompany him, and we at length discovered
where the poor man lodged. He was from home, but the miserable
condition of the family sufficiently attested the truth of his statement as
to their distress ; and after putting some inquiries to the mother, Ka-
ramzin gave her some money. On quitting the house, however, we met
the man himself, but in a condition that too clearly explained the cause
of his family’s misery. Still Karamzin did not utter a word of re-
proach, but merely shook his head at him. “Iam sorry,” observed he
to me, with a smile, “that my money has fallen into such bad hands.
The fault, however, is all my own: I ought to have made myself ac-
quainted with his character. Now I shall act more discreetly, and
instead of giving any thing to him, shall in future bestow it on his
family.”

Generous man !—it was in acts of beneficence like this that you used
to indulge during your morning walks, preparatory to the labours of
the day. Can we wonder after this that every line you wrote, breathed
humanity, virtue, and generosity! Buffon was right when he made the
remark you so often repeated, that the character of the man is reflected
in the style of the writer. ‘The correctness, the delicacy, the simplicity,
and the charm of Karamzin’s style emanated from his mind. It was
these qualities which obtained for him the admiration and regard of his
contemporaries, even of those who dissented from some of his opinions ;
while, judging from the same, posterity will say—Karamzin was a great
writer, and a generous-minded, virtuous man. J*ortunate is it for the
world, when the two characters are united in the same individual !

3E 2

[ 652 -] [Dre.

SPANISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.—Ne. VI.*

Conclusion.

I sexieve I have spoken before of the inconvenience and unplea-
santness of a detention at Irune, the Spanish frontier town. It was not,
therefore, without mortification that I found, on my arrival there, that
every conveyance was engaged by the French, who were attached to
the invading force of their nation already in Spain. A party of French
officers, who had been my companions in the diligence which brought
me to Irune, now kindly invited me to proceed with them to St. Sebas-
tian, whither they were about to join their regiments. I gladly accepted
their offer rather than remain at Irune, though their route was conside-
rably at variance with my own. The roar of the cannon from the ram-
parts of the besieged city, was the first intimation we had of its proxi-
mity ; and on our nearer approach, we found that the Spaniards had
made a sally under the cover of their guns. My friends, the officers, left
me to join their respective corps ; and, by their influence, I was admitted
to the cover of a strong bastion above St. Martin’s, which commands the
town and its environs, where, from an embrasure, I could clearly distin-
guish all that was going on, with little danger to myself. I did not see
any works erected on the sand-hills, from which the English troops
attacked the first curtain when their artillery had effected a breach.

The French now occupied the plain between St. Martin’s and the
descent to Hernani, with a force consisting of three regiments of the line
and a small park of artillery, making altogether about five thousand
men. Their guns were not sufficiently heavy to effect a breach ; but as
the harbour was blockaded by a strong naval force, it was the determi-
nation of the French general to invest the town, and oblige the garrison
to capitulate, by cutting off all supplies. The city was defended by
O’Donnel, a resolute and intrepid commander ; and the garrison con-
sisted of two of the best regiments in the service—the Imperial Regt. of
Alexander, and the Regt. of Spain. It was but a few months since that
I dined with the officers of the former regiment, at Vittoria; they had
served in Russia during the late war, and from this circumstance they
derived their title.

The cannonading continued about an hour, the French only returning
the fire with musquetry. The Spaniards were eventually obliged to
retire, with the loss of a few men killed and taken: the latter were
immediately bound, and sent to Hernani. The French likewise lost a
few men; and seeing a sergeant’s head fly off close to the spot where I
was stationed, I effected a speedy retreat through the French camp to
Hernani. Here I founda French medical gentleman and his wife wait-
ing for a conveyance, which we at last procured, and, on the following
morning, proceeded to Vittoria.

We overtook many gens-d’armes escorting mules laden with corn,
and herds of bullocks, for the supply of the French troops. The roads
were entirely free from brigands, these gentry finding their occupation
unprofitable when customers have more lead in their pouches than gold.
I met Mr. Ward, the private-secretary of Sir William A’Court (Lord
Heytesbury), travelling with despatches for London. He informed me
that the king had left Seville for Cadiz.

We had scarcely arrived at Vittoria when the doctor's lady presented
her husband with a son—a circumstance that obliged me to seek another

* Extracted from the Note-Book of Sir Paul Baghott.

—-

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 653

conveyance to Madrid, although she sent me word that in a week she
should be quite well enough to proceed. This was the anniversary of
that memorable day when the French were driven out of Vittoria, with
the loss of all their guns and stores; yet, such are the up-and-down
habits of human affairs, they are now marching in triumph over the same
ground. The customary rejoicings were of course suspended, as men
seldom like to beard their masters ; though I was informed that the
conduct of the French troops was exemplary, and they were rapidly
gaining the esteem of the inhabitants. If the account were true, a few
years must have altered them strangely.

I left Vittoria for Burgos, in a covered cart called a galero—one
of the most wretched vehicles I have ever travelled in. It was nearly
filled with merchandize, with merely a hole left in front for passengers
to creep in and out ; and in this charming little place were we jolted
together, till, at the end of our journey, we had scarcely a sound place on
our bodies. I was delighted to regain my old quarters at Burgos, the
« Palomas,” after this specimen of galero-travelling. The city was in
a state of confusion; and a friend on whom I called expressed much
surprise to see me, as he said most of my friends were either in prison
or had fled ; that the jails were filled with most of the respectable inha-
bitants, on account of their political opinions ; and advised me to depart
without delay. For this purpose I went to the Town-hall, to have my
passport regulated for Madrid, and found the place of the alcalde and the
municipal officers occupied by priests. Contrary to my expectation, I
was received with great civility, and had no difficulty in arranging my
business. I was now at liberty to leave, and the next day found a mule-
teer returning to Madrid, with whom I made an agreement for the jour-
ney. I found this mode of travelling by far the most pleasant ; for I was
well acquainted with the road, and, of course, with the best posadas.
The mule on which I was mounted falling lame, I accomplished the
remainder of my journey on an ass, and was never carried more plea-
santly in my life. Those who have no other idea of this description
of animal than that which is afforded them by the miserable specimens
they see in the streets of London, would be astonished at the appearance
of a Spanish borico. They have none of the sluggishness peculiar to
those of our own country, and, for travelling, are greatly superior to
horses, both as regards the easiness of their pace, and their capability of
enduring fatigue. The animal which I rode carried me upwards of
forty miles in one day, without appearing at all distressed. Indeed they
are held in such estimation in Spain, that I have known many of them
sell for twenty pounds each. I passed a string of beautiful white asses
laden with corn for Madrid. They were each from twelve to thirteen
hands high, and were covered with bells and silken trappings. Pink
ribbons decorated their ears, which were bored for the purpose; and
their coats having been lately shorn, gave them a beautifully white
glossy appearance. It is customary in Spain to shear horses, mules, and
asses—a set of men gaining their livelihood by this business only. This
operation renders that of grooming less laborious, and gives the animals
even in winter asleek appearance. We frequently overtook gens-d’armes
escorting military stores and droves of bullocks, which rendered the
roads more secure than they had been for many years. The season was
cold, and the country through which I passed was not further advanced
for the sickle than our early counties in England. I reached Madrid on

654 Spanisk Highways and Byways. [ Dec.

the evening of the fifth day of my departure from Burgos, having, during
that time, traversed a space of between forty and fifty leagues.

I found the Duke del Infantado, whom I mentioned in a former paper,
at the head of the regency appointed in the absence of the king, who was
still with his “ faithful commons” in Cadiz. The city was perfectly
tranquil, and to all appearance enjoying a calm repose after the late
struggle for power: indeed it could scarcely be otherwise, while blessed
with the friendly protection of fourteen thousand French bayonets, com-
manded by that puissant prince, the Duke d’Angouleme. Some evil-
minded persons, however, had not that respect for the sacred person of
his royal highness, with which the motives of his visit to Spain ought to
have inspired them ; for the large convent of El Espiritu Santo was dis-
covered to be in flames at the very moment when his royal highness and
suite were at their devotions. The duke was never in greater danger ;
and though, as might naturally be expected, his feelings were worked up
into a state of hysterical alarm, by an act of such atrocious treason,
planned by the very people to whom he came as a deliverer, the mag-
nanimity of the warrior prevailed over the feelings of the man, by
ordering the unqualified liberation of all those apprehended on suspicion
—it having been previously ascertained that not the slightest shadow of
guilt could be found against them.

During my stay in Madrid it was my fortune to witness an exhibition
of a chivalrous and novel nature; and although I have heretofore de-
scribed at lengih the ceremony of a bull-fight, I am tempted to record
this exploit.

It was on the anniversary of Santiago, or St. James, the patron saint
of Spain, and as usual Madrid was a scene of festivity. The troops
were reviewed by the Duke d’Angouleme, and the Prado was enlivened
by all the gaiety and fashion of the city. To add to the excitement of
the period, and to diversify the grand routine of amusement, an old
and experienced bull-fighter, well known in the arena, volunteered to
encounter a bull single-handed on horseback, armed only with his sword
and lance. Upwards of 12,000 spectators assembled to witness this
display of prowess, and great fear was entertained for the safety of their
adventurous favourite.

Two or three bulls were killed in the usual way, asa prelude to the
entertainment, when, on the arena being cleared, a cavalier, mounted on
a handsome charger, galloped into the space. He was seated in a
Moorish saddle, and wore the ancient Spanish costume, with a short
cloak hanging over his shoulder, a ruff round his neck, and on his head
was a sort of Scotch bonnet surmounted by a handsome plume of ostrich
feathers. He held a lance in rest, about fourteen feet in length.

At the first blast of the trumpet the cavalier prepared for the encounter,
and at the second the gates were thrown open, and an immense Andalu-
sian bull rushed into the arena. For an instant he rolled his eyes
around, and espying his adversary, darted like lightning against him ;
while the cavalier, on the other hand, dashed the spurs into his steed, and
encountered the furious animal in full career. ‘The superior weight of
the bull, added to the violence of his charge, told against his adversary.
The head of the lance was buried in the body of the animal ; but the
tough ash shaft snapped asunder like a reed, and the cavalier only saved
himself by a sleight of horsemanship. He galloped round the arena,
and snatching another lance from the hands of an attendant, again

j

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 6595

prepared for the renewal. But short space was allowed him ; for the
bull rushed furiously onward with the same success as before. ‘The
lance was again ‘shivered, and it seemed only by a miracle that the
horseman saved himself from destruction. In a moment the gallant
fellow was armed afresh, and with increased energy dashed forward to
meet his ferocious assailant, who, maddened, and yelling with rage and
pain, rushed headlong at him, armed with a savage determination that
laughed at all opposition. The veteran fared ill this time. His lance
flew into the air in a thousand splinters; he was borne backward in
his saddle ; and ere he could recover himself the bull was upon him.
In an instant both horse and man rolled together on the arena. The
poor horse uttered a cry of agony as the horns of the bull tore him from
one extremity to the other; and the infuriated beast, as though not
contented with the blood of his victim, plunged his head into the
reeking entrails, and trampled them madly about the arena. It was
fortunate for the horseman that the bull thus employed himself, as it
gave time for the bandilleros to approach ; and while some engaged the
attention of the bull, others were enabled to rescue him from his
perilous situation. The bull having sufficiently vented his rage,
panting with exertion, and bleeding from every pore, now sunk with
fatigue on the floor of the arena.

A few minutes were allowed to intervene, the spectators being igno-
rant of what was to succeed, when to their great astonishment, at the
sound of the trumpet, their old champion, whom every body supposed
to be hors de combat, gallantly mounted, again galloped into the arena.
The multitude welcomed their old friend with loud and reiterated
cheers. He was armed with a long rapier, and advanced more
cautiously against his opponent, who now shewed no disposition to
renew the combat. The old man then challenged him by taking off his
cap and throwing it on the ground between them. This movement
seemed to rekindle his fury. He arose from his position, and his appear-
ance was sufficient to have appalled the stoutest heart. His head was
literally dyed in blood, and large streams were pouring from the deep
gashes in his body. His nostrils were covered with foam, and his eyes
glared like balls of fire ; low and indistinct bellowing, and the convulsed
heaving of his huge frame, bespoke the compressed agony he endured.
He pawed the ground and lashed his sides, as though to arouse his
energies which were already fast failing. The first object which excited
him was the cap. He tore it into pieces and threw the fragments into
the air; then standing and pawing the ground, he eyed his adversary
without caring to advance, while the old man excited him by voice and
gesture to renew the combat. During this moment of suspense the
anxiety of the spectators was intense. Every one held his breath with
fear—not a word was uttered by any one of that vast multitude—a pin
might have been heard to drop, so appalling was the interest which
seemed to enchain every other feeling than that which was centred in
the scene before them. It was not of long duration. The animal pre-
pared boldly for a last effort, and tearing up the sand of the arena, he
rushed desperately at his adversary. He was received by the gallant
old champion with his usual intrepidity, and as the bull lowered his
gory horns to tear the body of the horse, he received the sword of his
adversary in his own, The thrust was dealt with such unerring preci-
sion that the animal, without a struggle, fell dead on the arena. The

656 Spanish Highways and Byways. [Dec.

acclamations which ensued were long and deafening, and the gallant
veteran was rewarded with a shower of gold and silver, and innumerable
other tokens of favour hastily disengaged, in the moment of enthusiasm,
from the persons of many a fair admirer.

On the following day, the hearts of the loyal people of Madrid were
overflowing with joy, intelligence having arrived of the liberation of
their beloved monarch. These very people who but a short time since
were chanting “‘ Te Deum,” for the success of the constitution, were
now engaged in celebrating the triumph of its enemies. The houses
were hung with tapestry. Men were seen embracing each other ; and
priests and friars were thronging the streets, congratulating themselves
on their restoration to the full enjoyment of ancient privileges. Women
were seen carrying sprigs of lavender and singing hymns of joy ; and
the French soldiers were hailed as their deliverers! One loyal gentle-
man, more refined than his fellows, I observed carrying a bird-cage
with the door open. By way of evincing devotion to their sovereign
they plundered the houses of the friends to the constitution ; and it re-
quired all the persuasion which their French friends could muster at
the point of their bayonets, to prevent them from committing other acts
of outrageous loyalty. I thought it was a pity that so much good
feeling should be thrown away ; for the next day we found the news
Was premature.

The city of Toledo is not more than fifty miles from Madrid, which
I took an opportunity of visiting. Toledo was formerly the capital city
of the Castilian kings, and has been possessed alternately by Goths
Moors, and Christians. It is nearly surrounded by the Tagus, which
forces its way through lofty rocks and becomes a rapid stream. The
town stands on very elevated ground; the beauty of its situation has
been often extolled by poets and romancers. The cathedral is a fine
Gothic building ; it was founded in the year 630, and has been alter-
nately the scene of Mahometan and Christian worship, according to the
fortune of its Christian founders. It is filled with the riches of the
priesthood, and in the sacristy are the tombs of several kings and queens
of Castile. On the exterior of the church of St. Juan de los Reyes, are
still preserved the chain worn by Christian slaves at Grenada, and the
instruments by which they were tortured when in bondage to the Moor.
The ancient palace, or aleazar, is an immense building situated on the
highest ground, and commands a beautiful view over a most picturesque
country ; on the front are seen two ancient statues of Gothic kings, who
reigned in the sixth century ; on the pedestal is inscribed in the Castilian
language, “ I arose from the dead to defend the purity of the Virgin.”
The celebrated manufactory of sword-blades has lost its ancient repu-
tation.

Toledo is the residence of the Primate of Spain, whose income
exceeds that of our own wealthiest ecclesiastics—of course the town
swarms with priests and friars, and the energies of the people are
proportionately subdued. The only advantage accruing to the town
from the residence of the Archbishop, has been the creation of a hand-
some and good Posada at his own expense ; the absence of which, in other
parts, doubtless his Grace has sufficiently felt the inconvenience in travel-
ling. There is a saying in Spain which signifies that “Madrid subsists by
its court, Guadalaxara by its cloth, and Toledo by its clergy.” And a very

1831.] Spanish Highways and Byways. 657

lean subsistence it must be, if we may judge by the physiognomy of its
inhabitants.

On my return to Madrid, I found the citizens illuminating, partly in
honour of the Holy Virgin, whose feast it happened to be on that day,
but more particularly to celebrate the event of the French troops ob-
taining an advantage over their countrymen, by storming and taking
the Trocadero at Cadiz. The Duke of Reggio reviewed eleven thousand
French troops, and a corps of two thousand Spaniards, under the com-
mand of general Quesada. The gallant general looked much more like
a clown than a commander, and the appearance of the troops was quite
in keeping with their leader. I have had several opportunities of seeing
these Royalist corps. Once, at Segovia, I witnessed a gathering of two
thousand of these gentlemen, commanded by a priest named Marino. All
the respectable inhabitants of the town were sent to jail, charged with
entertaining liberal opinions; and in their dungeons were obliged to
answer the contributions levied by this professor of Christianity to keep
his ragamuffins from plundering the town. I think I never but once in
my life beheld a more ill-looking set of fellows, and that was when, in
an evil moment, my curiosity tempted me to visit the camp of the Baron
d’Eroles, at Perpignan. It seemed to me as though Spain had been
ransacked for ruffians, and that the Baron d’Eroles commanded the élite.
The fellows looked beyond description savage and hungry, as though a
well-fed passenger would have been a bonne bouche to them. I thought
myself lucky in escaping with my life.

Madrid was rather dull at this period, and I accepted an invitation
from a friend at Guadalaxara, whence I determined on an excursion to
Sarragossa, by a route which few travellers had explored. I was
stimulated to this adventure, as I understood my old servant Manuel was
then on duty in the neighbouring mountains as a mountain guard, and
I was well aware that he was acquainted with every by-road in that
part of the country. I sent for him, and a most grotesque figure he
was. His cap was made of a wolf’s skin ; his jacket and trowsers were
of the hides of other animals. He wore sandals on his feet ; and a cloak,
a firelock, and a huge dog, completed his equipment. He was de-
lighted with my proposal, and I gave him money to enable him to change
his costume.

The next day Manuel was a very different sort of person ;—he was
drest in a good blue jacket and trowsers, and a round hat ornamented
with ared cockade. His chin, which on the preceding day had been
graced by an enormous beard, was as smooth as a dancing-master’s ; and
nothing remained of his former costwme but his cloak, his dog, and his
gun. My horse was laden with all the little stores which I knew we
could not procure on the road which we were about to traverse, and thus
equipped we started on our journey.

-We reached Torica, three leagues distant, on the same afternoon ;
crossing a delightful country, abounding in corn and olives. Formerly,
it must have been a place of consequence. On a hill stand the ruins of
a castle, which in days of yore commanded the grand pass from Madrid
to Arragon and Catalonia. Almost every village in Spain has its castle
and mouldering monuments of better days,—of many, the history is
known and preserved ; but of more, every record has perished, except
the gray walls, and the ivy which covers them. The solitary posada
was entirely occupied by muleteers, and we were obliged to sleep under

658 Spanish Mighways and Byways. [ Dec.

a shed, wrapped in our cloaks. This was but a specimen of what we
had occasionally to experience in our route, and to which I. had been
accustomed, as I have before related, on my journey to the Rio Tinto
copper-mines of Estremadura.

The country through which we travelled was beautiful ; frequently
affording the most picturesque views,—no tourist could have desired a
journey more replete with interest, if the accommodation had been but
decent. I was tempted to leave our by-road, on one occasion, for the
purpose of treating myself to a night’s lodging at Siguenza—passing
several small villages, and leaving on the right extensive plains covered
with brush-wood, affording good security to the wolf, the boar, and. other
wild animals. The cathedral at Siguenza is very rich, from the gifts of
many noble families ; and the vestments of the priests, and the church
plate, extremely costly. The bishop’s palace must have been for-
merly a castle of great strength. The principal inhabitants of the town
are priests, friars, and students. I remained at Siguenza three days, and
started with a good stock of provisions. To make up for this detour
Manuel turned from the main road into a small track, which ‘we followed
through mountain passes and lonely defiles, till we came to the village of
Las Tintas. Here we refreshed ourselves, and pursued our route through
the small village of Arcos, and over an almost trackless common, afford-
ing pasturage to numerous herds of cattle. On the summit of the moun-
tain which succeeded this plain, is one of the most cheerless prospects I
ever beheld. An immense plain, with scarcely any signs of vegetation,
lay before us; onthe north we could only discover the snow-capt Py-
renees, and nothing but the horizon in the south. We travelled a great
distance without meeting with a human being; and at nightfall were
thankful to arrive at the convent of Bernadines.

I believe, for the first time in my life, I was glad to see the face of a
monk. This is a noble convent, situated in a park, covered with trees
of aluxuriant growth, watered by a clear stream, meandering through
meadows, vineyards, and gardens, and encompassed by a high: stone
wall. ‘The brotherhood have never been backward in appropriating the
fattest pastures to their pious uses.

The small town of Alama, at some distance from the convent, is a
very singular spot. Its approach is through a long narrow ravine,’ be-
tween two high mountains; and at the extremity, the town, with its
church and convent, and a rich extent of country, watered by the river
Jalon, bursts upon the view. Alama has been famed since the time of
the Moors, for its baths, which are supposed to afford relief in obstinate
cases of rheumatism. I was induced to try them, but they made me ill.
The water is warm, about the temperature of the Queen’s bath, at Bath.
I cannot, however, continue my account of this journey from want of
space—I shall merely give a hasty sketch of Sarragossa, and reserve the
rest of this paper for events of interest at Madrid; particularly as the
Editor has hinted to me, that the Highways and Byways are getting
rather stale with the readers of the “ Monthly,” thus giving me to
understand, though in the politest manner imaginable, that he has more
consideration for them than, I fear, Ihave had. Therefore, “ gentle
reader,” bear with me patiently—as this, be it understood, is my last
paper.

The small town of La Muela is a wretched place. It is within a
short distance of Sarragossa, and is situated on a sterile mountain, with-

1831. Spanish Highways and Byways. 659

out tree or shrub to be seen near it for many miles. The Posada was
pretty well filled with travellers, and I met there a party of Migniones.
This is a corps of a thousand chosen men, who are posted along the
northern provinces of Spain, to prevent smuggling. They were attired
in a short scarlet jacket and cap, with breeches of a darker colour, and
sandals on their feet. They wore the capa slung across the shoulder,
and carried a cutlass and a brace of horse pistols. They were proceed-
ing to Sarragossa, and I joined company with them for safety as the
road was dangerous. At the extremity of the mountain is an excellent
view of Sarragossa, in the plain below, with the snow-capped Pyrenees in
the distance. We crossed the grand canal, which was commenced in
1520, and was to have joined the Bay of Biscay and the Mediterranean
Sea ; but only one hundred and twenty miles of this magnificent work is
completed. The next object of interest is an old castle, which was
formerly a Moorish palace ; it afterwards served the kings of Arragon,
and then became the Inquisition. It is now used as barracks for sol-
diers. Near the castle flows the river Ebro which we followed till we
reached the gates of the city.

