THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE,

OR

BRITISH REGISTER

OF

LITERATURE, SCIENCES, AND THE BELLES-LETTRES.

PRESENTED
*crfctf. , 8 DEC ,943

JANUARY TO JUNE.
VOL. XIII.

LONDON :

PUBLISHED BY WHITTAKER, TREACHER, AND CO.,

AVE-MARIA-LANE.

1832.

LONDON :

BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, BOU VKRIE-STHKKT.
FLEET STRKKT.

JANUARY, 1832.

CONTENTS.

I. Tom Moore's Prophetic Almanack for the Year 1832 3

II. The New "Bill" 10

III. Brevities , 15

IV. Lines accompanying a Portrait of the late William. Roscoe, Esq. 16
V. Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay 17

VI. Oyster-Day in London, by a Native 27

VII. An Attack upon the Clubs ! . 33

VIII. New Year's Hints for the Management of the Magazine, in a

Private Letter to the Editor 39

IX. War-Song, for the Army to be sent against the Emperor of

China 43

X. Wysocki's Narrative of the Polish Insurrection 44

XI. The Cambridge "Freshman" 52

XII. Ode to Colonel Jones, with a Graphic Sketch of " Radical" 54

XIII. Goethe's Visit to Beireis 57

XIV. "Fantasia" a-/a-Hood 67

XV. Tithes versus Rent 67

XVI. The Old Year, by an Ultra-Tory 78

XVII. TheNewYear, by a Liberal Whig 79

XVIII. Ugo Foscolo, and the Italian Poets 80

XIX. The Procrastinator 89

XX. NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL : — Cobbett
and the Scotch — the Horror Hunters — Fasting in High Life —
Burking at Boston — Paganini and the Surgeons — Crime encou-
raged by Law— The Cholera— Holy well Street and the "Times"
Actors and Audiences — Privileges of the Peerage — Waverley and

Werter united, &c. &c 99

XXI. REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS 110

XXII. NEW Music 121

XXIII. WORKS IN THE PRESS, AND NEW PUBLICATIONS 125

XXIV. AGRICULTURAL REPORT, &c 127

TO THE READERS OF " THE MONTHLY."

THE few words which it has become requisite to preface the present Number
with, will not assume the important form of an Address ; a simple note of ex-
planation is all that is necessary.

The " Monthly" has passed into other hands. This declaration will at once
account for any deviation from the political course it has lately adopted, that
may be observable in this number. The new conductors of the Magazine will
not say, in the hacknied phrase of most editorial addresses from the throne, that
they are " perfectly unbiassed by party feelings ;" on the contrary, they acknow-
ledge themselves to be influenced by party ; — th'at party, is the People, headed by
a King who has the rare wisdom to perceive, that the dignity of the crown is
identified with the rights of the subject. It is not to them a matter of vast im-
portance, whether the number for. January, 1831, agree or not, in every political
particular, with the present — for January, 1832 ; but it is exceedingly important
that they should express their opinions without reference to those of their pre-
decessors ; and that they should devote their Journal, as far as its influence
extends, to the dissemination of such principles as, in their belief, must ulti-
mately tend more to the true glory of England, than all its Blenheims, Agin-
courts, and Waterloos.

By way of prelude to these internal changes, they have adopted an external
one. The new wrapper of the Magazine is decorated with the head of Milton —
an outward and visible sign, they trust, of the inward spirit and integrity that
will characterize their pages. They make no apology for concluding this expla-
natory note with Wordsworth's noble sonnet to Milton : it was written thirty
years ago, and times are changed — but the poetry of some of its passages has
survived the philosophy of others : —

SONNET TO MILTON. — WORDSWORTH.

" Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour ;
England hath need of thee ; she is a fen
Of stagnant water. Altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men.
.. Oh ! raise us up, return to us again,
And give us manners, freedom, virtue, power.
Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart ;
Thou had'st a voice whose sound was like the sea,
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free.
So didst thou travel on life's common way
In cheerful godliness — and }ret thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did* lay."

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

To the many favours we owe our Correspondents, we must beg them to add
one more, by putting as charitable a construction as they can upon our silence,
whenever circumstances compel us — as they have occasionally compelled us
during the past year — to be a little Lord Eldonish in our decisions upon their
contributions. We anticipate no delays for the future. All communications
sent before the 10th of the month will be answered on the 1st of the succeeding
month ; from this rule we shall seldom allow ourselves a departure.

Those Correspondents with whom we are at present in arrear, and who do
not receive private communications from us by the 10th of January, will find
their papers, after that day, at our publisher's.

An unusual press of matter obliges us to omit several papers intended for
insertion.

H. BAYLIS, JOHNSON'S-COURT, FLEET-STREET,

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

VOL. XIII.] JANUARY, 1832. [No. 73,

TOM MOORE'S PROPHETIC ALMANACK FOR THE YEAR 1832.

cannot resist a very natural temptation to afford the place of
honour, in our New Year's number, to an article of such peculiar claims,
as that with which the Poet of all circles, and the Prophet of ours, has
so flatteringly favoured us. To look back at the close of a year, is one
thing ; to look forward, is another : to take a sort of Parthian glance at
the panorama of the past, is within the reach of every matter-of-fact
moralizer ; but to dive into the mysteries of a year that has hardly yet
dawned upon the world — to pluck the pearl from the oyster before a shell
has been formed — to unravel the decrees of Destiny before she has made
up her mind about them — and, in short, to tell all the news of the New
Year before an event of it has happened — is to evince an ultra-rail-road,
extra-steam-engine, and super-Osbaldiston sort of celerity, that will not
fail, we trust, of due appreciation. Fudge and Francis Moore, physi-
cian, have had their day. We mean to have a Moore of our own ; and
having long had the profits on our side, we will see what is to be done
in the way of prediction. Now if only one of these our predictions
should come to pass, it will be sufficient to stamp our character as
prophets of the first water ; and place us at least a thousand miles higher
on the steep of fame, than any foreteller of futurity that ever crossed a
palm, or perpetrated a pamplet. The only doubt we have as to the ful-
filment of these prophecies, collectively and individually, is, that the
world itself may come to an untimely end before the year arrives at a
natural one. With that, however, we have nothing to do — nor, indeed,
with the fulfilment of our predictions at all. The business of a true
prophet is simply — to prophecy ; fulfilment is an after-affair. To the
public, who have been promised all possible and impossible things for
the last fifty years, including an exemption from taxes and a millenium,
we may say with the philosophic fortune-teller of Goldsmith — " What !
only a lord and a 'squire for two shillings ! Why, I'll promise you a
prince and a nabob for half the money."]

B 2

4 Tom Moore's Prophetic Almanack for the Year 1832. £JAN.

JANUARY.

Hail, January, hail ! — Hail, rain, and snow —

As snow, rain, hail thou shalt on all below.

With thee comes Twelfth-night back. How changed the scene !

For none, save artists, now " draw King and Queen."

The nation is no more a huge twelfth-cake,

For peers to slice, and panders to partake.

" 'Tis ours," the people shout, " divide it fair !"

Alas ! fond fools, there's nothing left to share.

1st. New year begins — expected to last till the 31st of December,
twelve P.M., unless previously put an end to by the cholera or a comet.
Clause introduced into Mr. O'Connell's " Annual Parliament Bill,"
directing that the year shall terminate once a quarter, or " oftener if
need be." Another clause, proposing to have septennial parliaments
once a twelvemonth. Subject referred to an Irish Committee.

9th. Plough Monday. Hyde Park planted with potatoes, which the
poor are permitted to dig up gratis. Kensington Gardens, and the
squares at the west end, presented, by unanimous votes of both houses,
to William Cobbett and his heirs for ever, for the growth and cultivation
of Indian corn.

30th. King Charles's Martyrdom. All the crowned heads in Europe,
some of which had long been as loose as their morals, swept off by a
magic touch of the great harlequin Intellect.* Their majesties, however,
look quite as dignified without them, and are found to govern just as
wisely — the heads having been principally used to hang their crowns

upon.

FEBRUARY.

Now February comes with strife and storm,
And still it feeds the fever of reform.
To the new bill some nobles yet demur,
And then some shocking things of course occur.
Lord L. about this time will meet the loss
Of his coat-skirt in passing Charing Cross ;
And the lierce mob, impetuous as a mouse,
Will break three panes of glass in Apsley House.

1st. Sun rises — so does the tide and the Monthly Magazine.

3d. Sundry atrocious and horrible outrages committed by the Re-
formers : a gouty gentleman, opposed to the bill, will have his toes
barbarously trodden on by the mob ; several hats will be demolished ;
two buttons torn violently from the coat of a policeman ; and a little
boy, just breeched, will fall into fits and the kennel at the same time.

14th. Meeting of the two-penny postmen of the metropolis to petition
Parliament for the abolition of St. Valentine's Day.

15th. Sir Walter Scott publishes another "last novel," and promises a
" positively last one" for every month in the year.

24tk. Mr. Non- Alderman Scales claims the peerage, by reason of his
descent from the warrior immortalized by Shakspeare —

" Lord Scales, lead on your forces towards Smithfield."

Claim admitted ; nine aldermen expire of envy and apoplexy ; the rest
become idiots; no observable change, however, takes place in their
magisterial habits.

27^A. Unprecedented attraction at Covent Garden. Classical exhi-
bition between the pieces of the identical hackney-coach, No. 310, hired
by the Burkers — Ghost of the Italian Boy to be played by Mr. Keeley —
the music, of course, by Bishop.

1832.] Tom Moore's Prophetic Almanack for the Year 1832. 5

MARCH.

The cutting winds continue to destroy
The last low haunts of boroughmongering joy ;
Hating the Whigs, the Earl of Eldon tears
His own, and runs about as rnad as hares.
Now March sets marches moving, giving wings
To oats, and barley, mind, and such like things ;
And London Bridge, disjointed arch by arch,
Seems onward moving in the general march.

4th. Inundation of the Thames Tunnel — Mr. St. John Long having
rubbed against the brick-work.

Jth. Ash Wednesday. General Fast Day. Mr. Perceval starves to
death, to prove his sincerity. Sir Claudius Stephen Hunter sent to
Bridewell, being detected with nineteen rolls and a ham-bone in his
pocket. The bishops in danger of a similar sentence, for having fortified
themselves with two dinners the day before.

12M. A " Court Guide to St. Giles's" will be published by Mr. Ed-
ward Gibbon Wakefield; being a complete Register of Roguery in all
its branches, as practised in and out of Parliament at the present day —
with a list of the professors and amateurs of the art of thieving and
transferring property, and secret histories of the courts in which they
flourish: the whole intended to shew that there is at present a surplus
pickpocket-population, and that Newgate is the real London Univer-
sity of Useful Knowledge.

IJth. St. Patrick's Day. Mr. O'Connell accepts a seat in the Cabinet,
and a peerage, by the title of Earl of Shamrock and Viscount Shilalagh.

APRIL.

Lo ! April brings, as oft it blows and burns,

Umbrellas and umbrageousness by turns ;

Bland as a blue, stern as a judge un-fee'd,

It shifts as often as a statesman's creed.

Angry and fierce as Mr. Alum Watts,

Yet soft as when he sings of babes in cots.

Like Sibthorpe thus it comes, defying rules,

And brings the yearly Festival of Fools.

1st. All Fool's Day. Mr. Watts publishes his Specimens x>f the Pap-
spoon School of Poetry. Sir Charles Wetherell explains his explanation
of the Bristol affair. Captain Sir Edward Parry sails for the North
Pole. The Royal Society elects its officers, and a distinguished list of new
Fellows : one of the candidates blackballed, by reason of his having new
published a treatise not absolutely stupid the year before. Lord Lon-
donderry rises to oppose the Bill after it has passed the second reading,
having been asleep during the Duke of Cumberland's speech. The
Patent Theatres commence their prosecution against the Minors, for the
daring indecency of producing superior entertainments to their own.
Mr. Irving appointed Professor of the Unknown Language in the Uni-
versity of Oxford ; and Mr. Robert Taylor, Professor of the Vulgar
Tongue, in that of Cambridge.

19th. Maundy Thursday. Mendicity Society presents a petition
against the Reform Bill, on the ground that its operations will tend to fill
the streets with mendicant marquises, and aristocratic cross-sweepers.

Same day, a Mendicity Society is formed, of which Mr. Hunt is
appointed perpetual president — when absent, the association to be
governed by his Vice.

tf Tom Moore's Prophetic Almanack for the Year 1832. [ JASJ*

MAY.

" Next comes fair May," not " fairest maid on ground ;"

For still May-fair a tempest rises round :

Instead of flowers, the town is strewn with briars^

From Hyde Park corner down to Crutched Friars.

The people break no legislative bones ;

They raise their flags, but do not take up stones.

The House of Lords is now Pandora's box,

But Brougham is at the bottom, firm as rocks.

1st. The anti-reformers perform their antics among the chimney-
sweepers, cutting up their robes, ribbons, and garters for disguises.
Lord Eldon undertakes the office of " Jack in the Green." No reaction
takes place, though an action does, between the real Broom-ites and the
anti-Brougham -ites.

An eclipse of the sun, as usual, visible in every part of the metro-
polis, till the summer is over.

24th. Bill passed to legalize the stealing of dead bodies at any hour
of the day or night. The editors and reporters of the London press
wait on Sir Astley Cooper in a hundred and fifty-seven hackney coaches,
to make a formal bequest of their remains, when they shall have no other
use for them, for anatomical purposes. Sir Astley of opinion that the
law of libel ought to be amended ; as the transportations for life that
are likely to take place among the editorial classes, will render the dona-
tion valueless.

29th. The Restoration. Charles the Tenth and the Duke of Welling-
ton exchange significant glances, and devoutly wish that Louis Philip
and Lord Grey would pay a visit to Oliver Cromwell.

JUNE.

Now Sol shines bravely, and King William too ;

The land looks green, but lords are looking blue ;

Shrubs, flowers, lift up their heads — dukes hang theirs down j

All nature smiles, but fifty nobles frown.

The monarch-mariner now crowds all sail,

And, conquering scruples, flies before the gale ;

He, proud to call himself " the nation's Will,"

And we, his jury, finding " a true Bill."

The "glorious first of June." The Reform Question carried in the
House of Lords by a majority that makes every hair of the Bishops'
wigs stand on end. The society called the No-New-Peer Association
dissolved immediately ; the king having threatened, that if the oppo-
sition continued obstinate, he would turn the beef-eaters into viscounts,
or send to Deptford Dock-yard for some raw material for the peerage.
The Duke of Cumberland swoons ; and on opening his eyes, at the end
of nine weeks, tears his moustachios in despair : all Kew in convulsions.

21st. Longest day. Mr. Carus Wilson pays a visit to the Swiss
giantess.

26th. King William's accession. Grand national festival, in celebra-
tion of the advent of Alfred the Second, of the dawn of enlightenment,
and of the total eclipse of tyranny and exclusiveness.

30th. Parliament prorogued preparatory to its final dissolution in
the approaching dog-days.

1332.] Tom Moon's Prophetic Almanack for the Year 1832. 7

JULY.

The Bill has passed ; and now, debating o'er,

The morning papers may be read once more ;

Reporters rush to bed — sweet sleep they get,

As if Sir Peel or Praed were speaking yet.

The " representatives" return in shoals

To those who sent them ; — some are poor lost souls ;

Others explain their votes, appear -depressed,

And swear, of course, " they did it for the best."

4th. The Duke of Wellington expatriates himself, and retires to enjoy
the delights of a grandee-ship at the Court of King Ferdinand ; amus-
ing himself with a correspondence with the great Souchong Too-strong
Teapot, Premier of China — in order, if possible, to arrange the terms of
a war, between that empire and any state that may feel disposed to sacri-
fice itself to the genius of the greatest captain on the globe.

5th. Northumberland House converted into an hospital, on the plan
of St. Luke's, for the accommodation of such of the anti-reformers as
happen to have any wits to lose,

16th. Several members of the Committee of the Temperance Society
fined five shillings, for being found., late at night, in a state of " ine-
briation."

27//z. Sir Robert Peel starts for the Swan River, with the intention
of committing some rash action therein — having made three Waterloo-
Bridge experiments without sinking beneath the surface ; probably from
forgetting to put one of his last speeches in his pocket, to give weight
to the attempt

AUGUST,

Now new constituents know not whom to choose ;
Some they must have, and some they can't refuse.
Lambeth elects Ducrow, its first of stars ;
Thompson and Fearon stand for Holborn-bars :
The Tower "Hamlets" fix on Mr. Young;
And Manchester is charmed by Cobbett's tongue ;
While each proclaims his own unrivalled powers,
And vows, howe'er he votes, to speak for hours.

3d. Mr. Hunt enters Preston in triumph— and a horsepond imme-
diately afterwards. The inhabitants of Old Sarum offer to return him,
upon condition that he obtains a repeal of the disfranchising schedule —
which he readily takes his oath to do. Finally returned by the Tories
for one of the Universities.

Hunt's new Latin Grammar, in imitation of Cobbett's English one,
is published about this time by Mr. Murray — suited, the author ob-
serves, to the measure of his own understanding, or in other words,
" adapted to the meanest capacity."

15th. Admission-fee to the Zoological Society's Gardens advanced
from a shilling to eighteen-pence ; partly on the liberal and philosophic
ground, that knowledge is cheap at any price, and partly on account of
the withdrawal of the aristocracy, who are no longer in a capacity to
pay their annual subscriptions. The Society proposes to send a bear and
a baboon to Parliament to represent the collection.

8 Tom Moore s Prophetic Almanack for the Year 1832. QJAN.

SEPTEMBER.

For five miles round, hark ! loud reports are heard ;
Lo ! fifty sportsmen (!) shooting at one bird.
Mantons are raised — yet old birds lose no legs,
Nor will the young ones be decoyed by Eggs.
Yet forward rush the troop — all sorts of game
In danger, save the things at which they aim ;
Their only boast, when night bids labour cease,
They shot a spaniel and a groom a-piece.

1st. The Reformed Parliament assembles. Bill introduced to make
firing at partridges on the 1st of September a capital offence, it being a
species of "cruelty to animals" of the most flagitious nature ; measure
lost in consequence of an erroneous phrase in the bill, inasmuch as firing
at, which is synonymous with " missing" partridges, cannot be called
cruelty.

3d. Great excitement produced by the exhibitions at Bartholomew
Fair. Among other attractions will be seen, a living Anti-reformer of
the Londonderry species (supposed to be the last of the race), measuring
five feet eleven inches from the top of the coronet to the end of the spur ;
capable of walking erect, though accustomed to crawl in preference ;
speaks much, yet says nothing ; amazingly powerful, yet now perfectly
harmless. Another remarkable animal from Portugal, called the Miguel
(the most rabid and ravenous specimen ever introduced into this country,
though we have had many of the breed), will be exhibited in an iron
cage, and fed every half hour with young princesses, imported at an im-
mense expense.

OCTOBER.

Pheasants and hares now call some people down

To country seats, while plays keep some in town !

A few — for though they've got what keepers call

" Lions," they're not such lions after all.

Does Polhill wish to fill the town with fun ?

Then let the lions sup on Mr. Bunn ;

The head snapped off at " full" price, and the " half"

Admitted at the end of the first calf.

7th. Theatrical monopolies demolished. Patent-theatre prosecutions
against the minor houses, for acting rational pieces, thrown out. The
" large" houses delivered over to the projectors of lion-dramas, panto-
mimes, Ducrowisms, Napoleontics, Stanfieldiana, phantasmagoria, and
diablerie ; and the privilege of performing the tragedies of Shakspeare,
and the comedies of Congreve and Farquhar extended to all theatres
where seeing and hearing are not enjoyed through the medium of opera-
glasses and ear-trumpets.

21st. Repeal of all taxes upon knowledge. Prospectuses of fifteen
morning, three-and-twenty evening, and a hundred and seventy-seven
weekly newspapers, issued immediately ; three of them actually appear,
and survive for nearly a fortnight.

25th. Colonel Sibthorpe utters some sensible observation, which ex-
cites a great deal of astonishment.

1832.] Tom Moore's Prophetic Almanack for the Year ] 832. 9

NOVEMBER.

Stern winter now the widowed year espouses,
And yellow fogs his icy chariot rouses.
All classes now their joys with death are crowning ;
Those who can swim prefer attempts at drowning ;
While some, completely penniless, grow placid,
By having asked the price of prussic acid.
The Guildhall guests as usual cram and clack,
And mourning coaches wait to take them back.

5th. The National Guy Fawkes Committee make their report, that
the Guys of Great Britain are not now properly represented in Parlia-
ment— Sir Charles Wetherell having vacated his seat for Borough-
bridge, or in other words, his seat having become too rotten to hold him.
The committee, after considerable difficulty in selecting, where so many
unobjectionable claims were preferred, come to a decision in favour of
Sir Robert Inglis and Mr. Horace Twiss ; at the same time requesting
Lord Ellenborough to protect and preside over their interests in the
Upper House.

9th. The Lord Mayor's " Annual," published at Guildhall, with numer-
ous plates and cuts ; the mottoes are, first, " one swallow makes not a
summer — though it does a citizen ;" and, secondly, a reversed reading
of Wordsworth's line, " there were forty feeding like one," thus ren-
dering it, " there was one feeding like forty." A copious Obituary con-
cludes the work.

DECEMBER.

The many-coloured year has reached its close,

And England hopes that with it ends her woes ;

She proves to Scotia, Erin, Wales, a mother —

And King and people understand each other.

The bishops' " sees" are dwindled into rivers ;

And lords, though wanting hearts, prove better livers.

While all the peasantry, from York to Cork,

Now eat their bacon with a silver fork.

Among other things there will be a new moon this month, high-water
at London-bridge every day in the week, and a holiday on Christmas-
day at all the public offices.

tith. Ladies are once more observed in the boxes of the Adelphi ; Mr.
John Reeve having transferred his indecencies to another establish-
ment.

\0th. The Garrick Club gains two more members, making a grand total
of seventeen. A committee of six appointed to persuade the rest to pay
their subscriptions.

16th. Parry's Narrative of the Discovery of the long-sought passage to

the North Pole, published ; the Thames Tunnel completed the same day.

20lA. The Quarterly Review publishes a second edition of a curious

paper, which proves, in the clearest manner, that "Junius" was not

Judge Jefferies,

27^. A communication established between the earth and the moon,
through the medium of a steam-rail-road-balloon, invented by the Royal
Society. Mr. Irving consents to act as interpreter between the two
planets.

31s/. 12 p. m. The year 1832 dies ; leaving all mankind happier and
wiser than it found them. This, our last prediction — whether verified or
not — is at least offered in cheerful faith, and true sincerity.

[ 10 ] [JAN.

THE " NEW BILL."

" NOLUMUS leges Anglise mutari" is a popular maxim with a certain
class ; but if understood as a general objection to all change, it is also a
very absurd one. It must sound more especially so to Englishmen —
the history of whose country has been a continued series of changes —
whose constitution has been framed and fortified by repeated alterations —
whose greatest political blessing, indeed, is the yearly revision and alter-
ation of its laws. How long has the English constitution been set
above change and revision ? Without dwelling on the Catholic emanci-
pation, and the abolition of the Test and Corporation acts in the last
reign, we may instance the Grenville act passed in 1770, and afterwards
improved by Lord Grenville, which marked out afresh the limits of
elective franchise. The Bill to change triennial to septennial parlia-
ments passed in 1717, will be likewise admitted to be an important
alteration. The plan for severing the bond between the monarch and the
Upper House, by depriving the King of the privilege of creation, which
passed the peers in the reign of George I., but was rejected by the
Commons notwithstanding the wishes of the king, shews that the prin-
ciple of change was not questioned. It is also an undeniable fact, that
the very character of the constitution has a tendency to change, unless
periodically regulated : revision is requisite to maintain the stability of
its general principles. Some of its most important features have been
insensibly moulded by circumstances, arid not by statute; hence the
present necessity of actual revision.

There is an objection of serious weight, in the opinion of anti-refor-
mers, against Lord John Russell's motion, which is daily and nightly
urged with proportionate vehemence in both houses of parliament, by
the opponents of the Bill, namely, that during the present excitement
it is not a fit time to weigh a matter of such importance with the calm-
ness it demands. Sir R. Peel, in the debate of Monday Dec. 12, and
in a very sophistical speech, if such clumsily conceived fallacies deserve
such a title, advances this objection. After complimenting the govern-
ment on their " deliberate conviction," he talks of " the hands of the ope-
rators trembling with the fever of unnatural excitement." The noble
Lord (Russell), he continued, " has spoken of a speedy and satisfactory
settlement of the question, as involving the welfare of all the interests
in the state. But his argument was of a singular character — for it ap-
peared that as extravagant demands grow with the agitation of the
question, the only wise course was to grant those wild demands, and to
agitate on." " Wild and extravagant demands," &c. are fine words,
though not equally conclusive. — There is an opposite, though homely
saying, relative to such imposing expressions, which the reader's imagi-
nation may probably suggest to him. It is worth a folio of argument —
sophism and ambiguity are the characteristics of this orator ; we will
not therefore waste our time in discussing truisms with regard to him —
but may merely remark, that ambiguity of principle is worse even than
ambiguity of language. But what after all is the weight of the argu-
ment against legislating now ? When have the most important changes
in our constitution been made, but at the time when imperiously called
for, and when the interest about them was at its maximum ? What was
the state of the country when Magna Charta was drawn up ? What was
the state of the country when the Bill of Rights passed ? The Bill

1832.] The " New Bill" ] I

can never be brought forward without exciting the deepest interest
in the country ; and we trust the period never will arrive, when the
people of England shall be so callous and careless of their constitution,
as not to manifest the greatest anxiety in its changes. The agitation of
the popular mind is not in England what it would be in other states: it
is not the symptom of a profound and general discontent, and the fore-
runner of violent commotions. It animates all parts of the state, and is
to be considered only as the beneficial vicissitude of the seasons. The
governing power being dependant on the nation, is often thwarted ; but
so long as it continues to deserve the affection of the people, it can
never be endangered. * Others again object to the " Bill " merely
because it is a " concession to the people's demands/' and fancy that if
they grant reform, more will be demanded afterwards. L'appetit vient
en mangeant seems the motto of the alarmists ; but if the appetite, when
acquired, is not to be satiated by a moderate meal, surely a fast cannot
decrease it. This however has always been the unmeaning cry against
all changes ; and it is curious, that a similar cry was raised against
the septennial parliaments when first established in 1717* viz. that they
would encroach still farther, f We have not however in the present
session heard the blustering and hectoring tirades against concession
to the demands of the people — as if an act of justice was a proof of
cowardice. It is a singular theory, that people must not have reform,
because, convinced of its necessity, they ask for it. There is no doubt,
however, that timely concession to the demands of a nation, is often
the preventive of serious commotions ; thus Charles I., by conceding
the Petition of Right, maintained his seat on the throne eleven years,
and had he not given his subjects fresh provocation, would doubtless
have retained it, and spared the country the horror of convulsion.

Having thus glanced at the preliminary objections, we may now
proceed to examine the provisions of the Bill. " The two great pillars
of the Bill," to use Lord John Russell's words, "are the disfranchise-
ment clause of schedule A, and the 10/. qualification clause/' The
number of boroughs in schedule A is 56, as before, but some change
has been made in the places. Schedule C now comprehends 22 mem-
bers, instead of 12 ; and schedule D, of the towns which are now to re-
turn two members, instead of one, contains 1 1 towns. The number of
members remains the same as at present.

The disfranchisement called forth from Sir R. Inglis, on Saturday
night, some of his usual lamentations on the "wrongs of the freemen."
Supposing they have had the right from the first period of legal me-
mory, to the reign of Richard I., and that in consequence, they can claim
their suffrage as a common-law right, they forget that the power of is-
suing or withholding writs for elections, was vested in the monarch J, till
the time of Charles II., 1676, when the last instance of the exercise of
that power occurred in granting Newark the right of two representatives.
Public opinion has prevented even the mention of such another stretch

* De Lolme on the Constitution.

f Parh Hist, 7; 292.

$ In the 23rd of dEward I. there were 74 knights and nearly 260 deputies, but
the number varied. Henry VIII. added 33 ; Edward VI. created 14 boroughs,
and restored 10; Mary added 21 members, Elizabeth, 60, and James, 27. Many
towns resigned the right, on account of having to support their members.

12 The « New Bill." [JAN.

of authority in the king ; but though the power has passed from his
hands, it has not passed from the constitution, and a temporary discon-
tinuance does not imply a cession of the right. Never "was there a more
forcible example of the fatal effects of small bodies of electors, than
under the Roman republic. The citizens, during a considerable period,
gave their votes by centuries, and so great influence did the patricians
obtain over these minute bodies, that the Roman elections never escaped
from their yoke. The change in the Swedish government may be
traced to a similar agency; the Swedes had formerly great political
privileges, and deputed persons to represent them, but the nobles ob-
tained an ascendancy in their power, and all the form of a liberal govern-
ment vanished.

The argument of Lord Mahon, (see speech on the second reading,)
against the destruction of nomination boroughs, is somewhat singular.
"It is very easy to say where the nomination begins, but who shall say
where it ends ? Nomination began with Old Sarum and Gatton, but
where did it end ? The city of Chester had known the influence of
nomination. Was there no county in which nomination existed ?"
This only renders the measure the more necessary ; and besides, we
might whisper in Lord Mahon's ear, that, if the extent and facility of
bribery and nomination are so great as to influence cities and counties,
the disfranchisement of a few boroughs will not seriously affect the
nominators.

The transfer of the franchise to larger boroughs, is consonant both
with ancient custom* and the principle of the statute, de tallagio non
concedendo. The anti-reformers still complain that the transfer of the
franchise to boroughs, where the aristocracy have no influence, gives a
fatal preponderance to the commercial interest, and that the landed in-
terest is not competently represented. We must beg leave to remind
them of their position, that the boroughs without representatives, were
virtually represented by the other members — such as those for nomina-
tion boroughs, and certainly, in the present case, the members for
large towns newly enfranchised, will prove as good protectors of the
landed interest as the nomination members were before of the commer-
cial interests. The landed interest also, it should be remembered, is
much involved in the commercial interest, and has in a great measure
kept pace with it. s( The greatest and most important branch of the
commerce of every nation/' says Adam Smith, " is that which is car-
ried on between the inhabitants of the town and those of the country.
Whatever tends to diminish in any country the number of artificers
and manufacturers, tends to diminish the home market, the most impor-
tant of all markets for the rude produce of the land, and thereby still
further discourages agriculture." Again, the nomination system, though
at present favourable to the aristocracy, will not necessarily remain so ;
but boroughs will naturally fall, with other property, into the hands of
commercial men. The system has evidently had that tendency ever
since its open commencement in the elections of 1747 and 1754, and
the time may come when these boroughs may pass into the power of
persons much less favourable than the middle commercial interest to
them. It is a new principle, and its effect has not yet been expe-
rienced fully.

* Vide Hallam's Constitutional Hist. vol. 3.

1832.] The "New Bill." 13

The other qualification is stated as follows. Every person occupying a
house of the value of 10/. a year shall possess a vote provided he be
rated for poors' rates, and every person occupying such house can de-
mand to be rated. The elective franchise acquired by birth or servi-
tude, under the present system, is to remain untouched, excepting as
regard out- voters living at the distance of more than seven miles from the
borough. We know that the class of present freemen in the generality
of boroughs will not be degraded by the admission of the 10/. house-
holders, and consequently that the principle of their election will be
equally sound. The qualification for the county does not destroy the
rights of the present 40.9. freeholders, but enacts that no person shall
be entitled to vote in respect of any freehold lands or tenements whereof
he may be seised for his own life or other lives, unless the same shall be
worth 10/. a year above all rents and charges. Every lessee for the
period of 60 years of tenement worth 10/. a year beside rent, &c., or for
20 years of 50Z. value, is qualified to vote for knights of the shire. The
object of the change in the qualification for counties is obvious.

The test of the importance of the borough is now, the number of
houses coupled with the rent at which they rated for assessed taxes for
the year ending April before last.

Such is the bill which the enemies of reform aver, will render the
government democratical. Let us admit the utmost that the most un-
bending anti-reformists can require, that the people by the proposed bill
be enabled, if they please, to return a democratical House of Commons.
We deny that even this would bear out their opposition. Experience
shews us (not to mention the qualification requisite for representatives),
that public opinion in all countries has never been arranged against the
property and talent of a nation but in extreme cases. In proof of this,
we might instance examples of all ages and all countries ; but we
content ourselves with looking at home, and we find that even in the
most unbiassed elections, competent wealth or talent have always
marked out the successful candidate. Still we do not deny that in an
extreme case of oppression, the people could and would assert their
right. And who can deny but that they have the power, and very justly
so ; — it is a reserve force requisite to preserve the constitution when all
other means have failed. There are many reserved powers of the con-
stitution which are discretionary ; but must not be called into action
except in extreme cases : we allude to the King's power of creation of
peers, and general pardon of criminals ; which would be subversive of
all order, were it exerted to the full extent, — the prerogative of both
houses to put the veto on any measure, is one that would be exceedingly
pernicious if wantonly exerted. In fact, no power can be entrusted,
whether executive or legislative, without making it discretionary, and
all discretionary power may be liable to abuses in extreme, but gene-
rally inprobable cases.

Lord Porchester took the lead in opposition to the second reading on
Friday, Dec. 16, and prefaced his amendment (that the bill should
be read this day six months,) with a tissue of inconsistencies alike
worthy of the orator and his subject. According to Lord Porchester,
the principle of the bill is, the total sacrifice of the landed interest to the
" democratical ;" but he shrewdly intimates that it is probable that it
may prove a failure, — that so diabolical an end may not be answered, or
in other words, that the bill may not prove what he actually affirms it

14 The « New Bill." [JAN.

to be. In spite of Lord Porchester's opinion, that " it is impossible for
the middling classes, while in pursuance of their daily avocation, to in-
vestigate the political scheme of government, which must be doubtful
even to the wisest," we much doubt whether the generality of "unkempt''
artisans of the unions would argue so incorrectly.