The ancient and distinguished city of Sarragossa derives its principal
importance from the heroic defence made by its inhabitants against
56,000 of the chosen troops of France, commanded by the first generals
of the age. The defence was conducted by Palafox, who has immor-
talized his name and that of his city. With only 9,000 regular troops,
in an unfortified town, and in addition to the horrors of a bombardment,
struggling against famine and pestilence, did he maintain his post
against Marshal Moncey with his victorious legions, and Mortier with
his grenadiers, who hardly knew what it was to have a check.’ Colonel
Napier gives a good account of the siege, though he hardly does justice
to the Spaniards.

On my return*to Madrid I called on General Ballasteros, who in-
formed me the French had taken Cadiz, and the constitution was no
more. As the king was at liberty, the regency at Madrid had ceased.
This intelligence created great excitement in the city ; but as the news
was not official, the lieges were slow in lighting up ; rejoicing, on rumour
only, they found, on a former occasion, to be an expensive and unpro-
fitable business. The next day, however, when the glorious event of
the French troops having marched as conquerors through the kingdom
was announced by salvos of their artillery, the usual display of tapestry
bedizened the windows of the citizens, the usual number of candles
displayed their loyalty, and a proportionate quantity of wine was drunk
to make their royal enthusiasm more respectably clamorous. It would be
well, if, in an account of that period, there was nothing of a darker
nature to record—unfortunately there are many ; and the blackest of
the catalogue is the death of General Riego.

Previous to the fall of Cadiz, Riego marched with his division to
Malaga, to effect a junction with Ballasteros, intending to make head
with their united corps against the common enemy. But Ballasteros
had been tampered with by the French, and Riego was betrayed.
He made his escape from Malaga, accompanied only by his two aides-
de-camp, Captain Mathews and an Italian officer, and took the road

towards Cordova. Having arrived at a small venta, they perceived that
before they could resume their flight, it would be necessary to have their
horses shod. A boy was therefore found, and despatched to a neigh

660 Spanish Highways and Byways. [ Dec.

bouring town for a blacksmith, and as an incentive to diligence on his
errand, one of the party injudiciously shewed him some gold. The
boy, on reaching the village, related the circumstance, which soon
reached the ear of the alcalde, who, suspecting the flight of some persons
of rank, assembled the armed peasantry, and surrounded the venta.
Riego and his campanions finding, when too late, that they were be-
trayed, and seeing escape hopeless, surrendered at discretion. The
general was secured with his aides-de-camp, bound, and hurried off in
a coach to Madrid, a distance of three hundred miles.

After the lapse of a day and a night, the guards released them from
their fetters; and on one occasion, when they were carousing at a
wine-house, an opportunity was offered the prisoners for escape. It
was eagerly seized upon by Mathews, who suggested it to the general.
But Riego’s heart was broken. He had lived to see the cause betrayed
on which he had staked everything. His associates in the great work
were traitors, and had deserted him. The very people for whom he had
dared so much had delivered him up to death! It is no wonder that
the slight prospect of life had but little temptation for him ; he rather
anticipated his approaching sacrifice, as a noble consummation to a career
of honour and patriotism.

From the moment of Riego’s capture to his death, a feeling of unmanly
revenge took possession of his enemies. He was treated with every
indignity, and made to suffer every privation. All intercourse with his
friends was prohibited, to the moment of his death ; and on the day of
his execution, he was dressed in a dirty smock frock, drawn by an ass,
on a hurdle, to the Plaza Cevada, and hanged on a gallows! But the
name of Riego will be honoured and respected by posterity, while
those of his executioners will be remembered only for their crimes.

The next day the king and queen made a sort of triumphal entry
into Madrid. French bayonets and French gold had succeeded in
extinguishing every vestige of liberty throughout Spain. Of the
best and bravest of her sons—many have perished by the bullet and the
cord, and the rest are in poverty and exile.

CHOLERA SPECULATIONS.

We are sick of the Cholera. Not that it has been imparted to us”
in a letter from “ our own Sunderland Correspondent ;” nor in our
coals, nor in our share of the controversy between unfortunate Dr. Daun
and every body else; nor in the “ Orders of the Board of Health,’
absurd as they are. But we are sick of the subject. It meets us in
all shapes of twaddledum. It “ mounts the stage-coach and it boards
the barge,” it figures fatally in aldermanic speeches, and it poisons the
pleasantry of the court news from Brighton. One set of personages,
however, have been the better for it, to a most undesirable, and we will
say, most scandalous degree. “ The druggists have tasted the sweets
of the cholera. We hear fortunes have already been made on the sale
of their drugs, which have enormously increased in value since the
alarm became general ; and the consumption has been great beyond pre-
cedent.. The undertakers are now all alive, expecting their turn will

1831.] Cholera Speculations. 661

come next, and the shroud-makers begin to talk of a strike, while the
grave-diggers exult in the belief that spades will soon be trumps.”
Every oil, essence, or root, which could be conceived to be of any
use in the disease, has been instantly raised fifty, a hundred, two hun-
dred, per cent., and this not from any kind of new difficulty in getting
them from abroad, but on the stocks in hand, and merely in consequence
of the supposed necessity of having them. Trade will, we know, pro-
nounce this all fair, and in the way of trade. Yet this is the direct reverse
of honesty. The man who would have been satisfied to sell his lauda-
num or his cajeput a month ago at a shilling an ounce, should be
satisfied to sell it at a shilling an ounce still. But public necessity is
ready to give ten shillings, rather than not have it; and the large
holder of the commodity, taking advantage of the public necessity, will
not suffer an ounce to leave his hands under the fullest price which he
can extort, for extort is the true word, from public necessity. Say
what trade will of this, the principle is rank dishonesty. The true
principle of fair trade is to be content with a fair profit. But the profit
that was fair a month ago, must be fair still. We have no hesitation in
pronouneing the man who demands an exorbitant profit, in any instance,
a swindler and an extortioner ; and especially in a case of life and death.
If the cholera should actually come among us in the fatal shape in
which it has appeared on the continent, and if those oils and extracts
should be actually necessary for the preservation of life, how many of
the humbler orders must be prevented from availing themselves of
those remedies, by the scandalous avarice of the dealers. If cajeput,
for instance, be raised from ten pence to twenty shillings an ounce, .
merely because all the cajeput in the country happens to be in the
hands of one dealer, and he thus has the means of demanding what he
pleases, is not such an use of his commodity, a scandalous abuse of his
power, and is not such a man guilty of every death that occurs from his
withholding the remedy, for the sake of making an enormous profit ?
Or would not such a man be equally justified in raising the price of a
loaf to fifty pounds, and seeing half the population perish at his feet
for want, provided he could secure the monopoly of flour, and leave
the people no alternative between giving him his full demand and
famine? All reason decries monopoly, because monopoly puts it in the
power of a bad and avaricious mind to be unjust. We are persuaded
that the common principle of trade, that of taking advantage of all
octasions to secure the highest possible profit, is among the first causes,
not of the prosperity, but of the decline of trade. We are equally per-
suaded that if any man, engaged in traffic, even of the humblest order,
were to lay down for himself the determination of requiring no more
than his original established profit, let the change of circumstances be
however favourable to extortion, he would eventually be a much more
successful gainer than the extortioner. True, he might see others
making fifty per cent. for the time, while he was making but ten, but
the time does not continue long for such extravagant profits, and when
the time was past, the mere character of the honest trader would be a
fortune to him. The man would never want custom who was found
firm to his feelings of honest dealing, and by the time the dashing mo-
nopolist was in the gazette, the victim of some other speculation—for the
whole history of these things is the history of a gamester—the honest
dealer would be at the head of his trade, honoured too and esteemed,

662 Cholera Speculations. [ Dec.

and those are as good fruits as fifty per cent. ; secure in his income and
quiet in his conscience. In the mean time we must protest against the
rise of the anti-cholera remedies. We have heard something of this
exorbitancy in the public institutions for supplying the community
with medicine. We must hope that the reports are untrue.

But among the speculations which we most discountenance, is the spe-
culation for making every man a cigar-smoker. The story is fabricated
for the London market. We are told that “in Russia and Prussia the
Cholera has spared all persons employed in the manufactories of tobacco
(or snuff ), the tanyards, and medical laboratories. The smoke of tobacco
seems to neutralise most animal miasmata, and it is generally considered
as a preservative against the Cholera. Accordingly the Prussian, Aus-
trian and Russian magistrates have given permission to smoke in the
streets.”

Our readers may be assured that the Prussian, Russian and Austrian
magistrates have not given any such permission, nor found any necessity
for giving it, the permission having been taken many a year before the
name of Cholera was heard of. The fact is that the Continent is poisoned
with tobacco smoke from one end of the land to the other, and every hour
of the twenty-four. That tobacco may kill insects on shrubs, and that
one stench may overpower another, is all possible enough ; but that
thousands and tens of thousands die of diseases of the lungs, and gene-
rally brought on by tobacco smoking, is a fact as well known as any in
the whole history of disease. How is it possible to be otherwise? To-
bacco is a poison. A man will die of an infusion of tobacco as soon as
of a shot through the head. Can inhaling this powerful narcotic, in
however small portions, be good for man? Its operation in those small.
portions is to produce a sensation of giddiness and drowsiness—is, it
good to be within the next step to perpetual drunkenness? It inflames
the mouth, and requires a perpetual flow of the saliva, a fluid known to
be among the most important to the whole economy of digestion ; it
irritates the eyes, corrupts the breath, and excites the throat to perpetual
thirst. No doubt the human frame may grow so far accustomed to this
drain, that the smoker may go on from year to year making himself a
nuisance to society, yet there can be no doubt whatever that the custom
is as deleterious in general as it is filthy and un-English. A great por-
tion of it has arisen among us, from the puppyish affectation of our
shopkeepers’ boys and city dandies, for being thought foreign field-mar-
shals. Every handler of tapes and ribbons turns a hussar the moment
he sallies forth from behind the counter ; the easily applied moustache,
the fur cloak, and the cigar, furnish the hero; and England rejoices in her
Count Calico, and her General Gingham. The cigar speculation must
be overthrown.

1831.] [ 663 J

NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL,

His Beigian Majesty having obtained a respite for a week or two
from his neighbour of Holland, is now subsiding into the tranquillity
for which he was made, and is soberly thinking of fate and his finances.
But France keeps its keen eye upon him, and the German’s allegiance
will be well watched, if it can be done, by posting generals and aides-
de-camp, young princes and old diplomatists, in the court of this
easy-souled sovereign. With a French field-marshal to superintend his
public movements, a whole corps of French officers to drill his troops,
a succession of French dukes, counts, and princes royal, to dine and
déjetner with him three days out of the seven; and the promise and
prospect of a French princess to take care cf his household—the poor
German bids fair to be very handsomely Frenchified. But this is not all
the provision that is made for his allegiance to the Orleans dynasty. A
nucleus for a foreign army is already constructing in his majesty’s do-
minions, under a Frenchman ; and we shall soon see it swelling from the
nucleus, into the proper magnitude. “ This legion,” to use the language”
of one evidently well acquainted with its purpose, “is very select in point
of officers, you will imagine, when I tell you that the son of the
famous Marshal Junot is gone to Paris to ask permission to join as a
prwate,in which capacity we have already an Italian count. The legion
“is commanded by Prince Murat, son of the King of Naples, and he
would be willing to receive particularly English, Irish, and Scotch.
Three’ pounds would be sufficient to defray each man’s travelling
expenses to Ath from London, but they, of course, must bring pass-
ports: We have the distinguished honour of wearing a button with
the letter Li, and a crown above it, which no other regiment enjoys.
As the legion is only forming, we have but 150 men at present. We
are in daily expectation of 200 Swiss guards to join us. I tell you this
as I am'sure there are hundreds of poor fellows who would be glad to
come, particularly as the legion will be permanently kept up, and will,
when’ completed, consist of between 3,000 and 4,000 men. Officers
would be required to produce their commissions, with a statement of
their services and rank in the regular army, as no militia officers nill be
admitted. They must come not to Brussels, but from Ostend or Calais
direct to head-quarters at Ath. If an officer could bring or send, a few
men with him, it would be his best recommendation.”

The slur on the militia officers is not altogether kind; except that
we must allow that the undoubted heroism of the braves Belges, has a
right to make them peculiarly delicate in associating with any who
have not alike distinguished themselves in the actual field.

Liverpool has so much distinguished itself by its virtuous enthu-
siasm for purity of election, that all good men and true must congratu-
late it upon the example which, in Mr. Ewart’s memorable election, it
gave to the dubious piety of the empire. It is unfortunate for the
historian of patriotism, that the mysteries of that pre-eminent effort of
clean hands and incorruptible hearts, had not the advantage of being
unfolded a little more amply before the proper tribunal. However, it
now enjoys a representation ; though, we grieve to say it, a scandalous
mediocrity of principle is implied in the scandalous mediocrity of outlay.

664 Notes of’ the Month on [Dec.

It is actually said that, “ though economy was the ‘ order of the day’ at
this election, on both sides, it is imagined that the friends of the candi-
dates have incurred expenses to the amount of only 5,000/.! It was
very generally remarked, that nearly ali the flags and banners borne by
Lord Sandon’s party were the same which were used by Mr. Denison’s
friends in the memorable ‘ November election, last year. We are
informed that his lordship hired the whole set for the moderate sum
of 1007. They would have been sold ‘ out and out’ for 300/. The
original cost of them was between 800/. and 1,000/.”

A Liverpool election, and cost only five thousand pounds! What is
become of public spirit in that town of orators !

“ Tn all our wanderings through this world of care,” we have longed
for the era when we might travel in a perfect steam-coach, fearless of
being boiled alive, blown up, or crushed into the dust of our own
chariot wheels. But the experiment lingers deplorably. The railway
is, we acknowledge, incomparable. It has attained power, speed,
steadiness and satety, to a degree that conjecture could scarcely
have ventured to dream, or science to contemplate. But the steam-
carriage, to be of the universal use which seems to belong to the capa-
cities of steam, must not be the railway carriage, but be able to take
any road, rough or smooth, hill or valley, moist or dry, alike. We are
sorry to see it stated that Gurney’s steam-carriage has been given up,
however temporary the failure may be. This steam-carriage has ceased
to run between Cheltenham and Gloucester. The stoppage is attributed
to the road having been newly Macadamized, and to the difficulty of
overcoming the additional obstruction thus occasioned. This reason is
not sufficient ; and the true reason is probably to be found in the heavy
expense of the undertaking altogether. Of Mr. Gurney we know
nothing, further than as a most enterprising and dexterous artist, who
has applied his ability to the most important use of the finest inven-
tion ever placed in the power of man. But why should not the prose-
cution of such experiments form a part of the public interests? Why
should a man of acknowledged ability be abandoned to the perpetual
struggle of narrow means, when the result of that struggle will pro-
bably be, that the man of genius will be overwhelmed, and in his loss
the discovery will be lost? We, of course, say this less with reference
to the present topic, than others—for the principles of the steam-carriage
are now too much in the public possession, to be lost ; but it has pro-
bably been the case in a thousand instances of the most important use
to mankind. The whole history of science is full of instances of power-
ful minds, approaching to the very verge of discoveries, from which
they were repelled merely by want of the leisure, and the pecuniary
resources, essential to the full activity of invention. Or if government
can do nothing in these things, where is our Royal Society? Why does
it’ not offer premiums and encouragements for the progress of an inven-
tion of such immeasurable value ?

The public are sometimes at a loss to answer the question, what is
the use of the Royal Society? and the answer is not altogether satis-
factory, which describes it as an assemblage of gentlemen, who meet
once a week to hear some papers read, of which not one in fifty of the
members has the slightest comprehension at the time, nor ever will

1831.] Affairs in General. 665

have ; which will be buried in a yearly bundle of the most trifling or
the dullest essays that ever encumbered the dustiest shelves of a library ;
and which, in nine instances out of ten, are mere rechauffes of some
obsolete essay in the same volumes, or the unacknowledged plunder of
some foreign miscellany. The truth is, that the Royal Society, at least,
wants a reform, and it could not give a better symptom of its new
energies, than by giving up its squabbles, and assisting the discoveries
of industry and genius wherever it found them.

What extravagance of imagination can be surpassed by the reality
that meets us in the common course of life? If there be an instinctive
feeling in man, it is the shrinking from the sight of death, and especially
of death with pain, and most of all, of death inflicted by cruel, violent,
and treacherous means. Yet what wild fancy of the poet, or what sullen
frenzy of the mind, loving to invent abhorrent conceptions, could equal
the following statement :—“ We perceive in a Paris paper, an account
of the execution of a French woman at Bremen, who was guillotined on
the 3d ult., for administering arsenic to thirty-two persons, fifteen of
whom died. At her trial, when called upon for her defence, she stated
that her principal motive in sending so many human beings to their
‘ great account,’ arose from ‘ the pleasure she experienced in beholding
the operation of poison.’ ”

The Burking system, which is unhappily placed beyond doubt in this
country, renders it impossible to doubt of any atrocity that can be sug-
gested by the love of gain. But horrible as it is, it must yield to the
hideous confirmation of mind, which could delight in wholesale murder
for the murder’s sake. The growth of crime, has been, in all nations,
a warning of national decay ; but when crimes that startle nature, and
make us ask whether they are the work of man or of fiends, thus burst
upon the public eye, we are forced to fear for the sudden overthrow of
the land; they look too like evidences that the moral frame is on the
very eve of dissolution; they are the spots which indicate that final
corruption has already begun.

The “ Northern Whig,” a dashing paper of the north of Ireland,
which is “not particular to a shade,” and makes the most of every thing
that comes in its way, has published the following notices from one of
the clergy. If authentic, they are certainly odd documents enough.

“The Rey. Dr. Hincks, of Killileagh, has posted (in Killileagh) a notice that
on a certain day there will be attendance at the glebe-house, to receive tithe.
Appended to this is what the Rev. Dr. styles a

* PARTICULAR NOTICE.

‘ As this is, not improbably, the last year that Dr. Hincks will have to re-
ceive tithe, and as the indulgence he has formerly granted has been much
abused, he hereby gives notice, that, in case the tithe shall not be paid on one
of the above days, proceedings, both UNPLEASANT and EXPENSIVE, will be taken
to enforce payment.’ ”’

Does the Dr. mean by this farewell menace, that he is to give up his
living, give up his country, or fairly give up the ghost? The Northern
Whig remarks upon it—

“We have much gratification in publishing the letter. It is a good omen
to see the tithe-eaters taking the alarm, and it is not less so to see the

M.M., New Series.—Vou. X11. No,72. 3 F

666 Notes of the Month on [ Dec.

despairing and desperate efforts they make to get the last farthing of their re-
venue. Mr, Hincks,.be it recollected, is a great Bible-man, a great Tory, and a
great, converter of Catholics. He seems, also, to be a very excellent tithe-
man,” ;

Why will our novelists be eternally running after impossibilities of
time, place, and character, when facts are every day before them that
would outstrip all their romance? Let the following notice be laid upon
their tables, digested upon their pillows, shaped in their escrutoirs, and
published within the next three months in three volumes, hotpressed,
and dedicated to the Sunday conversationist, the old Marchioness of
Salisbury, or Lady Jersey, or any of the ladies patronesses, of established
notoriety.

<< Expected Marriage of the Marquis of Abercorn.—A projected marriage, we
understand, is upon the tapis between the youthful Marquis of Abercorn and
one of the accomplished daughters of the Earl of Harewood. On the 11th of
January the voble marquis will come of age, when, independent of an immense
personal fortune, which has been accumulating ever since the decease of the late
marquis, he will become possessed of an income of 94,0001. per annum, arising
from large estates, situated in the three kingdoms. In addition to this fortune,
the noble marquis will succeed to’ an English and an Irish peerage, each of
which entitles the marquis to a seat in the House of Peers, and is the only in-
stance in the British peerage of three titles being united in one person: » In
politics the noble marquis is a staunch Tory; and there is no doubt if the new
Reform Bill should not pass before his taking his seat, but that the noble mar-
quis will oppose it.”

Here are ample materials for the genius of the modern novelist.
The first volume would, according to all rule, detail the Marquis’s
Etonian frolics, would find delighted and superabundant materials in a
coup-deil of his ancestors, with anecdotes of red-heeled shoes, towpees,
diamond snuff-boxes, and lap-dogs of King Charles’s breed. - The third
volume might return to the living world again, and develope, in the
detail that all the world loves—the dexterity of the angling for the
young Croesus; the baits laid out for. the settlement of charming
daughters, accomplished sisters, and nieces overflowing with perfection ;
the whole mystery of the art matrimonial, the harp and guitar-playing,
the supper-giving, the summer invitations, the pheasant-shootings, the
rides téte-d-téle, the green-lane sentimentality, the sudden: ardour of
retirement, and the outrageous determination for single blessedness,
except in the peculiar case made and provided. Then the half-entangle-
ment, the half-escape, the mother’s reserve, the father’s. frown, the
sister’s wrath, and the brothex’s pistol. Out of those materials Lack-
brain himself might construct a history of “‘ moving accidents,” and
we feel ourselvés doing a general service to the republic of letters in
proposing the subject to authorship in general.

The propensity to be gulled belongs so much to human nature, that
we can no more wonder at the growth of swindlers, than we can at the
growth of caterpillars. They both feed onthe labour of the industrious,
and where they are suffered to feed, they will increase. But the most
unaccountable instances of the kind are royal pretenders. . Every
mation has had its Perkin Warbeck; but it is curious, in a time so
modern as our own, and in a country so much alive to the detection of
royalist imposture as France, a succession of ‘“ Pretenders.” The Cor-

1831.] Affairs in General. 667

rectional Tribunal of Pontarlier has just sentenced to four months’

imprisonment, as a vagabond, a rival of Henry V., who appeared in the

character of Louis XVII., having assumed that high rank after passing

=f succession through the grades of dragoon, mason, and waiter at the
icétre.

Yet this fellow is but the fourth or fifth who have within these few
years attempted to pass themselves to the throne as the unfortunate
Dauphin. Those knaves have been uniformly detected, and punished
in all unroyal ways ; yet the deception still goes on, and even the Mon-:
sieur de la Bicétre, this turnkey, whose person must have been perfectly
known to all the police, contrived to find dupes, and doubtless made a
pleasant livelihood of his royalty, while it lasted. His crown has now
been rather rudely taken off. But he will find successors as long as
France will find credulity.

The accounts from the South Sea colonies are all of a nature to cheer
the friends of emigration. They are all prospering, and some with
great rapidity. Even the most tardy have reached the point of support-
ing life, which is, after all, the great object. They may complain of
not being able to make fortunes, of not possessing an extensive trade ; in
short, of not being able to do as men of solid capital and established
commerce in England have been able to do; but it is to be remem-
bered that they have emigrated not for trade, but for existence ; not to
make fortunes by employing their capital on new speculations, but
because they had no capital whatever ; and the only alternative was the
English workhouse,.and the remote colony. If in that remote colony.
they are enabled to exist, they have undoubtedly attained an object
which they were hopeless of accomplishing at home; and if they are
enabled to subsist in plenty, they have gained more than the object
which they could have fairly contemplated. If trade comes, and for-
tunes are to be made, so much the better; but still those things are
pieces of good luck, beyond any fair calculation of the settlers, and
merely superadded to the gain of existence in a fine climate, in a pro-
ductive soil, and with the prospect of being able to rear families. To
those colonies too, we ‘should look as one of the most fortunate, and
even providential resources for supplying the population of England
with an outlet for their numbers.

In a recent letter from one of the oldest and most respectable of stocks
holders of New South Wales, to a friend in England, he says, “‘ Would
that we had among us 20,000 of your redundant farming servants! We
cannot obtain sufficient assistance to attend even the grazing of our
flocks ; and many hundred sheep have and will be lost this year for
want of due care.”

This statement is true, and it is echoed from every one of our colonies
in the Pacific. Send us labourers, and we will turn them into farmers ;
send us artizans, and we shall turn them into manufacturers. There is
room in New South Wales for the settlement of millions. The colonies
demand women ; and even as a matter of speculation, the voyage which
would transplant a portion of that female population which now en-
cumbers the streets and workhouses, would be highly productive—for
English wives are the only real want in the colonies. But why do not
the parishes contribute to pay the expenses of such voyages? They
are undone with poor-rates. Why not relieve themselves by the mode-

3FQ

668 Notes of ihe Month on [Dec

rate contract, which would convey four or five hundred of their paupers
yearly to the Pacific? The benefit to themselves would be immense ;
the benefit to the colonies of not less value ; and by a higher considera-
tion still, the benefit to the unfortunate victims of poverty and vice at
home would be incalculable. No fact in the history of manners is more
singular and more gratifying than the change wrought upon even the
convicts and profligates of both sexes, whom our laws send to New
South Wales. The men become industrious, and possessors of pro-
perty ; the women become decent, and mothers of families. The
poverty and idleness being removed, which almost drove those wretched
people into vice, the vice gives way to the fortunate change in their
situation ; character becomes of importance to them. The sense of affection
grows up, in hearts made hard only by rejection from society ; husbands
and wives feel a new tie to life, and the proprieties of life, by having
something to lose, and something to gain, by their conduct to their
neighbours. The sense of property produces a sense of its preservation ;
and by the most memorable example on record of good being brought
out of evil, the refuse of the English streets, workhouses, and jails, is
rapidly growing into an active and industrious, a principled and well-
ordered community. Why should not this evidence be followed up?
Why should not a better population succeed, where a worse has thriven ?
Why should not the willing, but unemployed, labourer, and the super-
fluous female peasantry, be allowed at least the choice of reaching those
settlements, and there laying the foundations of personal and public
prosperity? We are persuaded that the enterprize might be easily
accomplished, and that it requires only to be begun.

As it is among our duties to take care of our friends, we caution them
against a foreign importation from that land from which we have of late
had so much news, so many envoys, and such furious stock-jobbing.
We of course allude to Holland. Our Dutch neighbours know the
value of keeping up a “ fluctuation,” as well as any knave in the Stock
Exchange, and the vibrations of their worthy cabinet are making for-
tunes for Mynheer. But as an active trader cannot have too many trades
at once, the Dutch are quickening the operation by an import of gold,
against which we are called upon to set John Bull on his guard :—

“© An extensive importation of five guilder pieces has taken place within the
last ten days, and the sons and daughters of Israel have been most actively em-
ployed in giving celerity to their circulation, and substituting them for half
sovereigns, which they strongly resemble in size; the head of William Koning,
of the Netherlands, not being so decidedly dissimilar as to be immediately dis-
tinguishable from that of George IV. The substituted coin (the five guilder
piece) is only worth 8s. 4d. English money, so that in all cases (which have
been very numerous) where the venders have been successful in passing them,
they have realised a profit of 1s. 8d.” ’

Confound those Jews! How does it happen that they are the agents
in every abomination ? from the dirtiest traffic to the boldest swindling,
those wretched creatures are the ready instruments. Money may be a
good, and it clearly gives power and luxury, but can we have a more
striking example of the intrinsic baseness of avarice than its effect on
this miserable people? The rage of money, the eternal money-dabbling,
the daily and nightly struggle to amass money, has absorbed this un-
fortunate class of mankind for the last two thousand years, and its result.

1831.] Affairs in General. 669

has been that character has never sunk so low among so many millions
of men—that they have added nothing to the labours of mankind in
any one of the nobler efforts of intellect, genius, or public utility. What
are their illustrious names? Where is their hero—their poet—their
painter—their philosopher? ‘That there are among them individuals of
private liberality and personal honour, is not denied ; but taking them on
the general scale, what are they but the ragmen of mankind? We
know no higher moral for the history of Mammon.

After all, the taking of eight and fourpence Dutch, for ten shillings
English, and the head of Konig Wilhelm for William the Fourth, does
not say much for the march of mind.

The public have been lately much distressed and startled by the
burking discoveries, and the murder of the wretched Italian boy is proba-
bly only one among many. But why should the public disgust be limited
to the miserable culprits, whom poverty and the habits of a disgusting
and abominable traffic naturally harden to all human feeling? Why are
the surgeons, who are the tempters to this horrid wickedness, to escape ?
We cannot conceive how these persons, to whom we naturally have
recourse to ascertain the circumstances of disease and dissolution—whom
we employ to discover, in both public and private instances, the causes
of sudden death, can be ignorant of the state in which subjects are
brought to their dissecting-rooms. Must not Surgeon A, B, or C, when
he sees a body still almost palpitating before him, know that that body
has not lain in the grave ; when he finds marks of violence upon it, at
least conjecture that violence has been used, and with the evidence of
murder thus before him, think it his duty, as an honest man, to bring
the transaction to light? To our conception, the surgeon is the true
criminal ; and if midnight murders are done, those murders are to be
laid exclusively at his door. It may figure in an advertisement for
pupils, that such a surgeon gives dissections regularly three times a
week, and we know that such advertisements may attract pupilage.
But Government will have a serious responsibility to answer for, unless
it keeps a watchful eye upon those dashing dissectors, and takes care
that their fees shall not owe any thing to impunity. The detection of
the murder of the Italian boy occurred from the simple circumstance of
the body’s being brought to the professor of King’s College, who was
probably a man of humanity, and who, whether or not, must have been
aware of the importance of peculiar care in his situation. We give
him, however, full credit for the better motive. He saw that a murder
had been done, and he was resolved to wash his hands of any share in
the crime. We must hope that his example will be followed, and that
we shall have no more stories, when it is too late, of atrocities which
shock human nature, and which, in the first place, never would have
been committed—except in the idea that the committers would escape
without further inquiry, than whether they asked ten guineas or fifteen
for the body of a murdered fellow-creature. We have all possible
respect for science, all possible faith in the honour of the English me-.
dical man, all possible conviction that these horrors are not patronized
among the higher ranks of the profession. Yet the evil exists, and it
becomes those higher ranks to keep a vigilant eye upon the lower, to
discountenance the quackeries and cruelties which public investigation
discovers in instances of the late kind, and to place in the respect and

670 Notes of the Month'on [Dec.

estimation of mankind, a profession capable of being conducted
with the highest honour to its professors, and the highest utility to
mankind.

As to the hideous life of the body-stealers, (whom by a very offensive
and profane use of the word, it is the habit to call-resurrectionists,) no
description can deepen its vileness,—every sense of decency, every com-
mon feeling of the common proprieties of human nature, seems to be
banished by their desperate trade.

“The Wife of Father and Son.—If any proof were wanting to shew what an
execrable crew of miscreants are nourished by the present mode of supplying
Dissecting Establishments, it would be furnished by the disclosures recently
made. _ Among other things it transpired that the wife of one of those wretches
had previously been his father’s wife, and his own mother-in-law. Had she
been his own mother it would probably have been all the same to him.”

———

England has long enjoyed the fame of being among the most dupe-
able lands under the moon; Scotland is famed for second sight, and
Ireland for fairies,—yet we defy any one of the three to produce a rival
to the extraordinary personage who is now astonishing our philosophers,
A Master M‘Kean has started a new set of faculties, which throw
the entire old system into the shade. First, he has the faculty in which
Tilburina—heroic and high-born as she was—was deficient, and can
see things that are not to be seen. Thus he can, with his eyes blind-
folded, and his back turned to the experimenter, tell the colour and all
external properties of any designated object whatever. A piece or
pieces of money, keys, or trinkets of any description, may be produced
by any of the company, and he will instantly tell how many there are
—whether composed of gold, silver, brass, or copper! the date and
value of the coins, and describe every other article very minutely, even
should there appear a spot upon them. He will also describe the dress
of any person, and in what position they sit or stand.

His next feat is, hearing things which are not to be heard! Master
M‘Kean will ask the favour of any lady or gentleman in the company to
speak softly within themselves, so that they may not be heard by those
who sit on the right or left, and he will instantly repeat them, although
at one hundred yards’ distance. Should there be one hundred watches
produced, and each differently set, he will tell the hours and minutes in-
dieated by each.

His third feat is the not less surprising gift of understanding what is
not known to him, answering what is not spoken, and hearing through
the ears of another. On those points, the reporter is perfectly con-
fident :—‘‘ What really takes place is to the following effect, and is sur-
prising enough to be independent of fiction or exaggeration. The boy,
dressed in Highland garb, is effectually blindfolded. To the father,
then, is shewn whatever object is to be described by the boy—to the
father are the whispers addressed, and before his eyes is any writing
displayed. In fact, nothing is proposed to the boy to which the father
is not made privy. However, the moment the question regarding each
subject is put to the boy, it is answered by him with the utmost correct-
ness. He describes, without a second’s hesitation, the object held up
behind his back. He telis what is whispered to his father’s ear, though

1831.] Affairs in General. 671

no one else in the room knows any thing of it. That the boy opens his
mouth, and that the sounds at each answer seem to come from his mov-
ing lips, we can testify.”

In thiseworld of politics and politicians, it is a very delicate thing to
speak of rats; but we, treating the subject as a mere matter of natural
history, may escape giving offence to any gentleman of upwards of two
thousand a year pension, and under the dignity of a privy counciller.
It is not our purpose here to enlarge on the physical distinctions be-
tween the rat natural and the rat political—the rat of the cellar and the
rat of the cabinet—the grubber in the joists of our houses, the gnawer
of the pillars of the state. We shall simply proceed in our narrative,
premising that if the rats in question had been political, they would not
have given so much trouble to catch; for nothing is a more decided
volunteer in the art of being caught than the regular St. Stephen’s breed.
The engineer on the present occasion, too, was not a first lord of the trea-
sury, but a Sussex farmer. He procured a sugar-hogshead, poured
about five inches of water into it, and in the centre placed a brick.
He then covered the top with a piece of parchment, on. which he
placed enticing food for the rats. Here they feasted themselves for
a few days, when he made several openings in the. parchment, suf-
ficiently large for a rat to drop through. The baits being again laid, no
sooner did one rat get on the parchmeut then he fell into the water. He
of course swam to the brick, where he moaned most piteously.

So many men have been ruined by parchment, that we are not. sur-
prised at its proving deadly to rats; but we own that the use of the
brick puzzled us at first : however, it had its use,—it acted as a rostrum,
a post of public appeal to the sympathies of the race ; and with pretty
nearly the regular result of those displays, it brought all the answerers
of the appeal into a scrape. The whole community of rats were
alarmed, and their curiosity led them in great numbers to the spot.
They got on the parchment head, where they had often before been,
and in they dropped in quick succession. Now came the sport. There
being only one brick in the hogshead, a war ensued for its. possession.
They fought most desperately, and the longer the battle continued the
greater became the number of forces, for all the rats about the premises
ran to see what was the matter, and sharing the fate of those who pre-
ceded them, dropped into the hogshead. The war lasted some hours,
and was not quite silenced even by the morning.

In other words, the debate lasted long—the possession of the chair was
vigorously contested, the whole assembly expressed their opinions: in
succession, and in the most unequivocal manner, and the division did
not take place until a late hour in the morning. The Sussex farmer re-
commends the invention to all mankind.

The pamphleteers are all on the alert. The three grand subjects—the
Cholera, the Burkings, and the Church, share the brilliancy of the
modern pen ; and unless we have a war, an earthquake, or two Lord
Mayor’s days in the year, we shall go on, trusting to the same subjects
to the end of the chapter. But there is a division of labour in those
things, and the wits have taken the church for their especial province.
What can be more refined, yet more forcible, than the following plea-
santry, in a pamphlet just issued, and entitled “ The Church, the
whole Church, and nothing but the Church ?”

672 Notes of the Month on [Dxrc.

“ Curates fag for either Rectors or Vicars, and are sometimes the journey-
men of other Curates; but a Priest may be all three at once. He may even
be a multiplicity in himself. For instance, he may be Rector of Blackmoor cum
Whitemoor, Vicar of Stock, perpetual Curate of St. Jeremy’s, officiating Curate
of St. Howl's, Canon or Prebendary, at the same time, in the cathedral of Sing-
away, Chaplain to the Duke of Humbug (at half-a-guinea a week), and head of
a college at Oxford or Cambridge, &c.” f

If the College do not break up, and the Bishops break down, after this,
they must have more than human courage.

What can be older, what truer, or what more curious, than the saying
that one half of the world knows nothing of the other half—that a man
may be dragging on his humanity through half a century, without being
known beyond the end of his own street, and that the materials of a
bustling biography may be found ina lane, a cellar, or a ship-cabin? We
give, for the benefit of illustration, a sketch of a life, which, if it fell
into the hands of a Fielding, would be a pendant to Tom Jones,; which
Sir Walter would have made a second luminary of Alsatia ; and God-
win would have metallized and crystallized into a Bethlem Gabor. A
week ago,—we give it in the feeling familiarity of his panegyrist.

“Poor Bill Tucker, as he was styled, breathed his last. He was for many
years waiter at the Harp, in Russell-street, Drury-lane, a house long celebrated
as the resort of theatrical persons, where Mr. Sims still carries on a theatrical
agency. Poor Bill, notwithstanding his cognomen, saved money enough to
take the Craven’s Head, in Drury-lane, formerly Oxberry’s celebrated theatrical
chop-house; previous to which, however, he snatched a moment to marry the
sister of the landlord of the Harp, Miss Morgan, by whom he had two
children.” ‘

Thus far the brief biography has gone on with the grace of perfect
ease. But it now becomes more formal, and in so much loses a portion
of its nature.

<‘ William Tucker was much respected by the members of the theatrical
profession ; and many an affluent actor can, without cudgelling his brains,
remember the hour when poor Bill welcomed him after a country tour, at the
Harp, supplied him with refreshments, and, in a low whisper, respectfully
inquired as to the state of his exchequer. Some died in his debt—others paid
him handsomely—a few behaved ungratefully ; but Bill used invariably to say,
«I know that in all professions there are difficulties in the outset ; I must say
actors are warm-hearted fellows; and if I meet a bad lot or two amongst them,
I must set it against those who have befriended me.’ ”’

This winding up is in better style; and we recommend the subject
to the investigators in sorrows and sentiments that “lie too deep for
tears.”

Last year Mr. Warburton’s Bill was, in some way or other, dropped ;
and the public feelings on a subject of equal pain, interest, and delicacy
were left to be mangled as it may please the surgeons’ apprentices. The
plundering of the church-yards continues ; and the law idly shrinks from
interfering with an outrage against the public, which no individual with
a human heart would suffer to be committed, in the instance of any one
for whom he ever hadaregard. The resurrection-men are at work ; there
can be no doubt that their traffic is going on at this moment as thickly

1831.] Affairs in General. 673

as ever. More caution, perhaps, may be exerted in keeping the facts
from the public eye ; still they escape from time to time, and they are
always repulsive and distressing. An instance lately occurred in Dub-
lin. The remains of a respectable old gentleman, an inhabitant of that
city, were interred in St. Kevin’s church-yard. A nephew, who attended
the obsequies, was told by the sexton that, unless he procured persons
to watch, he could not be accountable for the body three hours after
sunset. The young gentleman expressed some impatience at the sug-
gestion, and seemed to think it a device of the sexton to extort money.
He is a medical student, and attends one of the anatomical schools. On
entering the dissecting-room, the first object that met his astonished
view was the body of his uncle stretched on one of the dissecting-tables.
The body was, of course, claimed, restored, and re-interred.

We may philosophize as we will on the necessity of promoting science
at this cost. But the expedient is against nature, and therefore must be
unwise. We may be perfectly assured that the respect for the dead,
which is an universal feeling, and has been so from the beginning of
the world, was not implanted without some special reason in the human
heart; and that any attempt to render that respect nugatory, or any
general violation of the sacredness of the grave, would be attended with
effects of no slight evil to the living.

In the first place it is obvious that contempt of the dead easily brings
on a brutal disregard of the sacredness of human life ; and we have had
evidence, in the hideous case of Burke, how simply the robber of the
dead becomes the murderer of the living. The men concerned in this
traffic, limited as it may be, are proverbially savage, wild, and ready for
any atrocity. But the practice is lucrative ; and, unless the legislature
shall interfere at once with some provision for the actual wants of
science—and they are not great—and some strong restrictions against
the ravages of ruffians who for hire supply the demands of every puffing
anatomical lecturer, human decency and national humanity will continue
to be outraged more and more. We should rejoice to see the whole
matter inquired into by some intelligent member of the legislature.

If the time shall ever come when every man may roll in his own car-
riage, we may despise hackney coaches, but until then we must look
with an anxious eye on the progress of legislation as it regards our
tours through the streets. The New Hackney-coach Act has come
forth, and a great performance it is.

“This act will come into operation on the 5th of January next. It
provides that all coach licenses shall be granted by the Commissioners
of Stamps. All hackney-coaches to have four plates, viz., on the back,
each side, and inside, and contain the name and address of the proprie-
tor. Defines a hackney-coach to be every carriage, with two or more
wheels, plying for hire within five miles of the General Post-office,
whatever may be its structure. To pay 5l. for a license to the 5th of
January, 1833, previous to which the number to be limited to 1,200;
after that date no limitation, and no charge for license ; to pay a duty of
10s. a week during the continuance of each license. Hackney-coaches
compelled to go five miles from the General Post-office, or from the
place hired, exempt from post-horse duty within ten miles of the Post-
office. Fares to be taken :—Two horses, not exceeding a mile, Is. ;
6d. for every half-mile extra. Carriages for time, Is. for the first half-

674 Notes of the Month on [ Duc.

hour, and 6d. for every quarter of an hour after. One-horse carriage,
two-thirds of the above. Back fare to be paid for carriages driven into
the country four miles or more; if discharged between eight in the
evening, and five in the morning, at the full rate of fare, to the nearest
coach-stand or limits of the metropolis ; if discharged by day, at the
rate of 6d. amile to such place. The limits of the metropolis to be
three miles from the General Post-office.””
We have now given our readers the whole substance of this effort
of legislation. We confess that all we can see in it is the finance.
Why hackney-coaches should have four plates when one would serve
the purpose ; or, why five pounds should be paid for a license, except
that every thing in this world must be taxed ; or why ten shillings a week
should be paid after 1833, except for the reason that taxation is always
privileged to increase, and that England is going on so prosperously,
trade swelling so rapidly, and every man’s pocket filling so fast, that
five and twenty pounds a year will then be as easily paid as five now, are
questions which we must leave to the philosophers to answer. Or why
the hackney-coaches will be made more a matter of public convenience
by being limited to 1,200, when, on the ordinary principle in’ those
matters, monopoly makes the monopolists impudent, the commodity
bad, and the price dear, we presume not to say—but this we say,
that from London to Lima there is not a more scandalous exhibition of
public vehicles than those which figure before the public eye of the
metropolis ; and that plated and licensed as they may be, we only wish
that the makers of the law were confined for an hour a day in the most
accomplished of them. scr

The British theatre has done nothing since the last month, except
bringing out two of Auber’s operas, which shew that Massaniello
is not likely to disappear behind the future fame of Auber. "The
** Love Charm,” and the “ Fra Diavolo,” are both clever, though there

is a desperate affectation of German difficulties in the composition of.

both, and an equally desperate dearth of melodies, which we conceive
to form in all cases the excellence of opera. Auber is all chorus, and as
all chorus is all clamour, and we can have clamour enough in the streets
for nothing, Auber is chorused to empty benches. A tragedy “ trans-
lated,” and “ from the French,” of course—alas! that we should go to
the French for tragedy ! while nature intended them to supply us with
nothing but perriwigs—was announced, rehearsed, fixed for the night,
and then vanished. Charles Kemble’s illness was the cause in the bills.
But those bills have so little to do with bills of mortality, that we
should not be surprised to hear of his rapid recovery. As certainly we
wish that nothing, not even “ Catherine of Cleves” herself, should keep
almost our only good actor from the stage.
But in the mean time we have news across the Atlantic. Mr. Ander-
son, it seems, has not yet found the art of conciliating the Yankees, and
the friends of national amity in New York appear to dread that the
events of his reception may be put into the preliminaries of a new war.
* On the night on which Mr. Anderson was to make his first appear-
ance (as Bertram, in Guy Mannering), at the Park Theatre, New York,
the house was filled by a crowded audience, who evidently went there
for the express purpose of hooting him off. The moment he madé his
entrance he was greeted with groans, hisses, missiles, and cries of indig-

1831.] Affairs in General. 675

nation, which continued, without intermission, during the whole of the
performance. Noapology would be listened to.”

This was hard enough. But mulattoes are not to be beaten with
impunity, even under the tempting emblem of the national stripes.

. © On the following day Mr. Anderson published in the newspapers a
statement of the facts from which the misunderstanding about him had
arisen, declaring that he was one of the last men capable of the conduct
imputed to him.”

_ However Jonathan, like others of a guilty conscience, had no for-
giveness in his soul, and having deserved to undergo Mr. Anderson's
science in the noble art of self-defence on sea, determined gallantly to
display his retaliatory powers on his own ground. Argument and
apology having been repelled, Jonathan now came into the field with
mounitions of a warfare which must speedily settle the question.

“On Saturday, the 15th October, he was again to appear, but an
immense crowd had collected both inside and out of the theatre, armed
with rotten eggs and apples, and some with black bottles, all which
were evidently destined to come in violent contact with the person of
the obnoxious actor. As the whole city seemed to be in commotion,
Mr. Anderson was advised not to appear, and he refrained from
doing so.”