Sir E. Sugden delivered himself of a long incongruous series of com-
plaints against the measure, and wound it up by lamenting that a dis-
solution of the present parliament must be one of the consequences of
passing the Bill. Sir Edward speaks feelingly, and seems to have
taken the example of ladies who tell their minds in the postscript of
their letters ; we may easily infer the main cause of his opposition.

Lord Mahon compared the English Constitution, after the proposed
improvement, to that of Poland. In the reports, he is made to say the
constitution of 1765. This we conceive to be a mistake ; for at that
time the population was many times more than that stated by Lord
Mahon. This error, however, is not greater than his view of the
Polish constitution, and we should recommend Lord Mahon to read
Polish history a little more carefully before he next holds forth, for the
edification of the Commons. We suppose the noble Lord was thinking
of the constitution of 1791 ; but, if such be the case, he is equally mis-
informed. The number of electors was very different from 100,000 j
and the change, so far from entrusting the elective franchise to one
class, threw it open to other classes for the first time. Lord Mahon
talks of the working of the Polish constitution ; but we can tell his
Lordship that the constitution was not allowed time to work ; and so
far was the subsequent partition a consequence of it, that the enemy
were on their march before it was completely framed. So much for
Lord Mahon : and if such be a specimen of the arguments with which
he treats the Commons, we think he need not feel proud of sitting
in that assembly, or at any rate that assembly has no great reason to
be proud of him.

Mr. Croker says, " none of the obnoxious clauses " of the last Bill
have been abandoned, and immediately afterwards boasts that " nearly
every one of the amendments, upon which the opposition had divided,
were now adopted in the Bill." We leave those who so loudly cheered
the remark, about opening the gates of the citadel, to find out its point.
Mr. C. then turns (and his speech contains a good many such turnings)
to the Ministry, and taunts them with not being able to protect their
dignity, and prevent the burnings at Bristol. Mr. C. then proceeds,
after a few equally sensible remarks, to impute all the late disturbances
to the Bill ; and inquires, if it has caused such trouble before passing,
what will it do when it has? Sapient legislator; " a Daniel come to
judgment." Supposing a man with a sharpened hunger sits down to a
piece of roast beef, what a voracious appetite (vide Croker !) must he
have by the time he has finished it ! It is like founding an argument
against the Christian creed, on the troubles caused by its propagation.
Our opinion of Mr. Croker is very different from that of his fulsome
reviewer in the Quarterly. Lord Althorpe might well express his doubt
as to the subject of his speech.

Colonel Sibthorpe said he gave a proof of his own integrity by voting
against the Bill ; and added, that if schedule A passed, schedule B
might as well be cut up ; but as he did not condescend to assign his
reason, we cannot tell our readers why.

1832.] The " New 13UL" 15

Mr. Baring Wall referred, in imitation of Croker, to the revolution
in Charles the First's time ; and Sir C. Wetherell, as usual, treated the
House with a few of his oldest jokes. Sir R. Peel defended his con-
duct on the Catholic question, for the hundredth time, we believe, and
again served up the old objection, that the people would not be satisfied,
but would require further concession. But in spite of Sir R. Peel, Mr.
Croker, &c., the Bill has passed with a majority of 162!

Even had we inclination to descant on the probable changes in com-
mittee, we have not space ; nor, for the same reason, can we speculate
as to its reception in the Lords. Creation of peers for a political object
should only be resorted to in an extreme case, under which circumstances
we have a precedent in the history of 1783. In conclusion, we will
quote the words of an eminent French political writer, for their Lord-
ships' admonition : — " II est necessaire assurement que la volonte du Roi
et le voeu du peuple, quand ils s'accordent ne soient pas desoliers : et
lorsqu'une chose necessaire ne peut s'operer par la constitution, elle
s'opere malgre la constitution !"*

BREVITIES.

Fortunate are they who can tranquilly walk the mazes of life, as the
elephant those of the forest — too gentle to do injury, and too powerful
to fear it.

The extravagant praises of a private circle often operate to a man's

Erejudice, not only by making him ridiculous, but more seriously by
;ading him into capital mistakes of conduct which lead to disappoint-
ment, distress, and ruin. If we do any thing decidedly excellent, we
shall be pretty sure to hear of it from the public j and it is both danger-
ous and puerile to rely on any reputation which has not received the
stamp of that impartial tribunal.

A long speech is no more objectionable than a large plum-pudding,
provided the sense in one case, and the plums in the other, be in proper
proportion. Overseers and orators, however, alike generally condemn
their victims to a very digestible quantity of fruit.

Liking is often given in inverse proportion to the worth of its object ;
amiability is often obtained by the want or the sacrifice of higher qua-
lities. Ardent emotions, however generous, will not always make a man
so popular as a calm, elegant selfishness — a smiling acquiescence in every
crime or folly, public or private, that falls under his observation.

Wherever there are large gettings there should be liberal expendi-
ture, both in charity and minor matters. Such conduct is by no means
inconsistent with prudence ; but prudence is a relative term, and should
no more be noticeable in the conduct of a prosperous man, than prudery
in the demeanour of a virtuous woman. It moves one's spleen to hear
it said of a thriving hunks — young or old — "Aye, he does quite right
to look out for a rainy day." Yes — and Fortune does quite right when
she takes such worthies (as she often does) by the head and shoulders,
and shoves them into the thick of the shower. In spite of all the sophis-
try that has been expended in defence of close-fistedness, the common
feeling is correct — that a miser is both a rogue and a fool.

* Reflexions sur les Constitutions, par B. De Constant.— p. 20.

[ 1G ] [JAN.

WILLIAM ROSCOE, ESQ.

WITH A PORTRAIT.

OUR last Number contained a brief memoir of the distinguished indi-
vidual whose portrait is here presented ; distinguished, in many senses,
by genius and by worth. Mr. Roscoe was one of the few who, by the
intuitive impulse of the " inspiration that works within/' step at once
out of the ranks of life, and take their station in the front. Unaided by
friends or education, he carved out his own fortune, and became philo-
sopher, poet, and historian. It was his rare and happy destiny to acquire
and retain, during a long life, the good-will of all who knew him. It has
been said of him, " he was everywhere, at home and abroad, loved and
admired ; and he died, as he lived, without an enemy/'

In a beautiful volume of prints, which has just made its appearance,
Mve find " a view of the house in which Mr. Roscoe was born." The
view, which is as pretty and picturesque a representation of " an Eng-
lish farm-house roof" as can be imagined, comes recommended to us by
a poetical illustration, by L. E. L. It opens by dwelling upon the train
of thought to which similar humble habitations give rise, and terminates
with a ramble over the fairy scenes of Italy— identified as they are with
Mr. Roscoe's name : —

" Yet here the mind's-eye pictures other scenes ;

A fair Italian city in a vale,

The sanctuary of summer, where the air

Grows sweet in passing over myrtle groves ;

Glides the blue Arno, in whose 'tide are glassed

Armed palaces with marble battlements.

Forth ride a band of princely chivalry,

And at their head a gallant chieftain — he

Lorenzo, the magnificent.

Within this house was thy historian born,

Florence, thou pictured city ; and his name

Calls up thy rich romance of history ;

And this calm English dwelling fills the mind

With memories of Medici."

To this we subjoin a Sonnet from a correspondent : —

TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM ROSCOE.

Noble among the best ! and of the few

On whom bright Truth smiles gracious at their birth

One of the chief — thy nobleness and worth

Were clear as summer skies — thy thoughts as dew

From which the morning in its freshness springs.

Good man and great ! the spirit of earlier days

Lived in thy heart, and in thy eloquent lays

Spoke of all moving and all glorious things.

Humanity and Freedom gave thee themes,

Unclasping for thy use their golden tomes ;

And ever, in thy vows and waking dreams,

They made upon the bettered earth their homes.

Farewell ! farewell ! thy epitaph may be,

That England hath no worthier son than thee !

[ 16 ] [JAN.

m

I)ia-vm.iy M.Hau.gktoix rEcom. a MedaHLon ij,J- Gibson.

1832.J C 17 ]

DR. FRANCIA, THE DICTATOR OF PARAGUAY.

L'etat c'est moi.—NAPOLEON.

IT has been well remarked by a philosophical historian of our own
island, that our estimate of personal merit is relative to the common
faculties of mankind. The aspiring efforts of genius and virtue, either
in active or speculative life, are measured not so much by their real ele-
vation, as by the height to which they ascend above the level of their
age and country.

Of the various distinguished characters whom the South American
revolution has dragged forth from the bosom of obscurity, to enact a
splendid part in the great drama of their country's independence, none
so appositely illustrates the profound observation of Gibbon as the sub-
ject of this paper — Dr. Jose Gaspard Rodriguez de Francia, the present
ruler of Paraguay.

While the attention of the European world has been fixed with con-
centrated gaze on the splendid deeds of a Bolivar — on the melancholy
fate of an Iturbide — or, more recently, on the contemptible career of a
Pedro — it has remained in singular ignorance of the history of this extra-
ordinary man. The faint glimmerings of light that have, from time to
time, broken through the impenetrable veil of more than Chinese policy
with which he has enshrouded his empire, have been treated as the
amplifications of travellers, or the wild fictions of romance. The scepticism
of Europe, however, ought not to excite surprise, when we consider
that, in South America itself — in those countries even situated on the
very threshold of his dominions — the most contradictory and conflicting
notions are entertained relative to this mysterious personage. By some
he is looked upon as a philosopher, who, anxious to guard his fellow
countrymen from the miseries of revolution, and to introduce civilization
among them, had resolved on this system of isolation as the only effectual
means of preserving them from the civil war to which all the neighbour-
ing states have been successively a prey : — others, again, regarded him
as an usurper, whose object was to aggrandize himself by the ruin of his
country : — a third party, remembering the revival of the order of Loyola
in Europe — the name of which is so intimately connected with that of
Paraguay — thought that they discovered in Francia an agent of the
Jesuits ; — while the enemies of South American independence were
pleased at the prospect of finding in the dictator a supporter of the fallen
power, and a vindicator of its disasters. At one time he was holding the
government in the name of the queen-dowager of Portugal ; and, at
another, negotiating with Don Pedro, with a view to the coalition of
Paraguay with Brazils. In fact, the days of Prester John and the Old
Man of the Mountain were revived again in South America.

Amid this host of fabulous and contradictory reports, the work of
MM. Reugger and Lonchainp appeared. They are the first Europeans
who have revealed the secrets of this mysterious country, described the
actual condition of this new China, and lifted the veil that has so long
enshrouded the modern Dionysius. Confined for several years within
the lair of the dictator, they had ample opportunities of studying the

M.M. New Scries.— VOL. XIII. No. 73. C

18 Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay. [JAN.

character arid habits of an animal, of more interest than any that the
natural history of Paraguay presented ; and the best security that can
be offered of the truth and fidelity of the colouring of the picture, is simply
the statement, that it might have cost them their heads to have suffered
themselves to be deceived as to the character of Dr. Francia. te It is
thus," says M. Reugger, " that self-preservation obliges one who tra-
verses the wilds of vast continents to study, even though they be not
naturalists, the habits of the tiger and the jaguar/'

The history of the revolution of Paraguay is so intimately identified
with this extraordinary man, that it will be necessary, in order to fully
understand it, to briefly advert to his previous life and character. —
Francia was born in the year 1763 ; his father was a Frenchman, who,
after residing several years at Lisbon, finally emigrated to Paraguay,
where he married a creole lady, by whom he had several children. The
only professions open to the native youth of South America, previous to
the revolution, were the church and the law. Francia was destined by
his father for the former ; and he accordingly received the first rudi-
ments of education at a monkish seminary at Assumption. He subse-
quently repaired to the university of Cordova de Tucuman, the Sala-
manca of the New World, where he studied with considerable success,
and was admitted a doctor of theology ; but his application to the canon
law having given him a taste for jurisprudence, he resolved not to take
the tonsure, and became an advocate.

On his return to his own country from the university, he entered with
ardour on his profession, and distinguished himself by an extraordinary
combination of moral courage and integrity. Never did he sully his
function by undertaking an unjust cause. He readily defended the weak
against the strong — the poor against the rich. He exacted large fees
from those only who could pay, and especially from those who were dis-
posed to litigation; but he was extremely disinterested in dealing with
those clients who were either in humble circumstances, or were reluct-
antly forced into the courts by the injustice of others. His patrimony
was moderate, and he was not ambitious of increasing it. The half of a
town-house, and a small estancia in the country, constituted his whole
fortune ; and so singular was his temper, that finding himself possessed
of 800 dollars — a sum too great, in his opinion, for a single individual —
he immediately proceeded to, the gaming-table, and at one throw lost
the whole.

Unsocial in his disposition, passionately fond of study, and a professed
libertine, he was never known to yield to either the soft emotions of love,
or the more chastened pleasures of friendship. Surrounded by igno-
rance, destitute of literary resources, his knowledge of the world was of
the most circumscribed order. He had, farther, the misfortune to be
subject to fits of hypochondria — an hereditary disease in his family j for
his father was a man remarkable for his eccentricities — his brother and
sister, lunatics. Francia became successively member of the Cabildo,
and an Alcalde. In this capacity he displayed the same fearless integrity
that had distinguished him as an advocate. Devoted to one object — the
protection of his native country from the tyrannical pretensions of Spain
— his conduct won him the attachment and esteem of all classes of his
countrymen.

In the year 1811 the people of Paraguay, impelled by the example of
the neighbouring states, and by the remembrance of former wrongs,

3832.] Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay. 19

declared their political independence. A congress was immediately
assembled, who deposed the Spanish governor, erecting in his stead a
junta, composed of a president, two assessors, and a secretary with a
deliberative voice : De Jose Gaspard Rodriguez de Francia was ap-
pointed to the latter office. This appointment was the stepping-stone to
his future greatness ; and he, in a very short time, became the soul of
the new government. Even at this early period of his career, he appears
to have conceived his great plan of isolation, which he has since so effec-
tually accomplished ; for he not only broke off all communications with
the Argentine Republic, but he refused to furnish a single soldier to the
armies struggling against the tyranny of Spain, or to send a deputy to
any of the congresses assembled, at different intervals of time, during
the revolutionary contest. The character of his colleagues were, it must
be confessed, admirably calculated to facilitate his ambitious projects.
Men, the maximum of whose acquirements consisted in breaking in a
wild horse, or in throwing the lasso, gave themselves up totally to plea-
sure and dissipation, while the whole country had become a theatre of
misrule, insubordination, and violence. Francia essayed in vain to stem
this torrent. On several occasions he feigned to despair of the state,
and retired to his country seat ; but so necessary was his presence to the
march of the government, that his colleagues made every concession to
induce him to return to the capital.

The necessity of an immediate change in the government was now
felt by all parties. The junta was dissolved, and a new congress assem-
bled : yet such was the ignorance of the leaders of the revolutionary
movements, that not one among them had the most distant idea of the
machinery of a republic. In this dilemma, they resolved to consult
Rollin's Ancient History — the first good book that had, perhaps, been
received in the country ; and, becoming suddenly enamoured of a con-
sular government, they abolished the senate, and substituted, for one
year only, two consuls — Don Fulgencio Yegros, the ex-president, and
Dr. Francia. Accustomed to the despotic sway of a captain-general,
whose will was law, the Paraguayans, in their simplicity, took no pains
either to define the power of the consuls, or to limit their authority. At
the instalment of the two consuls, a circumstance occured which an-
nounced plainly enough the aspiring views of Francia.

Two curule chairs were prepared, bearing the names of Caesar and
Pompey. Francia, without hesitation, took possession of the former,
leaving the other to his colleague, who, in the distribution of the power,
was no better treated than his historical prototype. Francia was not a
man who could brook to divide his power with any one, much less with an
individual whom he despised, and whose party he suspected. His ambition
soon betrayed itself; for, in 1812, the congress assembled to renew the
government. In order to get rid of his adversary, he induced the assem-
bly to confide, in imitation of the neighbouring states, the direction of
the republic to a single magistrate ; and he proposed, as an only alterna-
tive to save the country from the dangers which menaced it, to follow
the example of the Romans, and create a dictator.

Observing, on the first two days, when the congress had assembled
for this purpose, that a majority of the votes were for Don Fulgencio
Yegros, he had the address to suspend the ballot. At last, on the third
day, the deputies understood the motive for having adjourned the elec-
tion ; and tired of living at great expence in the capital, and weary of

C 2

20 Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay. [JAN.

attending a congress in which they felt very little interest, and, more
especially, alarmed by the presence of a strong body of troops devoted
to Francia, he was appointed dictator for three years, by an immense
majority of the votes ; while, at the moment, there was probably not
twenty individuals in all Paraguay who understood the precise nature
of the title of dictator, assigning no other meaning to it but that of
governor.

The congress assigned to Francia the title of " Excellency," with an
allowance of 9,000 dollars ; of which sum he consented to receive only a
third, observing, that the state stood more in need of money than he
did — an example of moderation worthy of imitation, and one from which
he has never since departed.

His elevation to the head of affairs wrought a complete revolution in
his own life. Women and play were for ever abandoned ; and his moral
conduct was marked by more than monkish austerity. The morning was
devoted to business — the evening to reading, especially such French
authors as he was able to procure, having studied that language a short
time previous to the revolution. Belles-lettres, history, geography, and
mathematics, were particularly the objects of his application. The medi-
cal science being but little understood in Paraguay, he read Buchan and
Tissot, and made an experiment of their prescriptions upon his own per-
son. But it was to the military science that his attention was principally
directed, fully sensible that upon the effective organization of his army
depended the existence of his country and the duration of his authority.
His first care was, therefore, to officer it by creatures of his own, and to
enforce the most rigid discipline ; and, as he felt his power increased in
strength, changes were gradually brought about both in the civil and
ecclesiastical administrations. The three years of his dictatorship were
on the eve of expiring, and a new congress was assembled in 1817* in
which he so effectually intrigued that they finally chose him dictator for
life. Having now attained the summit of his ambition, Francia boldly
threw off the mask, and signalized the commencement of his career by
acts of the most atrocious despotism. Whenever he rode out, he was
attended by a strong escort of cavalry, to whom were given orders to cut
down all those who should appear in the streets through which he passed.
The most trivial offences were visited by imprisonment and fetters. Two
Spanish friars were treated very unceremoniously : the dictator threw
them into a dungeon, having first ordered them to be dressed in yellow
jackets, and their heads shaved, " to prepare them," as he said, " for
their crown of glory."

Another Spaniard, Don Jose Caussimo, was treated in a manner still
more cruel. The chains which he wore absolutely lacerated his flesh ;
and when Francia was informed of the circumstance, he replied, " If
he wants other chains, he must get them himself;" and, in fact, the wife
of the unfortunate prisoner had the sad office to perform of procuring
other irons, with which her husband was to be manacled.

It was at this period that our Swiss travellers reached Assumption ;
and the particulars of their first audience with the dictator are extremely
interesting. — " He is a man," says Reugger, " with regular features,
and those fine dark eyes which so eminently characterize the Creoles of
South America. The expression of his countenance was singular, com-
bining shrewdness . with distrust. He was dressed in the embroidered
uniform of a Spanish general officer, and, although in the sixty-second

1832.] Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay. 21

year of his age, did not appear to be more than fifty. He addressed me
at first with studious hauteur ; but finding me unembarrassed, he soon
changed his tone. On opening my portfolio to take out some papers
which I had to present to him, he perceived a portrait of Buonaparte,
which I, knowing his admiration of the original, had designedly placed
there. He took it up, and examined it with great interest on my telling
him whose likeness it was. He then entered into a familiar conversa-
tion on the political state of Europe, and surprised me with the extent
of his information. He demanded the news from Spain, for which coun-
try he professed the most profound contempt. The constitutional charter
of Louis the Eighteenth was not to his taste : he admired much more
the military government and conquests of Napoleon, whose downfall he
deplored ; and, in speaking of his reign, I remarked he loved to dwell
on those passages which were in some degree analogous to his own situa-
tion. He reproached us Swiss with the melancholy campaign of 1815,
comparing it to the kick bestowed upon the dying lion in the fable.
But the principal topic of his conversation turned upon the monks. He
accused them of pride, depravity, and intrigue, bitterly inveighing
against the tendency which the clergy in general evinced to throw off
the authority of government. ( If the sovereign pontiff/ said he, ' were
to come to Paraguay, I would make him only my almoner/ Foreseeing
for Europe the return of fanaticism and superstition, he insisted on the
necessity of crushing the monastic spirit in America. He declared his
devotion to the cause of South American independence ; and his ideas
on the mode of government for the new states appeared to be just,
although in opposition to our own. He shewed us his library, the only
one in Paraguay : it was small, but well composed. By the side of the
best Spanish writers we found the works of Voltaire, Rousseau, Raynal,
Rollin, and La Place. He had also some mathematical instruments, globes,
and charts. These simple people, when they beheld the dictator employ-
ing the celestial globe, were impressed with the idea that he could read
the stars. But Francia's aim has always been rather to enlighten than
deceive his countrymen. On dismissing us, he addressed us as follows :
' You may do here whatever you please — profess whatever religion you
like ; but do not meddle with my government/ "

At this period the dictator increased the troops of the line, and
placed the country in a posture of defence. The new levies were quar-
tered in the Convent of St. Francis, a circumstance which greatly
exasperated a Spaniard, who had the imprudence to say openly — " The
Franciscans, it is true, are extinct, but Francia's turn will come next."
This language was reported to him, and he sent for the Spaniard, and
addressed him as follows : — " As to when I shall go, I am really igno-
rant ; but this I know, that you shall precede me." And the unfortu-
nate wretch was shot on the following day, and his property confiscated.
The reign of terror had now dawned. The unfortunate Spaniards
were shot under circumstances of aggravated cruelty. So great was
his economy of ammunition, that only three soldiers were allowed for
an execution, so that they were often obliged to dispatch their victims
with their bayonets, Francia contemplating in perfect composure
these bloody scenes from the windows of his residence. But amidst
these scenes of horror, the dictator's attention to the welfare of his
country was unremitting. Immense swarms of locusts destroyed the
crops, and produced a general panic ; Francia, with admirable presence

22 Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay. £ JAN.

of mind, gave orders to sow a second time, and, to the astonishment of
every one, the attempt was crowned with exuberant plenty.

But the darling project, the ruling passion of the mind of this singu-
lar man, was to render Paraguay independent of the rest of the world •
his whole course of policy has, in fact, hinged on this point ; and the
absolute government produced one good result — a complete revolution
in the whole system of rural economy, which had hitherto been com-
pletely neglected. The suspension of intercourse with the neighbouring
countries curbed the migratory spirit of the Paraguayans, and chained their
attention to agriculture. Vegetables, hitherto unknown in the country,
began now to cover the plains ; the manufacturing industry, from the
operation of the same cause, was actively developed. The dictator had
recourse to terror to call forth the latent energies of his people ; he
erected a gibbet, and threatened to hang up a poor shoemaker because
he had blundered in making some belts ; and, on another occasion, he
condemned, to hard labour, a smith, for having improperly fixed the
sight of a cannon.

A deep laid conspiracy against the power of the dictator, which had
been secretly organized for nearly two years, was destroyed in the bud
by an accidental disclosure. The effect it produced on his mind was
terrible. He became difficult of access, and saw in all who sought his
presence traitors and conspirators. His horse taking fright one day at
an old cask, he arrested the master of the house before which it was
standing. Being informed that it was the intention of the conspirators
to assassinate him in the streets, which, from their narrowness and
gloom, would have greatly facilitated the enterprise, he conceived the
project of destroying the city, a measure which he shortly after executed.
Meanwhile, the unfortunate conspirators were exposed to the unmiti-
gated barbarity and relentless cruelty of the exasperated Francia ; they
were compelled to go through a strict examination, and if the questions
that were put to the wretched prisoner were not satisfactorily answered,
he was transferred to the place of torture, barbarously named the Cham-
ber of Truth, where the victim was scourged till pain had elicited from
him the wished-for replies ; led out to the place of execution, they were
shot in groups of four and five, and died with a courage worthy of a
happier destiny, several of them in the agonies of death exclaiming,
" Viva la patria."

" Et dulcis moriens remeniscitur Argos."

This system of despotic cruelty wrought an extraordinary change in
the character of the Paraguayans. Fear, suspicion, and mistrust, gave
place to their former frankness and gaiety of character ; their tertulias
were deserted ; the guitar hung silent on the walls of their desolate
dwellings ; the alameda no longer resounded with lively sallies of the
dark eyed daughters of the land. When once an individual fell into
disgrace, his whole family was involved in his ruin. The system of
terror which reigned in the capital was practised with tenfold severity
in the provinces. To counteract, in some degree, the unpopular effects
of the system, Francia declared, as an atonement to the feelings of the
natives, a crusade against the Old Spaniards. Accordingly, in June, 1821,
he gave orders that all the Spaniards resident in Assumption should
assemble at the government-house within three hours. These wretched
beings, to the number of 300, were then conducted to prison, where

1832.] Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay. 23

they were confined by fifties, in rooms which had but one general door
and one window for them all. The reasons alleged for this arbitrary
treatment was, that they had sought to obstruct the march of the
government — an accusation than which nothing could be more unfounded.
They were, after an incarceration of some time, finally liberated, on
condition of paying, within three days, 150,000 Spanish dollars. Fran-
cia's object was to ruin the Spanish families, who had always formed
the most influential class of society. The Paraguayans, with a gene-
rosity that did them honour, forgot their national antipathies, and ren-
dered them all the aid in their power, in defiance of the indignation of
the dictator.

During the progress of the unrelenting cruelty of Francia, foreigners
were the only persons to whom he extended the slightest indulgence.
Of this class there were about forty persons, the major part consisting
of merchants, attracted there by the prospects of commercial gain.
There was, however, one among them in whose fate the whole scientific
world cannot but feel deeply interested — the traveller Bonpland, the
friend and companion of the celebrated Humboldt. Bonpland had
formed an establishment in the ruined missions of Entre Rios, to pre-
pare the Yerva Mate. This gave great umbrage to Francia, who, under
the pretext that it was injurious to the trade of his dominions, sent a
troop of soldiers, who, after massacreing a party of Indians, inflicted a
sabre wound on Bonpland, plundered his property, and, without regard
to his sufferings, loaded him with chains, and conducted him to Santa
Maria, on the left bank of the Parana. Francia, on being apprised of
the treatment he had received, ordered his irons to be removed, his pro-
perty to be restored, and assigned him a residence in a place called the
Cerrito, between Santa Maria and Santa Rosa. Here he resided till
the moment of his release from his long captivity, devoting himself to
agriculture, beloved and respected by the inhabitants of the district, to
whom, from his general knowledge and medical skill, he has proved
himself a benefactor. But separated as he was from all the objects of
his affections, often in want of the commonest necessaries of life, unable
to pursue his favourite studies, his situation was truly lamentable. The
more interest that was exerted for his liberation, the more Francia
rejoiced in having him in his power. Having received a letter from
our consul at Buenos Ayres demanding his liberation, he merely
changed the envelope of the letter and returned it, addressed, simply, to
" Parish, English Consul at Buenos Ayres." Through the interference
of the Ex-Emperor Don Pedro did this celebrated traveller at last
obtain his liberation ; and Europe looks forward with impatience to his
arrival, for enlarged information on the natural history of Paraguay,
and on the character and views of its singular ruler.

Francia now determined to execute a project that had been long slum-
bering in his mind — this was nothing less than the total destruction of
the city of Assumption, with the view of rebuilding it on a more
improved plan. In the accomplishment of this project the dictator pre-
sided in person, tracing with his own hand the plan of the new eleva-
tions. All the houses that stood in the way of the new streets were
rased ; still so many difficulties presented themselves in the way of the
work, that its operation was but gradual. After a lapse of four years,
the capital presented the aspect of a city that had suffered a long siege.
Yet so despotic was his authority, that he experienced no difficulty in

24 Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay. [^TAN.

completing the work. All classes were obliged to labour on this grand
operation ; and a city at last rose upon the ruins of the old one, more
beautiful and salubrious than the one it had replaced, and worthy, in
every respect, of becoming at some future period the capital of a mighty
republic, founded by the hand of a tyrant.

Thus finding himself unopposed from any quarter, a change came
over his tyrannical spirit, and a gleam of sunshine broke on the horizon
of his oppressed country. The death of his favourite secretary, by
suicide, sensibly affected him, and in some degree wrought a favourable
change on his mind. But however softened might have become his
general severity, an excess of his constitutional malady every now and
then awoke new terrors. In one of his fits, he ordered the centinel on
guard to shoot any one who should fix his eyes upon the house he
inhabited. " If you miss," said he, in giving this ruthless order, " I
shall not miss you," presenting at the astonished sentinel a loaded fire-
lock. This order spread consternation through the city ; and those
who were obliged to pass his residence, walked with their eyes fixed on
the ground.

Imagination can scarcely conceive the horrors of the prisons of
Assumption at this period. In these abodes of human wretchedness
were seen mingled in one undistinguished mass, Indians and mulattoes,
blacks and whites — no distinction of rank, no gradation of crime was
observed. The condemned and the accused, the bandit and the patriot,
the debtor and the murderer, were all linked together in the same fet-
ters. The female prisoners were separated from the others by a slight
railing — and here the picture assumes, if possible, a darker shade.
Young women of rank, in the full bloom of youth and beauty, were
associated with the most abandoned females of the capital, exposed
to the insults of the other sex, and loaded with irons as well as the
men ; even pregnancy brought no mitigation to the horrors of their
situation. But comparatively happy was the fate of these miserable
beings to that of the state prisoners, the especial objects of the dictator's
hate. The limits of this paper do not admit of our giving a general idea
of the present government of Paraguay, and of the machinery of its
organization, contenting ourselves with observing, that the police, of
which the system of passports forms the most marked feature, is perhaps
the most perfect of its kind in the world — one from which the celebrated
Fouche might have taken a lesson. We shall finish our portrait of this
extraordinary man, by rapidly presenting to the reader the most striking
details of his private life, accompanied by a few singular traits of feeling
and character.

Francia occupies one of the largest edifices in Assumption, erected by
the Jesuits a short time previous to their expulsion. This structure he re-
paired and embellished, and detached it from the surrounding houses.
Here he lives in complete solitude, with four slaves — a negro, one male
and two female mulattoes — whom he treats with great mildness. The dawn
of day rarely finds him on his couch. As soon as he rises the negro
brings him a chafing dish, and an earthen pitcher of water, which is
heated in his presence ; he then prepares with his own hand the matte ;
after which he walks in a gallery, smoking a segar, taking the precau-
tion to previously unrol it, lest it might contain something deleterious —
a precaution he does not neglect, even though the segar should be
manufactured by the hands of his own sister. At six o'clock the barber

1832.] Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay. 25

arrives — a dirty, ragged, drunken mulatto, with whom, if the dictator is
in a good humour, he loves to chat. When the operation of shaving is
over, Francia, dressed in a robe de chambre, shews himself in the outer
gallery that surrounds the edifice, and gives audience to the various
functionaries. At seven he retires again to his cabinet, where he
remains till nine. From eleven to twelve he is occupied in dictating to
his secretary, at which time all the officers retire, when he sits down
to a frugal dinner, which he always makes a point of ordering himself.
When the cook returns from the market, she places at her master's door
all she has purchased, who selects what he wishes for his own use.
After dinner he takes his siesta, drinks matte, and smokes ; he is then
engaged until four in the afternoon, when the escort to attend him on
his promenade arrives ; while the horse is saddling the barber dresses
his hair ; he then visits the public works. In these excursions, although
surrounded by a strong escort, he is armed not only with a sabre, but
also a double-barrelled pair of pistols. Returning about dusk, he em-
ploys himself in study until nine o'clock, when he takes a light supper,
and, if the weather is fine, he again promenades in the outer gallery.
At ten he generally gives the countersign, and, retiring, barricades
with his own hand every door in the house.

During several months in the year he takes up his residence in the
cavalry barracks, varying occasionally his monotonous existence with
the pleasures of the chase. Arms are always placed within his reach —
pistols and naked swords are seen in every corner of his apartment.
When any one is admitted to an audience, he must not approach within
a certain distance until motioned by him to advance. The arms must
then be extended along the body, and the hands open and hanging
down. None of his officers must enter his presence armed. Reugger
mentions, that, in his first audience, being ignorant of this custom, he
omitted carrying his arms in the prescribed form, which drew from the
dictator the question, " If he intended drawing a dagger from his
pocket?''' On another occasion he asked him, "If through his skill in
anatomy he could discover if the people of Paraguay had an extra bone
in the neck, which prevented them holding their heads erect and speak-
ing loud ?" In conversation the dictator always aims at intimidation ;
if, however, his first attack is sustained with firmness, his manner
insensibly softens, and he converses with the greatest affability. It is
on these occasions that his great talents develope themselves ; his mind

f rasps with facility every variety of topic, and displays an extent of
nowledge very astonishing for one who has never moved beyond the
confines of Paraguay. Above the prejudices of his countrymen, he
frequently makes them a subject of pleasantry, and launches furious
diatribes against the priests. " You see" said he to M. Reugger, " the
tendency of these priests and their religion ; it is to make mankind wor-
ship a devil instead of God " Still, at the commencement of his career,
he regularly heard mass, but in the year 1820, he dismissed his chap-
lain, and since that year he has evinced the most marked contempt for
the established religion. To a military officer, who asked him for the
image of a saint to put in a newly constructed fortress, he answered —
" O, people of Paraguay, how long will you remain idiots ! When I
was a Catholic I thought as you do ; but now, I know that the best
saints you can have on the frontiers are camion balls."