This was prudent enough. But the free people felt themselves only
the more insulted; and not having Mr. Anderson to pound into dust
with black bottles and bushels of missiles of all kinds, began a general
display of republican justice against his unlucky brethren. “ The mob
proceeded to the house where they supposed Mr. Anderson had taken up
his abode, and were about to pull it about the ears of its inmates, when
it’ was ascertained that he. didnot live there. Under these: circum-
stances, it was supposed that Mr. Anderson would give up his engage-
ment with Mr. Price, and quit New York immediately.”

This was one of the most striking exemplifications of “a clear stage
and no favour ;” for the stage was turned into a desert in an instant ;
and the Yankee actors were as handsomely pelted as the English singer
was abused. On the whole, we hope that a handsome correspondence
will follow between our diplomatists, and that we shall have protocols,
but zo war!

While Europe is awaiting revolution in all its kingdoms, it is singular
that the other quarters of the globe are assuming an unexampled tran-
quillity. There is not a murmur against sword or sceptre, knout or
bastinado, from the Red Sea to the Yellow. But a still more interesting
contrast—to us at least—is to be found in the situation of the new
British Colonies. The settlers in Canada, Nova Scotia, New South
Wales, Van Diemen’s Land, and the Cape, are all going on smoothly,
safely, and swimmingly; rearing bullocks, taming buffaloes, train-
ing vines, planting potatoes, and shearing sheep. Australia is cer-
tainly prospering, and perhaps prospering the most: yet the pro-
prietory of this great colony is of an order which perhaps never tried
the skill of human government before. The history of both sexes of the
chief population is too familiar to the Old Bailey to be worth repeating
here ; and yet, out of this species of stigmatized population, an useful,
industrious, and intelligent race are rapidly spreading over the new
continent ; and the wonder is increased by the nature of the influx
which is constantly swelling that population—of all the intractable sub-

’ 676 Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. [Dec.

jects of civilization, the most intractable—perpetual gangs of English
desperadoes. A letter from Rio Janeiro gives the following sketch of a
live cargo of this time. It states the Argyll convict-ship to have put in
there in consequence of a plan having been formed by the convicts to
take the ships, and murder the captain and crew. The plot was dis-
covered by one of the conspirators. The captain and the doctor were to
have been the first thrown overboard; the females were to have been
separated from the males, and, when they obtained sight of land, they
were also to have been thrown overboard, and they might save them-
selves if they could. The boatswain and carpenter were to have been
lashed back to back, and thus thrown overboard. The cooks were to
have been “boiled in their own coppers, and then had their hearts cut
out !”

The letter seems to have been written in what a Yankee would
“ suess to be a pretty considerable fright ;’ but, excepting the varieties
of getting rid of the obnoxious officers and crew, which we conceive
would have been much simplified in the execution, the nature of the
cargo justifies any height of description. There would be more safety
in a cargo of tigers. Yet, ina dozen years, one half of these fellows
will be thriving farmers ; the “ ladies,’ transported beyond seas for
every offence that ladies can commit, will be decent wives, productive
mothers, and industrious members of the community ; the next genera-
tion will know nothing of the paternal and maternal adventurers—will
flourish in the pomp and pride of such opulence as trade and farming
can bring—and, before that generation has closed, we shall hear of
applications for a parliament and a peerage!

Luckily it is no business of ours to keep the world of fashion in
order, for we might have a troublesome task. Yet, now and then,
things occur which make us think that a master of the ceremonies in
matters of high life would be an officer much required. Thus it might
be desirable to know what exact degree of yearly income puts scandal
out of the question ; or what exact rank makes it totally unnecessary to
keep up appearances ; for nothing can be more certain than that there
is a rent-roll and a rank, in possession of which a man may do with
impunity, or rather without anybody in the world being surprised at it,
a crowd of the oddest affairs imaginable. For instaiice, what are we to
think of the following pleasant example :—

“« The fair relict of a distinguished naval commander, and her daughter, whose
beauty and accomplishments were, it is said, the universal theme of conversa-
tion at the fashionable parties of last season, have departed for Florence, where
they purpose to spend the winter. A noble marquis, the guardian of the young
lady, has also set out, with his large suite, for the same destination. Prior
to his lordship’s departure he entertained a very large party of Tory nobility
at his seat in Suffolk, where his lovely ward and her mother were also guests,
During the last visit of Lady S$ to Naples, it was currently reported that a
member of the Sicilian Royal Family made her daughter an offer of his hand,
which she peremptorily, but delicately, declined. It has been since rumoured in
the higher circles that a nobleman who is heir-presumptive to one of the wealthiest
and most ancient dukedoms in the kingdom, ‘ woos her for his bride.’ ”

As to the offer of the Sicilian prince’s hand, the matter is perfectly
possible, for those fellows are men of the world, and look to the dower
much more than to the donna. But the English offer—like the news of
the American papers, it will be more credible when the fact has taken
place.

1831.] [672,01]

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

Tour 1n Eneiann, IRELAND, AND FRANCE, IN THE YEARS 1828 AND 1829,
&c., By A GERMAN Prince. 2 Vols.

These volumes come forth professedly as the work of a German Prince, under
the auspices of a laudatory critique by the veteran Goéthe. Puckler Muskaw,
a Prussian prince, made a similar tour, it seems, about the same time, and to
him is assigned the credit of the production, and a very lively and clever pro-
duction it is—the work, be it whose it may, of an intelligent person, with a free
and excursive mind, and a strong sense of the ludicrous; but coupled with an
affectation of philosophy, and a certain fastidiousness, which is thought to be
characteristic of the aristocrat, but which has very much here the air of one
who assumes to be what he is not. Were it not indeed for the attestation of
Goéthe—and, by the way, we have no means at hand of ascertaining the eritique
which prefaces the book to be his—we should, in spite of all the phrases of all
sorts of languages sprinkled over the pages, be disposed to regard the work as
one of home manufacture. The familiarity it betrays with English ideas and
associations is quite extraordinary for a foreigner—there is, especially, a sort of
uniformity and consistency about the whole, rarely, or rather never, to be gathered
by a foreigner, whom long residence has not naturalized, and such, in short, as
could hardly come from any one but an Englishman with a strong party bias.
The allusions to public affairs, and the sentiments relative to political indivi-
duals, are those invariably of the liberal papers—especially every thing relative
to Ireland, the best portion of the Tour; and as to the high-bred, fashionable
scandal—the familiar acquaintance and intercourse with lords and ladies, why,
the “‘ Court Journal” takes the very same tone. But the easy and frequent allu-
sion to English literature is occasionally startling—Pope, Byron, &c. are at his
fingers’ ends.

Visiting Trinity College, Dublin, hespeaks of the portraits of Swift and Burke in
terms which bespeak anything but the foreigner. ‘‘ Both physiognomies express
the known qualities of the men. The one has an expression as acute and: sar-
castic as it is native and original ; the other, full of intellect and power, some-
what blunt, but yet benevolent and honest, announces the thundering orator,
who contended sincerely, and without reserve, for his opinion, but neyer glossed
over his own interest with affected enthusiasm for others.” The portraits tell
no such thing, but the sentiments are discriminative, and shew the writer to be
familiar with the works of both, or at least with the sentiments now generally
entertained of them, but the spirit of which it is not so easy for a foreigner to
seize.

Is this explanation of the word ‘ gentleman’’—acute and true as it is—likely
to have proceeded from a man, whose acquaintance with English society ex-
tended to a few months, and almost exclusively to the higher circles ?—

**¢ A gentleman’ is neither a man of noble birth, nor a man of noble sentiments
(weder ein Edelmann noch ein edler Mann—neither a nobleman nor a noble man) ;
but, in strictness, a man of independent means, and perfect knowledge of the usages
of good society. He who serves or works for the public in any way (the higher
functionaries of the state, and here and there a poet or artist of the first category
only excepted), is no ‘ gentleman,’ or at best only a half a one. I was greatly
astonished at hearing a certain well-known personage, with whom all lovers of
horses, native and foreign, are well acquainted ; who 1s rich, who is on a footing of
intimacy with many Dukes and Lords, and enjoys great consideration, but who
presides at a weekly auction of horses (thereby doing useful service to the public)—
say of himself, ‘I can’t imagine how the Duke of B—— could commission me to
carry achallenge to Count M ; he ought to have employed a gentleman—those
things are not in my way.’

“A really poor man, who is not in a situation to contract debts, can on no terms
be a ‘gentleman.’ On the contrary, a rich scamp, who has had what is called a

678 Monthly Review of Literature. [Dec.

good education, so long as he preserves his ‘ character’ (reputation) dexterously,
passes for a ‘perfect gentleman.’ In the exclusive society of London there are
yet finer ‘nuances.’ A man, for instance, who were to manifest any timidity or
courtesy towards women, instead of treating them in a familiar, confident, and
‘nonchalant’? manner, would awaken the suspicion that he was ‘no gentleman :’
but should the luckless man ask twice for soup at dinner, or appear in evening dress
at a breakfast, which begins at three in the afternoon and ends at midnight—he
may be a prince and a ‘ millionnaire,’ but he is ‘no gentleman.’ ”

Or this ?—‘‘The manners here are so old-fashioned, that the master of the
house every day drinks to my health; and we have no napkins at table, for
which pocket handkerchiefs, or the corners of the table-cloth, are obliged to
serve as deputies.”

Or this—when some scare-crow of an Irish lad shewed the Prince the way to
some sight >—‘‘To see this figure scramble over the rocks like a squirrel, singing
all the while bits of ‘Tommy’ Moore and Walter Scott, was certainly charac-~
teristic. As he led me to the cave, at a point where the passage was rather
slippery, he cried, ‘Oh, you can come on very well; I brought Sir Walter Scott
here, and he climbed over the worst places, though he had a lame foot.” He
could talk of nothing else; and recited rapidly four lines which Scott or Moore,
I forget which, had composed in the cavern,” &c. This is little like a foreigner’s
mnistake, but very like one of the ‘‘ Row.”

Does this, again, speak the foreigner ?—‘‘ The common people in England
care little about rank—about foreign rank nothing. It is only the middle classes
that are servile; they are delighted to talk to a foreign nobleman, because they
cannot get at their own haughty aristocracy. The English nobleman, even the
least of the lords, in the bottom of his heart, thinks himself a greater man than
the King of France.”’ This is true to the letter—but scarcely discoverable by the
passing foreigner.

«One of the oddest customs (at church) is, that every body durmg the short
prayer at coming and going turns himself to the wall, or into a corner, as if he
were doing something not fit to be seen.”—Very like an English jibe.

Poor Lady Morgan, with all her good nature, gets shewn up—every whipster
thinks her fair game. She was projecting a tour through Germany, and “Sir
Charles,”’ the Prince says, ‘‘ begged him (the Prince) to get his philosophical
work trauslated, that he might not figure in Germany only as his wife’s aide-
de-camp, but fly on his own wings.”’ While in Ireland, he visited O’Connell;
at Derrinane Abbey, and gives an animated sketch of the then grand Agitator—
tells extraordinary tales of the Earl of K.and sundry others, many of them
gathered from Barrington’s Memoirs.

After describing at some length the misery, &c. of Ireland, he concludes
thus :—

“ Such is Ireland! Neglected or oppressed by the government, debased by the
stupid intolerance of the English priesthood, and marked by poverty and the poison
of whisky, for the abode of naked beggars !—I have already mentioned that even
among the educated classes of this province, the ignorance appears, with our notions
of education, perfectly unequalled : I will only give you one or two examples. To-day
something was said about magnetism, and no one present had ever heard the slight-
est mention of it. Nay, in B—-—m, in a company of twenty persons, nobody knew
that such places as Carlsbad and Prague existed. The information that they were
situated in Bohemia did not mend the matter :—Bohemia was not less unknown ;
and, in short, everything out of Great Britain and Paris wasa country in the moon.
¢ And where do you come from ?’ asked one.—* From Brobdignag,’ said I in jest.
—‘O! is that on the sea? Have they whisky there ?”’ asked another. The son
of my host, whom I have repeatedly mentioned, asked me one day very seriously
as we met some asses, whether there were any such animals in my country ?—-
‘ Ah! but too many,’ replied I.”

Come from what quarter it may—and possibly it may still be genuine—the
book is one’ of the most lively and amusing we have seen for some time.

—

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 679

ConstaBLe’s Miscetiuany, Vou. LXXIII.

This is one of the most interesting and valuable books of the whole series. It
forms the first of two volumes of a History of the Civil Wars of Ireland, by
W.C. Taylor, Esq., A.B. ; a work that has been long wanted, and which, if the
concluding pages equal the opening of the history, will prove an addition to our
literature of no every-day nature. Mr. Taylor sets about his undertaking with
a proper spirit, and lays bare his facts to an extent of elucidation, which, con-
sidering the slight and hasty glance at the obscurities and intricacies of the sub-
ject to which his space confined him, we should have conceived to have been
impracticable. His work, in its commencement, manifests considerable industry
and research, and (what is of at least equal importance) a very small portion of
prejudice. Entire impartiality is a thing hardly to be looked for in a history of
the nature and causes of such matters as the civil wars of Ireland; yet it would
be difficult to shew to which side Mr. Taylor’s leaning inclines, and still more
so to prove that he has anywhere miscoloured or misconceived a crime or a cha-
racter that he has had to deal with. ‘‘ The History of Ireland,”’ he remarks in
his preface, ‘‘ from the period of the Anglo-Norman invasion, presents a series
of anomalies not to be paralleled in the annals of any European country’”’—a
fact not likely to be contradicted, and one that proves the difficulty of the sub-
jects Mr. Taylor has here so advantageously treated. We must observe that he
has confined himself to the relation of facts; he is no believer of Irish fables,
and puts as much faith in the authenticity of the early history of his country, as
in the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. He shelters himself under the sanction
of Niebuhr. ‘ It would be an insult to the understanding of an Englishman,”
he observes, ‘‘ if a writer should now seriously refute the tale of Brute the
Trojan.”” His facts commence with the English invasion of Ireland, under the
renowned Strongbow; and breaks off at the Revolution: leaving a wide and
interesting field for his labours in the second volume. We cannot enter into
detail at sufficient length to give the reader a more than general idea of the
ground Mr. Taylor has trodden, of the views he has advanced or confirmed, and
of the facts and information he has elicited—facts drawn, not from the conflicting
assertions of histories, but from original and accredited documents. We can
only express our hope that the other volume of the history will complete well,
what isso well begun.

Brsnorp Haty’s ConTEMPLATIONS, FORMING THE 18TH VOLUME OF THE
Divines or THE Cuurcu oF ENGLAND, Epitep sy T. 8. Hucuss, B.D.

Hall is one among the most memorable of the old divines, and classes with
Taylor and Barrow for fertility and fancy, and often for vivacity and force, with
touches of pathos quite irresistible, even in the midst of what as irresistibly
excites a smile. His ‘‘ Contemplations” are, however, often too naive and sim-
_ple for the taste of the present day—such as those on Dinah and the Sheche-
mites, and Judah and Tamar are little calculated now-a-days to excite the kind
of feelings the good man intended. The tyranny of association is not to be con-
trolled. Nor can rhetoric of this sort be any longer relished—“ Manna had no
fault, but that it was too good and too frequent; the pulse of Egypt had been
fitter for these coarse mouths. This heavenly bread was unspeakably delicious ;
it tasted like wafers of honey, and yet even this angel’s food is contemned!
He that is full, despiseth a honey-comb. How sweet and delicate is the gospel!
Not only the fathers of the Old Testament, but the angels desired to look into
the glorious mysteries of it; and yet we are cloyed. This supernatural food is
too light; the bread-corn of our human reason and profound discourse would
better content us.” In the bishop’s heated imagination, fancies go for facts,
and declamation rings like devotion ; but the modern reader will think of little
but the strange taste of our forefathers.

Hall was born in 1674, the son of a land agent of Lord Huntingdon, at
Ashby-de-la-Zouch. His mother was of a puritan family, and early infused
into her son feelings and fancies from which he never wholly escaped, It was

680 Monthly Review of Literature, [Dee.

with difficulty he got through the expense of an academical education at Emanuel,
then recently founded by Sir William Mildmay, himself a puritan, as were, of
course, all the members during his life. The college has long got rid of the
reproach. Hall was a fellow of Emanuel, but in a few years obtained, from
private patronage, the living of Halsted, in Suffolk. Accident threw him in the
way of young Prince Henry, before whom he preached at Richmond ; and this,
apparently, after the prince’s death, secured him the favour of James. James
employed him on some foreign mission in company with Lord Dorchester, made
him Dean of Worcester, and dispatched him as his especial agent to the far-
famed Synod of Dort. By Charles he was, early in his reign, made Bishop of
Exeter, where he seems to have played bishop with all the dignity and autho-
rity of a pope. He was removed to Norwich only a few months before Arch-
bishop Williams’s protest, which Hall signed, and which led immediately to the
expulsion of the bishops from the lords. He shared the general fate of the
episcopacy, and died, if not in absolute poverty, in very straitened circumstances,
in the year 1656,

PoLAND UNDER THE Dominion or RusstA, BY Harro Harrune.

We know nothing of Harro Harrung, but what he tells us himself; but he
gives his name like a man, and so far guarantees the truth of his story. He is,
it seems, a Frieslander, and not unknown in the annals of German literature,
as the author of ‘‘The Student of Salamanca,” of ‘‘ The Mainottes,” ‘‘ The
Psariot,’’? &c. The present work, he says, is his twenty-third performance.
He speaks of himself as compelled from some indiscretion, committed to serve
a friend, to quit his native land; and with the wide world before him, he
resolved to join the Polish troops, which, he was informed, were marching into
Turkey. ‘Lhe information proved incorrect—the Poles were not employed in
the Russian war, and he found on his arrival at Warsaw, that nothing but the
Russian service was open to him. He was permitted neither to enter the Polish
service, nor to stay as a private individual, nor to take his leave of Warsaw.
The Grand Duke Constantine would have no foreigners in any service but his
own. Harro Harrung accordingly volunteered as a cadet in the Russian Lancers
—fell ill after a few months, and finally obtained his discharge at the coronation
of Nicholas as King of Poland. In the interval—the two years immediately
preceding the recent luckless revolution—he had ample opportunities of wit-
nessing the conduct of Constantine; and to convey some notion of the royal
Calmuc is his avowed purpose. The style and tone of the writer is not such as
to command a full reliance on the soundness of his judgment; but there seems
to be no reason for questioning the accuracy of the facts which he describes as
falling within his own knowledge, and for the most part he confines himself to
details of that class.

Nothing can exceed the brutality of Constantine; and the marvel is, that any
body of human beings, soldiers or citizens, could tolerate the rule of such a
wretch for a week. Every thing at Warsaw was placed on a military footing,
and the discipline enforced of the severest, savagest kind. Constantine had his
own eye upon every thing, and, like the Stoic of old, visited all offences, great
and small, with the same severity. Officers—except in the mere matter of ‘flog-
ging—met with as little mercy or indulgence as the private; and the citizen had
no manner of security. His caprice was law—his humour, and he was for ever
in ill-humour, could be soothed by nothing but punishment, which he delighted
in inflicting. An absolute and unreasoning obedience to orders and regulations
was the sine qua non. He required neither intelligence nor skill—simple com-
pliance was the sole virtue prized by him. A Prussian officer wished to enter
the Polish service, and by way of recommendation, he was described as an able
writer on military tactics. ‘‘ What,’’ exclaimed Constantine, “‘ is he a writer—
an author? Then I will have nothing to do with him. I want men like my
Standtmann” — his Hussar-general was present, and made a low bow in
return for the flattering compliment. A general once ventured to solicit the
pardon of a ‘brave officer,’” who had been guilty of some offence against regu-

Ee

ti i

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 681

lation. ‘‘ What,’’ exclaimed Constantine, on the public parade, ‘he is a brave
man say you? I want no bravery. All I want is obedience; and I order you
under arrest.”

The horse of an officer of the guards was restive on parade. Constantine
commanded a halt, erected a pyramid of a dozen muskets with fixed bayonets,
and forced him to leap over. The leap was successfully taken ; and disappointed
in his barbarous purpose, apparently, of staking both man and horse, he ordered
him to repeat the leap, till in the fourth effort, though he cleared the bayonets,
the horse fell and broke both his fore legs. The officer, escaping unhurt, threw
up his commission, was arrested, and disappeared.—A country noble, with
his wife, driving through Warsaw, passed Constantine without the usual
observances. The coachman did not know his person. The noble and his wife
were ordered to alight—they were placed under arrest—the coachman had 500
lashes, and he, and his master and mistress also, were alike condemned to drive
wheel-barrows at Lazienka, where some public buildings were going on.—A
deserter took refuge in the establishment of an extensive brewer at Warsaw.
The man was discovered ; and the brewer, a man of respectability, and of con-
siderable property, was sentenced to drive a wheel-barrow round and round the
square for hours during parade time.—A soldier had entered a public-house
—Constantine saw the man, and forthwith declared the landlord’s licence for-
feited. Not content with this, he made his servants go into the house, and
bring out all the bottles, glasses, &c. he could find. The general in attendance
assisted. The whole was piled up before the door, and the Grand Duke smashed
them with his sword till he was tired, when he commanded the coachman to
drive over the rest. The horses swerved; but the Duke was not to be defeated
—he resumed his own efforts, and, finally, with the aid of the general, not an
article was left unbroken.

Dr. Drsprn’s SunpAy Lisrary. Vou. VI.

Dr, Dibdin has completed his half dozen volumes—thus furnishing specimens
of the best Church of England theology to be met with in the writers of the
present day, and within the last half century or thereabouts. We find them an
acceptable collection, principally, in our view, because we have no doubt they
are the best Dr. Dibdiu could select, and because it is desirable to have brought
together, in every department of scribbling, specimens of the works of those who
haye appealed to the admiration of their fellows. The specimens thus collected
are abundantly sufficient for the purpose; and the multitudinous volumes from
which they have been fished may quietly repose on their shelves ; 3 nobody can
surely after this desire to disturb them in their ‘‘drear abodes.” In this final
yolume figures Dr. Maltby, who of course will—he is no fool—regard the dis-
tinction as one of the honours and consequences which follow on his elevation
to the episcopacy. One of his sermons is headed the “ Divinity of Christ ;’
and to this we naturally turned as to a test, because we knew there had long
been insinuations afloat relative to Maltby’s orthodoxy. The real question, we
observe, is singularly glossed over. The new bishop professes, in the outset of
his discourse, to shew that Jesus was the ‘‘ Christ”’—that is, as he himself adds,
the Son of God, sent into the world, &c. But all terminates in establishing his
“divine authority’—which is a very different thing—by an appeal to his
miracles. The question, however, was not—did he perform miracles? but, was
he himself divine? Dr. Maltby’s arguments only place Christ on precisely the
same level with Moses, Elijah, Peter, Paul, and others. For this argument,
founded exclusively on miracles, to be of any force for his professed purpose, he
should have disproved the validity of al/ miracles of all others ; and not, besides,
take for granted (what is the whole matter at issue) that the Deity could not
commission less than a deity to be the agent ofa miracle. The sermon, again,
on Grace goes only to shew that grace is no grace in the received sense of the
term—that nothing eatraordinary has anything to do with it.

Sydney Smith has been lifted wp lately within view of a bishopric, and he,

M.M. New Series.—Vou. XII. No. 72.

682 Monthly Review of Literature. (Dec.

in consequence, though noticed before with a tact little short of prescience, has
now more honours thrust upon him. By the way, so much do the ministry
want the tongues as well as the votes of the bishops, that we marvel that Smith,
who has a tongue, was not preferred to Maltby, who has none !

Tue ADVENTURES OF A YOUNGER Son. 3 VOLS.

For vigorous description of an active career we have seldom seen this sur-
passed. The conceptions are everywhere vivid, and conveyed to the reader in
the most direct and forcible terms—with the profoundest contempt for all com-
mon hum-drum sentiments, and occasionally of almost all propriety. Every
thing is as strongly defined as if the writer told nothing but what he had seen
and felt; but the scenes are too much out of the common course of things to
have fallen to the lot of one individual. The chief locale of the piece is the
Indian seas, and, it may well be supposed, he has some acquaintance with the
scene. We know nothing of the writer—he will soon be deterré. The Younger
Son, born with a sound organization, and a bold and resolute spirit, is rendered
dogged and wilful by harsh treatment, and dispatched, at ten years old, to sea,
as a place well adapted, as most landsmen think, to keep the unruly in order.
At sea he meets with the most galling tyranny from his superiors—too like what
he had been subjected to at home, to soothe or soften; and he is only the more,
day by day, hardened in his inflexibility, and strengthened in his resolves to
work his own will. While but a boy, he has sundry violent encounters with
his foes, and shews, at every turn, a desperation and a recklessness in pursuing
his revenge, that place him quickly at the head of all malcontents—he is at once
the defender of the weak, and the annoyer of the strong—as prompt to revenge
others’ wrongs as to vindicate his own rights. After a seven years’ struggle, he
resolves to quit a service, in which he finds his will at every turn thwarted. At
Bombay he luckily meets witha person, in the guise of a merchant, whose sen-
timents fascinate him, and whose notice he feels to be a distinction. The attrac-
tion is mutual—he is encouraged to quit the ship—he accordingly deserts her,
and takes, at the same time, ample vengeance on one of his chief tormentors.
His new friend screens him from detection, and secures his gratitude. The
merchant, a pirate, in fact, was himself charmed with the resolute character of
the youth, took him into his confidence, and gave him, already a man in expe-
rience, though but a boy in years, the command of a vessel. The roamings and
maraudings of this pirate vessel constitute the bulk of the narrative. The scene
of action is wholly in the Indian seas. The Mauritius is the pirate’s home—
the occasional scene of indulgence and repose for himself and his friends—but
the field of action ranges from Madagascar to the sea of China, Wrecks, fires,
battles, storms, perils—sharks by sea and tigers by land—abound ; while some-
thing of a softer interest is thrown in, by the hero’s marriage with the daughter
of an Arab chief—a lovely, a gentle, and devoted being, with a spirit, neverthe-
less, that fits her for a pirate’s bride. Her death, after a time, unsettles the
hero, and he is ready to abandon his profession, when his chief has occasion to
visit Europe, and he accompanies him to Havre-de-Grace. There they separate,
to meet again in six months—a meeting, however, which never occurs. The
hero goes to England, and the narrative suspends; but a hint is given that it
will be resumed in other scenes. Forsaking the trade of piracy, he rushed into
revolutionary tumults, unable to breathe in the stifling regions of subordination,
or to move, gored and cramped, in the narrow tracks of sleepy socialities.

New Ep:rion oF THE EncycLop#p1a BRITANNICA.

The new edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica circulates, we hope, as suc-
cessfully as its abundant merits, and the Editor’s indefatigable exertions, richly
deserve. The articles are, very many of them, re-written, and some of them
executed with great ability. In glancing upon the later portions, we dropt upon
Architecture—it is a very able performance, the production of Mr. William
Hosking, an architect of London, and shews an independence and soundness of

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 683

judgment, that justly claim for it a far more general notice than it will meet
with in an Encyclopedia, which, though comparatively cheap, is yet too costly
to get into the hands of all who are able to estimate its value. ‘The historical
portion is very happily executed; and the successive steps in the progress of
the science through India, Egypt, Greece, and Italy, are sketched with spirit,
and founded on good specific facts. Nothing pleased us better in the whole
article (which is of considerable length) than the estimate which Mr. Hosking
has formed of Vitruvius. The man was evidently a coxcomb, and prated of
what he knew little or nothing. The nonsense about the Orders is very suc-
cessfully exposed, with all the fictions relative to the origin of the Doric, Ionic,
&c. His descriptions do not even correspond with the buildings from which he
professed to establish his rules and principles. The glance Mr. Hosking takes
of Pompeii—the only source of information relative to the domestic architecture
of the olden times, except the ruins which are occasionally dug into in other
places—is a very intelligent one, and well calculated to lower our notions of the
magnificence of the Romans, or at least of their accommodations and luxuries.
Our ‘‘Gothic”’ architecture Mr. Hosking styles ‘‘ pointed” architecture, and derives
it wholly from the Saracens. The change of style is traceable in every country
of Europe to the same period ; and can therefore only be assigned to some com-
mon source, which had struck the natives of different countries, and prompted
them alike to imitate. It is due to the Crusades. The illustrative plates are
beautiful.

Tue SEVENTEENTH CENTURY A BEACON TO THE NINETEENTH.

Originally this little book was published in 1747, and dedicated to Bishop
Hoadley, of Winchester. It was written by G. Coade, of Exeter, in reply to a
laudatory sermon preached on what the Calendar, from ecclesiastical influence,
styled, and still styles, King Charles’s Martyrdom. It consists of a plain narra-
tive of facts—of all the royal falsehoods, subterfuges, and tyrannical measures,
in support of his own despotism—unaccompanied by any of the qualifying cir-
cumstances, which ancient fraud and modern ingenuity have supplied——and
with the view of proving to the preacher how ill his magnificent eulogium was
deserved. ‘The present editor reprinted it about ten years ago, under the title of
“Charles the First Pourtrayed ;”’ and it is now again republished by the same
undaunted individual, with another new heading, for the purpose of reading a
lesson to the opponents of Reform, and especially to the bishops. ‘‘ Happy
will it be,” says he, “ifthe fate of a Strafford or a Laud—the expulsion of
bishops from the senate, and the overthrow of the political power of the House
of Lords, two centuries since—prove a sufficient warning to deter the present
titled withholders of a nation’s demand from goading that nation to similar
steps and to a similar career!” The writer does not see that if the reformers
were the nation, they would have no difficulty whatever. The fact is, that parties
just now are very nearly balanced; and one has as much, or as little, right to
call itself the nation as the other.

Casinet Cyctop#pi1a, Vor. XXIV.—Manvuractures 1n MEtAt.

These volumes, published under Dr. Lardner’s auspices, relative to the manu-
factures of the country, are full of interest, and among the most acceptable of
the set. Nine out of ten, even among the most intelligent portion of the people,
are utter strangers to the processes by which are produced the instruments which
facilitate half the daily actions of their lives. The present volume embraces the
manufactures of iron and steel only, and describes the present state of the more
important branches of both. Bridges, cannons, anchors, chains, screws, figure
in the first department—files, edge-tools, and saws, in the latter; and the his-
tory of all, forms not the least interesting portion.

aine (Tom Paine, as he must still be called, or nobody will recognize him)

has hitherto had the credit of being the first who suggested the practicability of

constructing iron bridges—certainly, in 1787, he presented to the Academy of
4 |

3G 2

684 Monthly Review of Literature. ~ —Dee.

Sciences at Paris, the model of such a bridge; and the year after superintended
the construction of one, chiefly of wrought iron, at Rotherham. But a prior
claim is put forth in favour of a Mr. Pritchard, of Shropshire, by which it
appears he anticipated Paine by ten or twelve years. It is said to have been in
accordance with his plans, that Colebrook Dale Bridge was built. The chain,
or suspension bridges—of which the Hammersmith one is detailed with great
accuracy—are followed by descriptions of plans for suspension rail-ways, by
which it is proposed that the bodies of carriages shall go under their wheels, and
thus be secured against over-turns.

But amidst all the wonders of art, the sacrifice at which they are obtained
must not be overlooked. The effects of mines and furnaces every body hears of,
and readily imagines; but others are more insidious, and scarcely known at all.
In the manufacture of steel there is of necessity a great deal of dry-grinding, and
the consequence is, that the workmen live in an atmosphere of dust, consisting
of stone and steel particles. The effect of this is quickly felt in the lungs, and
so destructive is the ‘grinders’ asthma,” that in a body of men consisting of
some thousands, in Sheffield alone, very few reach the age of forty-five; and
among fork and needle grinders, it is rare to meet with one of thirty-six. It was
bad enough when the grinders worked in large and lofty rooms, with only six
or eight stones, and, in the summer season, for only four or five hours, for want
of water; but in the progress of improvement came the steam-engine, smaller
rooms, more crowded stories, a denser atmosphere, and no suspension of labour.
To meet the evil thus aggravated to the labourer, masks of magnets were inge-
niously contrived to intercept the steel particles ; and gauze covers for the mouth,
to stop the entrance of the coarser stone particles. But such is the extreme
tenuity of both steel and stone, that these remedies prove but partially effective ;
and besides, from the inconvenience to the wearer, they are reluctantly, and of
course but little used. The mischief, though sure and obvious, is not imme-
diate ; and young men are too heedless and reckless to provide against distant
dangers. Were the consequences felt at once, doubtless they would either be
more guarded against, or the risk not incurred at all. The fire-guilders, who
use mercury, are quickly compelled to take due precautions, or intolerable sore
mouths are the speedy consequence. But deplorable as is this loss of life, com-
petition will not be checked by the destruction of its agents. Can labour be
saved—can the process be shortened? Yes, but at the cost of health and life.
No matter, the article will sell cheaper, and secure a market. ‘This satisfies all
scruples.

Famitiar Law Apviser. I. II. III. IV.

These are very useful compendiums—every body occasionally requires some-
thing of the kind. On the whole, they correspond very well with the profes-
sions of the compiler—that is, they communicate essential and authentic infor-
mation, in language divested of the technicalities in which lawyers have locked
up the laws, to keep themselves exclusively the keys. Nothing can be more
difficult than for a man, who has been long drilled and worn to the jargon, to
escape from it; and even the compiler with all his efforts, and efforts bent
directly to the especial purpose, has not completely freed himself from the fet-
ters. Speaking of Tenancy by the Year, he has insensibly pursued the old
jargon—‘‘ All demises, where no certain term,” &c. What does a demise con-
vey to the mind of a man, accustomed only tocommon parlance? Yet it is for
such, professedly, books thus said to be stript of technicalities are destined.
Generally, however, the compiler is intelligible, and his books, in proportion,
useful. The four portions before us apply—the first, to Landlords and Tenants
—the second, to Masters and Servants—the third, to Bills of Exchange—and
the fourth, to Friendly Societies and Savings Banks. Pains have been taken to
ascertain the latest decisions of the courts.

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 685

Tue Law or Hussanp anp WIFE, BY A SOLICITOR.

The volume contains, in a summary form, the whole law relative to Husband
and Wife, as well with regard to persons as property. To this subject, itself
embracing numerous points of importance and interest, is added a similar survey
of the law respecting Breach of Promise of Marriage, Seduction and Abduction.
The particulars are given of numerous recent cases in illustration; and among
them are detailed those of Mrs. Honeysett, Lord Hawke, Lady Ellenborough,
Miss Foote, Miss Turner, &c. The whole is exceedingly well got up, and forms
an admirable book of reference for the subject—amply sufficient for Jaymen, if
not for lawyers, though the latter will find all they can require in the common
course of practice.

Vapy’s CrassicaAL Lisrary. Vor. XXIII.

Mr. Valpy follows up his purpose with the punctuality of the Calendar. The
twenty-third volume of the Classical Library commences the Langhornes’ Trans-
lation of Plutarch’s Lives. The book is, we presume, familiar to most persons,
for it has been repeatedly reprinted, and may be found in most private libraries
of any extent. It could not well, however, be omitted in such a collection. It
is, we believe, respectably executed; for, as to Plutarch’s meaning, no trans-
lator, with any decent qualification for the task, could well mistake it; and the
Langhornes were both men of considerable acquirement.

A GENERAL AND Heratpic DicTionary oF THE PEERAGES OF ENGLAND,
Scortanp, AND IRELAND, Extinct, Dormant, aND IN ABEYANCE, BY
Joun Burxe, Esa. Vou. I1.—Conraintne ENGLAND.

Mr, Burke is the author of the best Peerage and Baronetage of the day, now
in the hand of every one who desires (and who, from one motive or other, does
not?) to know something of those who govern not only the tastes, habits, and
sentiments of society, but exercise an hereditary authority which annihilates
that of all other classes in the state. The present volume contains the extinct
peerages of England, together with such as are dormant and in abeyance—an
immense list, embracing all the historical names of the country from the Con-
quest. In any natural order, the extinct should have preceded the existing
peerages, especially as the latter, for the most part, are descended from the
former, or in some degree allied. But these matters depend more upon the
trader than the writer, and to him it was obvious enough, that the extinct could
only be towed on by the existing peerage—and needs must, when the publisher
drives. The work must have been one of immense toil, and is executed, appa-
rently, with great fidelity. It becomes an indispensable companion for English
history. We observe the Devereuxs, Earls of Essex, are omitted—but omissions
are inevitable—they can only be supplied by degrees.

Tue Famity TopoGRAPHER, BY SAMUEL Tymms. Vot. I.

This first portion of a compendious account of the history and antiquities of
the English counties, embraces the five which constitute the judicial division,
called the Home Circuit. The plan includes descriptions of the situation and
extent—the ancient state and remains—the present state and appearance—
eminent natives—with a miscellaneous class of odds and ends. The whole is
exceedingly brief, as may be readily supposed, from the five counties not occu-
pying more than 220 small pages. In the miscellaneous department are gathered
together some curious, but also many insignificant, occurrences. In the county
of Essex, the compiler registers thus—At Birdbroke was buried, 1681, Martha
Blewitt, who was the wife of nine husbands successively. The text of her
funeral sermon was—“ last of all, the woman died also”—though the ninth sur-
vived her.

At Blackmore is a spot called Jericho, once a retreat of Henry VIII., whence
arose the cant phrase of—gone to Jericho.

686 Monthly Review of Literature. [Dec.

Among the tolls of Bow-Bridge is the charge of eightpence for any cart carry-
a dead Jew.

At Dedham and Finchinefield lived, or died, Matthew Newcomen and Stephen
Marshall, two of the persons whose initials help to make up the formidable
term of Smectymnuns.

Great Tey was subject to the Marcheta Mulieris—but Mr. Samuel Tymms
opines the phrase might mean no more than an innocent fine payable to the
lord on the marriage of his vassals.

At Chingford and at Combes, in Rochford, are noticed some of those very
ridiculous tenures on which copyholds are still held ; in commemoration, it must
be supposed, of the “‘ wisdom of our ancestors.”

At Great Bradfield was buried the celebrated Wm. Bendlowes, sole serjeant-
at-law for 73 days in the reign of Elizabeth. Verily, little serves for distinction
sometimes !

Tus Lonpon Manvuau or Mepicau Curmistry, &c., py Wm. Mauecuam,
Surceon, &c.

Mr. Maugham’s translation of the London Pharmacopeia has been for some
years in the hands of medical students. In the hope of contributing to its
further utility, Mr. Maugham has now printed the translation interlinearly, in
the Hamiltonian fashion, and considerably extended the notes, which, though
excellent in themselves, have been generally complained of—not a common
complaint—as being much too concise. Additions have also been made to the
botanical, chemical, and medical history of the various articles of the Materia
Medica; and in the new introduction will be found a complete epitome of that
portion of chemistry immediately applicable to the purposes of medical men.
Mr. Maugham also, like a bold man, has ventured to incorporate several new
medicines which have of late years been introduced into practice, but which the
London College have not of course yet comprised in their lists. All corporate
institutions are sure to keep in the rear. The whole volume, in short, besides
being very considerably enlarged, is very considerably improved, and cannot fail
of proving generally acceptable. When, by the way, do the College propose to
get rid of their Latin, and put forth their Pharmacopeeia in a language intelli-
gible to all who have occasion to consult it? Has any physician had common
sense or spirit enough to set the example of prescribing in the vulgar tongue?
FABLES, AND OTHER Pisces, in VerSE, BY Mary Maria CoLiine, witH

some Account oF THE AuTHOR By Mrs. Bray.

Mrs. Bray—a lady too well known herself as the author of numerous clever
romances, to be further described— has been in correspondence with Mr.
Southey relative to a poet of her own—Mary Maria Colling, a Devonshire serving-
maid—who makes a capital pendant to Mr. Southey’s recent “‘ wneducated poet.”
Mary is now twenty-six, and has been “in service” ever since she was fourteen.
From her childhood she was remarked as shy and gentle—fond of reading, and
indisposed to gadding about. But verses she seems to have made none till
about six years ago, when Mr. Bray himself, by repeating in the pulpit Addi-
son’s Hymn—the Spacious Firmament, &c. prompted the excited girl to
attempt a similar Hymn on Creation. While busying herself in the flower-
garden, the whole care of which was consigned to her, she used fo fancy the
flowers talked to her (Mrs. Bray must mean—fo one another). Thus a peony
growing near her laurel tree, she fancied the one reproaching the other for not
being so fine as itself, and so composed her little fable of the “‘ Peony and the
Laurel.” ‘‘ These kind of thoughts used to come in her head in a moment,”
she said, ‘and then she turned them into verses and fables’”—and all this
before she ever heard of fable, except two or three in prose in some child’s
“‘sixpenny” book. ‘These little fables constitute the matériel of the volume
which Mrs. Bray has got up for her; though there are one or two other pieces
indicative of some passion and vivacity. The ‘‘ Birth of Envy,” which we quote,

ie ae Sa

1831.] Monthly Review of Literature. 687

was prompted by the petty malice to which the poor girl found herself occa-
sionally exposed from those of her own class. The image was suggested by a
picture of Envy, which she remembered to have seen in her childhood. Mrs.
Bray was very anxious to have the opinion of the ‘‘ King’s poet,” as Mary terms
Mr. Southey, on this impersonation. Subsequent inquiry discovered to Mrs.
Bray quite a little romance in Mary’s story—in the third or fourth generation.
Her maternal grandmother may, it seems, have been a gentlewoman—and thus is
traceable the finer blood which makes Mary’s eloquent. The whole story, in
all its details, is told by Mrs. Bray to Mr. Southey, and they are evidently con-
gratulating each other on a grand discovery. But the time is gone by for mar-
yels of this kind to make a lasting impression. Mary Colling is an interesting,
and pure-minded girl, and we must not forget to add also, that she is a hand-
some one. We hope her peace may not be broken by the consequences of inju-
dicious praise, and that her patronesses will be satisfied with leaving her in her
present position.
“‘THE BIRTH OF ENVY.

“ Twas midnight—and the whirlwind’s yell
Had started horror from her cell ;

The beasts, appall’d, ’mid nature moan’d,
The ocean raved, the forest groan’d.

“ The heavens put on their blackest frown ;
Each star a diretul ray shot down ;

When Etna, with a thundering yell,
Foamed out on Earth the hag of hell.

*« As through the world she swiftly glided,
The winds her snaky locks divided ;

Ten thousand hisses rent the air ;

Her eagle talons wrought despair.

“ Fair flowers were blasted by her breath,
And she was armed with more than death ;
For youth and age, and virtue’s self,

Fall victims to the green-eyed elf.

“ In sulph’rous glooms she rode along ;
Flames play’d around her forky tongue ;
Her cankered breast hove with despair—
Hell’s blackest curse held empire there.

“ Envy the scourge of earth did prove,
For Hate usurped the place of Love ;
Dissensions rose, and dead was fame,
And Friendship dwindled to a name.”

PracticaL OBSERVATIONS ON ProxLapsus OF THE ReEcTUM, BY FREp.
Satmon, F.R.C.S. &c.

Mr. Salmon is known as a surgeon of considerable experience in the treat-
ment of organic disease. His publications are remarkable for their popular
character—as thoroughly calculated to convey to the unlearned a clear concep-
tion of diseases, in their origin and symptoms. And these are the important
points for the patient—he must, finally, go to the surgeon ; but it is of the first
importance for him to know when, and for what he should apply for assistance.
Too generally these things are not understood ; and the consequence is, that the
time, when relief might be had with comparatively little hazard, is suffered
to pass by. The prolapsus of the rectum has hitherto been styled erroneously,
which alone shews how superficially this matter has been studied, Mr, Sal-
mon’s aim is to abolish the practice of applying ligatures in the case of pro-
Japsus—a practice which he pronounces to be both hazardous and ineffectual.
Excision is his remedy.

688 Monthly Review ‘of Literature. [Dxc.

~ Tae Canar, a Tate in THE Reien or WiLt1am THe Fourrn, 2 Vous.

A political novel of the day—concocted with the especial purpose of shewing
up the ‘‘ conservative” portion of the English oligarchy. It is rather a hasty
sketch, and confined chiefly to the manceuvres of a ducal family, for securing a
county to one of its own members—mixed up with a few domestic scenes and
schemes to please the ladies. The prominent personage is a younger son of a
Tory duke, whose borough influence has long commanded all sorts of good
things for his family and dependants. Lord William had had an Indian govern-
ment, from which he had been recalled in obedience to popular clamour, and
was waiting in sure and certain hope of a speedy indemnification. Some pro-
vision was imperatively demanded : he had exhausted his resources in gaming
and fashionable follies, and was actually living on the receipts of a popular
actress, whom he had privately married in Scotland. The Whigs come into
office with professions of retrenchment and reform. Lord William solicits in
vain. Though famous for forgetting their friends, and wasting their resources
to conciliate opponents, he can get nothing from them. He throws himself in
despair into the arms of the “‘ conservative’ party, and, under their auspices and
those of his father’s, takes the field as candidate for his native county. The
manceuvres of the canvassing parties occupy a large space—in which the ladies
are exceedingly busy ; and one Machiavelian sister plays a conspicuous part.
By her promptings, Lord William at the outset neutralizes an influential lawyer,
by flirting with his daughter (a lady of immense expectations), and finally secures
him, and with him the election, by an offer of marriage. He is at the head of
the dissenters, who blindly suffer themselves to be befooled by an old rogue, who
looks to nothing but his present interests. The lawyer is, of course, finally
baffled, as well as Lord William, who, in spite of the basest scheming with
respect to his wife, is unable to shake her off : the knot had been too firmly tied,
though by a clumsy Scotch operator.