When the dictator is attacked by an excess of hypochondria, he

26 Dr. Francia, the Dictator of Paraguay. |~JAN.

retires for several days from public affairs, shuts himself up, or vents
his ill humour on all around him. In such seasons arrests are frequent,
punishments severe, and human life, in his estimation, a thing of no
importance. The temperature is observed to exercise a great influence
on his disposition; during the prevalence of the sirocco winds his
attacks are more frequent ; while, on the contrary, during a south-west
wind, which is dry and bracing, Francia is in high spirits, and sings and
chats in the most cheerful manner with every body around him. But
none are all evil. Wayward as may be his temper, it is redeemed by
some fine qualities — generous and disinterested to a fault, he is as lavish
of his private purse, as careful of the public treasure. His elevation to
the supreme power has in no way improved his private fortune ; he has
never accepted a present, and his salary is always considerably in
arrear. Neither is gratitude a stranger to his bosom — having learnt
that the son of a family with whom in his youth he had been on terms
of intimacy at Cordova, was at that time in Assumption in great distress,
he relieved his wants, and appointed him his secretary. But in the
exercise of his authority he acknowledges no tie. At the period of the
revolution he removed two of his nephews from their military com-
mands, lest they should presume on their connection. Even his sister,
the only being for whom he appeared to have any attachment, was
removed from the management of his estancia, merely because she had
employed an agent of the police to chastise a runaway slave.

Jealous to excess of his authority, seeking no confidence, winning no
sympathy, isolated like the country he governs, should the fate reserved
for all tyrants finally overtake him, Francia will fall as he has lived —
nobly, and alone.

In contemplating the career of this wonderful man, we are struck
with the power of a single mind in overcoming obstacles when inflexibly
applied to the pursuit of a single object. Francia presents the singular
spectacle of a man who, invested with sovereign power, lives without
any of the pomp and circumstance of his elevated station, and poor, with
the whole revenues of the country at his command. Struck with the
anarchy of the neighbouring states, which his sagacious mind traced to
its right cause — their infant political education — he sought, by isolation,
to preserve his countrymen from a similar fate. With this view, in
imitation of the Athenian legislator, his elements of reform were terror
and violence ; but then his object was to reform the morals of his peo-
ple, to eradicate their besotted prejudices, to elevate them in the scale
of civilized man. Let us pause ere we sweepingly condemn his
character. Let us recollect that, if he has destroyed foreign commerce,
he has promoted agriculture, constructed roads, rebuilt the capital,
created an army, subdued the Indians, secured respect from abroad,
tranquillity at home. By his tyranny he has prepared his fellow-citizens
for future independence; thus making his principle of action that of his
predecessors the Jesuits — " The end justifies the means."

1832.] [ 27 ]

OYSTER-DAY IN LONDON.
BY A NATIVE.

"

It is, it is, it is our opening day.— JOANNA BAILUK.
Open ! open I— Shelley.

THE anniversaries of great events are fruitful subjects for the employ-
ment of the pen. It would be curious to see a collection of all the
histories, narratives, accounts, tales, anecdotes, and inventions, besides
poems, odes, lyrics, stanzas, sonnets, and epigrams, which have been
written in commemoration of the important victory of Waterloo. No
one possessing these, would have to complain of the insignificance of his
library. A poet of the last century commenced an epic on the annual
opening of parliament. It is no mean subject that embraces the interests
of a mighty kingdom ; but a humbler theme is better suited to my capa-
city— the annual opening of oysters ! It is in an oyster, as will be seen
by my story, that my reminiscences of the year 1831 are centred. The
Reform Bill affected me not — the cholera passed by me as the idle wind
— the other gigantic events of the twelvemonth are diminished to dwarfs
in my estimation — but the " fourth of August" is an epoch in my life.

The ancients were much more alive to the merits of this, the most
valuable of the shelly tribe, than we are. The immortal Tully did not
deem it unworthy of his pen. In his correspondence he speaks in the
most rapturous terms of the oyster-eating at his marine villa at Baiae,
and dwells with peculiar satisfaction on those of the Lucrine lake, which
he scruples not to affirm were neither equalled, nor ever could be, by
any in the world. Cicero spoke of them " like a native." Milton has
left nothing but his name in favour of them — but that is much. The
Italian poet, Sannazarius, has likewise employed his talents on this sub-
ject. In one of his odes, he introduces a spirited eulogium on the
oysters of Cape Misenum ; and, doubtless, they deserved it. He dwells
in such glowing terms on their general excellence, dilates on their size,
and lingers over their delicacy and flavour ; in fact, his remarks are in
such excellent taste, that it is quite impossible to read them aloud — one's
mouth waters so.

I have often warmed with the subject myself, and have studied atten-
tively all that has ever been written on oysters, from the days of Cicero
and Heliogabalus down to those of Dr. Kitchiner and Bishop Sprat. My
conclusion is, that, notwithstanding the merits of former writers, much
more remains to be said. The reputation, however, likely to accrue to
the historian of oysters, I fear is not reserved for me. I made the attempt;
but whether — being an exceedingly nervous and timid individual— the
importance of the subject confounded me, or that I was bewildered by
my voluminous references, I have hardly patience to inquire ; but when
I courted ideas upon the subject, none would flow. I conjured the genius
of my pen ; it was as insensible to my call as though laid in the Red
Sea. All day did I suffer from this disappointment, until, as the even-
ing drew on, I was worked into a state of extreme nervous excitement.
As I looked round my apartment in the twilight, every thing seemed
distorted or changed. My pen seemed to be a bunch of sea- weed ; my
inkstand, an oyster-shell; my tea-tray, a tub of natives. The very
atmosphere of my room appeared saline ; a coppery taste was in my

28 Oyster-Day in London. [JAN.

mouth ; and, as I cast my eyes around, I beheld certain devils, in blue
mother-o'-pearl, threatening me with most malignant aspect, and all
armed with oyster-knives ! It was too much. I rushed from the house,
loathing oysters, and every thing pertaining to them.

To a man in such a frame of mind, every shadow seems a spectre ; the
slightest inconvenience is magnified by his morbid senses into real mis-
fortune ; and it will not, therefore, seem surprising that the circum-
stances which appear so trivial to one of calmer temperament, are, to his
excited imagination, as unendurable calamities. Such was the state of my
mind, as I seized my hat and umbrella, and sought, in the bustle of the
open street, a relief from the extraordinary oppression under which I
laboured.

I had proceeded some few hundred yards, striding along, as though
anxious to escape from myself, when my career was checked as sud-
denly, as though an apparition had stood before me. It was nothing
less than an immense oyster-shell thrust in my path by a squalid urchin,
who enforced the appeal by screaming, " Please to remember the grotto,
sir — only once a year." Had the bottomless pit opened before me, my
feelings would not have undergone a greater revulsion than at the sight
of that abhorred sign. My first idea was to escape ; but the intensity
of my repugnance made me ashamed of myself; and snatching a half-
penny from my pocket, I threw it from me with all the vehemence of
disgust ; and had the satisfaction of witnessing a scramble, and a fight —
in the confusion of which the grotto was entirely demolished. Had
I been of a malicious turn, this would have been a prodigious comfort to
me ; as it was, I cannot say it was disagreeable to see that fortune, in
persecuting me, had not been a whit less scurvy to my tormentors.
Feeling as I then did, I could not have selected an evening more mal-cL-
propos for my perambulation. It was the 4th of August ; and every
street, lane, and alley was crowded with these insignia of my aversion^
I may almost say, at that moment, horror. To retreat to my chamber
would be to encounter solitary misery. Mustering, therefore, my stock
of halfpence with all the resolution I was master of, I pursued my route,
and sought to regain my equanimity by calling on a friend. I strode on,
scattering halfpence and dissension in my path, and demolished more
grottos, by such insidious means, than Oliver Cromwell did castles, until
my coin and patience were alike exhausted. I was now like one in a
state of siege, without a grain of ammunition. Fresh persecutors started
from every corner. In vain I endeavoured to escape, by rapidity and
length of stride ; there was one pertinacious urchin, with red hair and
brimless hat, who dogged me like a familiar. At every turn, he was at
my heels ; and whichever way I looked, there was his eternal oyster-shell.
Eagerly I sought my pockets over for a copper talisman that would rid
me of this pest; and fortunately I found a solitary piece of coin, snugly
intrenched in one corner. Never did I bestow a trifle with such satis-
faction ; when, just as the dusky palm of the raggamuffin was clutching
his prize, I discovered, by the silvery hue of my donation, that I had
given him, not a half-penny, but a half-crown. lie dived down an alley
before I could recover my breath ; and if an irreverend exclamation
arose on my lips, I hope it will be pardoned, when I say that the descrip-
tion of coin was, at that moment, particularly scarce with me : in fact, it
was the last specimen I possessed. My mortification is not to be
" described" — so I must leave it to be " conceived."

1832.] Oyster-Day in London. 29

In a moment I was surrounded by half the vagabond boys of the
parish, who had witnessed this apparently princely munificence. A
thousand obtruders of oyster-shells flitted like apparitions before my
sight ; and a yell arose on my ears, like a chorus of infernal spirits. In
every key and variety that the demon of discord could invent, was
shouted and shrieked the cry of, " Remember the grotto !" There was no
need of such urgent appeal to remembrance. Eager to free myself, and to
escape, I snatched the fur cap from the head of the foremost urchin, and
hurled it vehemently into the middle of the street. Alas ! by the same
action I threw from me a new pair of kid gloves, which I had taken off
the moment before to search for the halfpenny ; and, at the same time,
dropped my umbrella into the mire ! The shriek of delight, sent forth
from that pigmy, though demoniacal multitude, would have startled a
stoic. One scampered off with my gloves ; another pounced on my
umbrella, which I fortunately rescued ; and the rest amused themselves
by hooting and shouting the most diabolical chorus that ear was ever
regaled with. In a sort of phrenzy, I made my way through the crowd,
and sought refuge at the first house, of public entertainment that pre-
sented its invitingly open door. I threw myself into one of the boxes,
in a back-room or parlour up a short flight of stairs, and covering my
face with my handkerchief, endeavoured to collect my scattered senses.

Many, in reviewing this succession of miseries of the minor kind, will
smile in contempt at what they may consider the absurdity of allowing
trifles to discompose me to the effect I have described ; but those who
cannot sympathize with my feelings under such circumstances, can form
no idea of the sensations of a nervous man. He can never have fancied
himself a tea-pot, as I have ; and, placing one arm a-kimbo for the
handle, thrust the other forward as the spout. He could never have
believed himself a pane of glass, and shut himself up for fear of being
broken ; or a big black mouse, and ordered all the feline inhabitants
of the house to be destroyed, for fear of being devoured ! But, as I said,
it was some few minutes before I could compose myself. The shout of
the urchins still rung in my ears ; their oyster-shells still glittered before
my eyes : but the impression was becoming fainter, when, casting my
eyes from their concealment, I ventured to look around. If I had ever
believed in the diabolical agency of the great enemy of mankind in indi-
vidual affairs, at that moment I think my belief would have been justi-
fied. The first glance told me I had taken refuge in an oyster-shop !
During my momentary aberration, the cloth had been laid; knife, fork,
plate, bread and butter, were before me ; and within a foot of me stood
a fiend, with an oyster-knife, and a tub of natives ! A fit of loathing
came over me ; my stomach — I might almost say my head — " turned "
at the sight. Instantly, resuming my former attitude, I motioned to the
person to be gone ; and, by the same movement, swept the cloth, with
all its accompaniments, on the floor. This burst in some degree restored
me. I was like a person in a trance — aware of my situation, without
the power of assisting myself. I was sensible of the apparent absurdity of
my conduct, without the power of controlling my feelings. I summoned
reason to my aid ; and my efforts towards returning sanity were mate-
rially assisted by the recollection of certain damage to be answered for
with very uncertain means. My thoughts were thus recalled into another,
though not a whit more agreeable channel, until my reverie on. the sub-
ject of settlement was interrupted by the entrance of one or two indivi-

30 Oyster-Day in London. QJAN.

duals, who began to inquire eagerly about the quality and price of the
commodity of which they came in search. The appearance of one inte-
rested me. The expression of his countenance was mild and amiable,
with a certain quickness and intelligence in his eye. He wore powder,
and was extremely well dressed. The master of the shop attended upon
hjm, and addressed him as an old customer, at the same time honouring
him with the title of " Doctor." The doctor spoke to him in the lan-
guage of patronage. He inquired into the appearance of business, the
state of the market — and then entered into a dissertation on the introduc-
tion of oysters, as an article of food — the method of rearing and fatten-
ing— the various sorts — their peculiarities — and their different modes of
preparation for the table. I wished I had met him in the morning — he
would have saved me a world of anxiety and pain. My old idea of
becoming the Hume and Smollett of oysters began to return. My dis-
gust began sensibly to subside. I thought I had been hasty, and wished
of all things to make the doctor's acquaintance. — " Mr. Crackclaw," said
he, " I believe this is the fifth fourth of August that I have eaten oysters
at your house ; and I must say, nowhere do I eat them in such perfec-
tion." Mr. Crackclaw bowed, and begged to know to what he could
have the honour of serving him, at the same time hinting that the doctor
looked fatigued. — <{ Why, we have had some heavy business before us
to-day," returned the dignitary : " I have presided at the meeting of
our Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Some atrocious
cases — one particularly barbarous : a monster of a butcher was convicted
in the fact of — would you believe it ? — of slaughtering lambs in the pre-
sence of each other ! Conceive, in a humane and civilized country, any-
thing so barbarous ! The poor victims were proved to have actually
trembled with horror at the sight of the frightful operation on their com-
panions, and to have offered the most violent resistance as each was
dragged forth in its turn. I think I never heard a more wanton and
aggravated case. The fellow had a good deal to say — not a word of
which, of course, could we pay attention to. In consideration of his
having a character for industry, honesty, and for supporting a wife and
sixteen children creditably, I was satisfied with his being sent for two
months only to the tread-mill !" — " Very kind of you, sir, to take care of
poor dumb animals," said the master of the shop. — " In the cause of
humanity, Mr. Crackclaw," said this benevolent and sensitive gentle-
man, " I consider nothing too great a sacrifice. Put me down a couple
of dozen of your finest fish between the bars to roast." The order was
quickly executed ; and the hissing and spirting of these victims of huma-
nity were magnified in my mind into shrieks and groans. — " Bless me !"
quoth the doctor, " those are fine, lively fish, indeed ! Some prefer
stewing their oysters ; in which case, Mr. Crackclaw, never allow your
liquor to boil ; and ever while you live, beard your fish/' — " Beard your
grandmother !" cried a voice at his elbow, proceeding from a tall, thin
personage, with a mouth like an half-open oyster, who had just before
entered, and seated himself in the next box. The doctor had not time
to resent, or even express surprise at, this unceremonious remark ; for
the gentleman, without the slightest apology or hesitation, proceeded. —
" Give me oysters in puris naiuralibus, as we say at Cambridge ; none of
your stews, or roasts, or kickshaws ; and as to bearding them, that be

! Here, Crackclaw, send me up three dozen for a whet, and some

bread and butter."

1832.] Oyster-Day in London. 31

An altercation now ensued between the humane and Howard-like
roaster of oysters, and the more savage and cannibal-like admirer of
them in puris naturalibus, that, in point of noise, rivalled the vociferations
of my juvenile street-persecutors, from whom I had so recently escaped.
I forget the name of the traveller who expresses himself disappointed
with the Falls of Niagara, and asserts, " that you cannot see anything for
the noise." But I can very easily understand what he means ; for, in the
midst of the asseverations and contradictions, that seemed to me the rav-
ings of two persons afflicted with oyster-phobia, a dimness came over
my eyes, and rendered the orators as invisible to me as their arguments
were to each other. In my confusion, not knowing what I did, I swal-
lowed a dozen of the unfortunate fish, with some accompanying delica-
cies, which, in my delirium, I suppose I must have called for. Imme-
diately after, whether lulled by the perfect stillness which ensued upon
the retreat of one of the disputants, whose appetite and arguments I
presume came to an end together, I know not ; but a sweet sleep stole
over me. I say sweet, because the word is poetical ; but my repose was
much of the same nature as that of an alderman after a November feast.
Visions of the preceding bliss float before his senses. By some ingenious
process, his corpulent dame appears to him like " green fat ;" his two
daughters, as " calipash and calipee ;" and the cranium of his hopeful
son, as the empty shell !

It is natural to suppose that the subject with which the imagination
has been most excited during our waking hours, should resume its influ-
ence during our slumber. Objects, by this means, not unfrequently
become ludicrously distorted, and mixed up with each other into a hete-
rogeneous compound, each particle perfectly distinct in itself — but
forming a whole perfectly indefinable. Sometimes, however, there is
method in such madness — as there was in my case. Reclining against
the corner of the box, apparently insensible to objects around, my imagi-
nation transported me to an oyster-bed by the sea-shore, where, being
wearied, I laid myself down to repose. My pillow was a huge bunch of
sea-weed ; but finding, somehow or other, that the bed I had chosen was
not one of roses, I endeavoured to change sides ; when what was my
dismay, to find myself jammed in an immense oyster-shell ! The idea,
however, of size or. proportion was entirely lost to me. I could neither
move nor speak ; but laid there, as it seemed, flat on my back in my
pearly dungeon. My thoughts at that time I cannot precisely define:
self -preservation was uppermost. The return of the tide I knew would
overwhelm me, unless I partook of the nature of an oyster, which I could
hardly promise myself. Escape, and the means of making my situation
known, were denied me. The " ancient Pistol," I think, exclaims, " Why,
then, the world's mine oyster !" But my condition, at that moment, was
exactly the reverse of his : an ovster was my world — my place of banish-
ment for life ; a sort of supernatural Court of Chancery, where, being
once in, the idea of getting out seemed perfectly romantic.

In this situation I remained, as it seemed to me, for many hours ;
when, to my great relief, I heard the sound of human voices. I found
it proceeded from a party of oyster-eaters, who had sought the bed
whereon I lay, for the purpose, as they supposed, of enjoying their
favourite food in greater perfection. Instantly my hopes of relief were
drowned in the horrible idea that I might be selected, and immolated on
the altar of their barbarous appetites. They seemed to approach the

32 Oyster-Day in London. [JAN.

very spot which I occupied — and then I plainly distinguished the voice
of the doctor. Never did the practice of eating oysters appear to me in
so barbarous a light. Already, in imagination, I felt the murderous
knife entering my side ; and my very blood ran warm with the idea of the
sympathetic doctor taking me home, and thrusting my head between the
bars of his grate, or sousing me in scalding butter, having first taken off
my beard. f f

I was not long allowed to indulge in these fantasies — for the dreadful
reality approached me. I was soon espied by the keen eye of the oyster-
roaster ; and I suddenly felt myself jerked from the bed. An ejacula-
tion of delight escaped him as he called for the knife. Terror superseded
every other faculty — as I found his murderous jaws already open to
receive me. Speech and movement were alike denied me, and with a
gasping sensation of horror, I heard the knife grate against the edge of
my shell. In another instant I should feel it in my throat ; and, in that
moment of mental agony, I groaned aloud. The doctor instantly let me
fall. Encased in my armour of proof, I sustained no damage ; and
immediately there arose a sudden exclamation of surprise from all around.
A disputation was held as to the best means of opening me without
injury from the knife ; and I was handed about for their inspection. I
breathed again. The amiable doctor suggested, with his usual benevo-
lence, that I should be placed alive in an iron stew-pan, and held over a
fierce charcoal fire, which he affirmed would certainly make me open
my shell. I thought of the bull of Phalaris ; and cordially wished this
advocate for humanity might be obliged to prove his infernal scheme in
his own person. Another worthy man proposed the quicker method of
suffocating me in steams of sulphur ; and, in shortj each in his turn
seemed to exert his most deadly ingenuity for my preservation. At
length, I heard a loud, confident voice, expressing a certainty of accom-
plishing the object by a peculiar mode, known only to himself. It
sounded to me much after the manner of a " quack/' when he is allowed
his kill-or-cure practice, after the retirement of the " regular men." I
soon began to feel the effects of this gentleman's secret system. A burn-
ing sensation shot through my frame — a strange noise sounded in my
ears. It seemed as though a certain powerful friction was in process on
my outer shell. An inconceivable alarm took possession of me. I fancied
some hellish contrivance to murder me. Insensibly, my shell grew thin-
ner and thinner. The process seemed to be carried on with a vigour
truly marvellous, and a new danger began to threaten me. It seemed
that, as the grinding was proceeding with more pertinacity than judg-
ment, I stood a chance of being crushed in my shell. It now became as
thin as a wafer ; my heart was in my mouth ; I felt like one who was
only escaping from a burning house to be smothered by its falling walls.
Objects became now almost visible ; when, seizing a momentary cessation
in the process, with an incredible effort I burst my shell and my spell
together, and found myself seated in the identical box at the oyster-shop,
with my arms extended, like an escaped maniac. Beside me was the
doctor, discoursing with some persons around on the singularity of an
oyster he had just met with ; and ( hinc illce lachrymce) who should be
seated opposite — gazing at me with a look, as I thought, expressive of a
wish to try an experiment on me — but Mr. St. John Long himself!

1832.] [ 33 ]

AN ATTACK UPON THE CLUBS !

What a damned Epicurean rascal is this ! — SHAKSPEARE.

The greatest part of these men are such as prefer their own private good before all things — even that
good which is sensual, before whatsoever is most divine. — HOOKER.

THESE fashionable clubs, springing up, like poisonous toadstools, from
the rank soil of luxury, idleness, and sensuality, until they darken the
whole metropolis with their pestiferous shade, constitute a positive nuis-
ance, that " has increased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished."
Not only do I deny their utility, both abstractedly and relatively, but I
maintain them to be fraught with all sorts of mischief. In a state of
semi-civilization and partial knowledge, where the surface of society is
broken up into incongruous masses, men of refined manners and culti-
vated minds may excusably secure themselves, by the companionship of
clubs, against the annoyances of vulgarity and ignorance : but in the
present state of the metropolis, when education and polished demeanour
are so generally diffused, that no person, moving in decent circles, is
likely to sit down at table with idiots and blackguards, there can be no
valid reason for pushing the system of luxury and exclusiveness — always
the besetting sin of the English — to that degree of proud and sullen
absurdity by which it is now characterized. What is the ostensible
ground for establishing these lay, and much worse than monkish, con-
vents ? — Sociableness. Frivolous and false pretext ! Nothing on earth
can be so pointedly, so thoroughly, so unequivocally unsocial. An
enlightened individual, fond of intelligent society, and anxious that his
symposium may combine " the feast of reason and the flow of soul,"
will invite to it as great a variety of talent as he can command, selecting
his company from the different professions, from men of literature, from
one or other of the legislative bodies, from the court, the camp, the city ;
in order that the conversation may be varied, lively, and delightful, and
that each individual, acquiring while he contributes knowledge, may at
least have a chance of learning from his neighbour something with which
he was previously unacquainted. Who that has mingled in the world—
who that has tasted the " noctes csenas que diviim"-i-has not felt the
ineffable charm resulting from this collision of differently-stored minds ?
Who has not found that intellectual honey, like that of the bee's, iz
always the sweetest when it is gathered from many flowers of varying
growth, odour, and character ?

In proportion as this principle is good, must that upon which our clubs
are formed be bad ; for it is diametrically opposite. We have military,
naval, literary, law, theatrical, travellers', and half a score more, funda-
mentally exclusive, and confined to a particular class ; the manifest ten-
dency of all which is to divide society as much as possible into castes,
not by any means dissimilar from those of the Hindoos, and not by any
means unlikely to terminate in an analogous, though less-marked slug-
gishness of mind, and inaptitude for social advancement. Corporations
and companies, established in the first instance for the protection of
particular trades and callings, are intelligible in their origin, although
they may have degenerated into styes of swinish gormandizing ; but
what shall be said to professional clubs, which, never having been able
to adduce any basis of utility, begin where the others have ended — with

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 73. D

34 An Attack upon I he Clubs ! UAN.

this notable exception — that they do not appropriate one pound, one
shilling— nay, not one farthing of their surplus revenues to charitable
purposes ? When, in our rides and drives around London, we behold
the numerous and munificent endowments of the City-companies for the
support of the poor and aged, we willingly overlook the waste and was-
sailing in the hall : but what benevolent foundations — what doles to the
poor — what assistance to any one portion of the whole . human race,
except French cooks and pampered menials, emanate from the palaces
of club-gluttony at the west end of the town ; or what single good of
any sort can be urged, as a set-off against their manifest and manifold
evils ? I pause for a reply.

Would the individual who refused to associate with any but the
partners of his own establishment, or the brethren of his own guild, be
deemed a polite companionable person — or a shy, sullen, reserved, unamia-
ble churl ? Certainly the latter ; and as a modern professional or exclu-
sive club is but a collection of such individuals, it must of course deserve
a similar character. Its union of one class is a separation from all
others ; the junction of its members is a dismemberment from the gene-
ral body of citizens ; it is dissocial in its very association. It is a cabal,
a caste, a clique, a coterie, a junto, a conspiracy, a knot, a pack, a tiche,
a gang ; any thing, in short, that is close, sullen, selfish, disjunctive, and
inhospitable : but if there be in such narrow fellowship, any single ele-
ment of sociability, why then the monks who planted their convents in
the desert of the Thebaid, were sociable beings, and useful members of
society. Goldsmith very properly condemns the man of talent,

who narrowed his mind,

And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.0

But as a profession is still narrower than a party, so is it still more
culpable to withdraw from our fellow- creatures, in order to sequestrate
with so paltry a band. There may be an esprit de corps in such herding ;
but there is no spirit of philanthropy — no spirit of humanism. He who
sympathizes with the community at large, rather than with a particular
class, must surely be the most valuable member of society — the most
useful subject — the best-informed and pleasantest companion — the most
in accordance with the general spirit of the age, which points with a
steady and resolute hand at the abolition of all invidious distinctions and
classifications ; whereas these hateful clubs tend to perpetuate separa-
tions, and to establish the most odious and contemptible of all aristocra-
cies— that of the purse and of the stomach. Degradation of head and
heart must be the inevitable result of this gastronomical mockery. The
esprit de corps or corporate attachment that it produces, is not so much
the love of one body of men, as the hatred of all others. What collision,
what comparison, what enlargement of mind can be expected from the
intercourse of persons, all of whom have been similarly educated, and
from their youth upwards have been devoted to the same pursuit ? If
the constant inter-communion of those " whose talk is of bullocks"
stamps them with a character of indelible rusticity ; if the vulgarians,
confined to the narrow civic circle, wear a notorious brand of cockney-
ism, how can we expect that a convent of fellow-professors shall escape
without a congenial stigma of shallow pedantry, technicality, and club-
bism ? No— they will only confirm one another in all the little paltry
prejudices and peculiarities ; there will be no beneficial friction with the
world at large to rub off the angles and asperities of character ; and as

1832.] An Attack upon the Clubs ! 35

the bachelor becomes odd, old-fashioned, and churlish, for want of the
polishing influences of female society, so will the seclusion from general
male companionship entail similar vices upon the professional clubbist.
So much for his chances of mental improvement !

And will his heart fare any better than his head ? Let us see. It is
flagrant that a corporation, or company of any sort, is always ten times
more narrow-minded and illiberal than an individual. That which a
member, in his personal capacity, would blush to propose, he scruples
not to advocate on behalf of his guild In this respect, corporate mora-
lity is about as pure as state policy ; names and numbers are presumed
to sanction every thing ; but can any one become an agent in such dirty
work without eventual contamination ? Can the individual lend him-
self to the little cabals, intrigues, and sordid interests of the club, with-
out distorting his own views of right and wrong, and becoming person-
ally, as well as corporately, selfish. .A regular clubbist, if he have a
friend low down upon the list for admission, will not hesitate, as I am
credibly informed, to black-ball all those above him, however unobjec-
tionable, or even unknown, in order to give precedence and immediate
election to the favoured party. Is it honourable, is it honest, thus to
fix an unmerited stigma upon strangers, from a motive which, however it
may be disguised under the veil of friendship, cannot be termed other
than corrupt ? It may be club-law, and common law — but it ought not
to be the law of gentlemen. These, and the thousand other tortuous
finesses and manoeuvrings, which the member is accustomed to practise,
either for the interest of himself or his brotherhood — together with the
gossiping, whispering, and backbiting to which such a system must
inevitably give rise — can hardly exercise any very beneficial influence
upon the heart of the participants.

" But what say you," methinks I hear the reader exclaim, {C to the
great social advantage to be derived from these assemblages ?" I say
there is no such advantage — none whatever. If a man can enrol himself
in a club of twelve or fifteen hundred members for the sake of society, he
may, with as good a chance of succeeding in that object, enlist in the
army. No individual pretends to an acquaintance with the whole mob
of his ballotted brethren, nor with a half, nor even with a tithe. He
knows, or desires to see, but a few; and these few, dining at various
hours or different tables, and frequenting the club on uncertain days, he
can only hope to meet by some rare and fortunate coincidence. But
even if he knew them all, so far as the professional and exclusive clubs
are concerned (and they are all, more or less, so), his chances of pleasant
companionship would only be diminished by the enlargement of his
acquaintance ; not because the bores of all sorts, who stand no chance of
invitations in general society, invariably take refuge by whole droves in
the different clubs— but that, by the very constitution of every such
guild, its brethren must necessarily be centrifugal, rather than centri-
petal. If faith be due to the vulgar adage, that two of a trade can never
agree, the dictum must be equally true of a thousand more, especially when
thus thrown together to compare in their own minds their respective
merits and advancement in their common profession. The success of
the few can only have been obtained at the expense of the many ; and
the rivalship and envy, the heartburning and bitterness, which might
have slumbered in the absence of the objects by which those feelings have
been provoked, are here awakened and inflamed by their perpetual pre-

D 2

36 An Attack upon the Clubs! [JAN.

sence. It is unnecessary, however, to multiply reasons for the unsocia-
bleness of these associations, when the fact is susceptible of ocular
demonstration. Let the reader cast a passing glance at any of the
clubs, about the hour of dinner. He will see a very handsome hotel,
and, at various separate tables, he will behold solitary feeders, or small
detached parties, discussing their viands and their wines with a becoming
gravity and earnestness ; but he will find little companionship, little con-
versation, little intellectual hilarity, or none that might not have been
enjoyed just as well, though not perhaps so cheaply, at a tavern. We
are speaking of sociableness — not of economy. I admit the latter, but I
deny the former.

If the division of the male communityJnto grades and classes be a con-
fessed evil, what shall we say to the wide separation of the sexes which
this club-mania is daily and rapidly effecting. As this is unquestionably
the most mischievous and monstrous evil of the whole system, I have
reserved its exposure for the last. It will be admitted that man and
woman were meant for one another, collectively as well as separately.
Socially speaking, they are as naturally married to each other, in the
aggregate, as are the individual husband and wife ; and " whom God
hath joined together let no man put asunder." The beneficial, the
civilizing influences, which the sexes mutually impart and receive in
society, are best to be appreciated by the deep and instant degradation
which Nature, who never suffers her laws to be violated with impunity,
has invariably entailed upon their disjunction. For evidence of this
fact., it will be only necessary to refer to the monasteries and convents.
In the society of man, the softer sex, discarding some portion of its
frivolity and inherent weakness, acquires mental corroboration, and is
imperceptibly imbued with the best and finest emanations of masculine
character. In female society, the lord of the creation, losing the rug-
gedness, arrogance, and licentious coarseness of his nature, becomes
softened, courteous, and refined, chastening himself with feminine graces,
while he loses not a fraction of his proper manliness and dignity. Polish
is the result of collision, both morally and physically ; and man's iron
nature is not injured, or unduly nullified, but macle more useful and
attractive, by coming in contact with the magnet of beauty. Acting at
once as a stimulant and a restraint, the social intercourse of the two
sexes draws forth and invigorates all the purifying, exalting, and delight-
ful qualities of our common nature ; while it tends to suppress, and, not
seldom, to eradicate those of an opposite character. From this unre-
stricted communion flow the graces, the affections, the charms, the
sanctities, the charities of life ; and as benignant Nature ever blesses the
individual who contributes to the advancement of his species, from the
same source is derived our purest, most exquisite, and most enduring
happiness.

From all this, our epicurean monasteries — I beg pardon — I mean our
clubs — are as far removed as the nadir from the zenith. If the bachelor
and the misogynist chooses to hide and wallow in these Circean dens of
luxury, where

" The soul grows clotted by contagion,

Irabodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose

The divine property of her first being" —

he may perhaps assert his independence, and claim a right to follow
what pursuits he pleases ; though this plea I might deny, for no man is

1832.] An Attack upon the Clubs > 3?

altogether independent of others — no man belongs to himself alone, but
to the community. Let the uncowled bachelor-brethren,, nevertheless,
betake themselves to their club — let them drink — let them indulge in
gross and licentious ribaldry — let them laugh at all the decencies and
respectabilities of life, and more especially at marriage — let them wrangle
over their sullen game of whist — let them adjourn to the gaming-table,
or to the haunts of secret infamy ; — all this injures and degrades them-
selves alone. But I lay it down as a broad, incontrovertible axiom, that
no married man has a right to belong to a club, and to become an
habitual absentee from his home, indulging in hoggish epicurism, while
his wife and 'family are perhaps keeping Lent that he may afford to
feast. What hath he sworn to in his marriage-oath ? Merely to main-
tain his wife, and to make her the mother of his children ? No such
thing; he hath sworn to forsake all others, and to keep only unto
her, until death shall part them. Is if consistent either with the letter
or the spirit of this vow that he should deprive her of his society, and
make a sort of concubine of his club ? Is a virtuous, honourable, and
accomplished wife to be treated like an impure Dalilah, into whose house
her paramour sneaks in the dark, and skulks away again in the early
morning ? The little occasional bickerings, from which few married
couples are totally exempt, not unfrequently prove, under the soothing
influences of children, and the pleasures of the domestic meal, a renewal
and confirmation of love; but now, the sullen husband escapes to his
still more sullen club ; he becomes embittered by feeding upon his own
angry heart ; a reconciliation is rendered every day more difficult; he
begins to hate his home ; and his occasional absence is soon made
habitual. Meanwhile, the children lose the benefit of the father's pre-
sence and example ; the father, whose loss is of still more mischievous
import, is deprived of all the heart-hallowing influences of his offspring;
and the neglected wife, thinking herself justified in seeking from others
that society which is denied to her by her husband, is exposed to temp-
tations and dangers, from which she cannot always escape without con-
tamination. To over-rate the conjugal and domestic misery now in actual
progress, and all springing from this prolific source, would, I believe,
be utterly impossible. How many married couples are there in the
middling classes of society, the course of whose alienation and unhappi-
ness might be traced out in the following order? —

HUSBAND. The club — a taste for French cooks, expensive wines, and
sensual luxuries — fastidious epicurism — a dislike of the plain meals
which he finds at home, although the only ones adapted to his fortune
and his station — confirmed absenteeism and clubbism — hatred of the wife
who reproaches him for his selfish desertion — late hours — estrangement
—profligacy — misery !

WIFE. Natural resentment of neglect — reproaches — altercations —
diminution of conjugal affection — dissipation, as a resource against the
dullness of home — expensive habits — embarrassment — total alienation of
heart — dangerous connections — infidelity — misery ! Of this account-
current, the items may vary either in quality or sequence, but the alpha
and omega will ever be the same. It will begin with the club, and end
with misery.

But is it possible, I shall perhaps be asked, that these institutions
should spring up and multiply so rapidly, unless they supplied some mani-
fest desideratum in our social system, and were adapted to some preva-
lent want of our common nature ? Certainly not ; these foundations are

38 An Attack upon the Clubs ! [JAN.

laid in the feelings, or rather in the vices of mankind ; but let us put the
saddle upon the right horse ; let us not attribute them to sociableness,
to a love of intellectual improvement, or to professional sympathies,
•with which they have no relation whatever. The clubs are, simply and
solely, founded upon two of the ruling passions of the present day —
videlicet, selfishness and sensuality — selfishness, the most heartless and
intense ; sensuality, the most ignoble and grovelling. What are their
leading objects ? Epicurism, in the least elevated acceptation of that
misunderstood word — to place the greatest possible luxury, but more
especially the pleasures of the palate, within reach of the lowest possible
sum — to combine exclusiveness with voluptuousness — to foster, at the
same moment, the love of self and the alienation from others — to
remove men from their proper and natural mode of living — to
enable five hundred a-year to command the state, style, and splendour
of five thousand — to destroy the taste for simple and domestic plea-
sures— and to substitute a longing for all the expensive and sensual
enjoyments that might have gratified an ancient Sybarite. Our inju-
rious and absurd law of primogeniture, which, in the upper classes,
limits the privilege, or at least the ability, of maintaining an establish-
ment to one son, together with our costly habits of married life, have
imposed upon a large portion of society a compulsory celibacy, with all
its demoralizing and heart- withering effects. This, which was already
the predominant evil of our social system, the club-mania will immea-
surably aggravate and enlarge. Formerly, a young man of moderate
income, revolted by the annoyances of bachelorship and a tavern life,
took refuge in the comforts of marriage, aspiring, in that state, to
nothing beyond a plain, decent, respectable establishment. A modern
Sir Epicure Mammon of the clubs, even if he have one or two thousand
a-year, exclaims, with the true calculating selfishness of his order —
" Zooks ! I should be a loser by marrying, and having a house of mv
own ; here I have splendid saloons, gorgeous furniture, numerous livery
servants, French cooks, rare wines, a handsome library, all the news-
papers and periodicals, none of which I could command if I were to
commit matrimony, and settle out of reach of my club \" If an heiress
offers, indeed — a la bonne heure ; the same selfishness that has hitherto
kept him a bachelor makes him a Benedict ; but the code of the club-
spoilt Sybarites allows not any alternative between celibacy and a splen-
did marriage.

The same conviction of their objectionable tendency, which has made
me uniformly and sturdily reject all applications to become a member
of these societies, has prompted me to record my opinion of them with
a sincerity which may savour perhaps of harshness. That they may
offer some trivial advantage, I will not pretend to deny ; but that these
<'ire incalculably outweighed by their evils, I hold to be incontrovertible.
Their predominance in the capital, their diffusion in the provinces, con-
stitutes one of the very worst features of the times, so far as social man-
ners, domestic happiness, and general morality are concerned. All
abuses, however, have, luckily, a disposition to correct themselves.
From the multiplication of these clubs, there is* a hope that the exclu-
siveness will out-number the excluded, when, according to the English
standard of gentility, they must, of course, become vulgar. Formerly,
it was deemed a distinction to belong to a club ; the time is rapidly
approaching when it will be held a mark of superiority and good breed-
ing to have kept carefully aloof from them.

1832.] [ 39 ]

XEW YEAR'S HINTS roit THE MANAGEMENT OF THE MAGAZINE.

IN A PRIVATE LETTER TO THE EDITOR.

WHEN you parted from me on the steps of the Albion in Aldersgate
Street, to attend the splendid dinner given by Mr. Alaric Watts on his
being appointed sub-editor of your justly-admired, widely-circulated,
&c. magazine,* you reiterated a request you had before made, that I
would send you something lively for your January number, adding,
that you were fortunate enough to possess the assistance of more than
twenty contributors, who were of great weight in the literary world.
Of the weight of the papers with which these gentlemen may favour
you, I entertain not the least doubt ; for my own part, I am too busily
engaged at present in the composition of my Lives of the Pick-
pockets, for the Library of Useful Knowledge, to be able to devote much
time to your assistance ; but I cannot allow the opportunity to escape
me of offering you a few hints for the management of your magazine,
which an experience of some years has particularly suggested to me.
You may remember the Hints from a Veteran Contributor, that ap-
peared some years ago in a periodical which has been long gathered to
its fathers : they did not, however, at all touch upon that branch of the
subject to which I propose most especially to call your attention. For
the better understanding of these hints, it may be advisable to arrange
them under six distinct heads ; and, in the first place, I would say a few
words respecting your conduct as editor.

Hint the First. — In lifting " the banner of a new periodical," to bor-
row Mr. Diike's phrase in the Athenaeum, or in commencing a new
year with an established one, you will, of course, perceive the impera-
tive necessity of exerting those conciliatory manners for which, among
your friends, you are so celebrated. Enemies, of course, you will meet with
in abundance, but your chief perils will arise from your friends. Maga-
zine friendship is nothing but a species of coin current in the literary
world, and given in exchange for a bank note, or a draft on Drum-
mond's.

But this subject will be treated of under the head of Contributors.

I have not seen .your prospectus, and am not certain if you intend
issuing one ; it is, however, a matter of much import, and deserving of
your serious consideration. Mr. Taylor, the lamented Editor of the
London Magazine, was the most graceful writer of an address to the
public I ever remember. Whatever the staple of your prospectus may
be, you must on no account omit the reiteration of two things, viz.
that you are "perfectly unbiassed by any bookselling influence/' and
that te your work has been established solely with a view of promoting
the interests and well-being of literature." I never yet heard of an
editor (and I have known many) who admitted the image of " dirty
lucre" to come between him and his patriotism, at least in public. The
public has ever been, and continues to be, as you are, I doubt not, well
aware, remarkable for the willing ear it turns to every kind of plea-
santly-conveyed deception. You will find the press, generally, a very
serviceable ally ; and this leads me to

* Our friend and contributor has committed some strange mistake - however,
we have no time for alterations. Mr. Watts is not the sub-editor of this journal ;
on the contrary, our coadjutor happens to be a gentleman universally esteemed,
•and quite remarkable for liis equanimity of temper.— [Ed.

40 New Year's Hints for the Management of the Magazine. [JAN.

Hint the Second, which treats of Advertisements. — I shall make no
separate mention of puffs, as distinguished from advertisements, because
a little tact, which may be easily acquired, will enable you to make the
latter answer all the purposes of the former, and at a considerably less
expense. The plan is very simple, and has been put in practice with
much success. Print all the notices you can obtain, varying in terms
of praise, from the comparative to the superlative degree, on a separate
sheet, and take care to place them conspicuously in the ensuing number
of the magazine. It may not be amiss, occasionally, to blend with these
one or two reviews, of a less favourable character, from the London
journals ; by so doing, you will attain a reputation for honesty and
integrity, which .you will not cherish the less, because you know it to
be undeserved. The composition of an advertisement, though less com-
plex than a prospectus, requires no small talent to bring it to perfection.
Some of the most perfect specimens I have seen are those of Mr. Bull,
of Holies Street — you may refer to them with advantage as models of
art. Your efforts should be directed to the throwing a sort of mys-
tery over the several papers and their authors. I should advise you
(provided the experiment be attended by no extraordinary disbursement
—expense must be avoided like the plague), to get two or three first-
rate performers for your earlier numbers ; in the event of your being
unable to obtain their own contributions, a small donation will procure
their signatures, which you can affix to articles by unknown writers,
whose pay you will abridge, in order to meet these extra charges. I
think you will find your account in adopting this plan ; for it will

afford you an opportunity of exhibiting; the names of the Author of !

or the Authoress of ! ! as the case may be, and so induce a belief

among some persons in the assertion, with which you will conclude,
that your magazine is supported by " all the leading talent of the day,
and by physical and scientific writers of distinguished ability." A
period like this leaves a very agreeable sensation upon the ear. I had
nearly forgot to mention another mode of notification which may be
also employed — I allude to walking advertisements. I do not mean
those very respectable individuals who bear the placards of the Divan
and Pantechnicon, but I refer to those correspondents (and with proper
care you will find plenty) who, upon the insertion of a Sonnet, or a few

Stanzas to ! which can easily be hooked on to the tail of a page,

will make a point of lauding the magazine in every company, with a
passing reference to the beautiful poetry which illuminates the current
number.

Hint the third relates to Contributors. — It would decidedly be desira-
ble to conduct a magazine without any contributors at all, if it were
possible — and for two reasons : first, because the trouble of reading the
MSS. would be avoided ; and, secondly, because the editor and pro-
prietor would be able to divide the profits — share and share alike —
without interference or molestation. But I see no prospect of this
devoutly-to-be-wished-for consummation; and I do not, therefore, offer
any apology for troubling you with a few confidential remarks. The
principal obstacle to the formation of a lasting friendship between the
editor and his contributors, is the unfortunate practice of pecuniary
compensation. The first writer in ancient days who wrote for money
was Protagoras of Abdera, the copyright of whose elaborate " Memoirs
of his own Life and Times" was purchased by Paulo Meopolo, the prin-

]832.] New Year's Hints for the Management of the Magazine. 41

cipal Athenian publisher, at the immense price of 150 minas, or more
than £600. of our money. His example was soon followed ; but I have
been unable to discover, after much painful research, the precise scale
of prices usually paid for the periodical literature of Athens. Your rate
of payment, I think you informed me, is from £10. to £]6. per sheet.
I suppose you mean this to refer to your nominal remuneration. Actual
payment ought never to exceed £8. per sheet : you may mention
guineas — it sounds better ; but the odd shillings need not be given,
unless particularly demanded. I have heard that the profligate old
Chartres was wont to employ persons to " wait in the waggons" from
the country, in order to trepan the unwary for his licentious purposes.
God forbid that I should advise you to any action in the smallest degree
derogatory to your character as a man and a Christian ; I would merely
direct your attention to those highly-favoured individuals who have
•<f fine eyes" and a " taste for poetry." I have found some of these fel-
lows with mettle in them occasionally, which may be extracted with
trifling difficulty. You will, however, take care that they do not pro-
cure a settlement — in the magazine I mean, not in the parish — that, of
course, you leave to the overseer. It would not be inexpedient to hint
generally, in your notices to correspondents, that any young gentlemen
or ladies who may be induced, by the love of literature, &c., to submit
their papers to your judgment, will be treated with every attention. I
have seen this done with advantage, as sometimes you may get clever
papers for nothing. Do not, however, omit to add, that " all letters
must be post paid ;" and it would save you much trouble if duplicates
were kept of all short pieces, as it must be easier for writers to keep
copies than for you to write five hundred letters every month : this will
help to impress the public with an idea of the magnitude of your cor-
respondence.

With respect to the length of a contribution, opinions differ. I
believe you are an advocate for compression. I should prefer papers not
exceeding eight or nine pages, and should immediately reject any story,
however interesting, which stretched its legs into another number.

I was about sketching a list of persons from whom it would be pru-
dent not to receive articles ; but as it might seem ill-natured, I leave the
matter to your own judgment.

Hint the fourth — as to the time of payment — may be dispatched in a
few words. I need not, I am sure, urge upon you the folly of paying
until you are asked — or, indeed, at all, if you can help it. At any rate,
protract the payment as long as possible. You will find no time so con-
venient as your own time. The Empress Maud used frequently to say
to her son, King Henry II., " Be hasty in nothing ; hawkes are made
more serviceable when ye make faire shewes of offering meate often, and
yet withhold it the longer." This mode of feeding, though unsavoury
to your contributors, may not be without its good influences — particu-
larly if you could afford to place a half-pay captain on the establishment
—which might be done for a mere trifle — to bully refractory contri-
butors ; or you might publish every month a fictitious list of your killed
and wounded correspondents, which would have the effect of making
literary gentlemen with weak nerves exceedingly cautious.

Hint the Jifth — Poetry and Poets. — At the head of your list of poets
should be an (f uneducated" one, male or female — a prodigious genius,
discovered under peculiar circumstances, expressly for your magazine.

42 New Year s Hints for the Management of the Magazine. [JAN.

If you can find one that can neither read nor write, the better. In the
hints from a Veteran Contributor, to which I havealready alluded, a dis-
tinction is made between contributors who are paid, and contributors
•who ought to pay. This, however paradoxical it may sound at first,
is perfectly true in logic. For instance, if Mr. Robert Montgomery
wishes one of his poems to appear in your pages, you will, of course,
require that the letter containing the contribution shall be accompanied
by an order upon a house in London for a sum equivalent to the risk you
run by its publication — two guineas per page, at the least; and even
with this surety you would probably be losers. The less poetry you
have the better ; or, if you insert any, let it smack of that rich, aromatic
flavour, which one of the fathers of our church meant to praise when he
christened poesy the devil's wine.

Hint the sixth ; how to judge an Article. — A great deal of trouble
may be saved by a careful examination of the physiognomy of a contri-
bution. You cannot devote too much attention to this branch of study.
One rule may be followed without any exception — viz. to reject every
article written upon gilt-edged post, or note-paper with a flowered border.
It is said of Haydn the composer, that he never felt master of his intel-
lects unless he had his diamond ring upon his finger, and always refused
to write his music on any but the finest satin paper. But you are not
likely to meet with a literary Haydn about " THE MONTHLY -" and I
would advise you, therefore, to enforce your regulation strictly. It may
be well to be cautious of all enveloped letters, ending with " I have the
honour to be," &c. &c. ; it shews a desire to propitiate your good will,
and such communications must be treated circumspectly. Should any
contributor, however, attempt to bribe you with a present of game at
,any time, there is no imperative necessity for returning it with the
article.*

My letter has already reached to a considerable length, and I must
hasten to conclude ; for my fire is almost out, and Mrs. Morgan is com-
plaining of the spasms, to which she is subject. So good bye ! Let me
hear from you when convenient ; and if any of my " Hints" should be
of advantage to you, it will gratify

Your's, very sincerely,

MARK O' GORMAN MORGAN.
14, Ormond-street, Queen-square,
December 15th, 1831.

P. S. Will you come and dine with us on Christmas Day ? I have an
Essay on Horsewhipping, and a series of Chalk Farm Sketches, which
you should investigate forthwith, as they may be useful to you in more
•ways than one.

* We shall be particularly careful in acting upon this suggestion, and confidently
invite our contributor and others to try us. We know an editor who used to give
splendid dinners and desserts, by throwing out weekly hints to his correspondents
after this fashion — " We thank A Constant Header for his pheasants" — or, " The
nectarines from Windsor," &c. — \Ed.

1832.] [43

WAR SONG,
FOR THE ARMY TO BE SENT AGAINST THE EMPEROR Ol-' CHINA.

COME, tie on your bonnet, your shawl, and your boa !

Each proud virgin amazon, onward with me !
Come, rouse for the fight, all ye maids, who adore*

The flavour of Twankay, Souchong, or Bohea!

Come, clatter the tea-cups, and brandish each spoon,

Beat loudly the tea-tray, the kettle, and urn ;
No more for the lover or sweet honey-moon,

But for Twankay and war, let your soft bosoms burn !

Shall a petticoat savage — the horrible bore !

Infringe on our rights, and deny us our tea ?
No, no ! by the gown which my grandmother wore,

We'll smother the wretch in a chest of Bohea !

Come, launch, my brave maidens, each tea-chest canoe,
And spread out your large Canton crapes to the air ;

The kettle sings muster -call — hark! the cat's mew!

" Young Hyson" 's the word, " the delight of the fair !"

Great Twining a tea-wreath shall twine for us all —
The fairest of females looks far more divine at tea ;

If we conquer, we'll drink twenty cups — if we fall,
Why — " nee possum vivere cum te, nee sine te."

Twenty cups ! think of Johnson, when kind Mrs. Thrale
Filled him fifty at least, and he wished they were bowls ;

With ardour like his, which among ye can fail ?
Come, Doctor, and kindle your thirst in our souls !

Then onward, brave maidens, push off from the coast,'

For such brogueless tyrants we care not a pin ;
But do not forget, my fair tea-drinking host,

A stout Witney blanket, to toss the wretch in !

Oh ! the plunder of Pekin ! what silks and what shawls ; —
The Chinese, in spite of themselves, shall be free ;

For we'll bombard the city with hot force-meat balls.
And blow up their warriors with gunpowder tea !

Then tie on your bonnet, your shawl, and your boa,
And with war-cry of " Hyson-dust !" onward with me ;

Come, brandish your tea-spoons, ye maids, who adore
The flavour of Twankay, Souchong, or Bohea ! J. F.

* We are aware that this rhyme is rather unusual ; but we may parody the maxim
of Sir Lucius—" When patriotism guides the pen, he must be a brute that would
find fault with the rhyme."

[ 44 ] [JAN.

WYSOCKl's NARRATIVE OF THE POLISH INSURRECTION.

THE fall of Warsaw, three months ago, put an end to one of the
most heroic struggles that modern times have witnessed, and shewed
that — for a while only let us hope — even the highest moral courage
must give way before the lengthened training, and the concentrated
energies of a despotic power, which for more than a century has been
gradually nerving itself through these means against all struggles for
freedom and liberty on the part of its wretched provinces.

The following account, written by Peter Wysocki, will, nevertheless,
be read with interest, though it describes the dawning of a revolution
that has been unsuccessful. Ordinary readers will derive from it that
interest which attends the relation " of hairbreadth 'scapes" and " mov-
ing accidents ;" but the lovers of liberty will do more — they will imbibe
from it the spirit that inspires the honest heart, when it awakens and
finds itself within the thrall of tyranny. It is not necessary here to
detail who Wysocki was, as his own narrative sufficiently points out the
considerable part that he acted in directing the insurrection of the mili-
tary academy of Warsaw, and in discovering those ardent spirits that
lay concealed under the gloom that despotism imposed, but were still
ready to start into action the instant that the whisper of freedom reached
their ear.

The world already knows what was the fate of the unfortunate Poles
who had presumed to plan the independence of their country in 1825.
The imprisonment of Soltyk, Krzyzanowski, Albert Grzymala, A. Plichta,
and others, the long persecution of Adolphus Cichowsky, and the remem-
brance of the services rendered by Niemojewski, had inspired the hearts
of the young ensigns with feelings of the noblest patriotism ; and the
taunts of our enemies, who mocked the unhappy sufferers, first inspired
our minds with the thought of avenging them. At this period, how-
ever, the general state of Europe, the character of the men who com-
posed the French ministry, the misunderstandings that existed even
among the most upright Poles, together with the mistrust occasioned
by numerous instances of treachery, seemed to us invincible obstacles to
our plan ; yet we did not lose courage. At length Russia declared war
on Turkey — this circumstance cast a consoling ray of hope on the Polish
patriots.

Nothing decisive, however, had as yet been resolved in the military
academy. It was not till the 15th of December, 1828, when several fel-
low-students were accidentally assembled at my lodgings, viz.C.Paszkie-
wicz, J. Dobrowski, Karl Karsnicki, Alex. Laski, and Josh. Gorowski,
that we began to consult freely on the political state of Europe, on the
necessity of liberating our countrymen from the yoke that oppressed
them, and on the measures to be taken in order to restore the privileges
of the constitutional chart, which the monarch and the nation had botli
sworn to maintain. The following day I communicated the conversa-
tion that had passed to several of the ensigns, whose way of thinking
was perfectly known to me. My interview with these young men fully
convinced me that their efforts would be such as at once to decide the
fate of our country. We agreed upon a form of oath, which ran, as
nearly as I can remember, in the following words : —

" We swear before God and our oppressed country, deprived of its

1832.] Wysockis Narrative of the Polish Insurrection. 45

constitutional rights — 1st. In case of incarceration, not to betray any
member of the society, even though we should be subjected to the most
cruel torture. — 2dly. To unite all our endeavours towards one object,
and even to sacrifice our lives, if necessity require it, in defence of the
constitutional chart, which is daily violated. — 3dly. To use the utmost
precaution in the admission of new members, and never to take this
step without due notice to the society ; and most especially to admit no
drunkard, gamester, or other individual whose conduct is not wholly
immaculate."

From this moment we promised to devote our whole and unceasing
attention to effect our purpose.

It was difficult to introduce officers and others into a society consisting
of so few members, because those lately introduced feared exposing
themselves to danger ; I was therefore alone authorized to accept new
members, without informing my colleagues ; I was also allowed to
invite each member of the original society to receive such individuals as
I should point out. In consequence of this authority I went to Paszkie-
wicz, captain of the grenadiers of the guards, and having represented to
him the state of Europe, I declared to him that we had formed a secret
association, the object of which was to change the government of Poland.
This gallant officer listened to me with signs of the most lively satisfac-
tion ; he promised to support our views, as well as to assist their pro-
pagation among his friends, and the members of other societies. I name
him without authority, persuaded that Polish history will one day be
proud of his name.

Encouraged by the success of my first step to obtain adherents among
the officers of the Polish army, I hastened to the battalion of miners; I
calculated on the patriotism that had always distinguished them, and my
expectations were not disappointed. Having received into our society
Albert Przedpelski, second lieutenant of the battalion, I obtained an
introduction to Felix Nowosielski, a man greatly beloved by his soL-
diery, and in high esteem among his fellow-officers. The result was,
that Nowosielski answered on his honour for most of the officers in the
battalion of miners.

By the assistance of Karsnicki, I made acquaintance with Koszicki,
an officer of the select company of the first light regiment, who assured
me that most of the officers of this corps were agreed as to the necessity
of a change of government. In respect to the other regiments, all the
officers, the moment they were let into our secret, promised their most
zealous efforts in inducing the whole army to participate our views.
The officers admitted into the secret society now required I should enter
into negotiations with the inhabitants, in order to ascertain if they ap-
proved the inclination of the soldiery, and would support their efforts
when the decisive moment arrived. I therefore dispatched Ensign
Paszkiewicz to Mr. J. U. Niemcewicz, a man who had rendered the
utmost service to his country, to request he would be pleased to assist
us with the wisdom of his counsels. This noble and aged Pole fully
approved our design ; he praised our zealous ardour, but strongly
recommended that the execution of the project should be postponed.
" It is not yet time," said Niemcewicz, "but, depend upon it, the happy
moment will yet arrive !"

The encouraging expressions of Niemcewicz filled us with activity
and enthusiasm. We all saw in him the organ of the wishes and .hopes

46 Wysocki's Narrative of I he Polish Insurrection. [JAN.

of the nation. About this time, Ensign Gorowski made me acquainted
with his brother Adam, who, in the name of his fellow-citizens, on
whom he bestowed unbounded praise, assured me of the success of the
undertaking. Shortly after, I was introduced into the house of the
deputy Zwierkowski, where I had sufficient opportunity of convincing
myself that the citizens were fully prepared to second the efforts of the
troops.

A certain number of deputies, convened, at my suggestion, by Gus-
tavus Malachowski, decided, after mature consideration, that the mo-
ment for a general revolt could not yet be fixed, but that, in expectation
of a more favourable instant, every endeavour was to be made to ani-
mate the troops, and to disseminate a patriotic feeling among them.

Captain Paszkiewicz having expressed a desire to be introduced to
some of these gentlemen, they were apprized of a meeting that was to
take place at my apartment. At this consultation it was agreed, that,
provided the war with Turkey was commenced immediately, it might
prove extremely advantageous to our enterprise; it was nevertheless
resolved to await the assembling of the Diet, which, it was said, would
take place by the end of April. I inquired of the gentlemen present
what was to be done if the Diet should not assemble at all, or in case the
war should be favourable to the Russians ; all, however, were of opinion
that no decisive stroke could be struck before the meeting of the Diet.
From this moment all our operations, which had commenced on the
15th of December, 1828, and had continued till the beginning of April,
were postponed.

During this interruption I had an understanding with Urbanski, a
lieutenant of the grenadier guard, whom I informed of our secret asso-
ciation, and who promised, in case of need, to supply us with some
thousand cartridges, which he faithfully performed. From that instant
this officer, impressed with the noblest feelings of patriotism, was inces-
sant in his exertions for the national cause ; he always acted with vigour
and caution, and it is to him that we are perhaps most indebted for the
success of our efforts.

A report was now spread of the expected coronation and the assembly
of the Diet, which enlivened our hearts with fresh hopes ; towards the
10th of May, 1829, we accordingly recommenced operations with new
ardour. Several landholders came to be present at the coronation.
The deputies Przeinski and Zwierkowski soon after waited on me, and
declared, that the longed-for hour of taking up arms for our indepen-
dence, under the eyes of the representatives of the nation, was already
at hand. " We will carry our petitions/' said these deputies, " to the
foot of the throne. We will require that the sittings of the Diet shall
be public, that the freedom of the press shall be guaranteed, that the
committee of examination, &c. &c. shall be abolished ; and if our requests
are refused, especially if the deputies are imprisoned, then you must
support our demands by force of arms."

I communicated this declaration, with all its particulars, to the society ;
it was heard with the warmest enthusiasm, and not a doubt was enter-
tained that the nation would approve the justice of the plan now carry-
ing on by the army. The above-mentioned petition was attended by
no favourable result ; yet the deputies, in consideration of the state of
political circumstances, did not yet authorize our having recourse to
arms. Dissatisfied with the answer we received on the subject, we

1832.J Wysockis Xarrtttlvc. of the Polish Insurrection. 47

again applied to the deputies, to know whether we should -not make
vise of the means at our disposal to accelerate the grand work, viz. the
reconquest of our constitutional independence? They replied, "it was
not yet time, and so much the less, as the Russians had but shortly
before obtained great advantages in the Turkish war."

All the persons I saw concurred in our opinions ; there was no longer
any hesitation except as to time ; whatever delay ensued was only occa-
sioned by the political state of the moment ; the Diet, which took place
the same year, left us little hopes, and several of the deputies already
began to regret not having seized the opportunity offered by the Turkish
war. The dead stillness of all Europe, and especially the French
ministry, partly damped the warmth of our ardour.

At length the French revolution summoned every nation of Europe,
with a voice of thunder, to throw off the yoke of power, wherever it had
passed the bounds of legality, and assumed a tyrannical shape. We
now entertained the brightest hopes ; and as at this time the same san-
guine feeling had spread through the army encamped near Warsaw, I
was convinced of the harmony that reigned amongst almost all the offi-
cers. Nothing was spoken of but the French revolution, the smallest
details of which were over and over again discussed. As for ourselves,
we now began to see our way more clearly, and even to act with less
precaution, but yet with mere zeal than ever, in daily expectation of
the favourable moment for flying to arms, the instant we had a leader
willing to accept the supreme command of the army. Though more than
200 officers were already initiated in the secret, yet the society, which was
to begin and complete the work of the revolution on the plan previously
concerted, could not immediately receive its fixed and ultimate organi-
zation ; it was not till they had quitted the camp, and had returned to
Warsaw, that we took the appropriate and direct measures to attain our
end. We still doubted whether the undertaking of the army might
not be disapproved by the nation ; this doubt, however, was soon dis-
pelled by my friend Boleslau's Ostrowski, who assured us that the army
could not question the patriotism and devotion of the nation ; that it
was the highest injustice to suppose that the long state of servitude it
had suffered, had either impaired its love of independence, or effaced
the memory of its former fame and dignity.

To Urbanski, paymaster of the guard, I represented the necessity of
speedily establishing societies similar to our own in every regiment, in
order that on a fixed day, at a fixed hour, the officers might lead the
soldiers to an appointed post. Zaliwski, who happened to be present,
and whose ideas and talents were perfectly known to me, was also of
this opinion. We accordingly distributed among us the different divi-
sions of troops then lying as garrison in the capital. I promised to gain
over the officers of the grenadier and sharp-shooter companies, while
Urbanski did the same by those of the guard. Borkiewicz, second
lieutenant of the 7th regiment, having assembled those officers who be-
longed to the society, we declared to them they must instantly bind
themselves to lead on their soldiers, and to choose a representative to
whom the direction of the corps wras to be confided ; Zaliwski was
accordingly chosen, without hesitation ; and he and Urbanski ever since
continued their most strenuous support. On account of the absence of
several officers, the organization of societies and the choice of a repre-
sentative in the sharp-shooter companies could not be effected till some-

48 Wysocki's Narrative of the Polish Insurrection. [[JAN.

what later. A few days previously, a Polish pamphlet had accidentally
fallen into my hands, the title and first leaves of which had been torn
away ; it seemed to contain the means of rescuing Poland, at the time
of its third dismemberment. This pamphlet had great influence on the
members of our society, as well as the reflections of Kilinski, which we
had already perused, and which had been sent to us out of Posen as a
pledge of fraternal sympathy, and as a token of zeal in our mutual wel-
fare, not inferior to our own.

Towards the end of September, and in the first days of October, bills
were stuck up at the corners of many of the streets in Warsaw, sum-
moning the Poles to revolution, and containing menaces against the
Grand Duke, with even a notice that, from the next new year, the Bel-
vedere Palace would be to be let. We had no knowledge of all this.
Reports were spread in every direction that a new revolution was about
to break out ; one even went so far as to fix the day — it was to be the
10th, 15th, and 20th of October. These rumours induced the old govern-
ment to stand more on its guard.

As I had no opportunity of seeing J. B. Ostrowski, I begged Louis
Nabielak to go to Lazienski,* and enjoined him to inform Ostrowski,
that after the 18th of October we were daily prepared to take up arms.
I recommended Ensign Fraszkowski to Nabielak, and begged he would
concert with him the measures to be taken, in order, from the very
beginning, to act in union with the inhabitants, either in the Saxon
Square or at the Belvedere; this plan, however, could not be executed,
as the officers had not yet been able to come to an understanding on
the point. At length Fraszkowski, seconded by Nabielak and other
officers, made the request that I would fix the 18th of October for the
commencement of our enterprise ; yet on condition that I was still to
hold a final consultation with Zaliwski and Urbanski. At this consulta-
tion it was, however, decided to delay the affair for some time longer,
which occasioned considerable dissatisfaction and enmity towards me.
The reproaches I had to undergo, and the calumnies with which I was
loaded, did not in the least slacken my zeal. The society divided itself
into parties ; and J. B. Ostrowski, dreading the vigilance of spies,
especially after the apprehension of several students of the university,
discontinued his support. Misunderstandings likewise arose in the
corps, which also withdrew their assistance. This wretched state of
discord lasted till the next consultation with Xaverius Bronikowski. I
redoubled my efforts to assemble all the officers ; having effected this,
they required to be convinced in what light the Chamber of Deputies
would consider our projects, in consequence of which, I and Zaliwski
undertook to ascertain the genuine feeling of the inhabitants, and to fix
the day when the struggle for the national cause was at last to begin.
The execution of our design was, however, again postponed, by the
imprisonment of several individuals, by order of the Grand Duke, as
well as by the general apprehension evinced in the capital. Urbanski
was seized; and I myself, by order of the Duke, was examined by
Olendzki. Precautionary measures were taken at the Belvedere, arid
all proceedings at the military academy were watched with tenfold sus-
picion. Geznez was also thrown into confinement, and underwent a
rigorous examination ; while all communication between us and the city

* A small village near Warsaw.

1832.] Wysocki's Narrative of the Polish Insurrection. 49

was strictly forbidden by the Duke. Makrott was instantly at the heels
of every individual who absented himself from the barracks ; and the
direction of the academy was confided to General Trembicki.

During this interval of terror and disorder, Xaverius Bronikowski
declared his irrevocable determination of withdrawing from the society,
and of refusing all future assistance ;* he accordingly abandoned his
usual occupations, resigned the editorship of the Polish Courier to
Mr. L. Zukowski, and changed his residence. On the 21st of Novem-
ber, Zaliwski, Bronikowski, and myself, repaired to the library of the
" Learned Society," under the pretext of visiting its cabinet of curiosities,
but in fact to meet Lelewel,t to whom Xaverius Bronikowski and
Maurice Mochnacki had already communicated the existence of a secret
military club. When Lelewel entered, I took the word, and spoke
pretty nearly as follows : —

" A report has been circulated, that the Polish army openly approves
the principles of the present government — that it is inseparably and un-
conditionally attached to the Grand Duke — that it boldly justifies the
abuses daily committed by the miserable slaves and spies that surround
it — and that living at enmity with the nation, it only serves to oppress
and enchain her. In consequence of these rumours, I now declare to
you, most respected citizen, in the name of this so hatefully accused and
calumniated army, that we, indeed, have sworn fidelity to our king,
but he has also sworn fidelity to the nation. As the king has violated
his oath, he has absolved us from ours. We are now prepared to blend
our exertions with those of the nation, and fly to arms in defence of
those rights which were guaranteed us by the constitutional chart. You
need but speak ; your arguments and talents will serve as our guides.
You see in us present the organs of a vast number of officers who share
the same sentiments."