At a moment of excitement like the present, the tale will take ; and more will
be made of it than the writer ever imagined ; though, doubtless, he has all along
had particular individuals in view—thereby disguising his thoughts, by throwing
upon one the facts which, in reality, are connected with another. There is some
cleverness, both in the characters and details, though few scenes are worked up
with much effect. The writer encumbers himself with too many characters—
thus producing confusion, while he was in chase of variety.

FINE ARTS’ PUBLICATIONS.

The Geographical Annual.—The ornamental has borne sway long enough
among the tribe of annuals; the useful now puts in its claim to be considered.
The Geographical may, in point of appearance, take its place beside the hand-
somest of its fellows; as the preface remarks, “‘ on account of its enduring
interest, it may justly lay claim to the title of a perennial rather than an
annual ;” and for this reason the binding has been made appropriately durable.
The work consists of the complete series of plates which we have so repeatedly
praised under the designation of The Family Cabinet Atlas. We need not,
therefore, say another word in commendation.

The English School.—Outlines, executed with the usual delicacy and precision
from Fuseli’s Ugolino, Barry’s Elysium, Northcote’s Bolingbroke, &c. &c. com-
plete the second volume of this unique and interesting series.

Landscape Illustrations of the Wauverley Novels. Parts 18 and 19.—The
artists have here been fortunate in their selection of subjects. Craigevar Castle,
Cattermole; Goldingham, Prout; Frith of Forth, Stanfield; Liverpool, 1664,
Austin; and St. Cuthbert’s, Roberts; may be classed with the happiest sub-
jects of the series. This work alone would establish Mr. E. Finden’s reputation
—it will be completed in another number.

Views in the East. Part 12,—More specimens of Indian splendour. The

ice

1831.] Fine Arts’ Publications. 689

part contains, Front View of the Bismah Kurm, Cattermole and Taylor; Inte-
rior of the Bismah Kurm, Cattermole and Winkles ; and Skeleton Group in the
Rameswur, Cattermole and Kelsall. They are exceedingly curious, and beauti-
fully executed.

Richmond and its Surrounding Scenery, engraved by W. B. Cooke.—* Rich-
mond,” says the prospectus, ‘‘and its vicinity have never yet appeared as an
illustrated work, although universally acknowledged to possess superior claims
to picturesque beauty and historical records.’”’ We are glad to see that what
has been long desired has been at length attempted—and attempted in a style
that leads us to hope for a happy result. The first part contains twelve engrav-
ings executed by Cooke, principally from designs by Harding. The tint of the
paper is not to our taste—it gives the landscapes a yellow-feverish look. But
the views have been selected with an eye well acquainted with the beautiful
localities of Richmond, and are, for the most part, portraitures which few will
fail to recognize. Another part, similar to the present, will complete the work.
Having taken our glance at the pictorial part, it remains for us to notice the
pleasant and perfectly con amore style in which Mrs. Hofland, who has under-
taken the literary department, has executed her historical and descriptive sketch
of this prettiest of metropolitan neighbourhoods. To read her account of it by
the fireside is almost as good as sauntering through its green walks and wind-
ings, on a July morning: and having said so much, we are sure there are few
who will omit to avail themselves of an opportunity of reading Mrs. Hofland’s
apostrophe to Richmond.

The Dream of Eugene Aram, by Thomas Hood, with Designs on Wood by William
Harvey.—Mr. Hood’s ‘ Eugene Aram” is already popular; but if it were not,
these designs of Harvey’s would make it so. They do ample justice to the
fearful and melancholy imagery of the poem. Eugene is of course the principal
feature of each design, and the circumstances under which he is represented
excite, by turns, pity and horror. No poet can hope to have his verses more
poetically illustrated, nor can any artist expect to have his designs more admir-
ably engraved than these by Messrs. Branston and Wright. We can hardly
select one for preference—from the touching frontispiece, where Eugene is
questioning the child, who is reading the ‘‘ Death of Abel,’ to the closing
scene, in which the murderer is walking manacled through “the cold and heavy
mist.” It is not easy to look at any of them unmoved.

The National Portrait Gallery is rapidly exhausting the list of the Illustrious
and Eminent Personages of the Nineteenth Century. Several of them are com-
prised in the two parts before us. Prince George of Cumberland is a well-
executed engraving, by Dean; though we cannot quite concur with the bio-
grapher in his estimation of the importance of his subject. Prince George is a
prince of course—but princes are not prodigies. Our recollection of Lawrence’s
portrait of the Earl of Aberdeen prevents us from admiring the specimen of
solemn insignificance here presented. Lord Eldon’s is a well-engraved portrait
from Lawrence, by Robinson. There is a good-nature and earnestness about
the head, if nothing more. Of the rest, the portrait of Mr. Moore is the most
conspicuous, though rather hardly engraved. The face has, we suppose, a sort
of Irish meaning; but nature, which has done every thing else in the world for
the poet, according to his admirers, cannot be said to have given him the look of
a genius.

Fistory and Topography of the United States, illustrated with a Series of Views.
—To the value and excellence of this work we have frequently borne testimony.
Twenty-five numbers of it have already appeared. The last five of these con-
tain engravings, from drawings taken on the spot, of Harper’s Ferry; State
House, Boston; Shannondale Springs, Virginia; View from Mount Washing-
ton; Arcade, Providence; Capital of the United States, Washington; and
several other illustrations of the architecture and scenery of America; together
with neatly engraved maps, &c. At the literary claims of Mr. Hilton’s history
we have already glanced ; and we purpose renewing our notice of it when we
have it in a complete form before us.

[ 690 J

[Dec.

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PRESS.

A Second Series of Miss Mitford’s
Selection of American Stories for Chil-
dren.

By W. C. Dendy, Member of the
Royal College of Surgeons: A small
Volume on the Phenomena of Dreams,
and other Transient Illusions.

The Modern School Examined.

By the Rev. C. W. Le Bas: The
Life of Wyckliff; being the first Num-
ber of the Theological Library.

By the Rev. Dr. Burton, Regius Pro-
fessor of Diyinity : Sermons preached
before the University of Oxford.

By the Rev. George Stanley Faber:
The Testimony of History to the Doc-
trine of the Holy Trinity.

Fisher’s Drawing-Room Scrap- Book,
containing 36 highly finished Plates,
after Drawings, &c., by Sir Thomas
Lawrence, Prout, Stanfield, Copley
Fielding, &c., with Poetical Illustra-
tions by L. E. L.

“ The Hive,” a Collection of the best
Modern Poems, chiefly by living Au-
thors, for the use of young persons.

“ Stories from Natural History.”

By the Rev. Thomas Flynn, A.M.,
Author of «A Greek Grammar:” A
Latin Grammar.

By George Downes, A.M.: Letters
from France, Savoy, Switzerland, Italy,
Germany, Denmark, Holland, and the
Netherlands.

By the Rev. B. W. Matthias: A
Compendious History of the Council of
Trent, with its Decrees and Canons, and
Remarks thereon.

The Domestic Chemist, comprising
Instructions for the Detection of Adul-
terations and Poisons.

The Perfumer’s Oracle, or Art of Pre-
paring Perfumes and Cosmatics.

By Charles Swain: ‘“* The Mind,” a
Poem in two parts—with other Poems.

Nicotiana; or the Smoker and Snuff-
Taker’s Companion. ‘

By Robert Hannay, Esq. : History of
the Representation of England, drawn
from Records; and of the Reform of its
Abuses by the House of Commons itself,
without the aid of Statute Law.

Luther’s Table-Talk: consisting of
Select Passages from the Familiar Con-
versations of that Gudly, Learned Man,
and Famous Champion of Divine Truth,
Dr. Martin Luther.

By Henry Belfrage, D.D.: Select
Essays on Various Topics, Religious and
Moral.

By Mr. Berry: A Genealogical Peer-
age of England, Scotland, and Ireland,
illustrated with Engravings of the Arms,
Crest, and Supporters of each Peer.

LIST OF NEW WORKS.
BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

Dr. Nares’ Life of Lord Burghley.
Vol. 3. 4to. 31. 3s.

Memoirs of Female Sovereigns. By
Mrs. Jameson. 2 vols. Post 8vo. 21s.

Memoires de la Duchesse D’Abrantes.
2 vols. 8vo. 28s.

British Dominions in North America,
including an Account of the present
State of Upper and Lower Canada. By
Col. Bonchette. 2 vols. 8vo.

Poland under the Dominion of Rus-
sia. By Harro Harring. 12mo. 9s.

A Dictionary of Biography, compris-
ing the most Eminent Characters of all
Ages, Nations, and Professions. By R.
A. Davanport. 12mo. 12s.

The Civil Wars of Ireland. Vol. 1.
By W. C. Taylor, Esq. 18mo. 3s. 6d.

A Dictionary of the Extinct and Dor-
mant Peerages of the three United
Kingdoms. By John Burke. England.
&vo. 28s.

Reflections on the Politics, Inter-

_ course, and Trade, of the Ancient Na-

tions of Africa.
2 vols. 8vo.

Baines* History of Lancashire. Vol. I.
Second Division. Demy 4to. 15s. Royal
4to. proofs, 25s. India proofs, 30s,

MEDICAL,

A Treatise on the Diseases of the
Heart and Great Vessels. By J. Hope,
M.D. 8vo. 21s.

Medical Case-Book of Record for Stu-
dents and General Practitioners: with
Ledger for use in Private Practice. By
W. R. R. Wilton, Surgeon, &c. Ob-
long 8vo. Price 6s.

A Treatise on the Rearing and Ma-
nagement of Children. By Wm. Moss,
Surgeon. 2s. 6d.

Gooch’s Compendium of Midwifery.
12mo. 7s.

Amerbury’s Practical Remarks on

By A. H. L. Heeren.

Fractures. 2 vols. 8vo. 25s.
Dr. Marshall Hall on Circulation.
8vo. 9s.

Essay on Cholera Morbus, as now pre-
vailing in St. Petersburgh, and other
Towns of the Russian Empire. By
George William Lefevre, M.D. 8vo. 6s.

Pharmacopeeia Medico-Chirurgica in
Usum Medicinam Facientium. A Ro-

1831.]

berto G. Holland, Chirurgo, Concinnata.
8vo. 5s.

The London Manual of Medical Che-
mistry. By Wm. Maugham, Surgeon.
10s.

MISCELLANEOUS.

A Familiar Compendium of the Law
of Husband and Wife. 8vo. 8s.

Brown’s Sketches and Anecdotes of
Quadrupeds. Royal 18mo. 10s.

Cameos from the Antique, or the
Cabinet of Mythology. By Mrs. Law-
rence. 18mo. 2s. 6d. By the same,
Pictures, Scriptural and Historical, or
the Cabinet of History. 18mo. 4s.

Continental Annual. By Wm. Ken-
nedy, Esq. 18mo. 14s.

Letters of a German Prince, being a
Journal of a Tour in England, Ireland,
and France, in 1828 and 1829, translated
from the German. 2 vols. 12mo. 18s.

A Flora of Berwick-upon-Tweed. By
George Johnston, M.D. Vol. 2. 12mo.
7s. 6d. bds.

Narrative of a Visit to the South Seas
in the United States Ship Vincennes,
in 1829 and 1830. By the Rev. Mr.
Stewart. 2vols. 8vo. 21s.

A Manual of the Land and Fresh
Water Shells hitherto discovered in

Great Britain. W. Turton. 12mo.
10s. 6d.

The Town and Country Brewery-
Book. 18mo. 4s.

Kidd’s Picturesque Pocket Companion
to the Regent’s Park. 18mo. 2s.

Thucydides from the Text of Bekker.
8vo. lds.

Rough Sketches of the Life of an Old
Soldier. By Licut.-Col. J. Leach. 8vo.
12s.

The Prospects of Britain. By James
Douglas, Esq., of Cavers. 8vo. 2s.

A Familiar Compendium of the Law
of Debtor and Creditor. By John H.
Brady. 12mo. 9s.

Sermons on some of the most impor-
tant Subjects of the Christian Religion.
By the Rev. C. P. Price. 8vo. 12s.

Villanueva Ibernia Phoenicea. 8vo.
10s.

The Geographical Annual for 1832.
12mo. 18s. Coloured, 21s.

List of New Works.

691

NOVELS AND TALES.

Cavendish ; or the Patrician at Sea.
3vols. 1. Ls. 6d.

The Affianced One. By the Author
of Gertrude. 3-vols. 11. 11s. 6d.

The Usurer’s Daughter, a Novel.
3 vols. 11. 8s. 6d.

Alice Paulet, a Sequal to Sydenham.
By the same Author. 3 vols. 11. 11s. 6d.

The Algerines, or the Twins of
Naples. 3 vols. 12mo. 16s. 6d.

The False Step. 3 vols. 11. 11s. 6d.

POETRY.

The Family Shakspeare ; in which
nothing is added to the Original Text,
but those Words and Expressions are
omitted which cannot with propriety be
read aloud in a Family. By Thomas
Bowdler, Esq. In 1 vol. 8vo. 11. 10s.

The Song of Albion. By Henry Se-
well Stokes. 8vo. 9s.

Pictures of the Past, and other Poems.
By Thos. Brydson. 18mo. 3s. 6d.

Selections from the Poems of Robert
Southey, Esq. 12mo, 5s.

Fables, and other Pieces, in Verse.
By Mary Maria Colling, a native of
Devon (who, for twelve years has been
a faithful servant in the same family) ;
with some Account of the Author, in
Letters addressed to Robert Southey,
Esq. By Mrs. Bray. Portrait. 7s.

Village Rhymes. 12mo. 4s. 6d.

Love’s Offering, a Musical Annual.

9s.
The Cadeau, a Musical Annual, 12s.
RELIGION AND MORALS.
Bishop Maltby’s Sermons. 8vo.

10s. 6d.

Thelwall’s Thoughts on Affliction.
12mo. 3s.

Family Prayers for every Morning
and Evening in the Week. By the Rev.
John Hall. 18mo. 2s.

The Doctrine of the Holy Trinity,
not Disproved by the recent Efforts of
the Unitarians. By the Rev. Richard
Beadon Bradley, A.B. 8vo. 3s.

A Letter to his Grace the Archbishop
of Canterbury, on his Grace’s “ Bill to
restrain Pluralities.” By the Rev. Ed-
ward Hull, M.A. 8vo. Is.

ae wr ee ee

BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIRS OF EMINENT PERSONS.

THOMAS ROSCOE, ESQ.

How delightful is the association of
genius and worth, of philanthrophy and
talent! Of this great man—this philo-
sopher, poet, and istorian—it has been
happily observed, that ‘such was the
charm of his manner—of his unaffected

cheerfulness—of his conciliating disposi-
tion—of his playful humour—of his na-
tural eloquence—his open and candid
dealing—of his evident and unceasing
kindness of heart, and universal benevo-
lence—such his domestic virtues, and
such his various and brilliant talents,

692

that he was every where, at home and
abroad, loved and admired ; and he died,
as he lived, without an enemy.”

Few men have been less indebted to
the advantages of early education, than
Mr. Roscoe—few, by the native ener-
gies of their own mind, surmounting ob-
stacles, andannihilating difficulties, have
attained so proud an eminence in the
noblest range of literature. Of humble
parentage, he was shut out from the
common opportunities of acquirin
knowledge; besides which, it is eid
that, with a strange perverseness of tem-
per, he obstinately refused to attend at
the day-school, where his father wished
him to be taught writing and arithme-
tic. Yet the boy was not idle; he read
much, and he thought more; and, at
the early age of sixteen, he wrote a des-
criptive poem —‘ Mount Pleasant” —
which might have done credit to one
whose talents had been fostered under
the most favourable circumstances.
About the same period, he was found
sufficiently qualified to be admitted as
an articled clerk in the office of Mr.
Eyres, a solicitor of Liverpool, his na-
tive town. Soon afterwards, he was
stimulated to undertake the study of
the Latin language, by one of his com-
panions, who boasted that he had read
Cicero de Amicitia, and spoke in high
terms of the eloquence of the style, and
nobleness of the sentiments of that cele-
brated composition. Young Roscoe im-
mediately commenced the work ; and,
smothering his difficulties by perpetual
reference to his grammar as well as to
his dictionary, he laboured through the
task which the spirit of emulation had
excited him to undertake.

The success experienced in his first
attempt, prompted him to proceed ; he
stopped not in his career till he had
read the most distinguished of the
Roman classics ;—a pursuit in which he
was encouraged by the friendly inter-
course of Mr. Francis Holden, an ec-
centric but excellent scholar. Having
thus made considerable progress in the
Latin language, he—still without the
assistance of a master—proceeds to the
study of the French and Italian; the
best authors in each of those tongues
soon became familiar to him; and it
is believed that few of his countrymen
even acquired so general, so extensive,
and so recondite a knowledge of Italian
literature, as did Mr. Roscoe.

All this, it should be observed, was
accomplished without the slightest neg-
lect of ‘his professional avocations, to
which he invariably paid the closest at-
tention, to the entire satisfaction of his
principal.

Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Persons.

[ Dzc.

After the expiration of his clerkship,
he was taken into partnership with Mr.
pebenoae an attorney of Liverpool ;
and the management of an affair, exten-
sive in practice, and high in reputation,
devolved solely upon him. About the
same time, he commenced an acquaint-
ance with Dr. Enfield and Dr. Aikin ;
both of whom were then resident at
Warrington; the former as tutor in the
belles lettres, in the academy there; the
latter, as a surgeon. When Dr. En-
field published the second volume of
“¢ The Speaker,” Mr. Roscoe furnished
him with an Elegy to Pity, and an Ode
to Education.

His abilities now began to attract the
notice, and to receive the deserved ap-
plause of the public. On the 17th of
December, 1773, he recited before the
society formed in Liverpool, for the
encouragement of designing, drawing,
poetry, &c., an ode, which was after-
wards published with his poem of
“* Mount Pleasant.” Of the society
here referred to, Mr. Roscoe was a very
active member ; and having acquired
a correct taste in the art of painting and
sculpture, he occasionally delivered pub-
lic lectures on subjects connected wlth
the fine arts.

When the projected abolition of the
slave trade became an object of interest,
Mr. Roscoe warmly united his efforts
with those of Mr. Clarkson in its fa-
vour. A Spanish jesuit, of the name of
Harris, having published a tract en-
titled “‘ Scriptural Researches into the
Licitness of the Slave Trade,”’ he answered
it with great spirit and acuteness, by
A Scriptural Refutation of a Pamphlet
lately published by the Rev. Raymond
Harris.’ Afterwards, in 1787 and 1788,
he published the first and second parts
of his principal poem, “'The Wrongs of
Africa.”

With an ardent imagination, and an
innate love of liberty, Mr. Roscoe na-
turally sympathised with the first out-
burst of the French revolution; and,
invoking his muse upon the occasion,
he sang the praises of freedom in a trans-
lation of one of Petrarch’s odes, which
was inserted in the Mercurio Italico.
His two songs, ‘‘ O’er the vine-covered
hills and gay regions of France,’”’ and
“* Millions be free!’ are amongst the
memorable effusions of the period.

Soon, however, his attention was de-
voted to wiser things. About the year
1790, he commenced his celebrated
work, “The History of Lorenzo de
Medicis, called the Magnificent.” For
this, which was published in 1795, he is
said to have received from his booksel-
lers, Cadell and Davies, the sum of

1831.]

£1500 —a handsome remuneration in
those days.

Such was the extraordinary success
of this work, that Mr. Roscoe was in-
duced, in 1797, to relinquish the pro-
fession of an attorney, and to enter him-
self as a student of Gray’s Inn, with a
view to the bar. His leisure now en-
abled him to enter upon the study of
the Greek language, in which he made
considerable progress. At this period,
also, he published a poem, from the
Italian of Luigi Tansillo; and he wrote
“The Life and Pontificate of Leo X.,”
in four volumes, in the providing of
documents for which he is said to have
been liberally assisted by the Lords Hol-
land and Bristol.

Mr. Roscoe’s Leo X. appeared in
1808 ; and in the same year—having, it
is presumed, abandoned his intention of
becoming a barrister —he joined the
firm of Clark and Sons, bankers, of Li-
verpool. He was honoured also with
a strong testimonial of public favour, in
being elected one of the representatives
in parliament of that town. During his
brief political career, he distinguished
himself by his warm advocacy of the
cause of Slave Emancipation. After
the dissolution of parliament, in 1807,
distrusting the power of his whig friends
to secure his re-election, he declined
entering upon a new contest ; and, from
that period, he engaged but slightly in
political affairs.

In his commercial pursuit, Mr. Ros-

Bugraphical Memoirs of Eminent Persons.

693

coe proved unsuccessful; the firm
failed, and his property was a wreck.
The creditors would liberally have al-
lowed him to retain his valuable library ;
but his sense of right would not permit
him to avail himself of their kindness.

Mr. Roscoe was the great mover and
supporter of several public works in
Liverpool. The Botanic Garden was,
we believe, projected by him; and to
the Athenzeum he gave much effective
aid. Latterly, he was much occupied
in a consideration of the grand ques-
tion of Criminal Jurisprudence; and it
is said that his correspondence upon this
subject with various individuals of the
United States, was productive of im-
provements in the prisons of New York
and Philadelphia.

Besides works of moment, also men-
tioned, Mr. Roscoe was the author of
several political pamphlets, of temporary
interest.

After a short illness, partaking of the
nature of cholera, this amiable and gifted
man died at Toxteth Park, on the 30th
of June, at the age of 80. His funeral
was solemn and affecting in its charac-
ter. The committee of the Royal Insti-
tution, and the members of the Philoso-
phical Society, and of the Athenzeum,
with several clergymen, were present.
The procession was distinguished by
numerous carriages, and by nearly 200
gentleman on foot, following, two by
two.

ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BANKRUPTCIES,
Announced from October 21st, to November 22d, 1831, in the London Gazeite.

BANKRUPTCIES SUPERSEDED.

Alexander Symons, Falmouth, Cornwall, wine-
merchant.

William Shaw, Aston, Staffordshire, china-manu-
facturer.

SCOTCH SEQUESTRATIONS.

Ballantine, James, aud James Brown, Trades-
town of Glasgow, distillers.

Anderson, James, Glasgow, merchant.

Allan, Hugh, and John Sherwood, Edinburgh,
coach-builders,

Pollock, George, Chapelhall, near Airdrie, grocer,
innkeeper, &c.

Bellis, Edward, and Co., Edinburgh, wholesale
and retail merchants, and dealers in clothes,
jewellery, &c.

M‘Farlane, James, Kinross, nurseryman, grocei,
and spirit-dealer.

Black, David, Dundee, merchant and general
agent.

Spreull, Samuel, Glasgow, merchant and manu-
factnrer.

Rae, Johu, the younger, Uddingstone, farmer,
grazier, and general dealer.

Adam, Robert, Edinburgh, ironmonger, milliner

. and dress-maker. :

Burns, David, Birnam and Perth, distiller and
writer.

M‘Callum, Peter, Glasgow, clothier.