Lelewel answered, that nobody imagined the army favoured an
unjust government, that the nation participated the views of the army,
and all good Poles thought as we did. " Though several military conspi-
racies," said he, " have had an unfortunate issue, still I doubt not your
efforts will be crowned with a happy result. Forty thousand men
under arms, who share the same opinions, and express the same wish,
cannot fail of bearing the national feeling along with them." In com-
pliance with the opinion of Lelewel, it was determined at this interview,
that the Sunday evening following, viz. 28th of November, should be
the day fixed for a general rising. After a subsequent interview with
Lelewel, we declared the revolt irrevocably fixed, even though it should
necessarily be delayed till Monday.

Thursday, 25th November. — After the departure of Lelewel, Urbanski,
Zaliwski, and myself, held an important deliberation, in which we came
to the following resolutions : —

" 1st. That the representatives of the society, viz. the officers of all the

* We translate this passage exactly as it stands in Wysocki's deposition, notwith-
standing the obscurity to which it gives rise, as Bronikowski is found immediately
afterwards in closest intimacy with the society. Perhaps the present declaration
was made as a momentary blind to his enemies, in which case, some allusion might
have been expected in order to clear up the incongruity.

f Lelewel is the name of the celebrated professor, so active in fanning the flame
of revolt among the students of the university. He is a man of most distinguished
talent, and has since been called to the cabinet.

M. M. Senw.— VOL. XIII. No. 73. E

50 Wysocki's Narrative of the Polish Insurrection. [JAN-

regiments lying in garrison at Warsaw, must be immediately assembled. —
2dly. That it be clearly intimated to them, that they were understood to
approve our undertaking, and would be expected effectually to second
the enterprise. — 3dly. That on Sunday, towards evening, the plan of
military operations should be read to them."

On Sunday, the 28th November, about seven o'clock in the evening,
the representatives accordingly repaired to the barracks of the guards,
and assembled at the apartments of Borkiewicz. During the night from
Sunday to Monday we fixed our plan of military operations. The fol-
lowing were the main articles : —

. '.' 1st. To make sure of the person of the Grand Duke. — 2dly. To
force the Russian cavalry to lay down their arms. — 3dly. To take pos-
session of the arsenal, and distribute arms among the people. — 4thly.
To disarm the regiments of the Russian, Volhynian, and Lithuanian
guard, under the command of Generals Essakow and Engelmann."

The result of this plan is now known to every one. Some of the
most remarkable details may however still be interesting. At six
o'clock in the evening, the signal of revolt was given by setting fire to
the brewery on the Solec, close to the barracks of the Russian cavalry,
but by some chance or other the fire was extinguished. The Polish
troops left the barracks to repair to their appointed posts ; at the same
instant, a division, consisting of several students of the university,
hastened, under command of two ensigns of the academy, to insure the
person of the Grand Duke, who, amidst the confusion, might have run
a risk of being sacrificed. This business was confided to the two Ensigns
Fraszkowski and Kobylanski ; the names of the others were, Louis
Nabielak, Sewerin Goszczynski, Karl Paszkiewicz, Stanislaus Poninski,
Zenon Niemojewski, Louis Orpiszewski, Rochus and Nicodemus Rup-
niewski, Valentine Nosiorowski, Louis Jankowski, Edward Trzcinski,
Leonard Rettel, Antony Kosinski, Alexander Swientoslawski, Valentine
.Krosniewski, and Rottermund, all either teachers or pupils of the uni-
versity, and men of upright character, wholly devoted to the cause.

Four light companies, and two of the sixth regiment of the line, who
were dispatched to assist the ensigns, and to prevent the Russian cavalry
from forcing their way into the city, were foiled in their mission by
General Stanislaus Potocki, who met them on their way, and took them
as prisoners of war to the Russians. The four cannons, which were to
have taken possession of the posts between the rural coffee house* and
the Radziwil barracks, as well as of the passages leading to the Bel-
vedere, and which were only intended to fire for the sake of the moral
influence this would have on the troops, were seized by a Polish regi-
ment, which I shall purposely avoid mentioning, lest its reputation
should be for ever branded with infamy. At the moment the small
detachment sent to the Belvedere disappeared from the little wood at
Lazienki, I hurried away to the barracks of the Ensigns' Academy,
accompanied by Lieutenant Schlegel, who brought us cartridges from
the camp, and by Joseph Dobrowolski. We found the young men
busily engaged at their theoretical studies ; the two above-mentioned
gallant officers instantly disarmed the Russian.

On entering the school, I exclaimed to these valiant youths — " Poles !
the hour of vengeance has struck ; this day we must either conquer or

* The Polish expression is wieyska kawa, which means a rural, or country coffee-
house. It is difficult to. hit the exact signification without being thoroughly ac-
quainted with the localities.

1832.] Wysocki's Narrative of the Polish Insurrection. 51

die. Follow me ; and may your breasts prove a Thermopylae against
the enemies of our freedom \" At the same moment the hall rung with
unanimous cries of — " To arms ! To arms !" These noble young fel-
lows loaded their muskets and rushed after their leader, to the number
of about one hundred and sixty ; we took the road to the barracks of
the three Russian cavalry regiments. Convinced that the select com-
panies were hastening to join us, I gave orders to fire, partly to alarm
the Russians, and partly as a signal to the companies that the struggle
had already begun.

After this signal, we forced our way into the middle of the barracks
of lancers, where our enemies, thus provoked, immediately assembled,
about 300 men strong, and drew themselves up in a column before us.
We fired upon them; they at first fell into disorder, but afterwards
closed their ranks, and again returned to the attack. We received them
with a fresh charge, and redoubled cries of exultation, then rushing on
them with the bayonet, broke their column, which dispersed in all direc-
tions, leaving us masters of the ground, bestrewed with corpses. At
this instant I received news that the cuirassier and hussar regiments
were hastening from their barracks to surround us, arid cut off our way
to the city. The Polish columns that were to have come to our assist-
ance did not make their appearance, and as our cartridges were begin-
ning to fail us, we were, involuntarily, compelled to retreat. The regi-
ment of lancers which we had first attacked, and wholly dispersed,
allowed us a free passage over the bridge of Sobieski, where we formed
a junction with the division that came from the Belvedere.

Under the idea that the select companies were only waiting orders to
join us, I dispatched Camilio Mochnacki with instructions to have them
march up as speedily as possible ; he, however, soon returned, with
notice that the troops were nowhere to be found, and that the cuirassiers
were ranging themselves in order of battle, to cut us off at every pos-
sible point on our way back to the city. Having advanced a few paces,
I came in sight of a file of cuirassiers, whom, without hesitation, I
ordered to be attacked. Our intrepid youths instantly rushed upon them,
and soon forced the enemy to withdraw towards the Belvedere.

We now collected our forces, and proceeded towards the rural coffee-
house. On reaching the square, between this coffee-house and the
Radziwil barracks, we again met the cuirassiers, preparing to attack us
anew, and at the same time perceived a group of hussars coming towards
us from the alleys of trees. In this imminent danger, our only resource
was a rapid march to the left, in order to gain the Radziwil barracks ;
we luckily succeeded in reaching this spot, from whence we destroyed
a number of the enemy, who seemed 011 the point of besieging us.
Shortly afterwards, finding it impossible to restrain the impetuous ardour
of the valiant ensigns, we rushed out of the barracks, burst upon the
Russians, and having put a considerable number of them hors de combat,
forced the rest to retreat. We then proceeded towards the city, the
way to which now remained perfectly free.

Near the church of St. Alexander we met with General Stanislaus
Potocki, the ensigns stopped him, and implored him almost on their
knees to join the national cause. I united my entreaties to those of the
gallant youths — (< General," said I, " we conjure you, in the name of
your country, of the fetters of Igelstraem, in which you so long lan-
guished, place yourself at our head ; do not suppose it is only the mili-
tary academy that has risen ; all the troops are for us, and are already

E 2

52 Wysocki's Narrative of the Polish Insurrection. [JAN.

in possession of the posts we will point out to you." As I however saw
that our remonstrances were vain, and we had no time to lose, I ordered
him to be set at liberty. A few hours afterwards, he fell by other
hands ; his obstinate resistance, and his want of confidence in the valour
and resolution of the Polish soldiery, brought him to an untimely
grave.

I here finish my recital. It would be useless to describe the scenes
of horror and bloodshed I witnessed between the church of St. Alex-
ander and the arsenal. Providence led our steps; God assisted our
beginning ; the God of our forefathers, and of our beloved Poland, has
blessed our exertions, and will one day restore to our country its former
limits and its ancient fame. According to our previous arrangement,
Xaverius Bronikowski sent various persons into the different quarters of
the town, to serve as leaders of the people. Anastasius Dunin, Wlodi-
mir Kormandski, Louis Zukowski, Maurice Mochnacki, Michael Dem-
binski, and Joseph Koslowski, according to the directions of Broni-
kowski, began operations in the Altstadt.

The military academy is under everlasting obligation to Lieutenant
Schlegel, who on this remarkable night quitted his corps to fight in
extremest peril at the head of our noble ensigns. The academy is also
deeply indebted to the intrepidity of Dobrowolski, whose wounds, re-
ceived in this memorable conflict, will honour him to the last hour of
his life. I have omitted many names well worthy of being mentioned.
It belongs to history to conserve them in its public records, and deliver
them down to the gratitude of their fellow-countrymen.

Written at Warsaw, the 9th December, 1830.

(Signed) PETER WYSOCKI.

Under-Lieutenant in the Polish Army.

THE CAMBRIDGE " FRESHMAN."

SEE a stripling alighting from the Cambridge " Fly" at Crisford's
Hotel, Trumpington-street. It is a day or two before the commence-
ment of the October term, and a small cluster of gownsmen are gathered
round to make their several recognitions of returning friends, in spite
of shawls, cloaks, petershams, patent gambroons, and wrap-rascals, in
which they are enveloped ; while our fresh-comer's attention is divided
between their sable " curtains" and solicitude for his bags and port-
manteau. If his pale cheek and lack-lustre eye could speak but for a
moment, like Balaam's ass, what painful truths would they discover !
what weary watchings over the midnight taper would they describe !
If those fingers, which are now as white as windsor-soap can make
them, could complain of their wrongs, what contaminations with dusty
Ainsworths and Scapulas would they enumerate ! if his brain were to
reveal its labours, what labyrinths of prose and verse, in which it has
been bewildered when it had no clue of a friendly translation, or Clavis
to conduct it through the wanderings, would it disclose ! what permu-
tations and combinations of commas, what elisions and additions of
letters, what copious annotations on a word, an accent, or a stop,
parallelizing a passage of Plato with one of Anacreon, one of Xenophon
with one of Lycophron, or referring the juvenile reader to a manu-
script in the Vatican, — what inexplicable explanations would it ana-
thematize !

1832.] The Cambridge Freshman. 53

The youth calls on a friend, and if " gay" is inveigled into a " wet
night," and rolls back to the hotel at two in the morning Bacchi plenus,
whereas the " steady man" regales himself with sober Bohea, talks of
Newton and Simeon, resolves to read mathematics with Burkitt, go to
chapel fourteen times a week, and never miss Trinity Church* on
Thursday evenings. The next day he asks the porter of his college
where the tutor lives ; the key-bearing Peter laughs in his face, and
tells him where he keeps ; he reaches the tutor's rooms, finds the door
sported, and knocks till his knuckles bleed. He talks of Newton to his
tutor, and his tutor thinks him a fool. He sallies forth from Law's
(the tailor's) for the first time in the academical toga and trencher,
marches most majestically across the grass-plot in the quadrangle of his
college, is summoned before the master, who had caught sight of him
from the lodge-windows, and reprimanded. His gown is a spick-and-
span new one, of orthodox length, and without a single rent ; he caps
every Master of Arts he meets ; besides a few Bachelors, and gets into
the gutter to give them the wall. He comes into chapel in his surplice,
and sees it is riot surplice-morning, runs back to his rooms for his gown,
and on his return finds the second lesson over. He has a tremendous
larum at his bed's head, and turns out every day at five o'clock in
imitation of Paley. He is in the lecture-room the very moment the
clock has struck eight, and takes down every word the tutor says. He
buys " Hints to Freshmen," reads it right through, and resolves to
eject his sofa from his rooms.t He talks of the roof of King's chapel,
walks through the market-place to look at Hobson's conduit, and quotes
Milton's sonnet on that famous carrier. He proceeds to Peter House
to see Gray's fire-escape, and to Christ's to steal a bit of Milton's mul-
berry tree. He borrows all the mathematical MSS. he can procure, and
stocks himself with scribbling paper enough for the whole college. He
goes to a wine-party, toasts the university officers, sings sentiments,
asks for tongs to sugar his coffee, finds his cap and gown stolen and old
ones left in their place. He never misses St. Mary's (the University
Church) on Sundays, is on his legs directly the psalmody begins, and
is laughed at by the other "gownsmen. He reads twelve or thirteen
hours a day, and talks of being a wrangler. He is never on the wrong
side of the gates after ten, and his buttery bills are not wound up with
a single penny of fines. He leaves the rooms of a friend in college,
rather late perhaps, and after ascending an Atlas-height of stairs, and
hugging himself with the anticipation of crawling instanter luxuriously
to bed, finds his door broken down, his books in the coal-scuttle and
grate, his papers covered with more curves than Newton or Descartes
could determine, his bed in the middle of the room, and his surplice, on
whose original purity he had so prided himself, drenched with ink. If
he is matriculated he laughs at the beasts (those who are not matriculated),
and mangles slang: wrangler s,f ops, andmedalists become quite "household
words" to him. He walks to Trumpington every day before hall to get
an appetite for dinner, and never misses grace. He speaks reverently
of masters and tutors, and does not curse even the proctors ; he is mer-
ciful to his wine-bin, which is chiefly saw-dust, pays his bills, and owes
nobody a guinea — he is a Freshman ! J- F.

• Mr. Simeon's. None of pur well-beloved readers, we presume, are so fresh
as not to know this gentleman's name,
f One of the sage and momentous injunctions of this pastoral charge.

ODE TO COLONEL JONES.

[The cut here given (a gem our artist owns)
Begins a series meant to grace this' journal,

Than Hood's more comic, caustic more than Home's.
Whom to select provoked debates diurnal ;

When just as we had fixed on Colonel Jones,
His " head" was offered by the gallant Colonel.

He, for the wood that forms it, is our creditor ;

When " worked," the block shall be returned him.— Editor.']

I.

DEAR Colonel Jones, descendant of a race

That hath the Brown and Thompson-tribes surpassed

In numbers ; and that, shooting up apace,

Hath into fits good Mr. Malthus cast —

It multiplies so fast ;

Whose matrons, too compliant,
Produce at every second birth a giant !
Witness the many-tongued Sir William Jones,
Who spoke all languages that e'er were spoken
(And at his fingers' ends quite perfect had 'em,
Including Irving's latest) since the tones
Of Eve first touched the tympanum of Adam.
Or shall we snatch from fiction's page a token,

And take Tom Jones ?
A fellow with more flesh upon his bones,
Than all the fops and fools of modern novels,
That play the deuce with heroines in hovels.

Then there's Mercutio Jones,
Who quits the stage (ungenerous Jones !) for ever,
To manufacture orators from drones,

And make the clergy clever.
But still the list is not yet barren :
Who was the star last season ? — why, John Jones,

One of the precious stones
Set in the crown of the great farce-king, Farren.

1832. J Ode to Colonel Jones. 55

Last — but, oh ! far from least — forgive the whim —

There's Davy Jones !

Renowned Welch wonder — king of whales and sharks —
Upsetter of armadas, and of arks —

Terror of chimney-corner crones,
Whose absent husbands never learnt to swim !
And here, dear Colonel, though mankind are brothers,
Exists the difference 'twixt thee and others ;
For thou — while all are doomed when life is ended,
Monarchs and mayors, to descend to him —

Thou art from him descended.

II.

Oh ! Colonel Jones,
Let me, ere yet I touch on the calamity

That wakes these moans,
Reflect, in admiration and in amity,
On the full radiance of thy rare career

From year to year.

I speak not of thy fame among the fighters ;
For thou hast been for better things designed —
A colonel of the marching hosts of mind j

Thy sole ambition

To rank among the orators and writers,
And to excite thy parish to petition.
Full many a patriot speech, and many a swarm
Of resolutions, hast thou put together,

In Palace-yard, or Lincoln's-inn —
Collecting crowds unchecked by Whigs or weather ;
Long ere the people had a chance to win —
Ere yet had risen, o'er the Tory storm,

The rainbow of Reform !
Though not, it seems, at present an M.P.,

Thou hast been, and shalt be.
Pancras and Finsbury shall plead in vain,
And Holborn fail to grasp thee for its member ;

For thou, oh ! Jones,

Art Mary-le-bone's,

Before the thirty-first of next December.
Thy many-column'd letters in the " Times,"
Crowning the glories of thy useful reign,
Paint the results of perished courtiers' crimes ;
And shew how ministers may live again
In brothers, mothers, uncles, cousins, sisters,

And other blisters.

And can it be, that after all these labours,
You've formed the dire intention,
Which twenty papers every morning mention,
Of giving up your body for dissection,
That you and usefulness may still be neighbours ?
Of leaving for the use of Mr. Hume,
The glory (gratis) of a public tomb,
And all the sweets of muffled drums and tabors !
Your skeleton denying to St. Paul,
To hang, in horrid honours, on the wall
(Oh ! for some fifty notes of interjection !)

Of Surgeons' Hall !

III.
Too generous and disinterested Colonel !

Why, all this foolish nation
Deemed thee successor to thy Sea-relation,
The heir- apparent of the great Infernal—

56 Ode to Colonel Jones. [JAN.

And fancied you would intercede with Davy

To spare our navy !

We thought, oh! Jones,
That you in time would mount his thousand thrones.

If not as king,

As president, or some such thing,
To govern those Low Countries — by the year.
But you, alas ! prefer remaining here ;
And though the nation for your likeness grieved

(We, as we should,
Have, like the Tory aldermen, conceived

Designs on Wood),
Not satisfied with one expressive " cut,"

You wish with fifty to be slaughtered ;
Though " drawn" already, not contented, but
Determined also to be quartered.

Upon my word,

Tis strange how some folks hate to be interred.
Consider, Colonel, what you are resigning ;
You'll have no funeral — no blazoned hearse,

Save in this verse ;

No " nice gilt nails/* no shroud, no plumes declining ;
No flambeaux and no friends, no feathers fine ;
No cake, no cambric-handkerchief, no wine —
No coffin, and no curate — not a tear

To trickle down,

And spoil the sable velvet of the bier,
Making the mutes and men in mourning frown ;
Nothing that sets one longing to be dead,
And puts one out of temper with this life ;

But, ah ! instead,

(I would not shock you, but I shudder, Jones !)
Sir Astley with his knife

Picking your bones!

IV.

Yes, so it is ; already Mr. Green
Regards you as a treasure in his net ;
Sir Astley sends his scalpel to be set ;
Relentless Bransby glares with happier mien ;
Wild Wakley pants, as if your eyes were pearls,
And Earle is happier far than other earls.

The veteran Brookes
Fixes upon you his most longing looks,

And wishes they were hooks.
Short Mr. Croft of Surgeons' Hall

Feels tall !

The " University" is all alive,
And spite of Council-orders, hopes to thrive ;

The new Strand-College

Totters beforehand with its weight of knowledge j
And all the faculty, lost Colonel Jones,

Grows fat upon your bones !
Meantime a grateful nation fondly moans —
Both lords with windows boarded, lads with stones ;
Their sense of right the generous gift disowns.
And deems such sacrifices fit for thrones.

Oh ! leave such loans

To dukes and drones !
Thine be a cenotaph — say one of Soane's ;
Where crowds shall gather with despairing groans,
The marble echoing back, in hollow tones —
" JONES !"

1832.] [ 57 -]

GOETHE'S VISIT TO BEIREIS.

(FROM GOETHE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.)

* * * DR. GALL had left us, and gone to Gottingen. We now became
attracted by a new adventure. The strange — in many senses, long-known
and problematical — personage, Hofrath Beireis, in Helmstadt, had been
often named to me. His environment, his remarkable possessions, his
singular conduct, and, still more, the mystery that brooded over all this,
had for a great while worked with disquieting influence on my friends,
as well as on me. We could not but reproach ourselves that so peculiar
an individual, pointing as he did to earlier, almost bygone times, had
never been actually seen by us — that we had never, by personal inter-
course, investigated him a little. Professor Wolf was in the same pre-
dicament : we two, therefore, knowing the man to be at home, deter-
mined on a drive to this Beireis, who, like some mysterious gryphon,
sat watching over treasures, extraordinary and scarce imaginable. My
banter-loving friend willingly permitted August, my son, now of some
fourteen years, to go along with us — an arrangement which yielded
mirth enough ; for while the sound-hearted man and scholar made it his
business incessantly to tease the boy, this latter felt entitled to use the
right of self-defence, which, if it is to prosper, must act offensively also ;
and thus often, as the assailant, to overstep the limits ; whereby their
verbal rallyings rose at times into ticklings and rompings, favourable to
the general cheerfulness, though in the carriage somewhat inconvenient.
We halted in Bernburg, where my worthy friend manifested some spe-
cialties he had in buying and bargaining : these the young rogue, lurk-
ing in wait to catch his adversary, failed not to bring to light, and in all
ways make merry with.

The no less excellent than eccentric man had, for one thing, cast a
most decisive hatred on all manner of custom-house officers ; even when
they acted quietly and with indulgence : nay, on that very account, he
could not let them go unscoffed; out of which habit disagreeable adven-
tures were sometimes like to rise.

As such aversions and peculiarities of his kept us, while in Magde-
burg, from waiting upon certain meritorious men, I busied myself
chiefly with the antiquities of the cathedral; surveyed the statuary
monuments, especially the tombstones. I mention only three bronze
ones, erected for three archbishops of Magdeburg : Adelbert II., pos-
terior to 1403, stiff and cold, vet careful, in some degree natural, under
the living size ; Frederick, 1464, above the living size, more natural,
more artist-like ; Ernst, of the year 1499, an invaluable memorial of
Peter Vischer, to which few are comparable. With these I could not
enough delight myself; for whoso has once been busied with the pro-
gress of art, its decline, deviation to a side, return into the right way, with
the domination of a main epoch, the influence of individualities ; whoso
has cultivated eye and sense on these things, will find no dialogue more
instructive than the mute one in a series of such monuments. I wrote
down my remarks, as well for practice as for remembrance ; and still,
with satisfaction, find these notes among my papers : yet, at that time,
I wished nothing so much as that some accurate copy, especially of that
glorious Vischer monument, could be procured ; which service has since
then been laudably performed.

Town, fortress, and, from the walls outward, the environs were atten-
tively and pleasurably viewed ; especially my eye dwelt long on the large

58 Goethe's Visit to Beireis. [JAN.

clump of trees, which, at no great distance, rose venerable, decorating
the plain. It overshaded Kloster Bergen ; a spot that called up many
recollections. There had Wieland, in all the concentrated enthusiasm of
young feelings, taken up his abode, and laid the foundation of higher
literary culture ; there laboured the Abbot Steinmetz, in pious spirit,
narrow, perhaps, yet honest and strong ; and doubtless the world, in its
narrow impiety, requires such light-and-heat fountains, if it is not, in
its egoistic labyrinth of error, wholly to languish and freeze.

On repeated visits to the cathedral, we observed a lively Frenchman,
in clerical garb, who, as the sacristan led him round, conversed aloud
with his companions ; while we, as used to the place, followed our silent
aims. We learned that it was the Abbe Gregoire ; but though I was
anxious enough to make up to him, and commence some acquaintance,
my friend, out of dislike to the Gauls, would not agree ; and we had to
content ourselves, occupied at some distance, with noting his manner,
and catching his judgments, which he emitted in a loud voice.

We pursued our journey ; and as the transition from one river-district
into another, was always a chief object with me, the geognost, I could
not but remark the sand-stone heights, which now indicated the change
from the Elbe to the Weser. Helmstadt lies quite kindly ; the sand
there, a small river flowing through it, is tamed down by gardens, and
other graceful bordering. Whoever does not bring with him the notion
of an active German college, will be agreeably surprised to find, in such
a position, one of our older establishments for learning, where, on the
basis and funds of an ancient monastic institution, professorships of
modern sort have been founded; where handsome incomings offer a
pleasant abode ; and old, spacious edifices give space for a dignified
household, considerable libraries, valuable cabinets ; and a quiet diligence
can work the more actively in literary labour, as the small number of
students demands not that haste of communication which, in frequented
academies, is apt to confuse us.

The corps of professors was, in all senses, important. I have but to
mention the names of Henke, Pott, Lichtenstein, Crell, Brown, and
Bredow, that every one may estimate the circle where we travellers
now found ourselves. Solid learning, willingness to impart ; cheerful-
ness of intercourse, kept up by eager, studious youth ; light mirthful-
ness, with earnest, well-considered employment ; all this worked softly
together : wherewith also the women co-operated ; the elderly by
domestic hospitality, younger wives with courteous grace, daughters in
all loveliness ; the whole seeming only to belong to one family. The
large apartments of antique houses admitted great assemblages, and festi-
vities the best attended.

At one of these, the difference between my friend and me again became
manifest. On occasion of a splendid supper-party, two beautifully plaited
garlands had been appointed for us strangers : the fair creature that put
mine on me I had thanked with a kindly-returned kiss ; and in my vanity
felt pleasure as I fancied I could read in her eyes, that, so adorned, I
did not displease her. Meanwhile, right opposite, the self-willed guest
was struggling against his b'vely patroness with all obstinacy ; and if
the garland, in such tugging and twisting, did not utterly go to wreck,
yet must the poor girl retire somewhat abashed, that she was not able to
get quit of it.

Amid so many pleasant things, we might almost have forgotten the
object which had brought us hither. However, Beireis himself enlivened.

1832.] Goethe t Visit to Beireis. 59

by his presence every feast. Not large, of handsome and agile make, as
you still saw him, those legends of his fencing feats might be let pass ;
an incredibly high-arched brow, quite in disproportion to the under
sharp-peaked parts, betokened a man of singular qualities ; and, for so
advanced an age, he might well boast of an especially brisk and unassumed
spirit of activity.

In company, and especially at table, he gave his gallantry this quite
peculiar turn — that he unconstrainedly represented himself as whilom
adorer of the mothers/as actual wooer of the daughters or nieces ; which
oft-repeated tale all took in good part ; for if no one would make pre-
tence to his hand, fain would many a one have pretended to some share
in his testament.

Introduced as we were, he offered us all manner of hospitality. A
lodging in his house we declined; but thankfully passed great part of the
day with him, looking at his curiosities.

Very much of his earlier property, that still in name and fame main-
tained itself entire, was in the sorrowfullest case. The Vaucanson
Automatons we found altogether paralyzed. In an old garden, sat the
Flute-player, in humblest apparel ; but he flute-played no longer.
Beireis shewed us the original cylinder, whose first simple tune had not
satisfied him ; and, on the other hand, a second cylinder, which, with
aid of organ-builders kept years long in his house, he had undertaken
instead thereof. This, however, as the organ-builders went away too
soon, could not be completed, nor put in its place ; whereby the Flute-
player continued dumb as at first. The Duck, all disfeathered, stood
there as a skeleton ; still ate its oats quite briskly, but digested no longer.
With all this, Beireis was nothing discomposed ; but talked of these
antiquated, half-ruined articles with such contentment and impressive
emphasis, as if, since that time, the higher mechanique had produced
nothing new of consequence.

In a large hall, devoted to Natural History, the remark also occurred,
that whatever preserves itself was in good preservation with him. Thus
he shewed us a very small Loadstone that carried a large weight j a
genuine Phrenite, from the Cape, of great beauty ; and other minerals, in
excellent specimens.

But a row of stuffed Birds, standing crowded in the middle of this
hall, were crumbling to pieces by moth-eating, so that worms and fea-
thers lay heaped on the very foot-boards. He remarked this too, and de-
clared that it was a stratagem ; for all the moths in the house drew hither,
and the other apartments were clean of such vermin. In regular series
came then the Seven Wonders of Helmstadt to light : the Leberkiihn
Preparations, as well as Hahn's Arithmetical Mill. Of the former, some
truly admirable specimens were pointed out j by the latter, complex sums
of various sorts were computed. The Magic Oracle, however, was dumb.
Beireis had sworn that this obedient clock, which at his command, while
at a distance from it, stood still, or went on, should never again be wound
up. An officer to whom, relating such wonders, the lie had been given,
was declared to have perished in a duel ; since which time the proprietor
had firmly determined never more to expose his admirers to such peril,
nor drive the unbelieving to such inconsiderate cruelties.

After what has here been stated, some observations may be allowable.
Beireis, born in the year 1730, felt himself as a man of talent, capable of
far-extending acquirement, and fitted for manifold action. Following the
course of his time, he cultivated himself into what we name a Polyhistor,

(K) Goethe's Visit to Beireis. £JAN.

or scientific Man of all-work. His activity he devoted to the healing
art; but, with the happiest, all-retaining memory, it seemed to him
that he might pretend to be at home in all the faculties, and honourably
ascend any professorial chair whatsoever. His subscription in my son's
album ran as follows :

GODFREDUS CHRISTOPHORUS BEIREIS,
Primarius Professor Medicinse, Chemiae, Chirurgise, Pharmaceutices, Physices,

Botanices, et reliquae Historiae Naturalis.
Helmstadii, a. d. xvn Augusti, MDCCCV.

From what had been already exhibited, however, it was to be per-
ceived that his Collections — the Natural History portion of them — could
have no specific value ; that, on the contrary, the class of objects he
prized most were mere Curiosities — things that were to excite attention
and admiration by the large sums paid for them ; in which cases, too, it
was not to be forgotten that, in the purchase, kings and kaisers them-
selves had been outbidden.

But, be this as it might, considerable supplies of cash must have stood
at his command ; for he had, as was apparent enough, not only watched
the right season for such purchases, but also most probably shewn himself
more capable of payment than others. The above-named objects he
exhibited, indeed, with animation, satisfaction, and a fond minuteness ;
nevertheless his joy in them seemed to be, in great measure, merely his-
torical. Where he shewed himself in true vivacity, passionate, persua-
sive, importunate, was in the matter of his Pictures; his newest whim, to
which, without the smallest knowledge, he had fearlessly abandoned
himself. Incomprehensible was the degree in which he had de-
ceived himself, or sought to deceive us : first of all, in exhibiting cer-
tain curiosa of this kind. Here was a Christ, at sight of which a Gb'ttin-
gen professor had burst into the bitterest flood of tears ; next, a natu-
rally-enough-painted Loaf, on the table of the Disciples at Emaus, at
which loaf an English mastiff had barked ; another saint-picture, saved
by miracle from the fire ; and who knows what more of the like.

His method of exhibiting his pictures was singular enough, and
seemed partly intentional : they were not hanging on the large, well-
lighted walk of his upper story, but stood in his bed-room, built together
round the large canopy-bed, against the walls ; from which he himself,
declining all help, brought them forward, and again carried them back.
Some continued in the room, set up round the spectator ; narrower and
narrower grew the circle he stood in ; so that, indeed, the impatience of
my road-companion, too hard provoked, suddenly broke out, and occa-
sioned his abrupt retiring.

This to me was actually a relief; for such pains of unreason are more
easily endured by oneself, than in company of a skilful friend ; where, in
the mounting up of indignation, an outbreak from one or the other
side is every moment to be dreaded.

And truly it was too high-seasoned this, that Beireis tabled for his
guests. He plumed himself most, for example, on the fact of his having,
by each of the most famous Masters, three pieces, of the first, the second,
and the final style ; and for his manner of setting them out, and exhibit-
ing them, all sort of self-government which has been imparted to man
could scarcely suffice. The scene was at once ludicrous, injurious,
uncivil, and distracted.

The first apprentice-proofs of a Raphael, Titian, Carracci, Correggio,

1832.] Goethe's Visit to Beireix. Gl

Dominichino, Guido, and whom not, were no other than feeble things,
produced by mediocre artists ; sometimes only copied by such. Here,
now, each time, he solicited indulgence for such beginnings ; but
cried up with admiration, in those that followed, the most astonishing
marks of progress. Among those ascribed by him to the second epoch,
there were not wanting good pictures ; but, with the names labelled on
them, judging either by manner or by date, they had simply nothing to
do. Even so was it with the final class ; over which the emptiest phrases,
such as pretentions misjudges make use of, flowed pleasantly and plen-
teously from his mouth.

To prove the genuineness of such and other paintings, he produced
the auction-catalogues, and joyed in the printed encomiums of what
had fallen to his share. Among these were to be seen genuine, indeed,
yet much-restored originals: enough! for this otherwise shrewd and
worthy man, Criticism in any shape was but a word without meaning.

However, if through most of the time, your whole stock of patience
and restraint were needed, yet at intervals the sight of real master-pieces
consoled and rewarded you.

Of the highest value I reckoned Albrecht Diirer's Portrait of himself,
painted in 1493, and therefore in his twenty-second year ; half the size
of life ; a breast-piece, leaning on the elbows, both hands given ; a
purple cap, with short small tassels ; the neck, to below the collar-bone,
bare ; on the shirt, an embroidered hem ; the folds of the sleeves bound
with peach-red ribbons ; blue-grey vesture, decorated with yellow knots,
as the handsome youth had right daintily attired himself: in his hand,
significantly, a blue-flowery Eryngium, in German named Mannstreue
(Man's truth) ; a serious, young face ; sprouting hair about the mouth
and chin ; — the whole beautifully drawn, rich and chaste, harmonious in
its parts, of the highest finish, altogether worthy of Diirer, though
painted with very thin colours, which in some spots had shrunk a
little.

This praiseworthy, quite invaluable picture, which a real lover of art
would have framed in gold, and kept in his securest repository, Beireis
left lying, as a thin piece of painted board, without frame or protection
of any kind. Threatening every moment to split, it was haled forth
more carelessly than any other, set up, and again set by ; and the press-
ing sympathy of the guest, intreating for soft treatment and security to
such a jewel, was indifferently waved aside : the man seemed, like
Hofrath Biittner, to have, in such old-established confusion, a mad plea-
sure.

Farther, I must mention a spirited, free-painted picture by Reubens ;
longish, not large, as he loved to choose for such finished sketches. A
Stall-woman, sitting in the fullness of a well-plenished herb-stall ; cab-
bage-heads and salad of all kinds, roots, bulbs of all colours and shapes.
She is in the act of dealing with a stately Burgeress, whose jocund
dignity shews well beside the calmly-importuning manner of the seller,
— behind whom a Boy, just about to steal some fruit, is threatened by
her Maid with an unexpected blow. On the other side, behind the
prosperous Burgeress, you see her Maid carrying a well-plaited Basket,
already somewhat provided with market- wares ; but she, too, is not
idle ; she looks after her sweetheart, and seems to answer his lifted finger
with a kind glance. Better conceived, and more perfectly executed, few
things could be seen ; and had not we, in Weimar, determined on dis-
continuing those yearly Exhibitions of ours, we should have chosen this

62 Goethe's Visit to Beireis. QJAN.

subject, as it is here described, for a prize-picture ; to see what artists
there were who, still uninfected by the preponderating perversion for
gaudiness, felt inclined to direct eye and talent on the rugged freshness
of real life.

As regarded the history of art, Beireis, at the dissolution of the
monasteries, had obtained some pictures that were important : I viewed
them attentively, and marked much in my note-book. Here I find
stated, that, except the one first shewn, which might pass for a genuine
Byzantic, the rest, without exception, seemed to be of the fifteenth,
perhaps of the sixteenth century. For a more accurate estimation, I
wanted thorough knowledge ; and for using what knowledge I had, the
chronology and nomenclature of our wondrous Collector led me, step by
step, out of the course.

For, in a word, as personally, so likewise in possessions, he insisted,
once for all, on being unique ; and as that Byzantic piece was ascribed
by him to the fourth century, so, farther, he pointed out an uninterrupted
series from the fifth, sixth, &c. to the fifteenth, with an assurance and
conviction, such that thought died away within one, as is wont to hap-
pen, when the palpably untrue is confidentially imparted to us as a thing
known to every one — wherein neither the self-deception, nor the shame-
lessness, in such a degree, seems possible.

Such surveying and considering was pleasantly interrupted by festive
entertainments. Here the ancient man continued joyfully to play his
youthful part j he joked with the mothers, as if they at one time had
felt a kindness for him ; and with the daughters, as if he meant to offer
them his hand. No one answered these speeches and proposals with
any displeasure ; even the ablest male personages of the company treated
his fooleries with some regard ; and out of all, it became apparent that
his house, his natural and artistic treasures, his ready money and sleep-
ing capital, his riches, actual, or exaggerated by bragging, were a lure
in the eyes of many ; whence too much respect for his merits seemed to
plead excuse for his singularities.

And surely there was none more adroit and dexterous to excite
legacy-hunting than he ; nay, it seemed a maxim with him to create for
himself hereby a new artificial family, and the un-pious piety of a num-
ber of individuals.

In his sleeping-room hung the portrait of a young man, of the sort
such as you see hundreds, nowise distinguished, neither attractive nor
repelling : this he was wont to shew his guests • lamenting the mis-
chance that this young man, on whom he had spent much, for whom
his whole fortune was intended, should have proved false and ungrateful
towards him ; so that he had been forced to throw him loose, and was
now in vain looking after another, with whom to commence a similar
and luckier connexion.

In this statement there was something roguish ; for as each, on look-
ing at a lottery-scheme, draws the head prize for himself, so to each
auditor there seemed, at least for the moment, a star of hope to shine
forth ; nay, I have known prudent men that allowed this will-o'-wisp,
for a considerable time, to lead them hither and thither.

The greater part of the day we used to spend with him ; and at night
he regaled us, from Chinese porcelain and silver, with ewe-milk curds
and cream (fetter schqfmilch), which he praised, and pressed on you
as a highly nourishing diet. Had you once got some relish for this
strange food, it is not to be denied that you liked it well, and could also
recommend it as wholesome.

1832.] Goethe's Visit to Beireis. 03

And so we viewed, likewise, his older Collections, for the 'successful
procurement of which historical knowledge itself suffices, without any
necessity for taste. The gold Medals of the Roman Emperors, and of
their families, he had in utmost completeness got together ; which fact,
he strove zealously, by the catalogues of the Paris and Gotha cabinets,
to demonstrate, and, at the same time, by various specimens wanting
there, to evince his own pre-eminence. But what appeared most ad-
mirable in his series was the perfection of the stamps, which all looked
as if they had come direct from the mint. This observation he took
well ; declaring that he had by degrees changed off the faulty indivi-
duals, and so with heavy charge obtained what we saw, and yet had still
to praise fortune in the matter.

If now the assiduous possessor brought, out of a neighbouring press,
new drawers to view, you felt transported elsewhither both in Time and
Place. Beautiful silver medals of the Greek cities lay before us, which,
as they had been shut up long enough in damp, confined air, exhibited
their well-preserved impressions with a bluish tint. As little next were
there wanting, gold rose-nobles, old papal coins, bactreates, questionable
satyrical stamps, and whatsover notably singular you could expect in so
numerous and old-established a collection.

Neither could it be denied that in this province he was instructed,
and a sort of judge ; in earlier years he had published a little Tract, on
the methods of distinguishing true from spurious medals. Neverthe-
less, he seems here, as in other things, to have left himself some space
for caprice ; for he asserted obstinately, and triumphing over all medal-
lists, that the golden lysimachs were totally false ; on which ground he
treated some fine specimens of that sort, lying there, with open con-
tempt. This, too, like so much else, we left to its course, and took
delight with instruction from his really singular treasures.

Along with all these remarkable things, in the intervals of so much
time which Beireis devoted to us, ever and anon his medical activity
came to light ; now he had just returned from the country, after hap-
pily, before day, delivering a peasant's wife ; now perplexed consulta-
tions had busied and detained him.

But to explain how he could be ready day and night for such busi-
ness, and yet contrive to execute it with ever-equal, outward dignity,
he turned our attention to his mode of hair-dressing ; he wore longish
roll-locks, fastened with pins, close pitched down on his ears. The fore
part of the head was decked with a toupee, all firm, sleek, and suffi-
ciently powdered. In this wise, he said, he had his hair dressed every
evening ; went to bed with it all fastened up j and at what hour soever
he might be called to a patient, there was he as respectable in appear-
ance as when he came into formal company. And, true it is, you saw
him in a clear suit of blue grey, in black stockings, and shoes with large
buckles, everywhere the same one time as another.

During such lively conversation, and constant amusement, he had
spoke little of purely incredible things ; yet, by and by, he could not
forbear bringing out the litany of his legends on us also. As he was
one day entertaining us with a specially well-furnished repast, a fine
plate of particularly large crab-fish, in a region so brookless and river-
less, could not but surprise us ; whereupon he stated, that his fish-basket
could never be found empty of such provender ; he owed those crea-
tures so much, regarded the use of them as so wholesome, that he kept
them, not only as a savoury dish for honoured guests, but as the most

64 Goethe's Visit to Beireis. [JAN.

effective medicine in the extremest cases, ever in a state of readiness.
Now, too, he advanced into some mysterious introductions ; spoke of
entire exhaustion, to which, by uninterrupted, most important, yet also
most dangerous labours, he had seen himself reduced ; meaning us to
understand thereby the painful process of the Highest Science.

In some such condition, now, was he lying senseless, at his last gasp,
without hope, when a young, and to him heartily devoted scholar and
watcher, driven by an instinct resembling inspiration, had brought to
his lord and master a dish of large boiled crabs, and forced him to eat
sufficiently of the same ; whereupon he was miraculously recalled to life,
and so had retained his high veneration for this nutriment.

To believe certain waggish friends, Beireis had farther, on occasion
given out, that, by means of the universal^, he could change select cock-
chafers into young crabs, which he thenceforth, also by peculiar spa-
giric food, nourished up to remarkable size. This, as was fair, we took
for a legend, devised in the spirit and taste of the old wonder-worker ;
such as various others that circulated at his expense, and which he, as
indeed conjurors and thaumaturgists find their amount in being, was
nowise inclined to deny.

Hofrath Bereis's medical repute was well established in the whole
district ; by the Count Veltheim Family, at Harbke, he was prized as
household physician ; to which family he declared himself desirous of
introducing us. So announced, we made appearance there. Stately
office-houses formed, in front of the high old Castle, a spacious court :
the Count bid us welcome, and rejoiced to become acquainted, in me,
with an old friend of his father's ; for with this nobleman the study of
mineralogy had for several years united us, only that his chief aim was
in applying such knowledge to the illustration of problematical passages
in ancient writers ; in which undertaking, if you blamed him for too
great rashness, the credit of intellectual acumen could not be denied
him.

Towards the garden side, the antiquely-decorated, fine-looking Castle,
lay with peculiar beauty. Directly beyond this, you came upon level
trim spaces, to which softly-mounting hills, overshaded with bushes and
trees, supervened. Convenient walks then led upwards to cheerful pros-
pects over the neighbouring heights ; and the wide circuit of these
Estates, especially the flourishing woods thereof, became more and more
apparent. The Count's grandfather, some fifty years before, had earn-
estly occupied himself with forest culture ; endeavouring, among other
objects, to train the North American trees to our German soil. We
were now led into a fine wood of Weymouth pines, strong and high-
grown, in whose stately umbrage, as before in the forests of the Thii-
ringer Wald, reclining on moss, we refreshed ourselves with a hospit-
able breakfast, and took pleasure in looking at the special regularity of
the planting ; for this ancestral forest still indicated the purposed
manner in which it had been laid out ; the trees, placed in rows, every-
where exhibited themselves in quadrangles. Even so, at every division
of the wood, in every new species of trees, the intention of the careful
grandfather was discernible. * * *

The best entertainment, the pleasantest society, instructive conversa-
tion, wherein the advantages of so large a Property became clearer in
detail, especially where so much had been done for the dependent classes,—
awakened the silent wish to continue longer ; which also a kind, pressing
invitation unexpectedly met. But our dear companion, the excellent Wolf,

1032.] Goethe s Visit to Beireis. 65

who here found no entertainment for his tastes, and so the sooner and more
keenly was seized with his usual impatience, desired so impetuously
to be in Helmstadt again, that we had to resolve on setting forth ; yet
was there, at our parting, a mutual relation to spring up between us. The
kind host presented to my son a beautiful Encrinite from his fossil trea-
sures ; and we scarcely counted on being able to return aught equally
pleasing, when a certain Forest-problem came in course. In Ettersburg,
near Weimar, it was said, in a popular Journal, a species of Box-tree
grew, which, in figure and other qualities, visibly resembled the oak.
The Count, with inherited taste for forest culture, wanted some pre-
pared twigs, and what else might contribute to the knowledge of this
Tree ; especially, if possible, some living plants. In time we were so
happy as to procure him what he wished, and so fulfil our promise • had
the pleasure of sending him living specimens of this ambiguous Tree, and
also, in after years, to hear good tidings of their growth.

During our return from Harbke, as in our going thither, the old con-
juror, our guide, had much to tell us of his feats. We now learned from
his own lips, what had already been communicated by tradition ; yet,
strictly considered, there was in the legends of this saint a singular
monotony. As a boy, young courageous determination ; as a scholar,
quick self-defence, academic quarrels, mastery of the rapier, scientific
skill in riding, and other bodily attainments ; courage and dexterity,
force and endurance, stedfastness and love of action ; all this lay back-
wards in obscure times : three years of travel remained mysterious ;
and much else in the narrative, at all events in the examination, vague.

Since, however, the visible result of his history seemed to be an
incalculable possession of precious things, an incalculable money wealth,
enough of believers, of admirers, could never be wanting to him. These
two, Money and Valuables, are a sort of household gods, towards which
the many looks with greedy and devout eyes. Is a possession of this
kind not inherited, and of plain acquirement, but gained in secrecy, then
are all other marvels dimly assented to ; the man is left to his fabulous
way ; for a mass of coined gold and silver lends, even to the untrue,
respect and importance ; people let the lie pass, while they envy the
ready cash.

The possible or probable methods by which Beireis had attained to
this property were simply and unanimously pointed out. He was reckoned
to have found out a Colour which supplied the place of cochenille ; to
have communicated to master-brewers better processes of Fermentation
than those then in use. Whoever is acquainted with the history of chemis-
try, will judge whether, in the middle of the last century, recipes of this
sort might be gliding about; will know how far they have in recent years
become public and universal. Might not Beireis, for example, have
been among the first to come upon the improvement of Madder ?

With all this, however, we are to consider the moral element in
which, and on which he worked : I mean the Time, the specific feeling,
the requirement thereof. Communication between the citizens of our
world went not on so quick as it now does ; as yet, any one dwelling in
remote places, like Swedenborg, or in a small university, like Beireis,
had still the freest opportunity to shroud himself in mysterious darkness,
to evoke spirits, and labour at the philosopher's stone. Have we not,
in still later days, seen Cagliostro ; how, hastily traversing large spaces,
alternately in the south, the north, the west, he could proceed with his

M.M. New Series,— VOL. XIII. No. 73. F

66 Goethe's Visit to Beireis. [JAN.

juggleries, and everywhere find proselytes? Is it too much to say, that
a certain superstitious Belief in Daemonic Men will never cease ; nay, that
in every time it will find itself a habitation, where the problematically
True, for which, in theory alone, we have respect, may, in practice,
marry itself, with all convenience, to the designedly False ?

The agreeable society had kept us longer in Helmstadt than we pur-
posed. Hofrath Beireis had shewn himself, in every sense, kindly and
communicative ; yet of his main treasure, the Diamond, far from exhibit-
ing it, he had not so much as spoken. No one of the Helmstadt uni-
versity men had seen it ; and an oft-repeated tale, that this invaluable
Stone was no longer in its place, served him, as we heard, for an excuse
to strangers also. He was wont, it appeared, to state, with a confiden-
tial air, that he had caused twelve sealed caskets, perfectly alike, to be
made, in one of which the Jewel lay. These twelve caskets he had dis-
tributed among distant friends, each of whom fancied himself in posses-
sion of the Treasure ; while he alone knew who had it. We had reason
to fear, therefore, that our inquiry after this wonder of nature would
likewise be refused. Happily, however, shortly before our departure,
there occurred what follows.

One morning he shewed us, in a volume of Tournefort's Travels, the
figures of various natural diamonds, which, in the egg shape, with par-
tial transition into the kindney and pap shape, had been found among
the treasures of the Orientals. After having well impressed the form
on us, he, without further ceremony, brought out, from his right breeches-
pocket, the remarkable Production itself. In size like a moderate goose-
egg ; it was completely clear, transparent, yet without trace of having
been polished; on the side you observed a slight hump, a kidney-
shaped excrescence, whereby the Stone had a perfect resemblance to
those figures.

With his customary staid composure, he then shewed some ambi-
guous experiments, that were to prove the genuineness of the Diamond ;
with a little rubbing the Stone attracted paper- clippings ; the English
file seemed not to harm it ; yet he hurried over these tests, and told us
the oft-repeated story, how he had tried it under a muffle ; and at the
glorious spectacle of the rising flame, had quite forgotten to moderate
and extinguish the fire, whereby the Stone had, in a few moments, lost
above a million crowns in value. Notwithstanding which, he reckoned
himself happy that he had seen a fire- work, such as kaisers and kings
might long for in vain.

While he held forth loquaciously on this point, I, mindful of chomatic
proofs, was holding up the Wonder-egg before my eyes, to view the
horizontal window-bars through it : but found the stripes of colour not
broader than a rock-crystal would have given them ; whereby I might
henceforth privily have my doubts whether this world-renowned trea-
sure was quite genuine. And so, by the head rhodomontade of our
wondrous friend, may this visit of ours be fitly crowned.

Such is Goethe's account of Hofrath Beireis, himself a more remark-
able Product of Nature and Art, than any item in that Seven- wonder
Museum of his. We have learned elsewhere that he departed this life
in the year 1809 ; and, in spite of boiled Crabs, and the universale, and
all his cunning spagiric food, was snapt up by the Undertaker, and con-

1832.] Goclhes Visit to Beireis. 67

signed to the earth, and, to the past, like a common mortal. His goose-
egg Diamond, weighing 6,400 carats, which the Emperor of China had
solemnly intrusted to him, which all the kings then extant had not
wealth to buy, and which, after all, was but a Madagascar rock-crystal,
did not make its appearance among his posthumous effects, and, in all
probability, is lost to the universe. Whether Vaucanson's wooden
Duck got feathers again, and recovered its digestive faculty ; whether
the Flute-player, and the Shawm-player (for he, too, lodged with Beireis),
had awakened from their unmelodious trance, we know not ; the whole
three were, with those moth-eaten Birds, and the innumerable other
Curiosities, put up to public auction, and thus scattered through the wide
world, where, most probably, little remains of them but bones and dust.
Of such a Projector-character, wherein true talent strangely unites
itself with empty gasconading ; and in the Philosopher-quack are found
scientific insight, practical skill, faith, hope, charity, and all gifts and
graces, save that of common veracity — we have seen specimens in Eng-
land, but none in nearly such perfection as this of Beireis ; which, there-
fore, as given in these few touches by a first-rate artist, we have thought
right to copy and communicate.

THE project of a protegee of Mr. Hood's, put forth in the new " Comic
Annual" — that of turning " Blank Verse into Rhyme" — has excited a
considerable quantity of morning, evening, and weekly-journal cele-
brity. Every shelf of every publisher in the three kingdoms will bear
groaning witness to the amount of rhyme in " blank verse" that has
been produced in this most poetical of all ages ; but to reverse the pic-
ture, and to throw a perfume upon Paradise Lost by adding a very
novel set of rhymes to it, is certainly ingenious, and worthy of the
most Johnsonian days of England. Here is a specimen of this new
species of poetry, selected from the " Nocturnal Sketch :" —

" Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads ;
And sleepers waking, grumble — ' Drat that cat !'
Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls
Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will."

Another part of the sketch introduces us to some paralytic watchmen,
that prowl

" About the street, and take up Pall- Mall Sal,

Who, in her nightly jobs, robs fobs."

Whether this whimsical scheme could be brought to bear with advan-
tage upon any of our great rhymeless poems, we leave it to a committee
of taste, of which Mr. Robert Montgomery should be chairman, to decide.
How would it apply to the " Seasons ?" —

" Come, gentle Spring ! ethereal hum-drum, come !"

But we shall not speculate upon the point, particularly as, although it
seems difficult, it is easy as lying. We are fearful of diminishing the
degree of admiration which it has excited among the critics and coteries,
were we to publish the whole thirty thousand lines sent to us by a youth-

F2

f)8 " Fantasia" a-la-Hoorf. [JAN.

ful correspondent ; who vows that, though he is only nine years' old
now, he could go on inditing them till he is ninety-nine, without stop-
ping. Posterity, however, will no doubt excuse us for transcribing some
five-and-twenty of these triple-toned lines. Our juvenile genius is one of
Mr. Murray's errand-boys ; we shall not give his name at present,
because, if he were known to be clever, it would be fatal to his charac-
ter. Aristocratic authors do not like errand-boys to be greater geniuses
than themselves ; and we scorn to expose him to the jealousy of Lord
Leveson Gower. It will be seen that he fancies himself a sort of poetical
Jack-the-giant-killer ; but if, instead of slaying all the living authors, as
he proposes, he should slaughter one half of them only, we shall hold it
to be some atonement for his presumption. — " What stuff!" he begins,

" What stuff ! at such the whole divine Nine pine ;

And so, I'm sure it's understood, Hood should.

Why, I would rhyme so, till John Jones moans, groans,

Frightening to fits Haynes Bayly, gaily daily.

Nothing so easy : though the book Hook shook,

I'd beat it — nor could Mrs. Bray say nay.

I'd crop at once, like flowers, Power's hours,

And cloud with deadly stupors, Cooper's troopers.

And Scott — yes, while a rod of flames lames James,

You'd see before my altar, Walter falter ;

Strangling with arms like Biffen's, Wiffen's griffins.

Flat at a single stroke I'd floor poor Moore,

And maul, with puns like pokers, Croker's jokers ;

Then make, with showers of attic salt, Gait halt ;

And while I stop with brambles Campbell's rambles,

Lo ! death, with one or two small shots, pots Watts.

I'd burn (in time all dross goes) Roscoe's Moscows,

And shoot, with well-aimed arrows, Barrow's sparrows.

Then, quick despatching Delta, helter-skelter,

'Midst shouts of " shame," make Mrs. Gore roar more.

Driving to deep dishonoured holes Knowles, Bowles,

I'd give, like other codgers, Rogers podgers,

And put down James and Horace Smith with pith,

Scattering, like deer before the dogs, Hogg's fogs.

No more you'd hear, when 'neath a slab, Crabbe blab ;

Nor heed, amidst my guerdons, Jerdan's burdens.

Mistake not, for Trueba's Shebas, Heber's ;

I'd make them both, as well as Crowe, go slow ;

And knock down topsy-turvey (scurvy !) Hervey.

Poems and prose by L. E. L. sell well.

But mine should of his kindest milk bilk Dilke,

And melt with music's organs Morgan's gorgons.

Then would the author of " Tremaine" gain pain,

While he, the sire of " The Disowned" (stoned) groaned.

Thus leaving to dramatic fools Poole's rules,

And making, seven nights a week, Peake squeak ;

I'd crush, great trio ! Moreton, Norton, Gorton,

And down fame's hill send Croly roley-poley \"

1832.] [ 09 ]

TITHES verSUS RENT.

1. A thinking man soon finds out, that the present difficulties of one
portion of the community, and privations of the other, are not owing to
circumstances inseparable from the age and country in which we live,
and the government to which we are subject.

2. A thinking man, that is, if he be not a landed proprietor, soon
discards the tenet, that population has in this country exceeded its natu-
ral maximum ; that the time has arrived for pouring out upon unoccu-
pied portions of the globe the superfluous inhabitants of our own ; that
emigration is our only remedy, or that it can be made a general remedy
for the evils, of which we are all sensible.

3. A thinking man sees at a glance, that the wretchedness of the poor,
accompanied as it must be by poor laws, and improvidence, and idle-
ness, and moral degradation, and moral insensibility, and vice, is the
greatest of those evils which afflict England.

4. A thinking man need not be told, that the condition of the poor of
a country depends upon the quantity of employment within their reach,
and the quantity of the necessaries of civilized life, which this employ-
ment will procure.

5. It is obvious that manufacturing property, though of first-rate
importance to a country, adapted, like ours is, to manufacture, is not
the property upon which the poor depend for sufficient provision of the
necessaries of civilized life.

The manufacturing property of any particular nation is exposed to
many accidents in every stage of its condition, between the extremes of
the highest prosperity, and utter annihilation. It depends upon such
accidents as peace, war, national competition, encouragement, restric-
tion, prohibition, fashion, price of food : it depends upon such accidents
as these, whether the demand for any particular manufacture, at any
particular juncture, in any particular nation, is so urgent, as to make it
worth a capitalist's while to create or continue, extend or contract, the
supply, that is, to call the poor into employment, or retain it in employ-
ment, paying such wages as will keep the poor in a state of rational
contentment with poverty j in a state not obstructive of the moral and
intellectual progress of the poor along with, and in proportion to, the
like progress of the higher classes.

Manufacturing property is then, in the present state of civilization,
at least, in a dependant condition itself; it is subject to all degrees of
distress, and finally, annihilation ; and cannot therefore be considered as
the final resource against the pressure of extreme poverty.
. 6. The only stable source of production within man's control is the
soil. To the soil then the Author of our being and its necessities directs
us, whenever the mere contrivances of man shall have failed to furnish
the means of subsistence adequate to the support of a moral, as well as
an animal nature : the soil of our own country, the voice of rational free-
dom directs us in preference to any other: by the soil of their own
country have Englishmen a right to be maintained in soul and spirit, as
well as body, as long as that soil is naturally competent to such main-
tenance.

The Author of man's natural rights, and the spirit of his own politi-
cal rights, both warrant an Englishman in looking to the soil of his own
country for employment enough to occupy his powers of labour ; for

70 Tithes versus Rent. " [JAN.

such remuneration of his industry as will maintain the energies of body
and mind. When the Englishman is convinced that God made man
and woman to be a mutual curse, and not a blessing ; when he believes
that God made for Adam one meet to be his torment, instead of the
object of his love, the instrument of his best earthly happiness ; then,
but not till then, let him make up his mind to the moody, maddening
maxims of emasculating Malthus : when again he sees reason to be-
lieve that the soil of England is overcharged with population ; then
let him hearken to the heart-rending exhortations of the inhospitable
Horton.

The condition then of the poor population of our country is dependant on
the quantity of employment provided by the soil, and the quantity of the
necessaries of civilized life, which labour in such employment will pro-
cure.

7. This quantity of employment and remuneration being not, at pre-
sent, nor likely to be for ages to come, restricted by any natural causes
affecting our country's soil, it follows, that the present distressed state of
our labouring classes is attributable to the artificial condition of landed
property ; that is to say, to some contrivances of our own, by which
our petty selfishness, our short-sighted prudence, our presumptuous
officiousness, has thrust itself in the way of a wise and benevolent Pro-
vidence ; has intercepted the communications of its blessings to those
who most need them ; has turned aside the majestic and fertilizing
streams of its equable and effectual bounty into channels cut in a soil
abundantly supplied before; making that barrenness which was once a
garden ; converting that into the rankness of a fungus-forcing-hot~betl,
which before yielded, in the full perfection of its nutritive properties,
the grain by which the life of man is best preserved in its full animal
vigour, its moral and intellectual dignity.

8. Whatever has been contrived by human means, by human means
may be altered. There is absolutely no limit to the extent to which
man may lawfully prosecute the work of altering any, and every thing,
which man has ever, or can ever devise. The same right by which man,
in time past, called any provision of the social system into existence,
remains, unimpaired, to man in time present to modify the details of
any such system, to expunge them from the system, to alter the system
to any extent, to abolish the system altogether, to create a new system
in its stead, either by positive provisions, or by leaving the common
good of the community to the common operation of its common intel-
ligence.

The rights of any portion of the community, derived merely from the
contrivance of any portion of the community, at any period of the com-
munity, may be by similar portions of the community at any period
confirmed, extended, abridged, abolished. It is the language of fashion,
by which we designate the provisions of mere human contrivance —
rights : reason would name them privileges.

9. We have thus rid ourselves of the bugbear of absolute social
rights, excepting such as conscience and reason dictate to us to be the
provisions of the only legislator for every age and country, the fountain,
head of all legislation, the Legislator of the universe.

We shall find the appellation, privilege, a much more adequate ex-
ponent of the ideas suggested to us by mere social provisions, than the
appellation right : we shall find, that the substitution of this correct

1832.] Tithes versus Rent. 71

term will save us from many serious errors of deduction and inference
in the process of working out the several rational problems, in which
the whole subject of political truth is involved.

10. Attributing, then, the general distress of those who depend upon
any sort of employment to the scarcity of such employment, and its
inadequate remuneration ; inadequate to the reasonable wants of civi-
lized subsistence, after satisfying the unparalleled requisitions of our
national and local taxation ; assigning, moreover, such scarcity of em-
ployment, such insufficient remuneration to labour of all sorts, to the
general monopoly, arising out of our own perverse contrivances of late
years, to heap up capital into enormous masses; bringing home to
monopoly in general the whole of the general distress, except that which
our enormous debt has a tendency to create • it is clear, that the portion
of this distress, most grievous to be borne, most obstructive of the
common happiness of the nation, most destructive of the endowments,
by which less cultivated humanity is distinguished from the brute
creation ; the most intolerable for suffering man to bear, the most pain-
ful for pitying man to contemplate, is that portion of distress, which is
inflicted on us by monopoly of land, or, in other terms, (< the existing
condition of landed property."

11. Monopoly of land is the effect of large capital invested in land,
with a view to farther large accumulation.

The great inducement to invest capital thus, results from a mere con-
trivance of man, and the profits of such investment therefore rank under
the appellation privilege ; this term being understood to imply, "facti-
tious right, of which we do not take cognizance a priori, communicable
by society, and therefore by society revocable also."

The pretence for such a contrivance is the good of the community,
which community, as it first called this contrivance into operation for
its good, may, beyond all possible doubt, modify or annihilate it for its
good also.

12. This privilege, then, of large profits returned to large capital
invested in land, may, without the least injustice, as soon as the com-
munity think fit, be curtailed, or altogether cancelled.

13. The pretence upon which, in the year 1815, the corn laws were
passed, was the good of the country in general, and in particular the
advantage of enticing the men of England to attend to the cultivation
of the soil, as a means of independent supply for the country during
war.

The houses of parliament consisted then, as they do now, mainly of
landed proprietors, and landed proprietors being, as all classes of men
always have been, averse from looking very carefully after arguments,
to disprove conclusions favourable to their profit, the following con-
clusions were promptly arrived at : —

Firstly. That the country would be deprived of the provision of
bread, in case of a war, if it did not raise enough corn for its own con-
sumption.

Secondly. That the only way to insure a sufficient supply of home
grown corn, was to assimilate the commodity of land to other com-
modities, in respect of the grain to be derived from its possession by
private individuals, thus divesting the accumulative propensities of
Englishmen (by which, though to a certain extent unavoidably, they are

72 Tithes versus Rent. [JAN.

not amiably distinguished from other nations), from trade and merchan-
dize to the proprietorship of land.

The great majority of both houses, being by far too delicately jealous
of the presumed peculiar dignity of the higher classes, to exhibit an
open tendency to any of those grovelling and plebeian pursuits, by which
vulgar men are wont to satiate the " auri sacra fames," were of course
delighted at the prospect of indulging the hidden passion of their
essentially vulgar souls, unsmutched by contact with the profane herd,
amongst whom vulgar money-getters are obliged to struggle for their
gains. Nay, more ; how must they have exulted in their hearts, in
many instances, of course incapacitated from a consciousness of wrong,
by the self-deceiving force of extreme temptation ; how must they have
exulted in the opportunity offered by the profound stupidity of the
farmers, the prostrate brutish ignorance of the poor labourers, to enhance
their ancestral importance in the .estimation of a large division of the
people, at the very moment of their dealing humanity a deadly blow !
With what avidity must they have seized upon the means thus offered,
of disguising their attack on the comforts of middle life, the subsistence
of low life, under the chivalrous baronial pretence, Amor patrice !

14. As was to be expected, the selfishness of the corn laws was too
gross and palpable to deceive all of those within the doors of parliament,
who were even intimately connected by ties of consanguinity, and
friendship, and party, with the landed proprietors : it seemed that
nothing short of a direct and extensive personal interest in the projits of
the proposed measure, could invest common sense with sufficient im-
pudence, could work upon it with a charm of deception potent enough,
to induce it to convert the comfort and subsistence of millions into the
wealth and luxury of a few hundreds.

Thus we find the late Sir W. Curtis, whose property was not vested
in land, and who therefore had, on this subject, a chance of forming a
correct opinion — though he was in general a most unhesitating sup-
porter of the ministry — we find this member declaring on the 17th
February, 1815, in the House of Commons, that " rents having in
cases doubled, in some trebled during the war, he saw no rate of taxation,
no peculiar pressure on the landed interests, to justify the measure.

Thus also in the House of Lords, the Marquis of Wellesley, and Lord
Grenville, similarly circumstanced with Sir W. Curtis as to landed pro-
perty, at all events much less interested than most landed proprietors,
protested against the corn bill on every account ; asserting, that the
country did not require it ; that the landed interest did not deserve it ;
that no human interference could prevent our being always supplied
from foreign countries ; that the measure was being hurried through
parliament without waiting for any evidence of fact in its favour, with
a most suspicious and disgraceful precipitancy ; but most urgently did
these comparatively wise, these humane noblemen protest against the
measure, because that, of all its directly mischievous consequences, by
' far the worst was, its " enchroachment on the condition of the poor/'

To complete this illustration of the fact, that a disposition to approve
of large investments of capital in land, indicates a gross vulgar per-
sonal interestedness, however disguised from the offender's conscience,
by the extreme force of temptation, to illustrate this fact by one striking
example more: Mr. Whitbread, the boisterous asserter of popular

1832,] Tithes versus Rmt. 73

rights, the man so suspected of an unlawful determination to the popu-
lar cause, as to be, by the witty author of the Rejected Addresses, chosen,
along with the Pope, and the Beastly Corsican Fiend, to embody the
essence of all that was odious to that courtly journal, the Morning Post ;
this man, impossible though it would seem for impudence to go so far,
did actually declare, forgetful of the notorious profits of his own brewery,
that " more human misery was caused by overpayment of labourers, than
by underpayment " that " large wages led to idleness, extravagance,
and dissipation ;" meaning no doubt especially drunkenness, without due
encouragement to which, his beer-making would not have been the
trade to satisfy so thorough a tradesman as himself.

Whatever Mr. Whitbread may have almost supposed he meant, the
writer of this, in common, he presumes, with all men of plain under-
standing, knows, that he meant to this purport : " I have a large
capital invested in land already, and I mean to invest more, as I con-
tinue accumulating from my brewery. I know, that if high wages are
paid to labourers, the rent will soon be very much lowered indeed, and
at last, perhaps, entirely consumed by that greedy and dissipated set of
men ! I am not such a fool as to care more for the public good than
my own, however if answers my purpose in parliament, sometimes to
say so. I am therefore for making landlords rich, and will support a
< Corn Bill/

' Quid non mortalia pectora cogis
Auri sacra fames !' "

15. The Corn Bill of 1815, has thus been referred to, not as the
origin of all the mischief, which has accrued to our country through
rent; (this mischief indeed, has been accumulating ever since violence
and conquest first succeeded, on a large scale, in overpowering the
natural rights of mankind,) but in order to make, if possible, clearer
that, which was as clear as light before ; to make assurance doubly
sure, that there is a grovelling, dirty, vulgar, unrighteous, contemptible
spirit of mammon at the foundation of the arguments, by which the
exclusive interests of the landed proprietors are upheld.