Steel, Thomas, Glasgow, grain-merchant.

BANKRUPTCIES.
[This Month 168.]
Solicitors’ Names are in Parentheses.

Andrew, T., Harpenden, Hertfordshire, baker.
(Hopwood and Foster, Chancery-lane.

Atkinson, G. E., Leman-street, Goodman’s-fields,
Middlesex, painter. (Kelly, Farrar’s-buildings,
Temple.

Alsop, G., Uttoxeter, Staffordshire, surgeon.
(Bedson and Rushton, Uttoxeter.

Archibald, A., Thayer street, Manchester-square,
Middlesex, coal-merchant. (Hartley, New
Bridge-street, Blacktriars.

Aspinall, J., Giltspur-street, London, shoe-maker,
(Bratton and Clipperton, New Broad-street.

Allinson, T., Manchester, commission-agent.
(Owen, Manchester,

Brown, J., St. Mary at Hill, London, wine-mer-
chant. (Teesdale and Co., Fenchurch-street.
Brettell, J., Bristol, cheese-factor. (Gregory and

Smith, Bristol,

694

Beauchamp, R., Holborn-bars, London, pawn-
broker. (Burgoyne and Thrupp, Oxford-street.

Baily, E. H., Percy-street, Tottenham-court-road,
Middlesex, sculptor. (Fisher, Walbrook.

Bower, R., Liverpool, dealer in smalt, (Heyes
and Pemberton, Prescot.

Burn, J. Newport-market, Middlesex, china and
glass dealer. (Taylor, King-street, Cheapside.

Balaam, F., late of Nottingham-terrace, New-
road, Middlesex, lodging-house-keeper, but
now of Bedford-row, Holborn. (Ullithorne
and Co., Red Lion-square.

Banner, H. and F. G. Banner, Cripplegate-build -
ings, London, plumbers, (Vandereom and
Comyn, Bush-lane, Cannon-street.

Bott, T., Hart-street, Covent-garden, Middlesex,
farrier and horse-dealer. (Shuter, Millbank-
street, Westminster.

Bevan, E. and M. Gates, Bristol, merchants.
(Osborne and Ward, Bristol.

Billows, G. B. Poole, ironmonger.
Ely-place.

Baker, G. F., Batheaston, Somersetshire, silk-
manufacturer. (Maule, Bath.

Blaxland, W. W. R. and T. Kay, Leeds, cloth-
merchants. (Gaunt, Leeds.

Bone, B., Greenwich, Kent, cabinet-maker. (Mit-
chell, New London-street, Crutched-friars.

Burford, C. R., Upper Charlotte-street, Fitzroy-
square, Middlesex, paper-hanger. (Sylvester
and Walker, Furnival’s-inn.

Barston, J. and T,, Grantham, Lincolnshire, iron-
mongers. (Ostler and Son, Grantham,

Boast, R., Hunslet, Leeds, Yorkshire, innkeeper.
(Sagar, Leeds.

Bright, fT. R., Devonport, ironmonger. (Leach,
Little, and Woolleome, Devonport.

Brown, W. J., Great Winchester-street, London,
silkman. (James, Bucklersbury.

Church, W., Mark-lane, London, wine-merehant.
(Charsley and Barker, Mark-lane.

Crowe, W., Bury St. Edmunds, Saffolk, cutler.
(Cambridge, Bury St. Edmunds.

Clugston, A. and C. P. Chapman, Paul’s Wharf,

(Adamson,

Thames-street, London, merchants and brokers. :

(Rodgers,
street.

Cross, W., Old Swan-wharf, London-bridge, coal-
merchant. (Hindmarsh and Son, Crescent,
Jewin-street.

peice B., Selby, Yorkshire, banker. (Parker,

elby.

Christie, J., South Sea Chambers, Threadneedle-
street, London, and Tonbridge, Kent, coal and
lime-merchant, (Karslake and Crealock, Re-
gent-street, Westminster.

Careless, J., Sweeting’s-alley, Cornhill, London,
victualler. (Whiting, London-bridge-foot.

Cannings, J., the younger, Bath, cabinet-maker.
(Graves, Bath.

Capper, ‘T. and B., Beantort-buildings, Strand,
Middlesex. (Jordeson, Fenchurch-street.

Coulthard, B. Bolton, Lancashire, bleacher. (Ker-
shaw, Manchester.

Cross, J., Bristol, provision-merchant, (Perkins,
Bristol.

Cannings, W., Bath, cabinet-maker.
Bath.

Dunnett, W., Manchester, silk-warehouseman.
(Owen, Manchester.

Ducker, J., Barnham, Lincolnshire, cattle-jobber.
(Cartwright, Bawtry.

Eastwood, W., Waterloo-road, Surrey, linen-
draper. (Jones, Princes-street, Bank.

Edwards, E., Holborn, china-dealer.
Bernard-street, Russell-square.

Elliott, J. Birmingham, fruiterer, hosier, and
hatter. (Lloyd, Birmingham.

Evans, M., Penmaen Colliery, Monythusloyne,
and Piligwenlly, Monmouthshire, coal-mer-
chant. (Towgood, Cardiff.

Farr, W., Bristol, silversmith.
Clark, Bristol.

Deyonshire-square, Bishopsgate-

(Mackey,

(Lewis,

(Sayery and

Bankrupis.

[Dezc.

Field, D., Garford, Berks, mealman. (Graham,
Abingdon.

Foard, E., Brighton, Sussex, wine-merchant.
(Dods, Northunberland-street, Strand.

Fry, A. A., now or late of Great Ormond-street,
Middlesex, and Bridge-street. (Smith, King’s-
arins-yard, Coleman-street.

Fernley, W. and T. Buckley, Stockport, Cheshire,
cotton-spinners, (Seddon, Manchester.

Goodrick, M., late of North Frodingham, York-
shire, grocer and draper. (Jennings and Con-
yers, Great Driffield.

Graham, J., Liverpool, linen-draper. (Pinkard-
ton, Liverpool.

Gracie, W., Sunderland near the Sea, Durham,
printer. (M‘Cree, Bishopwearmouth.

Goodrick, E., Huntingdon, linen-draper. (Tilleard
and Co., Old Jewry.

Green, C., Cheltenbam, cooper and coal-merchant.
(Croad, Cheltenham.

Graves, H. and W.S. Gooding, late of the Strand,
Middlesex, tailors. (Haslam and Bischoff, Cop-
thall-court.

Gates, T., White Hart-coutt, Lombard:street,
London, and Acre-lane, Brixton, Surrey, money-
scrivener and bill-broker. (Browne, Mitre-
chambers, Fenchurch-street.

Golding, J., Manchester, draper. (Owen, Man-
chester.

Gapp, J., Seymour-mews and Hinde-mews, St.
Mary-le-bone, Middlesex, job-master. (Fris-
well, Wimpole-street, Cavendish-square.

Guiver, J., Enfield-highway, Middlesex, stage
master, (Young, Mark-lane.

Greenough, R., Manchester,
(Brakenbury, Manchester.

Gillham, C., Romford, Essex, wine-merchant.
(Selbys, Sergeant’s-inn, Fleet-street.

Harvey, W. and T. Grice, Holloway, Middlesex,
builders. (Smith, Great Eastcheap.

Hughes, J., Birmingham, crown-glass-dealer.
(Bower, Birmingham.

Harrison, J., Liverpool, merchant. (Brabner,
Liverpool. ;

Huxstep, S., New House Farm, Thannington,
Kent, dealer in pigs. (Sylvester and Walker,
Canterbury.

Hirst, J., Leeds, Yorkshire, corn-factor. (Nichol
son and Barr, Leeds.

Hawkins, T. B., Stafford, plumber and glazier.
(Smith, Rugeley.

Hodkinson, J. and R. Dyson, late of George-street,
Hanover-square, Middlesex, tailors. (Taylor,
Great James-street, Bedford-row.

Harrison, R., Birmingham, druggist. (Wills,
Birmingham.

Hunt, J., Bath, grocer. (Hellings, Bath.

Howell, B. and W. Bennett, Baker, Charles-
street, Cavendish-square, ironmongers. (Crouch,
Southampton-buildings, Chancery-lane.

Hickman, H., Devonshire-place, Edgeware-road,
Middlesex, brick-maker. (Pocock, Bartholo-
mew-close.

Hawkins, W., formerly of Darlington-place,
Southwark-bridge-road, and afterwards of
Lambeth-road, Surrey, carpenter and builder.
(Sylvester and Walker, Furnival’s-inn.

Jackson, A., Clifton, late of Abingdon-street,
St. Margaret’s Westminster, but now of Dar-
lington-place, Newington-causeway, Surrey,
bill-broker. (Rice, Verulam-buildings, Gray’s-
inn.

Jones, J.. Bushey, Hertfordshire, silk-throwster.
(Sutcliffe and Birch, New Bridge-street, Black-
friars.

Jenkins, H. C., Bridge-house-place, Southwark,
coffee-house-keeper. (Townshend, Crescent,
Bridge-road, Southwark.

Kempster, W, H., Kingston-on-Thames, Surrey,
rectifier and wine-merchant. (Baxendale, Ta-
tham, Upton, and Johnson, King’s-arms-yard,
Coleman-street.

Leighton, J., North Shields, Northumberland,
(Dale, North Shields.

warehouseman.

1831.]

Linsell, J., Wootten Bassett, Wilts, linen-draper,
(Gregory and Smith, Bristol.

averack, M. and C. M. L., Hull, corn-factors
(England and Shackles, Hull.

Lamb, J. A., late of Battersea, Surrey, victualler,
(Long, Staple-inn, Holborn,

Lees, E., Manchester, bread-baker. (Hampson,
Manchester.

Lawrence, C, and A. Hoggins, late of Philpot-
lane, London, merchants. (Brooking aad Surr,
Lombard-street.

Lee, A., late of Regent’s-quadrant, Middlesex,
but now of Mitcham, Surrey, music-seller.
(Abbot, Haymarket.

Lazarus, 8. M., Bath, soap-maker. (Hellings,
Bath.

Lawrence, C.,late of Osnabnrgh-street, Regent’s-
park, oilman. Lane, Frith-street.

Lake, J., Soutb Moulton-street, Bond-street, Mid-
dlesex, tailor. (Arnott, Old Jewry.

Maddock, W., Portsea, Hants, coal-merchant.
(Conry, Gray’s-inn-place, Gray’s-inn-square,
Morgan, T., the younger, Walk, Llandelofawr,
Carmarthenshire, malster. (Morgan, Llan-

dovery.

Maurice, W., Dudley, Worcestershire, printer.
(Robinson and Fletcher, Dudley.
Meldrum, D., Bath, haberdasier. (Hellings,

Bath.

Marsters, W., Aldenham, Elstree, Herts, corn-
dealer. (Hawkins and Co., New Boswell-court,
Carey-street.

Moses, M., late of Newport, Monmouthshire,
coal-merchant. (Griffiths, Monmouth.

Morse, W., Farringdon-street, London, and
Swan-yard, Holborn-bridge, dealer in glass.
(Taylor, Great James-street, Bedford-row.

Maynard, J., Boyces—street, Brigthelmstun,
Sussex, draper. (Brookbank, Brighton.

Musgrove, R., Bristol, woollen-draper. (Bevan
and Brittan, Bristol.

Mansfield, T. and J. Hackney, Cobridge, Stafford-
shire, earthenware-manufacturers. (Dutton,
Hanley.

Newman, G., Pancras-lane. Cheapside, agent.
(Harrisons, King’s-arms-yard, Coleman-street.

Quinton, W., Walsall, Staffordshire, victualler.
(Frehern, Cornhill.

Oldland, J., late of Wootton-under Edge, Glouces-
tershire, clothier. (Hulls, Gloucester,

Odell, G., Northampton, horse-dealer. (Hewitt,
Northampton.

Provo, L. Y., Newton Abbot, Devon, ironmonger.
(Tink, Devenport.

Parker, J. J., Manchester and Salford, cotton-
spinver. (Hadfield and Grave, Manchester.
Prendergrass, J., late of Lloyd’s Coffee-house,
London, and Park-place, Upper Baker-street,
underwriter. (Blacklow, Frith-street, Soho-

square.

Perry, T. H., Worfield, Salop, tailor. (Nicholls,
Catstree, near Bridgnorth.

Pope, W., Portwood, Cheshire, cotton-spinner.

Heron, Manchester.

Phillips, J., Dudley, Worcestershire, currier.
(Goode, Dudley.

Pratt, T., Exeter, druggist. (Ford, Exeter.

Porter, R. W. P. and Robert Porter, Carlisle,
ironfonnders. (Sauls, Carlisle,

Paterson, J., Tonbridge, Kent, coal-merchant.

Potts, J.and A. Beloe, Lad-lane, London, silk-
warehousemen. (fisher, Walbrook.

Phillips, J., the younger, Great New port-street,
Newport-market, Middlesex, china and glass-
dealer, (Lewis, Bernard-street, Russell square.

Rose, B , Sheffield, grocer. (Ryalls, Sheffield.

Ryley, J., Nantwich, Cheshire, mercer. (Fentons,

eweastle-under-Lyne.

Scott, W., Newbottle, Durham, miller. (Reda-
head, Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

Bankrupts.

695

Stables, J., late of Horseforth, Guiseley, and of
Leeds, money-scriviner and stone-merchant.
(Lee, Leeds.

Shepherd, S., Strand, silversmith.
court, Milk-street.

Smith, D. N., Friday-street, London, warehouse-
man. (Ashurst, Newgate-street.

Stephen, J., Great St, Helen's, London, wine-
merchant. (Bowles, King’s-arms-yard, Cole-
man-street.

Scholtield, J. and J. Clough, Selby and Howden,
(Yorkshire, bankers. (Parker, Selby.

Swindells, J.. Manchester, mercer, (Law and
Coates, Manchester.

Shirley, T., New Bridge-street, Blackfriars, Lon-
don, wine-merehant. (Wadeson, Dingwall, and
Duke, Austin-friars.

Sawers, M. E., Sloane-street, Chelsea, Middlesex,
milliner. (Fawcett, Jewin-street, Cripplegate.
Skelton, S., King-street, Holborn, jeweller. (King

and Whittaker, Gray’s-inn-square.

Smith, J., George-place, Camden-town, Middle-
sex, silversmith and jeweller, (Cooke, Gray’s-
inn-square.

Shepard, 'T., late of the Wheat Sheaf, Upper
Mary-le-hone-street, Middlesex, victualler.
(Miller, New-inn.

Tayler, W. W., Mary-le-bone-lane, Middlesex,
wine-merchant. (Smith, Basinghall-street.

Treasure, J., Monythusloyne, Monmouthshire,
shopkeeper. (Platt and Hall, New Boswell-
court, Lincoln’s-inn, London.

Turner, A., Luddenden Foot, Halifax, Yorkshire,
curpet-manutacturer, (Stansfield, Halifax.

Thornely, T., Hadtield, Glossop, Derbyshire.
(Hadfield, Manchester.

Vickery, W., late of Brereton, Cheshire, innkeeper.
(Vandrey, Congleton.

Vincett, H., Gloucester place, Brigthelmston,
Sussex, grocer. (Brookbank, Brighton.

Wills, E. P., Chichester, Sussex, tailor. (Haslam
and Bischoff, Copthall-court.

Whitehouse, W. W., Worcester, skinner, gloye-
manufacturer, and leather-seller. (Holdsworth,
Son, aad Finch, Worcester.

Woodman, P., the elder, Piccadilly, corn-dealer.
(Gilbert and Co., Mark-lane.

Whitworth, W., Manchester, and Nicholas Whit-
worth, Drogheda, Iveland, corn-factors. (At-
kinson and Birebh, Manchester.

Whayman, R., West Smithfield, London, licensed
victualler. (Young, Warwick-square.

W alley, G., Tunstall, Staffordshire, victualler.
(Hales, Tunstall, :

Wright, G., Woodhouse, Leeds, Yorkshire, stone-
mason. (Hargreaves, Leeds.

Woodruffe, 'T., Ramsey, Essex, dealer in cattle.
(Griffith and Son, Green-street, Grosyenor-
square,

Wiltshire, W. F. S., Somersetshire, innholder,
(Miller, Frome.

Wragge, F. F., Preston, Lancashire, bookseller,
(Easterby, Preston,

(Burt, Mitre-

Willis, J., Vanuxhall-road, Pimlico, draper.
(Ashurst, Newgate-street.
Wragge, F., Preston, Lancashire, stationer,

(Walker, Preston.

Watts, J., Corsley Heath, Corsley, Wilts, grocer
and baker. (Miller, Frome.

Watson, H., Regent-street, Oxford-street, print-
seller, (Springall and Thompson, Verulam-
buildings, Gray’s-inn.

Wood, H., Jermyn-street, Middlesex, upholsterer.
(Dalston, Took’s-court, Chancery-lane.

Winterton, T., Karl Shilton, Leicestershire, spirit-
merchant and cattle-dealer. (Jarvis, Hinckley,

Woodward, M., Rugeley, Staffordshire, mercer.
(Smith, Rugeley.

f 696 J [Duc.

MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

Ar this late period of the’ season, there is little variety to report in the ordinary
course of husbandry, the detail of which necessarily consists of mere repetition.
But unfortunately at the present crisis, there is too much intelligence of a different
nature, yet strictly connected with the subject and indispensable as to its promul-
gation, with which all the country letters are filled. Upon all light and dry soils,
the process of wheat sowing has been completed with that dispatch and in that
excellent order which we noticed in our last report ; indeed on such, the present
has been one of’ the most early and successful seasons within memory ; but where-
ever there have been heavy falls of rain within the present month, the operation
has been retarded in poachy and heavy clay lands ; thence on such, the business
will be protracted to the first, probably the second, week of December. The
showery weather with warm SW. winds, forced up the early-sown wheats with
such rapidity, that the young blades luxuriated above ground within six days,
causing an apprehension that they would outgrow their strength; the late suc-
cession, however, of frosty nights had the beneficial effect of impeding their sudden
and immature career. In the moist climate of South Wales, on their earliest
sown heavy lands, the young plants have -run up. to a height which they had not
strength to support, whence they have fallen, to the figs of their roots being
washed out of the soil. There is also a complaint in most parts of the south of
the slug and grub, ‘These, however, are the common-place of every season, which
must necessarily have its share of difficulties of some kind or other, and on the
whole, tie present has been most fortunate both with regard to the very extensive
breadth of wheat sown, and the expedition with which it has been performed. In
the above regards, we have fewest complaints from the north, and should the
expected crop prove abundant, we shall be able to judge of what England can do
for herself, under her present burden of population. The opinion which we
lately gave of the extent of the present variable crop (the fourth bad crop in too
many parts), seems to be generally and fully confirmed, and the foreign supply
in bond, our last resource of that kind, winter being so near at hand, amounted lately
to somewhat short of a million quarters of corn. ‘The superabundant and excellent
potatoe crop, will be materially instrumental in economizing the consumption of
wheat. The fallows for spring crops are generally in a forward state, excepting
on heavy, wet, and intractable lands, to. which a short course of dry weather and
aération is indispensable. From the various qualities of the wheat and barley,
ptices have differed to an uncommon amount; but markets, with all their tem-
porary and usual fluctuations, have still maintained a steady high price for good
samples, the finest wheat generally gpoumanding full four pounds per quarter.
The grass, where the soil is not too wet and poachy, still continues abundant, and
the cattle, particularly. where sheltered, are in a healthy and thriving state.
Turnips fully answer the character already given of them as to quantity, but
there exists some apprehension that the inordinate quantity of moisture which
has forced.them. up, may also have had the effect of reducing the quantity of the
root. It willbe a great risk to store the mildewed Swedes, and also the mangold
which may have been carried in a wet state. The universal Ne cg of wheat
and barley, as a preparation for the festivities of Christmas, must have diminished
considerably the stocks in the country. The purchase of wheat for seed at a high
price, whilst their own inferior crop has been sold to the millers at a very low one,
has hung ay. heavy on the circumstances of too many farmers. In cutting and
carrying the late crop, a vast quantity of the ripest grain was shed, being parched
by the sudden intense heat of the sun, the consequence was a number of green
luxuriant crops in the stubbles. We recollect an instance many years since, when
several of these self-sown wheat crops were suffered to stand, producing, according
to report, two and three quarters per acre.. Considerable breadths of land are
reseryed in the north, for sowing with turnips as a late spring food. Those
farmers in the best counties, who have not sufficient stock to consume their turnips,
obtain from 30s. to 40s. per acre, by letting them to others.

The local variations of demand and supply must ever occasion a variety and
inequality of market price, but on the whole, perhaps, with the exception of
Scotland, all kinds of live stock, particularly stores, have supported a very high
autumnal price, and perhaps are, even at present, on the advance. Large cattle
are purchased most reasonably, but sheep, pigs, cows and calves, if of good quality,
are worth almost any price that can be asked, and it is averred, make 16 per cent.
above last year’s prices. The late great fairs have been at no rate overstocked
with sheep, and from the constant extreme moisture of the weather, a continuance

1831.] Agricultural Report. 697

of the rot is apprehended; thence none are saleable without warranty. The
demand for Ty es hacks, hunters, and coach horses, is said to be increasing in
the north, and all breeding districts, with even an increasing demand of price
on the part of the sellers. Good stout cast colts find a ready sale—five and six
year olds, from £40. to £50. each. In Scotland the farmers go to the price of £35.
to £40. each, for their draught horses. Quoting high prices of live stock, we made
an exception which tells against Scotland. Certain of their fairs have been so
overstocked with store cattle, that it was found impossible tojobtain purchasers for
them, and the few that were sold, it seems, did not then return cost price in the
Western Isles. On hops, the markets afford nothing new. By the stillness jof
speculation, it would seem that the crop is likely to prove full as heavy as was
expected. The expected advance in wool has not arrived ; import has pretty well
settled that question, It is no longer matter of doubt, whether or not this
country can supply its own manufactures. The make in the cheese dairies during
the last season was most extensive, and the demand, hitherto, has been fully equal:

rices in proportion. Our Norman orchards, as usual, have made up for the
Teficienc in our home growth ofapples. The supply of new bacon has been early,
and quick of sale. ,

As to the miscellaneous part of our report, we regret to say that it cannot be of
a generally pleasing and satisfactory cast. The land proprietors, better late than.
never, are exerting themselves with a degree of patriotic industry; but much’
remains to be done suffieient to avert obviously impending calamities. The great
increase of agricultural societies, and the meed of encouragement and countenance
feasts hela forth to the agricultural labourers, cannot fail, in a certain
measure, of being attended with beneficial effects. One most judicious remedy we.
hail in the new Game Bill, which, whatever may be its defects, is no doubt the
best for which our patriotic ministry could procure a passage through both houses.
It will put a period to one grand source of demoralization—poaching. Of the merits
of the new act for employment of the poor, it would be premature to speak. Allot-.
ments of land are no doubt granted with the best intentions, but they are liable
to various objections, and are said not to be popular inthe country. The infamous
truck system has been, with true policy, interdicted by the law.