16. The following is an extract from returns made by farmers in
different parts of the kingdom, to inquiries from the Board of Agri-
culture.

In the year 1790, the demands of rent and tithe on 100 acres of land,
were, for £109. 0*. 5|c?., in these proportions :

Rent £88 6 3|>.lnQ n R1
Tithe 20 14 If S

leaving an amount of profit to rent above tithe, of £67. 12*. \%d. Thus,
48 years ago, rent was quadruple that of tithe, and £5. 9*. S^d. besides,
on the cultivation of 100 acres.

In 1803, the corresponding gross amount being £147. 10*. 1\d. the
proportions were,

Rent £121 2 7i> £U7 10 73
Tithe 26 8 0| 5 ~ l4' £

leaving an excess in favour of rent, of £94. 14*. 71^. Rent was, there-
fore, at this period also quadruple of tithe, and £15. 10*. 6%d. besides.
Again, in 1813, the amount of the two was £198.9*. lid., thus:
Rent £161 12 7H _*ian Q n
Tithe 36 17 3$fs
This last amount of rent above tithe, was £124. 15*. 4£d., that is,

74 Tithes versus Rent. QJAN.

£26. 2*. 6JW., more than quadruple. The disproportion since this period
has probably encreased rather than diminished in favour of rent. Tithe,
the?i, has never been nearly so much as a quarter of rent.

17- But, independently of all calculation, the proof of the enormous
profits of landed proprietors is established by the visible addition during
the last 40 years, of acres upon acres to different landed properties ; all
bought with the accumulated profits of rent ; besides the heaps of pro-
fit from the same source, at present in the funds and other investments.
" Field has been laid to field, and house to house, till there is no place
left."

18. It is possible that the country can still afford to allow the privilege
of rent in a very reduced degree from the best land j but it is impossible
for ordinary observation not to conclude, that for the worst land none
at all, and for the indifferent hardly any at all, ought to be paid.

19. The profits of landed proprietors already realized, exclude rent
from the claim of any farther factitious protection whatever. If farmers
and labourers can pay any, and be content ; let it be paid : if not ; let
it go, like other property invested for profit is continually going, " to the
dogs."

20. The laws of the country make express provision for the payment
of tithe. Rent, on the contrary, is left to arrangement between man
and man.

21. Rent consists equitably of surplus produce, after all the poor who
are able to work, and can get no other employ, have been enabled to
earn a comfortable subsistence without help of poor laws : after the small
practical capitalist, the farmer, has received the due return to his capital
and skill, and industry ; after the government dues, amongst which is
tithe, in reality nothing but a land tax, have been levied.

22. Whenever the circumstances of a country are such, that all these
dues cannot be paid without causing misery to a population, the deduc-
tion must first be made, exclusively made, from rent.

23. The capital of the merchant and manufacturer is not protected
from annihilation, even. This can never be the landowner's lot, though
it would be difficult to shew in what respect he deserves this advantage,
more than the manufacturer and the merchant. In fact, since neither
ingenuity or trouble is required at his hands, he has in all respects
much less claim to consideration than either of them. He cannot, how-
ever, and need not be deprived of his great advantage over them,
which results from the naturally imperishable condition of the material,
in which his property is invested.

24. Let the landed proprietor not presume to crave for rent, then, to
the starvation or degradation of his fellow-countrymen. Let him be
abundantly thankful for the resources he has still left : let him hug
himself for a lucky fellow, that he has the power of betaking himself to
that liberal occupation, the active superintendance of the tillage of the
earth : let him, if he be a scholar (shame upon him if he be not), take
down his Cicero from its shelf, and construe, and endeavour to catch
the spirit of that philosophic nobleman's true and eloquent sentence —
" Nihil est agricultura melius, nihil uberius, nihil dulcius, nihil homine
libero dignius :" let him only beware of rendering agricultura by his
favourite term rent : let him not mistake the sense of the word uberius
for any profit, but that which the "bountiful earth yields to an intel-
ligent, highly educated, learned, philosophic, but assiduous withal, and
practical cultivator."

1832.] Tithes versus Rent. 75

25. Whatever such a man may possess beyond his own powers, aided
by domestic servants to superintend, let him assign to cultivators of his
own choice. If they are not fairly able to pay him rent in cash, the
representative of produce, let him be abundantly thankful that hs can
get some return in produce.

26. A landed proprietor, thus circumst need, would be a fit subject
for the envy of any king upon earth ; a landed proprietor, who would
not be satisfied with snch a condition, deserves no regard from society to
his wants or wishes ; a landed proprietor, who would not ten thousand
times rather place himself in such a condition, than thrive in any other,
by depriving his countrymen of the food, and clothing, and fuel, neces-
sary to make life worth possessing, deserves to be forced to have a lesson
of humanity, by bitter experience of the sufferings to which ha is so
callous.

27. Rent, then, must not be exempted from the accidents to which
other speculations for profit are exposed. Rent must depend, like all
other profits, upon the convenience and ability of the country to afford
it. The amount of rent far exceeds that of the land-tax paid to the
government for its own use; far exceeds the land-tax paid to the
clergy under protection of government and for public purposes. The
proprietors of rent are the idlest men in the country ; and can, and, as
often as not, do spend the rent out of the country. Rent therefore must
be forced to supply all that is at present wanted to render our wretched
fellow-countrymen independent of charity for their ordinary support.
Rent must be reduced, till men are deterred from investing larger
capital in land than they can actively manage themselves.

28. Thus will there be employment on the land for myriads of
vigorous, high spirited freemen ; whereas it is now crawled over and
meddled with, rather than duly tilled, by only hundreds of emaciated
and degraded slaves. Thus will the vast mass of property, spread
amongst the middle ranks, be relieved from the burden of the poor laws,
that fruitful, yet at present unavoidable, cause of immorality, impru-
dence, and misery. Thus will that deadly animosity against property of all
sorts, which now animates our suffering fellow-countrymen, be eradicated
from their hearts — thus will those who are worst off have reason to be
contented with their lot — and thus, as their patience under grinding
injustice proves, will they be abundantly contented. Thus will the land-
owner be rich in such mode and degree as will render his possessions
a blessing, not a curse, to the commonwealth. Thus, moreover, will the
landowner be withdrawn from the morbid excitement of the Turf and
the Hell, to the substantial gratification, yielded by the interchange of a
primitive and genuine hospitality amongst his equals, to the harmonizing,
the godlike control of a neighbouring population, dependant upon his
employ for a free subsistence, while in health and vigour, and upon his
charity for relief, when the utmost exertions of lowly industry and pru-
dence have not availed to ward off the stroke of distress. Thus will he
become thoroughly acquainted with the wants, and have a genuine feel-
ing for the interests of his fellow-countrymen, and be the fit man to
represent and promote those interests in the council of the nation. Thus
will he possess so rational, deeply-rooted, and entire influence over his
neighbours, that no vulgar demagogue shall have an opportunity of
opposing his pretensions.

29. All taxes are, of course, pernicious, in proportion as they press

76 Tithes versus Rent. [JAN.

upon those classes which have least to spare. Taxes tending to enhance
the price of food are, pro tanto, the worst taxes. Land taxes, of all kinds,
ought, therefore, to be commuted as soon as possible. In the mean time,
however, it is not to be contradicted, that the real full, legal tithe, can at
present, without inconvenience to farmer or labourer, be paid, if all but
the rent of the very best land be taken off altogether, and this list be
very much reduced.

30. The evil of tithe, as a deduction from profit, is sensibly felt at
present, solely and entirely in consequence of the pressure of rent. The
evil of tithe, as a bone of contention between parson and farmer, and
through the latter the labourer also, can be remedied directly through-
out the kingdom, by forcing the landed proprietor himself to pay the
full tithe to the parson. It is a monstrous absurdity that this has not
been always insisted on. The parson would thus have a very few to
quarrel with for his subsistence instead of a great many ; and these few
would be, on the average, less likely to push their animosity towards
him, for demanding his income, to such irrational lengths. At all
events, he need not scruple to make them do him justice as men, who
very well know that he has a legal and equitable right to back his pre-
tensions, and who can pay him without greater inconvenience than
usually attends the discharge of a debt by a wealthy man.

31. The landed proprietor, then, must be forced into cultivation on
his own account first ; and when the country deems it best for its in-
terests, the clerical tithe-holder must be compelled to cultivate also.

32. Whatever rent continues to be paid at present should be paid in

Sroduce alone, thus in justice exonerating the farmer, the smaller in-
ustrious capitalist, from the losses incurred by monetary fluctuations,
from the necessity of selling his produce at unfavourable junctures, in
order to provide cash for the rent day.

33. Until tithe has been commuted for its full value in land, by impe-
rative demands upon proprietors, thus to redeem their property from its
legal dues, it would be a manifest injustice to force a parson to buy
carts and horses to carry his corn to market. The landed proprietor
should, therefore, be obliged to pay the parson in cash until the com-
mutation has been made. The question of tithe has nought in common
with that of bishopricks, and pluralities, and luxurious provision for par-
sons. All such things may be, and, no doubt, are absurd enough, still the
public has a right to claim, and surely will not suffer itself to be cajoled
out of the full deduction of the tenth from the landed property of the king-
dom. Nay more, the parsons may be the most immoral and useless
men in the country, which, by the by, they certainly are not, without in
the least invalidating their claim to the property which they hold, not
under divine authority, nor as successors of apostles, but as men capable
of possessing civil rights, and invested with those rights by the laws
under which they live.

34. A public right, most indubitably, is that of tithe, and to the most
beneficial public purposes may it be, whenever the country chooses, ap-
plied. It only needs the public demand for something more than a
black- coated, shovel-hatted, on working days, decent-looking; but on
Sundays, demure and sanctified, preaching and prayer-reading parson.
It only needs the public to require a masculine style of clergyman, in-
stead of the old-womanish, catechetical idol of clerk, and beadles, and
sextons, and pew-openers, and Sunday-school children. As soon as

1832.] Tithe versus Rent. 77

there is a demand for masculine piety, and talents and acquirements in
a clergyman, the supply will commence, and rapidly increase. At pre-
sent, decency and demureriess of manner, and tameness of spirit (with-
out which a man will hardly suffer himself to be sufficiently cheated out
of), punctuality in attendance on the formalities of church service, sanc-
tified abhorrence of mirth on Sundays, comparative easiness as to mis-
chief and vice on working days. At present, these are the only quali-
fications absolutely required by public opinion in a clergyman. What
right, then, has the public to complain, if the parsons are not so robust
as they might be ! but only about twenty times as useful as the landed
proprietors !

35. With the public is lodged the power of calling forth to its use,
through the instrumentality of the provision of tithe, due to the public
from the landed proprietors, a class of masculine Christians, and scholars,
and philosophers, such as no nation without equal funds at its disposal,
ever could possess— a class of men, independent of the ignorant, and
puling, and canting pretension to piety, by which men, supported by
the voluntary tithe contributions of a Christian society of the present
day, must be obstructed in the wish of elevating the moral character of
a population — a class of men to whom, as it would be expected of them,
the education of the poor might best be entrusted, in the full assurance
of the greatest benefit to be derived from their exertions.

36. The attention of the writer of this article was excited, and his
spirit roused to defend the poor parsons on grounds, beyond all candid
denial, free from exception, by an article on Tithes, in a late number of
the Westminster Review. Nothing can be fairer than that the writer
of that article should, if he thinks parsons worse than devils, deny them
that due to which even devils are by fair men considered entitled. It
is not perhaps too much, as the article alluded to evinces a coherent and
sane mind, to conclude, that the writer has not yet reached this extreme
point of error, in judgment, respecting parsons, however disposed, not-
withstanding, to hate them, as if he had. The writer of the present
article knows very well that hard names are even a worse species of
argument than hard blows : their logical insufficiency being the same,
while their conclusions are not nearly so convincing. He will not him-
self resort to such bad arguments while he has better to use, but he
cannot help half asserting, that if any fighting parson of the land should
take occasion to cast Bully and Sycophant in the teeth of the Westmin-
ster Reviewer, he might perhaps be not altogether without justification.
Bully, for his ferocious attack upon men comparatively, at this juncture,
defenceless ; Sycophant, for his gross attempt to curry favour with the
landed proprietors, of whom it is impossible he can approve, by sug-
gesting that the property of the parsons shall be sacrificed to that
overloaded and greedy class, to make them amends for the necessary
abrogation of the corn laws — Mala mens, malus animus. The man must
have known better. A silly man could not have written the article
alluded to. It betrays hatred — savage hatred throughout. He wrote
not because he loved the poor; riot because he liked the rich; but because,
though he cared little for the first, and hated the second, he hated the
parsons still more.

[ 78 ] [JAN.

THE OLD YEAR.
BY AN ULTRA-TORY.

A PLAGUE on all Reform, for raising such a storm !

It makes the place too warm for any Tory's son ;
A plague upon the day when Brougham came in our way,

In office with Lord Grey, in the year thirty-one !

The world is in a fury, the people are our jury,

We've lions at Old Drury as tame as Mister Bunn ;

While Cholera plays its rigs — (I wish the foreign brigs
Had brought it to the Whigs in the year thirty-one).

And then there's so much burking, and revolutions working,
With secret mischiefs working, which angry fate has spun,

I fear that their intentions, as every rascal mentions,
Have threatened all our pensions in the year thirty one.

'Neath London Bridge who steers, feels something like my fears,
And trembles for the peers Ah me ! I have made a pun !

But oh ! I mourn our fate — for rich men and the great
Were driven from the state in the year thirty-one.

We had a glorious bustle with little Lord John Russell,

Expecting in the tustle we surely must have won ;
And though but by a fraction we failed in our re-action,

They called us all a faction in the year thirty-one.

We sought — who could do less ? — assistance from the press ;

That left us in a mess — Courier, Chronicle, and Sun ;
And had (oh, deed infernal !) since we smashed the Morning Journal,

Scarce a weekly or diurnal in the year thirty-one.

Though we bribed the Morning Post (the John Bull we paid the most),

The ministers to roast — yet certain as a gun,
The Herald and the Times, and more — too hard for rhymes —

Have chronicled our crimes in the year thirty-one.

The people have made merry with corporation sherry,

And pelted Londonderry till he was forced to run,
Because his elocution defeated revolution,

And saved the constitution in the year thirty-one.

They talk about it still, and dare to say they will

Have that accursed Bill — and must have that, or none ;

While all this troubled nation is one Association,
In spite the proclamation, in the year thirty-one.

And no one ever hinders the breaking of our windows,*

They burn our homes to cinders, and think it monstrous fun ;

And then, with shouts and groans, the poor Recorder's bones
They set with " Bristol stones" in the year thirty-one.

Our boroughs will be lost, I fear it to our cost,

Before the coming frost — the fate we cannot shun ;
And then, dear brother Tory, farewell to all our glory —

We shall not live in story in the year thirty-one.

* " Kings are not more imperative then rhymes."

1832.] [ 70 ]

THE NEW YEAR.
BY A LIBERAL WHIG.

ALL hail, auspicious Year ! the glorious day draws near,
When every pensioned Peer corruption must eschew ;

The boroughmongering swarm shall bow before the storm,
And give us a Reform in the year thirty-two.

Few now of any station deny some reformation

Is wanted by the nation (because they're in a stew) ;

The Bishops and the Peers grow fainter with their cheers,
While thinking of their fears in the year thirty-two.

And some have had discretion, in this the present session,
To make a full confession, as honest men should do ;

And I have good authority to say that our minority
Will turn to a majority in the year thirty-two.

What if the Cholera rages, as so the wight presages
Who scribbled all those pages in the Quarterly Review,

We'll have a quarantine to keep the King and Queen,
And " Constitution" clean, in the year thirty-two.

Our members shall do more than they have done before,
Save some, perhaps a score — the ever- active few ;

For all must use their speech, while Irving lives to teach
Some " unknown tongue" to each in the year thirty-two.

Should I behold the day when Russell, Brougham, and Grey
Shall one and all give way before the factious crew,

Then shall I look to Peel, in hopes he will reveal
Consistency and zeal in the year thirty-two.

When Cumberland talks sense on any good pretence —
Newcastle lowers his rents, and takes less than his due ;

When Eldon fails to " doubt" what he has been about,
The Whigs may then be out in the year thirty-two.

When Cobbett, for a week, shall write, or think, or speak
Philosophy or Greek, in Kensington or Kew —

Why then his Indian corn he'll leave to Tory scorn,
And on the Whigs will fawn in the year thirty-two.

When Hunt shall give his aid to those he has betrayed,
And talks less of his maid, his Betty, or his Sue ;

And when O'Connell's fiat shall fail to raise a riot, .
The mobs will then be quiet in the year thirty-two.

When Wilberforce shall shew that blacks are white as snow,
And tithes all men shall know are blessings good and true,

With Percival at last, before the session's passed,
We'll have a general fast in the year thirty -two.

When Hume forgets his score, that two and two make four —
When Sibthorpe's not a bore, and Rothschild's not a Jew —

When Croker's elocution shall force a dissolution,
There'll be a revolution in the year thirty-two.

Give praise to all on earth whose merit is their worth —

Crush faction in the birth, like dirt beneath the shoe ;
Thus shall man be judged alone by virtues of his own,

If prejudice be flown, in the year thirty-two.
Oh ! could I but fulfil the impulse of my will,

Education I'd instil in men of every hue ;
And then by that decree there should not living be

A soul that wasn't free in the year thirty-two. ,

[ 80 ] [JAN.

UGO FOSCOLO, AND THE ITALIAN POETS.*

LIKE the Oriental fame of the thousand and one tales, the charm of
which strengthened with the recital,, there is a sort of fascination clinging
around every thing of Italy and her works, that seems to grow with the
lapse of time, and hold the heart and the imagination in willing captivity.
In how far this pre-eminence of attraction and respect, among surrounding
nations, may be founded on reason and truth, or on mere climate and con-
ventional circumstances, would afford scope for some curious speculation ;
for assuredly, if we could, it would be right to divest ourselves of
hereditary admiration, and all undue love and reverence for objects,
not in themselves deserving of our high, enthusiastic regard. If, how-
ever, we were to let facts speak, the result, we incline to think, of such
inquiry would go far to shew the justice of the peculiar claim which
Italy boasts in the eyes of the world, in her history, her literature, and
her arts, not only to our love and admiration, but to our unceasing
gratitude for pleasures and benefits long conferred. Amidst the splendid
ruins of the Grecian and Roman greatness, Italy, the nurse of learning
and the arts, like the ark of the Israelites, still preserved the type of
intellectual truth and beauty, and continued the links between the
master-minds and diviner spirits of the old classic ages, and the periods
of civilization, discovery, and refinement, to which they roused man-
kind, down to the present day. The Muse of Italy was of the first to
break into full and majestic song; her painters first pictured the works
and the visions of heaven upon the wondering earth ; her princely scho-
lars raised the first institutions of learning, — science, — art ; — models of
all which we now possess ; her philosophers made their discoveries
before Bacon wrote ; without her Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, our
Chaucer would not have been the same poet ; without her novelists the
mighty Shakspeare must elsewhere have sought his sources of magic
power, — his Moor and his Juliet would not exist ; Milton combined the
majestic vigour and the splendid imagery both of Dante arid Tasso ;
Dry den, Pope, and all the best and loftiest of our names turned from the
classic stores which Italy preserved to us, to drink deeply after boyhood
at the scarcely less inspiring fount of Italy's Helicon itself. But among
the most gifted of her sons, whose genius spread light and civilization
over the modern world, none assuredly hold a higher rank than her
poets, standing in equally bold relief with the grand disciples of their
sister art, — the Michael Angelos, the Raphaels, and the Titians of their
respective times.

Like them they devoted themselves to their cause with an energy of
soul that mastered every difficulty ; they entered on their career with a
spirit of intellectual gladiatorship, which, in each pursuit and study,
ensured them success ; they did not confine their knowledge to one
branch of art, — men for all times and all learning, they asserted the
rights of intellect ; they made their voice heard and feared ; they walked
with princes ; they adorned the camp, the court, and the cabinet, and
appeared more like the patrons than the mere fosterers of learning.
We might here, indeed, adduce numerous instances in which crowned
heads, as in the case of the bold Aretin, yielded obeisance to the power

* Lives of the Italian Poets. By the Rev. Henry Stebbing, M.A. M.li.S.L.
Second Edition, with numerous Additions. 3 vols. Edward Bull.

1832.] Ugo Foscolo, and Ike Italian Pods. 81

of the pen ; when proud prelates, and princes with all the wealth and
beauty of the land, courted the notice of famed poets and painters te
prolong their brief and perishable names ; but times and characters are
so wofully altered in these matters, that one might fairly, perhaps, be
supposed to be giving a sketch of the golden age, or some " author's
Paradise" previous to his fall, before the flood.

As regards Italy, however, the dignity, the vigour, and the exten-
sive influence of her literary character as it once existed, will more
fully appear, if we turn for a moment from the brighter days of her
intellectual supremacy, to observe how even amidst the desolation that
has palsied her powers and laid waste her palaces, the genius of her
former men still inspires hope in their descendants, a secret vigilance
and dread in the oppressor, and bitter hostility to those principles which
animate the true poet and the patriot. So sensible was Napoleon of
this power of literary opinion, that, on his conquest of Italy, he left no
means untried to conciliate the leading literary men of the day ; and it
may easily be surmised that from their influence on the political as well
as the literary fortunes of their country, the poets of Italy would pre-
sent a rich and interesting theme for the pen of any biographer, who
had a soul to feel and intellect to appreciate the character of their works
and of the times in which they flourished.

In this respect, it may justly be observed that among the writers who
have recently done so much to illustrate the more important periods of
Italian history, and to bring us more intimately acquainted with works
of literature and art, few appear to have entered on the task with more
sincerity and zeal than the author, the title of whose book is appended
to the foregoing observations. It is written in a spirit of candour and
truth which reflects credit on his taste and feelings, while, as we shall
proceed to shew, it will be found to supply ample sources of informa-
tion, at once amusing and instructive. We have felt more deeply
interested in such of the lives as run to some extent, though not more
perhaps, from the characters of the men, than from the manly and en-
gaging style which the writer brings to the discussion of his theme.
In presenting the reader with some examples, our veneration for these
far-famed poets who gave new impulse to their language and their
times, has not been a little enhanced by the agreeable manner in which
their distinctive merits have been pointed out. Of the mistress of the
celebrated Dante, it may be interesting to give the following particulars
—at least curious and touching — from their rarity : —

" But the youth of Dante was the subject of another spell besides that of his
richly-endowed and creative intellect. Of those who have immortalized their
love in song, none have more intimately united their name and immortality,
both as men and poets, with the memory of their mistresses than Dante. When
he first saw Beatrice Portinari, he was little more than nine years old, and the
details he has himself left respecting this youthful passion, have so much the air
of a romance, that they have been frequently passed over with much less attention
than they merit. When it is considered how much greater influence his love for
Beatrice seems to have had upon his mind than any other circumstance of his
life ; how much more present her image is to the reader of the ' Commedia'
than any other of the numerous personages it mentions ; how closely, in fact,
the names of Dante and Beatrice must remain united so long as Italian literature
exists ; we shall not fail to regard every notice that remains of their connection

JM.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 73. G

82 Ugo Foscolo, and the Italian Poets. £JAN

as of the highest value — not as it may satisfy curiosity, far more particular in
such cases than philosophy, about the exactness of trifling facts, but as serving
to indicate the tone of feeling and sentiment which characterised the youth of
this great man.

" Folco Portinari, the father of Beatrice, was a citizen of distinction, and it
was the custom in Florence, at that period, for the better class of the inhabitants
to keep the first of May with open house and various kinds of rejoicing. Dante,
on the present occasion, happened to be among the guests of Portinari, and the
little Bice, as her friends called her, who was about the same age as himself, was
so gentle and beautiful, that she immediately attracted his regard. In a few
years the child-like affection he had conceived for her ripened into a deeper
feeling, and wholly occupied his thoughts. To this he attributes the earliest
exercise of his muse, and the following sonnet is the first of his printed compo-
sitions. It contains an address to all who had any experience in the mysteries
of love, and were likely to interpret the meaning of his poetic visions.

" A ciascun' alma presa, e gentil core,
Nel cui cospetto vien' il dir presente
In cio che mi riscrivan, suo parvente
Salute in lor Signer, cioe Amore.
Gia eran' quasi ch' atterzate 1'hore
Del tempo ch' ogni stella e piu lucente
Quando m' apparve amor subitamente
Cui essenza sembrar, mi da horrore.
Allegro mi sembrava Amor' tenendo,
Mio cor' in mano, e nelle braccia havea
Madonna involta in un drappo dormendo
Poi la svegliava, e desto cor ardendo
Lei paventosa humilmente pascea
Appresso gir* lo ne vedea piangendo."

" To every captive soul and gentle heart,
For whom I sing, what sorrows strange I prove !
I wish all grace, and may their master, Love,
Present delight and happy hopes impart.
Two-thirds of night were spent, but brightly clear
The stars were shining, when surprised I saw
Love, whom to worship is my will and law ;
Glad was his aspect, and he seemed to bear
_My own heart in his hand, while on his arms
Garmented in her many-folded vest,
Madonna lay, with gentle sleep oppressed ;
But he awoke her filled with soft alarms,
And with that burning heart in humble guise
Did feed her, till in gloom the vision fled my eyes."

Beatrice died soon after both she and Dante reached their twenty-
fifth year : —

" It one day happened that as he was brooding over the recollection of his
beloved mistress, he saw, at the window of a neighbouring house, a lady of the
most exquisite loveliness. Her eyes were fixed upon his melancholy figure with
a look of deep sympathy, and her countenance, pale and expressive, was the
counterpart of the image so strongly impressed on his heart. His tears, he
says, fell freer as he contemplated this fair resemblance of his Beatrice, and he
wrote sonnet after sonnet declaring the consolation he found in the sympathy
she rendered his sufferings. At length, however, he perceived that his eyes
began to take a greater delight in the graces of the living beauty than was con-
sistent with the devout remembrance , of Beatrice. Discovering his danger, he
reproached himself in the bitterest manner for what he termed the vileness of his

1832.] Ugo Foscolo, and the ItaUan Poets. 83

heart and the vanity of his eyes ; and thus expresses himself in one of the son-
nets written at the time : —

" Color d'amore, e di pieta sembianti
Non preser mai'cosi mirabilmente
Viso di donna per veder sovente
Occhi gentili, e dolorosi pianti ;
Come lo vostro qual' hora davanti
Vedetevi la mia labbia dolenti ;
Si che per voi mi vien cosi a la mente
Ch' io temo forte ho lo cor si schianti
lo non posso tener gli occhi distrutti,
Che non riguardin voi molte fiate,
Per desidero di pianger ch' egli hanno :
E voi crescete si lor volontate,
Che de la voglia si consuman tutti ;
Ma lagrimar dinanzi a voi non sanno."

*' The form of pity and the hue of love,

Never before did beauteous lady's face,

From gentle looks and sighs deep sorrows move.

Take with such perfect and such wondrous grace

As thine, who late beheld me while I went,

With looks that only pity did bespeak ;

But now my thoughts, on thee too frequent bent,

Teach me to fear that with a heart so weak

My eyes will ever seek thee, and intent

Rest fondly on thy pale and sadden'd brow —

Sad with that love of grief which in thee dwells ;

Thus you their wish increase that tears would flow,

But with that wish my heart so anxious swells,

That in thy presence, captive held, in vain

I seek by tears to mitigate its pain."

What may have added not a little to the great poet's regret for her
loss, he is said to have subsequently married a perfect Xantippe, a
woman of violent temper, who made sad inroads upon his peace. In
describing the public career of Dante, his exile and misfortunes, as in
estimating his poetical genius and works, his biographer displays a
liberal and enlightened criticism, which marks the scholar and the
observer of human life. In the lives of Petrarch, Boccaccio, Ariosto,
Tasso, together with the minor luminaries who drew reflected lustre
from their brilliant course, we are presented with much interesting and
curious detail ; and the narrative, we think, increases in interest, as we
proceed, while the occasional versions from the original Italian confer
an additional spirit upon the work.

These, however, we must pass over for the more anecdotical portions,
especially respecting the poets who have lived in our own times— the
Alfieris, Pindemontes, and Foscolos, who have resided among us, and
whose adventures teem with singularity and interest. We must first
notice, however, the curious anecdote told both of Ariosto and Tasso,
as illustrating the immense influence exercised by their poetry over the
minds of all ranks of their countrymen. It is of Ariosto we here
speak : —

" Being obliged one day to pass over a wild part of the district, the forests of
which were known to be the resort of banditti, led by the celebrated chiefs

G 2

84 Ugo Foscolo, and the Italian Poets. [JAN.

Dominico Marocco and Filippo Pacchione, he was somewhat disconcerted at
seeing his path crossed by a large body of armed men coming out of the woods.
As he was attended by only six followers, resistance to an attack he knew would
be vain. Neither he nor his party, however, encountered any interruption, till
his servant, who had loitered behind, on coming up, was asked by one of the
banditti who the gentleman was that had just passed them. Being answered
that it was Ariosto the poet, he immediately spurred his horse forward, and,
pulling off his hat as he approached him, said that he was Filippo Pacchione,
and was come to apologize for having suffered so great a man as Ariosto to pass
him unsaluted."

The Life of Torquato Tasso is very ably written, and the author
decides between the conflicting evidence it offers, with a discriminating
and dispassionate judgment. On turning to the additional materials
with which the present edition is enriched, we find among the most
attractive of the list, the names of Pindemonte, Monti, and Ugo Foscolo ;
while the whole offers ample scope for the biographer in appealing at
once to the sources both of mirth and of tears. But Alfieri is, com-
paratively, familiar to us, and next to him there is no one that, in force
and eccentricity of character, offers so singular a picture as the learned
and highly talented Foscolo. Among the anecdotes and adventures
which marked his strange and chequered career, we shall select a few
such as will throw more light on his genius and character, than volumes
of our own observations could do :-—

" He arrived in this country under favourable auspices. He was a poet, a
scholar, and a liberal ; and in each of these characters, there were persons of
wealth and influence ready to appreciate his merits. At Holland House he was
introduced to all the principal literary men residing in town. Byron, Campbell,
Moore, Rogers, and other eminent persons, among whom were the present Lord
Chancellor, Sir James Mackintosh, the late Editor of the Edinburgh Review, Lord
John Russell, and Mr. Hallam, were his frequent associates ; and the attention
he received from them, is one of the best proofs that could be given of the extent
of his acquirements, and of the high character of his mind.

" From the mention I have heard made of him by some of his most intimate
friends, he appears not to have lost the slightest portion of his self-confidence by
becoming an exile, nor to have felt in the most exalted and intellectual society
which this country could afford less independent either as a patriot or man of
letters, than when surrounded by his admirers at Milan or Brescia. He was at
no time an example of patience in dispute, but when his own character or that of
his country was concerned, he lost all consideration for either the rank, or the
sex of his opponents. I am told that he was once dining at the table of a dis-
tinguished nobleman, when some person present, whose principles were widely
opposite to his own, ventured to make remarks which he conceived derogatory to
the honour of Italy. He did not conceal his emotion, but replied with all the
force of his stentorian eloquence ; the spirit of refined society quickly yielded to
the indignation of the patriot, and grasping the table-cloth with both his hands,
he went on encreasing in energy as he proceeded, till at last, his adversary
having made a remark which added more fuel to the flame, he jumped up, and
still grasping the table-cloth, drew, to the infinite consternation of the guests,
most of the dishes into their laps."

In his estimate both of the life and writings of Foscolo, Mr. Stebbing
awards to him, as a writer and as a man, his full and deserved meed of
praise, without extenuating his errors. There are some points, indeed, as to
which only a closer knowledge of, and a long personal acquaintance with,
the man, might have enabled him to decide with greater confidence, and

1832.] Ugo Foscolo, and ike Italian Pods. 85

to have raised his literary character, both in the eyes of his biographer
and of the public. These are, the surprising extent of his memory, his
erudition, his fluency, rapidity, and power of language, as evinced in
)lic occ

conversation, and on public occasions ; his really fine eloquence, his con-
sistent patriotism, uncompromising spirit towards the oppressor, and
his naturally generous and independent nature. He had many and
serious faults, and he paid the heavy penalty of them ; he was less an
enemy to others than to himself.

Of that peculiar frankness, in his manners, often carried to a degree
of rudeness, not a little startling to the prejudices or self-love of those
with whom he conversed, and the sudden gusts of passion to which he
was so liable, the following are among the not least amusing instances:—

" It may be as well, perhaps, to mention here, that he was not less ready to
say what he felt when quietly chatting with his acquaintances, if he chanced not
to be in a remarkably forbearing humour, than when provoked to do so on some
great occasion. A friend of mine, for whom he in reality felt considerable
esteem, happened to be sitting alone with him one day, conversing on a variety
of topics, when the discourse took a turn which tempted iny friend to dilate at
length, and with great gravity, on some point in philosophy. Foscolo listened
to him a long while, but at last, without saying a word, he rose, rang the bell for
the servant, and on her appearance, quietly told her to request her mistress to
come up stairs. The lady obeyed, and he desired, in a supplicatory tone, that
she would sit down and talk with his friend, for that he had quite tired him
with his absurdities.

" Many instances of his intemperate passion have also been told me by Mr.
Redding, and other gentlemen who were in the habit of engaging with him at
chess. He was remarkably fond of that game ; but such was his rage whenever
his adversary made a very successful move, that he would start from his seat,
and, gnashing his teeth, pull up his hair in large quantities by the roots. It
mattered little where he might be when his anger was thus roused. A gentle-
man, who was in the habit of playing with him in his own house, has told me,
that he always took the precaution of running to the opposite side of the room
before he proclaimed check-mate. On the other hand, it is generally known to
his acquaintances, that being irritated in a similar manner one evening, when
playing at the house of a nobleman, he started up, and, before the whole com-
pany, challenged his astonished opponent to a rencontre of a different kind."