As to the allotments of land, the objections of the labourers are that, should the

uantity of land be sufficiently large to prove of any essential use, it would be

beyond their ability to work them; if small, the resource from them would

be poor and ineffective; and beyond all, they could have little relish or muscular
power for additional labour, after having laboured crore the day for their
master. That most afflictive and nationally disgraceful topic, IncENDIaRIsM,
remains ; but we cannot, ought not, continue silent on a calamity, with which all
our letters and country reports are so anxiously filled. The manner in which
these atrocities was at first received, both without doors and within, was most
extraordinary, equally at variaice with good morals as with true policy. Truly,
it must. have been the work of foreigners, for English labourers could not pos-
sibly have been guilty of such diabolical acts! Had our orators actually been,
or chosen to have been, conversant in the history and character of our peasantry,
they would surely have hesitated betore they ventured on such absurd declarations. .
About thirty years since, the Gazette was tolerably well replenished with incen-
diarism—a century since, to a still greater degree; and such has ever been the

yractice of our oppressed and starved peasantry, during every period of scarcity.
Redr ess is, no doubt, justly due to these unfortunates; but it is no part of either
justice, morality, or policy, not merely to palliate, but to encourage their vicious,
dastardly, and vindictive inclinations. The attempt to conciliate midnight incen-
diaries, robbers, and murderers, who have never been appalled or softened by the -
agus of the numerous animals they have burned alive, is, indeed, a happy trait
) poeghic morality and forbearance. Just and liberal usage ought to succeed,
with sound. moral instruction, which might, in due time, eradicate that lurking
villany which has so long disgraced our country.

_ Smithfield —Beef, 3s. 0d. to 4s. 2d.—Mutton, 4s. 0d. to 5s. 0d.—Veal, 4s. 0d. to
5s. 0d.—Pork, 4s. 0d. to 5s. 6d.—Dairy, ditto 6s. 4d.—Rough fat, 2s. 10d.

Corn Exchange.—W heat, 48s. to 80s.—Barley, 25s. to 45s.—Oats, 20s. to 31s. 6d.
—London loaf, 4lb. 10}d.—Hay, 45s. to 84s.—Clover ditto, 80s. to 120s.—Straw,
28s. to 36s.

Coal Exchange.—Coals, in the Pool, 27s. 0d. to 37s, 6d. per chaldron, addition
of about 10s. per chaldron for cartage. ;

Middlesex, November 25th.
M.M. New Series.—Vot. XII, No. 72. 3H

[ 698 j

[Dxc.

ECCLESIASTICAL PREFERMENTS, MARRIAGES, DEATHS, ETC.

Rey. J. Geddes, Minister ofthe High
Church, Paisley, to be Minister of St.
Andrew’s, Glasgow.—Rev. S. T. Har-
man, to the Curacy of St. Paul’s, Cork.
—Rey. J. J. Cory, to the Vicarage of
Orton-on-the-Hill cum Twycross, Lei-
cester.—Rev. Henry Joseph Bowden,
to the Perpetual Curacies of Chilton and
Edington, Somersetshire.—Rev. W. M.
Dudley, to the Perpetual Curacy of St.
James, Poole.—Rev. Moses Starratt, to
the Curacy of Kells, near Dublin.—
Rey. Charles Harbin, to the Rectory of
Weathill, Gloucestershire.— Rev. Ed-
ward James Phipps, to the Rectory of
St. John’s, in Devizes.—Rev. John
Hughes, to the Rectory of Coddington,
near Ledbury, Herefordshire.—Rev. J.
W. Hatherell, to the Rectory of East-
ington, Gloucestershire—Rev. Thomas
Edmondes, to the Rectory of Ashley-
cum-Sylverley, Cambridgeshire.—Rev.
John Williams, to be Domestic Chaplain
to the Right Hon. Lord Dinorben.—
Rey. William John Philpotts, to the
Vicarage of St. Ewnie Lanant, Corn-
aa Rev Daniel George Stacy, to
the Vicarage of Hornchurch, Essex.—
Rey. John Hughes, to the Prebendal
Stall of Nantgunllo, in the Collegiate
Church of Brecon.— Rev. Mr. Thelwall,
to the Vicarage of Oving, Bucks.—Rev.
James Morton, to the Vicarage of Hol-
beche, Lincoln.—Rey. Reginald Rabett,
to the Vicarage of Thornton and Bag-
worth, Leicestershire. —Rev. W. Bo-
wen, Perpetual Curate of Emasharold,
to the Vicarage of Hay, Brecon.—Rev.
Charles Maybery, to the Rectory of
Penderin, Breconshire. — Rev. John
Morgan Downes, to the Chapel of
Llanulid, in the Parish of Deveynock,
Brecon.—Hon. and Rev. Robert Eden,
to be Chaplain in Ordinary to the King.
—Rev. Marmaduke Thompson, to the
Rectory of Brightwell, Berks.—Rev. T.
Lowe, to the Ministry of the New
Church of St. Paul, Warrington, Lanca-
shire.—Rev. W. G. Bricknell, to the
Vicarage of Hartley Wintney, Hants.
—Rev. C. S. Stewart, Session Clerk,
Perth, to the Church and Parish of
Aberdolgie. — Rev. John Tomlinson
Day, to the Vicarage of Risely, Bed-
fordshire.—Rev. Thomas William Sal-
mon, to the Perpetual Curacy of Wood-
bridge, Suffolk—Rev. Thomas George
Kidd, to the Vicarage of Bedingham,
Norfolk.—Rev. George Oliver, to the
Vicarage of Scopwick, Lincolnshire. —
Rev. Rubert Vernon, Rector of Hey-
thorpe, Oxfordshire, to the Rectory of
Grafton Fly ford, Worcestershire.— Rev.

Ser MO

&

tt

Archdeacon Hamilton, to the first Resi-
dentiaryship in Lichfield Cathedral.—
Rev. Robert Whitehead, to the Cha-
pelry of Hensingham, Cumberland.—
Rey. E. Hill, to the Vicarage of Kirt-
ling, Cambridgeshire —Rev. G. Smith-
wick, of the Cathedral of Killaloe, to the
Living of Birr, in the room of the Rev.
KR. Hume, who succeeds to the Vicarage
of Aughaday, Diocese of Derry.—Rev.
James John West, to the Rectory of
Winchelsea, Sussex.— Rev. J. A. G.
Colpoys, M.A., Rector of North Wal-
tham, Hants, to the Rectory of Drox-

ford. —
MARRIAGES.

At St. Margaret’s, Westminster, L.
Bathurst, Esq., of Vale-place, Hammer-
smith, to Mary Ann, daughter of the
late Wm. Smith, Esq., of Kensington
Gore.—At Loughton, Essex, General
Grosvenor, to Anna, youngest daughter
of the late G. Wilbraham, Esq., of De-
lamere-house.—At Basing church, Al-
fred Collet Bartley, Esq., of Mitcham
Green, to Charlotte O’Hara, daughter
of Richard Booth, Esq., of Basing-house,
Hampshire.—At Betchworth, in Surry,
Mr. Sergeant Goulburn, to the Hon.
Catherine Montagu, sister of Lord
Rokeby.— At Sandbach church, Che-
shire, the Rev. Henry Spencer Mark-
ham, of Clifton Rectory, county of
Notts, to Sophia Charlotte, daughter of
the late Sir John L. Kaye, Bart., of
Denby Grange, Yorkshire.—At All
Souls, Mary-le-bone, Adam Askew, Esq.,’
of Redheugh, in the county Palatine of
Durham, to Elizabeth, sixth daughter
of the late Sir Rd. Rycroft, Bart., of
Everlands, in the county of Kent.

DEATHS.

At Bombay, Lieut. Graham James
Graham, ofthe 6th regiment Native In-
fantry, youngest son of the late James
Graham, Esq., of Richardby, Cumber-
land.—After a residence of sixteen years
in India, at Sylhet, in the Presidency of
Bengal, W. James Turquand, Esq.,'
Chief Magistrate and Collector of that’
place, 33.—At Kidderpore, near Cal-
cutta, the Rev. John Adam, second son
of Benjamin Adam, ‘Esq., of Homerton,
28.—At his house, Harley-street, Gene-
ral the Hon. Charles Fitzroy.—In Beau-.
mont-street, Nathaniel Coffin, Esq., in
his 83d year, eldest brother of Admiral
Sir Isaac Coffin, Bart.—At her residence,
the Grange, near Ellesmere, Lady ‘Tara,
relict of Lord Tara,.and second daughter
of the late T. J. Powys, Esq.; of Ber-
wick House.

PRESENTED

INDEX

VOL. XII.

ORIGINAL PAPERS, &.

Aarcsla Benorts. ssivpveriesncwsds aovessnvegngneds US 4i 2225 AOE MOL, (bd,
HUE DISCOVETIC asihsiatinaoabAic.ccietepica bocsaegeineden ae an cnatsialnaes waa opNdenanenae
++—_— Tribes, the Ashantees, Breiasuak: as deadegwaseaacs Giuwoadb eamads opeceonetieg
A Weeping Willow-ism .....cccce cece cnenencnacancaee cess secaenen posses eaes veges
Advertisements Extraordinary .. Silas pp.np sons Waseda daub oddesictee cain aeeaa vines
Apparition Adventures,. .....+5+++++20secesresersrenarsaneraanecenen sanen seeder ence
Biographical Memoirs ale Eminent Persons s.sss+sese+e 102, 337, 456, 578,
Bankrupts .....csceceeseesseres steering ae 221, 340, 460, 580,

Page
696
157
ALA
168
188
629
691
693

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Commercial Report... eitnehiads sdaacacdedaveceneddacmictedpiimacal sWudteGaedeneaes aes
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Conference, the, and the Five Great Powerisicssacclecsiiiiede dies hebia ce
eres” Catis- and Crmnibses>> ats opcromceccossrcr rast crappatepe tstacetennerave
Character and Anecdotes of, Nicholas Chamntortarnarverrnneneeenesesn
Cholera Speculations .....-.+srereessancepsarassenersansnns se anen cece snsnachesteseee
Consolations in CholerS, nnseconcanenechseeeardenennaise ae a een arte to
Don Pedro and the Brazilian Revolution..... So Gein te, sauna Ske Gaines ev seas oe
Don Miguel and the State of Portugal,....... shana sensevns aaeases oe eeen seebaees
Day at the Head-Quarters of the Russian Army in Sameera Tebdeak
irre Ti ASTICA incnccasijanssecntdsmonomsedo en ydiowe Loe Taat oe ea WO LO UCR aeRE
Kurope and the English Parliament. Neaoine Sabb ephete actr aticttedaber. divers uees

AT,
515
14
105
107
119
179
225
231
369:
660.
388
136
245
269
393
I

Ecclesiastical Preferments......+++++0++seceseeeesecen 107, 924, 343, 463, 584, 698

METEPTICCETICTICILICH, oeicn aa pace co cceodcmanace tecaered coerce tena tances euieittice de
MEMERPLOTIDEIOL PALIG, UH) isa -apuansameeea wine ened Beh ccGnccacwucnl ce cakes cowie
PTET £02 CONMINENE «ineqsuagsmssibisneemiecca came oo hose astvarsinainseseo'te
as ihe Close of (SA ee ee he chat

SMILE ODKCTY, 045. opnnihde saasndumensl iancsata ght esatucusds chiccsovsiveves'doniuas siccies
Eeace, Sropulat; Liber ates Ohne van Mlile scudapes ceurida tend coce:snicsied vokaed cowagene

131

Ine Arts’ Ublications......seess. PPP PPP eee eee) 100, sige ‘334, eens 571, 688

SeeOG Might ito Taglionic i. .ivccceetaveiis cotiaiscie scesccvsssce cd costes opeeecsdcese
Beetset, (a Rhapedd yews a. 250et Aah BA os od viigdbaeeeved se 0des caves v6 docatatedeve
Johnson, Boswell, and Croker PONT WS ARTR oa WEV is on'cote ss sapcadaces oe edenteescans
King’s Speech, Parliament, the Continent... dose es onchev ap evesss gonupeay
Lodgings in the Strand.....cssescssecseene Rappavitduvise voes cbageses sa presence ene sians

Law Reform FTP HT ETOH EHH HT HTS EH HET HE SESH EEE HED ETOH ESET EE OD HE SE EH ET OOOH ESET SHEE EO HE

54

INDEX.

London Bridge Lion, the........sesessetseessessenceneeeeeteercecetecesecenseseneres 293
Laso, the; its Origin and Cie eset ence
Liberal Notions ...... a cleaius «sicalecinecsine vole be ncisciosiela Sepomeiene
Maxims by a Middle-Aged Gentleridte scscccccs cess sucotes
Miranda d’Aragon, a Tale of the Inguisition... sas sé selnsneleeseeene 25
Monthly Review of Literature .. chaiotey "89, 201, 321, 441, 561, 663
« My Wife,” a Whisper... med (cle slesiasiey ss selsSoa/ssiectenanosaaaneegeressr cml at
My Acquaintance with ST Se ge SMS DIES AO REIL NS 645
My First Duel.. mee etee aa etna sm sean siaieienisiselua(endalees sles eclssistlacclexteet- eaten <n
Magic of Night, ‘the .. Relat cclediecacles anigsten aieciacsinines en ccisis seventeen eet Okt
Man of Letters, the.... eae conschnoe ail
Notes of the Month, on Affairs i in 1 General . 73, ‘I91, ‘308, ‘425, 552, 662
Narrative of the Conspiracy at Cadiz.. siqalaniu's'« claw'vcissiaacy esiestaslomaeeeee iste mea
Popular! Eateratune: Gl PPANEE:<. svesccecs oc ccctas ws decaanotan asics cocceseceneenet
Provincial Occurrences........... soNMAME visas oi clom/seo enon deeelenea routes 10
Paganini’s Interview with Satan. ss... Bios vs no:as'eos waahtsmaieesian shou Roriasicalceia Det a
Paragraphs from a Traveller’s Pert ialin.ccccs so neptone caer Cone 305, 404
Pope Gregory ands thee ear= 0 866... ...2 ice ances tevsine cesses as enuy suvsnensnseaenam
Proposals for Abolishing the 1st of ‘September... a dsidloa bedi ecseuetabeseuton ce dou
Patents for Mechanical and Chemical Inventions.. s...s+s0ssssseesevece oe ss 220
Passages from the Life of Brpsleriek Wellipre.-- e's <taaroais osciee a steele eeeisege Eee
Bemis of-Penmanshlprrvasrduccidd sv sdeasdercowuastedslectteclcasts eeLaieindtoness a0
Ravine. of the Unburied Dead... ..+s.ss.++ sesesseee0- co lecsdlccanas deeemuetietes: SOU:
Recollections of Scenes and Cities Robes ads dResK ONE ROR ee “161, 238
Reasons for Retirement.. Se eee CTR O ee ny ete
Reflections on a Ramble in n Germany.«. oer 00 seedpenaae hal 8, 623
Rhymes of the Times, No. 1, by an Anti-Reformer.. 10040 deeees bs ne ceesecinagsign OOD,
—_——_____—_—-,, No. 2, by. a saat deeded andy cdastes saead seeped “
Specimens: of Gant soos cave vote Wervos rere sogeewedcedecvevscscdtucduenbevedee sate

SEAN aiatbg ste bin anoncens sddon'bensad tidide 90 db Sdae cacconewoncbieute diveeseieaet 72, 178
State. of Burope ..0.s00+vesssnnehnapanishive sev aieneoys cos pencnen seve ancaqescpenenieatenibe
Spanish Highways and Byways.,....sesesesseeseceaneecseeees 144, ‘210, 502, 652
Stories of Living Musicians ...... Syeadeuddsvleacdeves ems voucenscveceuarsuesesaee
Speculator, thes sue ccs Gwe Teese REDO oa soteg doves co eee ea coes guce bee
Steam-Packet Regulations... Hebe ec cece vats GeNeNs eck géd ofUUbbsi) sled dbueeaDE
Sterne and.the Duke of Wharton. Apasittes cxlenesutessvenes Cae ReHUcrremocetoecae en
Sou ncenety LNG: cossivsjatys ossvegpaseaatseatelsnac/cack sper seiepeciie emacs snanenaceneanmeae
SP Ut SHAE LAs, sere este es cees vse tenneneenstnstneeneneenencneornesntes 644
Sycophant, thesis sse. SOFLG oe old BE ACU Iie ee ce even enttvte seutousase este eset guaciteds sel AO
Bhe Olden, Time iayss'r- acvasuedd -casianende 00 dallvioe seas se anise cciessclhsids do WWahasuolednhOO
The Tutor-Fiend.and aus Three Pupils Sepia oe
The Steam-Boat......... aus
Dae Lata ppt as Sheek cecsccatene to ce avicceenatnedcs ctae stucncae en ch se angen nnn
The Vision of Beasts.cse....csssscssesecevcees UBuciudiduesduievesseivertvoced sotcenae acetate,
To Mary—in es Ea ieowwelseste..»
Things Theatrical .........
“ Too Early” . os aa SA vaanvenasauisuimeliaied «clecitettee Geteiltte siete Maen
Works in the Press, and New Publications... 1 100, 217, 335, “454, 576, 690
Wisdom .of Folly, the... als Gar Aid). avllecvsocessslelddaveentdouedoeutenecucs ae
Who wrote ‘ Gil Blas.?”

#00 on veeasionae ceee'se cose agnvee ea: CAO

woe eave en ccescccscccccecccece er ecesccevecccncee SIE

SoidUla view noweldees docs bcubusled cbiee sbiomaniawOlUle

SOLS CORSETS EE EH ET ED ED ETE EE ETE E ET EEE SES ES SOSH SESH EE EE 548

PSCC CT SS TT ST TO TECH EVER SOUT SESE EEE EE CT ER SHED Oe OH EO SEEEOE ED 481

INDEX TO WORKS REVIEWED.

Page
Adventures of a Younger Son........ 682
* Key to Reading............ wees 449
Brooke’s Spain and Morocco........ 89
Beattie’s Journal of a Residence in
EE OS abr. Se irae 92
Cabinet Cyclopedia,
94, 208, 330, 442, 568, 683
Cabinet Library ...........0..000 209
Classical Library ............ 327, 685
Change of Air..... - ADO 333
Cuvier’s Animal Kingdom Translated 446
Crotch’s Lectures on Music ........ 448
Cooper’s Bravo > CUO AB acetic: 561
County of Leicester ......2ce+..-: 564
Constable’s Miscellany ........ 565, 679
Campaigns and Cruises in Venezuala,
‘A aliarlds ‘ie agoneenesd soma neta

Divines of the Church of England 329, 679
Dialogues on the Protestant and Ca-
tholic Rules of Faith .......-.++. 562
Dictionary of the Extinct Peerage.... 685
Encyclopedia Britannica ....-. 210, 682
Ellis’s Polynesian Researches 446
Fables and other Pieces in Verse .... 686
Few Words on many Subjects ...... 90

Family Library ........-. 210, 332, 451
Family Topographer ..........+++- 685
Familiar Law Adviser .......+. oe. 684
Fletcher’s History of Poland..... eee 213
First Lines of Zoology ....... ase rand
Family and Parochial Sermons...... 569
Galt’s Bogle Corbett .....s...0006 93

Gardens and Menagerie of the Zoolo-
gical Society 100
Grattan’s Jacqueline of Holland .... 203

eee tenes wate ween

Page
Guide to the Orchard and Kitchen Gar-
a 10's see aaig creyaiie: oie isionetepe ite ae
Gilfillan’s Original Songs .. ...... 445
Hooker’s Botanical Miscellany ...... 95
Halford’s Essays and Orations...... 204
325
44]
441
451

den ..

Huskisson’s Speeches.......-+e+eee:
Heurteloup’s Principles of Lithotrity
History of English Dramatic Poetry. .
Homonymes Frangais........-+-- :
History of the Mutiny of H. M. s.

BONgty ec enis =
History of the Roman and. English

Hierarchies .......... Ani sera oes!

ise.) 1S-eeesahO66
568
Ivan Vejeeghan, or Life in Russia .. 331
Insect Miscellanies........0s-+s++++ 570
Law of Husband and Wife ........ 685
Life of Sir Thomas Lawrence........ 93
SRR ee os poli
Letters to a Young Naturalist ...... 328
London Pageants 444
London Manual of Medical Chemistry 686
Le Traducteur ........ 563
Memorials of the Stuart Dynasty -..- 207
Memoir of Sebastian Cabot ......... 211
Manual of Materia Medica ........ 322
Novelist’s Library .........+-+++-+ 210
Odds and Ends > See LOG
On the alleged Decline of Science in

RIT DIAG Cistdtaiets: sls'e nai 5 0015.6 seees

Life of Henry Pestalozzi

orem er eeee

443
564
212
214
Plain Rules for improving the Health 444
Poetical Works of C. B. Ashe ...... 562
Poland under the Dominion of Russia 680

Orlando Furioso translated ...-....

Paris and London ............. vee
Principles of English Composition... .

INDEX.

Page
Practical Observations on the Prolap-
sus of the Rectum ........ ba oc ase
Reasons for the Hope that isin us.... 97
Reform, a Poem.........+seeeeees 202
Remarks on the Condition of Hunters 563
Social Life in England and France.... 91
Standard Novels
Spain in 1830 ..........eseeee eee 98
Seaward’s Narrative of his Shipwreck 201
Sunday Library .......... 208, 453, 681
Synopsis of the Origin and Progress of

‘The Twelve Nights ...ee..+.---+- 97
The Young Duke
The Staff-Officer ...+.+sseeeeeees
The Club-Book

s@ereeeereerereee 98

eee eet eew een ee cee

Page
The Cabal ...0.cescsessces Mans « GSS
The Seventeenth Century a Beacon to
the Nineteenth ..........--- seee 683
Tales of a Physician .......+++0+++ 324
The Soldier Boy.....-22 seesseeee 326
Tour in England, Ireland, and France 677
Treatise on Cholera Asphyxia ....-- 329
The Solitary, a Poem.......+sse0+- 331

Tales of the late Revolutions .....
Translations of the Oxford Latin Prize

Vindication of the South Sea Missions

Van Diemen’s Land Almanack bie oc stone
Waverley Novels....+..+--+ «+. 210, 451
Wakefield’s Punishment of Death,... 324

EMINENT AND REMARKABLE PERSONS,

Whose Deaths are recorded in this Volume.

Simon Bolivar.
Rt. Hon. John Cal- Earl of Mulgrave.
craft, M.P. ;

James Monroe, Esq. James Northcote,

Mrs. Siddons.
Esq,, R.A. Thomas Roscoe,
Earl of Northesk. Esq.

ary
; Uh Dry
AD

Feet!

ere e
wie a eere

Sree et arene

CScno
Sooo
were oreo s

228s