As to the more doubtful points of his character, his admiration of the
elegant and the beautiful, and his ambition to be surrounded with what-
ever denoted the man of taste, influence, and intellectual luxuries, we
shall offer a few remarkable passages : —

" Common, however, as the opinion has been, that Foscolo's Digamma Cot-
tage was the image of an Eastern Haram, it yet admits of being doubted whether
the idea had not its sole origin in the encouragement which he himself gave,
either from vanity or madness, to these suspicions. After having heard his con-
duct represented by several persons in a manner which did not allow of my
doubting that he was a gross sensualist, I have had the advantage of conversing
with other individuals, who, perhaps, had better opportunities of judging cor-
rectly respecting his character. Their testimony directly contradicts that before
mentioned, and they repel with warmth the accusation that Foscolo was a sen-
sualist. He delighted, say they, in being surrounded with whatever is beautiful,
and he sought the fairest attendants that could be found, simply from the pleasure
he took in beholding what is lovely. If he sometimes spoke of them, or to
them, in a tone which scarcely became him as a master, it was only in con-
formity with his usual mode of expressing himself when elated ; and his particu-

86 Ugo Foscolo, and the Italian Poets. [JAN.

larity about their dress and appearance is accounted for in the same way. He
would never suffer any servant to enter his presence, without having paid due
attention to her dress, and it was his most especial direction that no person of
the kind should ever appear before him in black stockings. Again, say the same
individuals to me, Foscolo had the habits of a sensualist in nothing but appear-
ance. He was remarkable for moderation in his appetites ; his diet was of the
simplest and most sparing kind, and he scarcely ever drank more than two
glasses, or two glasses and a half of wine. Add to this, he always expressed
himself with warmth against gross indulgences of every kind, and few will be
inclined to believe, after reading the events of his life, that Foscolo could be
guilty of flagrant hypocrisy.

" l3ut however doubtful it may be whether the accusation above alluded to be
correct, no doubt exists of his imprudence in respect to all his pecuniary affairs.
At the period of which we are speaking he was in tolerable employment ; he
wrote for the Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviews, and the encouragement given to
his excellent essays on Petrarch, served to increase simultaneously his means
and his expectations. So extensive were his designs, that he found constant
employment for some young men of ability to translate or improve his language,
and it was with one of these, Mr. Graham, that he was guilty of the folly of
fighting a duel on account of his favourite servant. But a casual observer might
have supposed that he was rapidly advancing in fortune. The establishment he
kept up was one which would have swallowed up a revenue far greater than that
which he could ever hope to command, had all his designs been completed and
crowned with success. His debts, consequently, were always on the increase,
and as a large part of his upholsterers' bills remained unpaid, he was soon
involved in difficulties which rendered ruin inevitable. To accelerate the
approaches of distress, his mind was at times too much oppressed with anxiety
to allow of its free action, and thus the great wheel of the machine on which his
whole subsistence depended, soon grew unfit for use."

When the misfortunes of his latter career began to gather darker
around him, the more marked and dangerous features of this extraordi-
nary being's temperament were more fully and strangely developed: —

" At length an execution was placed on his premises, and he then appears to
have resigned himself to despair. A gentleman, whose name I am not at liberty
to mention, received a message from him late one evening, intimating the cir-
cumstance, and fully expressive of the misery of the writer. The call was
promptly attended to, but on the gentleman's arrival at the cottage, he was
informed that Foscolo had retired to his apartment. He hastened to the room,
and gaining admission with some difficulty, he discovered on the table, near
which the poet was seated, a little dagger, which Foscolo always carried in his
bosom, but only displayed on great occasions. After a slight inquiry, therefore,
into the cause of his present distress, he settled the demand of the person who
had placed the execution in the house, and Foscolo was once more at ease.

" I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. S. C. Hall, who went to reside with
him, about this time, as his secretary, for the knowledge of many particulars
which respect the state of his mind under these distressing circumstances. He
now began, it seems, to experience the most terrible fits of despondency : ' He
would sometimes ask me to pass the evening with him,' says the gentleman
above named, ' but in the midst of our conversation he would cease speaking,
and sit for a couple of hours wrapped in the most gloomy silence/ This, how-
ever, was not the only sign which he gave of the miserable state of his thoughts.
Mr. Hall, who lived in the small house next the Digamma Cottage, and which
Foscolo retained in his hands, was startled by seeing him enter his apartment one
afternoon, with a worse than ordinary gloom upon his brow. ' Mr. Hall,' he
began, ' I am come to see you for the last time. In two hours I shall be no
more. When I was still a youth, Mr. Hall, I was numbered among the great
men of my country ; I was even called the first of poets, when there was no hair

1832.] Ugo Foscolo, and the Italian Poets. 87

upon my chin. Alfieri Monti, and the rest, all either feared or envied me ; and
I went on distinguishing myself, till even Buonaparte himself trembled before
.me. And now what am I ? A poor, miserable exile ! My countrymen abuse
me because I do not help them ; and here I am myself without friends, and
without one shilling in my pocket ! I must sacrifice either my honour, or my
life; and I will therefore die!' Having said this, he left Mr. Hall to his
uncomforable ruminations ; but the next morning he made him another visit,
and laughed and chatted as if he had no recollection whatever of the part he had
acted the preceding afternoon.

" On another occasion, however, he addressed him in a similar manner: 'I
will die !' said he, ' for I am a stranger, and have no friends/ — ' But, surely,
Sir,' was the answer, ' a stranger may have friends.' — ' Friends !' he exclaimed,
•' I have learnt that there is no meaning in the word. I assure you, I called on

the editor of the , to learn if there had been any thing about me in the

newspapers ; for everybody seems leagued against me, and leaving nothing
undone to plague me. I assure you I do not think I will live after next Satur-
day, unless there be some change.' "

The description of Foscolo, in his last moments, is at once touching
and eloquent, and the estimate of his character is given in a manly and
impartial manner. The following particulars are interesting, and dis-
play the proud, independent, and resentful spirit of the man, in a
remarkable degree, so long as nature could assert her power :—

" The letter he had written to Capo D'Istrias remained unanswered till the
tenth of October. On the morning of that day the president went to Turnham-
green, but, on his arriving at Foscolo's house, he learned that he was then too
near his end to be disturbed. Deeply affected at this intelligence, he sent in his
name to the Canon Riego, and one or two other gentlemen who were present,
and was admitted. He approached the side of Foscolo's bed with a friendly
and commiserating air ; but the attention was met with a look of recognition
which implied more of reproach than thankfulness ; and the dying man turned
himself in his bed, as if wishing to hold no farther communion with his visitor.
Death rapidly approached after this, but without making any alteration in the
tranquillity, or rather, perhaps, in the indifference with which he had always
expressed himself ready to meet it. At length it came, and, according to the
account of one who was with him at the time, he underwent the last pang with
as much composure as he would have drunk a glass of wine, and left the world
as if he were glad to bid it farewell.

" Thus ended the career of one of the most distinguished men that modern
Italy has produced. The personal character of Foscolo has been submitted to
severe criticism, and, like that of most men of his disposition, it has met with
little mercy. His natural candour was sufficient of itself to create him enemies
in the world ; but this candour, so noble in itself, wherever found, was unfor-
tunately leavened with an asperity which too often gave to his honourable love
of independence the appearance of pride and angry passion. He was thus always
obnoxious to the weak and the ignorant, frequently to the calm and temperate,
and occasionally to those who were in every way worthy of his respect, and who
would have shewn him every kind of honour, but for his impatient and overbearing
disposition. While he thus created a host of opponents by the mere faults of his
temper, he added largely to their number by the imprudence of his conduct.
Men of genius ought not, perhaps, to be judged of in the same way as the mass
of human beings, whose actions are under the influence of different motives.
Some allowance, perhaps, ought to be made for the indiscretions, not for the
vices, of those, whose prudence even is derived from considerations with which
that of mankind in general has little to do ; but if the world ought to be thus
charitable towards men of genius, men of genius ought to exercise equal charity
towards the world, and not to be angry if they who have only the common

88 Ugo Foscolo, and the Italian Poets. [JAN.

maxims of plain sense and prudence to guide their decisions, blame every
departure from such guides with pertinacious severity. Thus the course which
Foscolo followed could not fail of generating suspicions as to his integrity.
Those who were best able to judge of him, who knew his real feelings and senti-
ments, acquit him of many charges ; but the acquittal of a few high-minded and
thinking men has seldom sufficient influence with less elevated minds to make
them forego their suspicions. Looking at Foscolo without any wish to praise
him for virtues which he did not possess, much less to accuse him of faults
which did not tarnish his character, he may be fairly described as an ardent
lover of public truth, a determined but rational partisan of freedom ; as constant
•and devoted in his patriotism ; temperate in his habits, and full of boldness and
magnanimity whenever called upon to defend the cause of the oppressed. But,
on the other hand, pride, with the less dignified vice of vanity, tinctured many
of his best actions ; he was prodigal of his means when it was his duty to exer-
cise a provident parsimony ; the good effects of his temperance and other virtues
were counteracted by a weak and unjust indulgence in improper and useless
expenses, and they were not unfrequently, I fear, sacrificed entirely for the gra-
tification of some dark and latent passion.

" The splendour of his character was thus much tarnished ; but, after all, let
us hope that it was only the brightness of the surface that suffered ; truth, if it
be loved, lives in the very centre of the heart ; patriotism and independence are
of the man's self; and the vanity and imprudence of Foscolo never led him either
to contradict his principles or to betray his country.

" As a poet and a scholar, Foscolo will always occupy an eminent station
among the writers of this century. The Sepolchri, the Hymn to the Graces, and
some of his minor pieces, are eminently beautiful ; but the Letters of Ortis sur-
pass all his other works, both in eloquence of language, and grandeur of senti-
ment. His tragedies abound in noble thoughts, but as dramas they are deficient
in many of the characteristics necessary to the popularity of such compositions.

" I have but to add, that this great, but equally unfortunate and eccentric man,
lies buried in Chiswick churchyard. Mr. Hudson Gurney kindly directed a
stone to be placed over his grave ; but it has long been covered with the grass
•and weeds, which indicate forge tfulness."

In justice to the accurate and laborious investigations, which it is
evident the author of these Lives of the Italian Poets must have made,
and to the really entertaining matter with which they abound, it will give
us pleasure to hear that Mr. Stebbing has devoted his time to a con-
tinuation of the subject. The literature of Italy furnishes many other
names almost of equal celebrity with those already enumerated, and
want of space alone has doubtless prevented their insertion. We refer
our readers to a very sufficient apology in Vol. I., for the omission of
the lives of Michael Angelo and Leonardo da Vinci.

IttW.J [ 81) ]

THE PROCRASTINATOR.

Time— only regarded in Music and Dancing."

Cunningham's Fashionable World Displayed.

PROCRASTINATION may be unfortunately considered as the predomi-
nant habit of many of the inhabitants of all countries under the sun;
but as it is one of the national characteristics of our sister land — " the
green and flourishing island/' I trust the warm-hearted inhabitants of that
verdant country will forgive me for presenting an Irish procrastinator,
as the procrastinator, par excellence. The portrait will be recognized
by some, who can doubtless even now remember the original ; but the
principle must be admitted by all who have been acquainted with Irish
habits during the past century. A more active spirit is now, I believe,
alive amongst them ; and, in a very few years, this, and other sketches
of a similar character, will be looked upon as the records of a past race.
Let us hope, however, that their virtues will survive their vices, and
that they may never be numbered among the more cold-blooded
nations of Europe.

" Thunder an' ages ! Molly Maggs, Katty Purcel, Tim Cleary ! sure
ye won't answer, if I bawled myself black in the face, and skinned my
throat for ye'r sakes. Mistress Molly Maggs ! oh ! its yourself that's
the pathron of a housekeeper/' continued the old steward, sarcastically,
at the same time elevating his candlestick, that was simply a scooped raw
potatoe, and contained nothing more distinguished than a farthing
candle, which he held, so that its flickerings fell upon sundry dilapi-
dated chairs, where the moth and the worm securely revelled amid
destruction. Shaking his grey head, he repeated, as he passed from
the anti-chamber into the great hall — " It's ye'rself that's the pathron
of a housekeeper, Molly Machree ! to see the dirty dust upon thim
illigant chairs. Katty Purcel ! sure, thin, you're a beautiful house-
maid. Tim — Timmy Cleary; I'd take an even bet he's as drunk as
Moses at this blessed minute — I'll just ring the 'larum bell; och,
bother ! here's the string broke, and sorra a word it 'ill spake. Bat
Beetle — ah, there ye are, Batty, my boy, run agra, run, and tell every
one o' them that here's a letter we should have got ten days ago, only
'cause of the delay; and masther's married — to a foreigner for any
thing I know — an' he an' the new misthress 'ill be here to-night, as
sure as ye'r name's Bat — that's a gay gossoon ! well, ye'r a nimble boy,
I'll say that for ye, it's a sin and a shame to put such feet as your's into
brogues at all."

Bat's intelligence was, as might well be supposed, of an alarming
nature. Soon the passage leading to the great hall echoed . a scuffling
and shuffling of bare or slip-shod feet, and presently the members of
the kitchen household of Castle Mount Doyne crowded around the
eccentric, but faithful old steward, Morty Mac Murragh.

" Och, ye'r come, are ye \" he exclaimed, without heeding their
vociferous demands for news — " ye'r come, and a purty figure ye'll cut
before the foreign lady. You, Mistress Maggs, as housekeeper, with
a blue bed-gown, and—but I don't want so say any thing offensive—

90 The Procrastinator. [JAN.

only it 'ill take ye a month o' Sundays to hinder the clothes from fall-
ing off, if ye walk ever so easy ; and you, Katty, though y'er a clean
skinned girl, ye might as well be a negre, for any thing I could tell, by
this blessed light, to the differ. Tim — Tim — there's no use in life in
my setting myself as a pathron to ye — ye'r a sinner, Tim — I'd say
nothing to ye'r taking a mornin , or two or three dacently stiff tumblers
after dinner, or may be a sup to keep the could out o' ye'r stomach of
a winter's night, but to be always drink — drink — drinking, like a frog
or a fish ! Tim, I'm ashamed of ye, I am, indeed. The Lord look
down upon ye, ye poor sinner. Go to bed."

Tim did not seem at all inclined to obey the old man's directions ;
but he stumbled as far as the door, and holding by it, maintained a
tolerably erect position ; while " Mister Morty," as he was called,
scolded, directed, and re-directed the ill assorted servants, who had
been deemed sufficient to keep the dwelling of Castle Mount Doyne
from damp and decay. At last they ran off in different directions to
make some — they hardly knew what — preparation; but the house-
keeper paused in the middle of the hall, turned to the all-important
steward, and inquired — " What time was it the masther fixed did you
say, Mister Morty ?"

11 His honour says that he'll be surely here by Thursday, that's the
Thursday that's past."

" Dear me ! then he'll hardly come to-night. Bless his sweet face !
When he was a boy, we always gave him a week's law ; and it 'tis'n't
the fashion of the family to mend as they grow older/'

" Something strikes me they'll be here to-night, any way," replied
the old man ; " and I must insist on all being ready/'

" Very well," rejoined the housekeeper, "you need not be so high
about it, Mister Morty, I've lived a'most as long as ye'rself in the family,
counting my mother into the time, which is all one ; and though it is
not natural to like a young misthress over the head, yet I'm sure my
heart bates double joy at the thought o' seeing the baby I've so often
nursed on my knee, a married man." She then departed, and, although
persisting in her belief that her master would not arrive that night,
because it was too near the time he had appointed, thought there could
be no harm in (t making herself dacent ;" and having quickly accom-
plished her toilet, she dispatched Bat to the nearest cottage to say,
that "masther was coming home that night with a new illigant wife,
and that they must all come to help her to get ready ;" then Bat had to
post on to " Corney Phelan's, general dealer," for candles and salt, a
quire of brown paper, some nails, and whatever " bits o' boords" he
could spare, to make glass of, to mend the broken "windys, 'cause the
lady was tender maybe, and might catch could ;" besides, he was com-
missioned to bring twine, and butter, and pepper, and a score of things,
the most necessary portion of which he, of course, forgot, and, in his
zeal, rendered the other half ineffective, particularly by suffering the
untied paper-bag of salt to fall into a stream, and mixing the rusty nails
with the flour.

All was confusion at the castle ; Tim had contrived to get on an anti-
quated tarnished livery ; and Morty, who, to do him justice, was the
pattern of neatness — Irish neatness, at all events — was arrayed as befitted
what he considered his elevated rank in the establishment. Some poultry
were sacrificed, " to make spatch cocks in a minute ;" and if a great deal

1832.] The Procrastmator. 91

was not accomplished, there was, nevertheless,, a greater bustle than
if ten times as much had been actually done.

The night waned on — it was clear,, cold, and frosty ; the candles ap-
proached the sockets of the rich old silver candelabres, that stood in
solitary dignity at either corner of the dining-chamber, contrasting
strangely in their brightness with .the worn damask, which was still
agitated by the north winds blustering through the broken panes, that
Morty had not yet stopped up, though he toiled, and hammered, and
pasted, with indefatigable industry. At the opposite end of the room
rose a huge black marble chimney-piece, and, from beneath its dis-
tended arch, a fire, of mingled wood and turf, threw the dense and
towering mass into strong shade ; as it gloomed heavily over the blazing
embers, a little imagination might induce the belief that it was a deep
cavern, in whose interior sheltered a burning crater — so hot, and darkly
red streamed the fire from within. There was a strange blending of poverty
and profusion in the garniture of the table — the plate was rich, the
linen poor, all that belonged to the olden time told of prosperity — but
it was the prosperity of the past century ; all that was modern was mean,
and shewed that the careful eye and hand of a mistress had been long
wanting. To be sure, the abode of a bachelor, even in modern times,
is comfortless enough. Tables, and chairs, and carpets, and curtains,
there certainly are, but that is all — none of those little elegancies, those
sweet and tasteful solacers of existence, those Penates of household life,
which vary and embellish domestic — did I say domestic ? —poor, miser-
able mortals ! I should have remembered all you can know of that
sweet word is its sound — itsjeelitig is far from ye ; though ye be clothed
in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day, yet are there
none to whom you can praise, even the beauty and fragrance of a
flower, with the consciousness that one heart echoes not only your
words, but your feelings.

One would have thought that Morty had some undefined notion of
the sort, and of the necessity there was " to make things more comfort-
able" when a lady was expected, by his wandering from place to place,
now wafering a slip of brown paper on a " slit" in the window-frame, then
casting an eye for the twentieth time over the table, to see that, accord-
ing to his ideas of propriety, nothing was wanting. He had drawn two
arm-chairs under the shadow of the chimney, and placed a small
inlaid table, that had belonged to his former mistress, between them,
thinking, to repeat his muttered phrase, "that it would be handy for
masther's tumbler, out of the could," and again repaired to the window,
to reduce an obstinate board to obedience, which the wind had blown
into open rebellion. When he had at length succeeded, he seated
himself on the expansive window-seat, which overlooked the court-yard ;
and presently he saw, distinctly, in the moonlight, the figure of his
master's old nurse, Milly Eldred, creeping along the wall, and stooping
every now and then to cull some particular flower or plant that struck
her fancy. His former lady was a native of Scotland, and much dis-
content had been expressed by the dwellers in Castle Mount Doyne at
her importing a Scottish nurse to attend on the only child she ever had.
Notwithstanding this, Milly remained at the castle ; and in her age and
feebleness was paid much attention. It might be more from fear than
love, for divers things were whispered relative to her skill in various ways,
which blanched many a rosy cheek in the adjoining village. She was, in

92 The Procraslinator. [JAN.

truth, very old — mid-way in her dotage, and cankered in her temper ;
these — added to the advantages which a Scotch education gives over an
Irish one — rendered her an object of respect and mistrust. She soon
passed from Morty 's sight, and while he was yet wondering what she
could be gathering at that hour, the old creature entered the dining-
room, with an almost noiseless step. Her clean white apron was nearly
filled with grass and tangled weeds ; and her eye, still clear and blue,
had in it more of light than it usually possessed. " Said ye na'," she
commenced, "said ye na', Morty, that a bonny bride was coming
hame this bra' winter's night ; and did ye na' think to pu' the flowers
to mak' her welcome ; ken ye na' the song ?

' The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year,

And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear,
For she's the pink o* womankind, and blooms without a peer,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May/ "

€< Whisht with ye'r ballads, agra !" interrupted the steward ; " it's ill
in such an ould crathur as you to be tuning up love songs — it's like sun-
beams sparkling on skulls and cross bones, Lord save us ! So be off
to ye'r prayers, Milly, honey. Sure there are no flowers now going at
all, machree !" The sibyl heeded him not ; but seating herself in one
of the arm-chairs near the fire, continued chaunting snatches of old bal*
lads, and apparently arranging the offering she deemed it right to make
to her nursling's bride. Morty had just determined upon a gentle method
of dislodging her, when the clatter of horses, and the sound of carriage-
wheels, called him and the other domestics to the steps of Castle Mount
Doyne.

Mr. Mount Doyne had experienced no mischance on his journey until
he arrived nearly at the termination of his own avenue. Morty, we have
already seen, did not deserve to be numbered amongst unfaithful
stewards ; but yet, " somehow," it never occurred to him that the old
trees, which had been felled for fire-wood, could impede the progress
of his master's carriage, although they had fallen directly across the
road, where, of course, after the Irish fashion, they would remain to be
used when wanted by the servants — or indeed the neighbours, and
neighbours' childer, who might feel inclined to cut them up for the pur-
pose ; over these trees, nevertheless, the carriage upset, and Mr. Doyne,
in no very gentle temper, carried his young and lovely wife, almost in
a state of insensibility, into the hall, where she again ran the risk of her
life, and narrowly escaped suffocation from the smell of burnt feathers
and whisky.

" Blessings upon her sweet face ;" " Long life and prosperity to the
both — sure they're a beautiful pair ;" " Long may they live to reign over
us ;" " May their bed be made soft in heaven yet, I pray God •" " May
they never know sin or sorrow ;" " May God's fresh blessing be about
them/' were a few of the warm and affectionate salutations which
awaited Mr. Mount Doyne and his bride ; and from many glad hearts
and cheerful voices did the wishes proceed ; night though it was, all
the peasantry, who had heard the rumour of his arrival, had crowded
down to the hall, in anticipation of seeing " the young masther." But
where was Milly Eldred ?

When Mrs. Doyne was completely restored, her husband led her
into the dining-room ; there the old nurse met them, and flinging her

1832.] The Procrastmalor. \K

long withered arms round " her darling's neck/' mingled tears and
smiles of affection and imbecility together.

" I ha' naething to gie ye'r bonny bride/' she exclaimed, looking at
the young and fair creature, who, surrounded by so wild-looking a
group, shewed more surpassing in her loveliness ; ' ' naething but these
wild flowers, that I pu'd in the night dew. See, here is

' A buddin' rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,

For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou.' "

The bride took the gift, but her eyes were fixed on the donor.

" The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,

And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there."

Again she accepted the flower, without looking at it.

" The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near,
And the diamond draps o' dew, shall be her een sae clear."

Her small white hand was extended for the third time, when she shrieked,
and the leaves quivered in her fingers.

ef Roses — lilies — woodbines, Milly," exclaimed Mount Doyne, an-
grily ; " why here is nought but wormwood, rue, and nettles."

" Heck, Sirs !" replied the nurse, " if the Lord has turned my win-
some flo'res into sic like, his will be done." She folded her arms on
her breast, and noiselessly withdrew.

*******

if And that odd, wild woman was really your nurse, Charles/' said
Mrs. Mount Doyne the next morning ; " I trust, my love, you are not
infected by her madness ; I hope you will not give me the rue and nettles
instead of the happiness you so often promised."

te By Heaven \" exclaimed the lover-husband ; and then he swore
after the most approved fashion, and truly with real sincerity of purpose,
to devote his existence — his fortune — his time, to promote her happiness ;
— and she believed him !

*******

Six months passed as rapidly as if only six weeks had elapsed, and
though Caroline loved her husband as much as ever, she had discovered
his besetting sin. " My love/' said the lady, " there is no possibility
of crossing the court-yard, the weeds are so rampant, and the stones,
that tumble from the castle parapet, so numerous, that I cannot now
pick my steps to the little flower-garden, which your only effective
servant, Old Morty Mac Murragh, keeps in such nice order for my
gratification."

" Well, faith, it is too bad, and I will, indeed, send to the workmen
who are engaged clamping turf, to clear the rubbish away."

" And as you have masons in this part of the world, let them be
employed to take down or secure those battlements — they are positively
dangerous in their present state."

" Certainly, my love."

" Yes, you say ' certainly' — but of any thing being done there is no
certainty."

" I declare that I will see to it."

" Now ?"

" How can I attend to it now — don't you see I'm not shaved."

"But you ought to be— let me ring for Morty, and he will heed

91 The Procrastinator. [JAN.

your directions : forgive me, but you seem strangely infatuated by a
habit of procrastinating."

" Why, yes, but I can't help it — it's a family failing. But what's
the matter with your cheek — it is dreadfully swollen?"

" Only the tooth-ache."

" How could you possibly get the tooth-ache ?"

" Rather, how could I avoid it ? there is not, I do believe, an entire
pane of glass in the castle."

" My dearest love, I am distressed beyond all measure — and as soon
as I am dressed — presently — I'll send a man and horse off to Bally trane
for glazier, mason, and every tradesman, who can by any possibility be
wanted to set every thing in order/'

He went so far with this resolve as to ring for his valet, but instead
of the valet came his withered nurse, bearing in her arms Fido, his
favourite dog, in the agonies of death.

" Good heavens, Milly — how came this ?"

" The puir beast went into Mad Ronald's stall, and the animal as ye
see, jist kict the life out o' him !" The uncomplaining but suffering
dog crawled to his master's feet, and looked piteously in his face.

" My poor Fido — my faithful old friend;" murmured Mount Doyne,
kindly, while he examined injuries which he saw it would be in vain
to attempt to heal ; " but how is this — I always understood that Ronald
was kept in a separate stable — his vicious tricks are known of old ?"

" Heck, ye may say that ! but what's to hinder any livin' thing
from ganging into his stall — the door has no hinges, ye ken, and winna
stay shut ?"

" It is a cruel case," said Mount Doyne, " that amongst the household
nothing of the sort is attended to."

" My bairn, my bairn," replied the crone, " ye attend to naething
y'er ain sell ; and the house ainly follows y'er example."

'' My poor Fido I" continued his master, " I never past that stable-
door, without intending — "

" Hush, hush !" interrupted the nurse, laying her skinny finger on
her lip ; heard ye ne'er that * Hell is paved wi' good intentions?' y'er
winsome wife is aye too young ; she canna be expected to ken the care
o' sich matters ; but for her sake, e'en more than y'er ain, see, an' act
ere it be ow'r late. The gloaming is o'er ye now, but beware o' the
night."

Mount Doyne heard little and heeded less the old woman's advice,
for he was witnessing, without the power of alleviating, the dying
agonies of his poor favourite ; his gentle wife shared in his feelings,
and when Fido's expiring effort was to lick the fair hand which had so
often caressed and ministered to its wants, she turned silently away,
unwilling that even her husband should witness the emotion which
she could not suppress.

More than four years had passed into the gulph of time. On the
whole, matters, at Castle Mount Doyne, were rather worse than better.
To those acquainted with how things were managed in what were most
falsely termed " good old establishments," in the sister country, a true
picture of coarse, yet lavish expenditure, has been often presented —
a house filled with guests, from the garret to the kitchen — some of them,
it is true, of high and honourable distinction — but the majority con-
sisting of poor and idle relatives, too proud to work — but not too proud

1832.] The Procrastinator. 95

to partake of the " bit and the sup," and the cast-off raiment of those
who had it to bestow. " His honour, God bless him, 'ill never miss it/'
was echoed in the kitchen and acted upon in the parlour. And, as
from hour to hour — from day to day — from week to week — and from
month to month — the amiable, but indolent, Mount Doyne, put off
every thing where investigation was concerned, he was, it may easily
be believed, in as fair a way to be ruined as any gentleman could
possibly desire. He knew that his agent was any thing but an honest
man ; and yet his habits prevented his looking into accounts, where
fraud could have been detected by the simplest school-boy — he felt
that he was surrounded by a nest of sycophants who slandered the very
bread they consumed, and daily resolved that f< on the morrow" he would
get rid " of some Tom this, or Jack that, or Paddy the other," who was
preying upon him, without drawing a veil even over his mal-practices.
But no " morrow" ever dawns on a genuine procrastinator. His wife's
delicacy of constitution could ill support the noisy company and late
hours of an Irish house at the period of our story, and she shrank from
what she could not save, into a somewhat solitary turret of the rack-
rent castle ; she had now also the duties of a mother to perform, and felt
a sweet and holy tranquillity in watching her lovely infant, in whom
a mother's fondness daily discovered increased beauty.

" You do not smile as cheerfully to-night as usual, darling," said
Mount Doyne, at the same time pressing his wife to his bosom, and
parting her golden curls on a brow that might rival the snow in its
mountain purity ; " and yet I never saw our little Charles look so
beautiful."

et He is beautiful," she replied, " to you I may surely say so ; I can
almost see the blood circulating on his cheek as it presses the soft down
pillow, and those blue veins, marbling his noble brow, which is so
like your's, dearest ; and now as he lays, his cherub lips just parted,
look at his small teeth, shining like pearls encased in richest coral.
My blessed boy," she continued with all the earnestness of truth, " I
often think, when I behold you thus, that God will take back to him-
self so fair, so bright a creature !"

" Silly, silly girl- — and can such folly make you sad to-night ? for
shame."

" It is not that exactly : I have had a letter from Dublin — and
that situation is gone."

" D — n it !" muttered Mount Doyne, bitterly.

" Had your application been sent in one day sooner, you might have
had it — and you know — "

" Hold your tongue," he interrupted, angrily ; " I know I am a
most unlucky fellow. Who could have imagined it would have been
snapt up in that way ? but I suppose you will set that down also to
my procrastination, as you call it."

His wife made no reply, but busied herself in adjusting some portion
of the drapery of her child's couch. Again he spoke —

" It is a greater disappointment than you dream of; and one I can
ill bear — for to confess the truth my rent-roll has become unprofitable,
and I cannot exactly tell how to lessen my expenditure."

" If the latter is necessary, nothing is. more easy. Why, out of the
twenty servants employed, five only are effective/'

(f I could not turn off the old servants and leave them to starve." j

i)(J The Procrastinator. [JAN-

et God forbid you should leave them to starve — pension them off,
that is the best, the only way."

" Easily said. How could I pension them off, when I find it impos-
sible to command ready money to pay even the tradesmen ?"

tf Pray, when does Mr. Sheffield Shuffleton mean to take his depar-
ture ?"

t( When I can pay him fifteen hundred good English pounds, value
received."

" My dear, Mr. Shuffleton, his servant, and two horses, have been
here during the last five months — he has made good interest at all
events."

" You women pretend to know every thing. What was I to do ;
he came for his money — I had it not to give — so of course I asked him
to remain, which, don't you see, has been a great accommodation to me."

Mrs. Mount Doyne shook her head. ft You forget the immense addi-
tional expenditure it has occasioned — he is what you call a regular five
bottle man/'

" Indeed, Caroline, it shocks me to see the note you take of such
matters — there is something dreadfully mean in observing what people
eat and drink/'

" I would not have my husband mean — I would only have him just,"
she replied, with much firmness. " I would have him calculate his
income, and live within it ; I would have him discard an agent whom
he knows to be worthless and dishonest — "

" Stop — in mercy stop !" exclaimed Mount Doyne, in a tone of sad but
earnest entreaty ; " would to Heaven I could do so ! — but that man has
me within a charmed circle, which seems hourly closing. I am so
dreadfully in his power — I have suffered him to get hold on my property,
bit by bit, in exchange for paltry sums lent from time to time to supply
present necessities, and which, after all, were useless. If I had only
obtained this situation, I should then have had an excuse for living part
of the year, at all events, away from this destroying gulph."

His gentle wife uttered no reproach — no aggravating word escaped her
lips. She might have told how frequently, and how earnestly, she had im-
plored him to use his influence for that very object — and how he had pro-
crastinated. She might have said how constantly her energies had been
exerted to urge and save the being she so loved, not only from others, but
from himself; but though she reproached not, she advised — implored —
entreated, that, cost what it would, he would shake off that one slothful,
destroying principle, and stand forth — even if poor— -independent ; enjoy-
ing the glorious privilege which, of all the Almighty's gifts, is the most
valuable. Then she pointed to their sleeping child : she appealed to his
feelings as a father, whether he could bear the reflection — if ever it
should come — of seeing that dear one want — of being the means of
bringing a creature into the world, endowed with beauty — enriched by
a living spirit — hallowed by the finest affections the human heart is capa-
ble of feeling — born as the inheritor of name and fortune — and yet
despoiled, degraded in the scale of society, by the carelessness of the being
appointed by nature as his protector.

Mount Doyne was touched — convinced — promised — declared — and—
persisted in his old habits.

Exactly a month after the above conversation occurred, there was
deep and bitter mourning in the castle of Mount Doyne. The bloom-

1832.] The Procrastuiator. 97

ing, healthy infant — the joy of his mother's heart — the pride of his
father's eyes — was a blurred, a disfigured corpse — a thing that it was
offensive to look upon, and loathsome to approach. Yet one sat by his
little cot; and though the apartment, in conformity with the outre, yet
affectionate custom of the country, was crowded by the retainers of the
family, and the peasants of the neighbouring villages and hills — yet she
heeded them not — but, ever and anon, would wipe its discoloured lips,
where her kisses had often dwelt with all the fervour and tenderness of
a mother's love — then pressing the little hands between her own, she
would rest her burning brow upon the simple pall, and pray for the
relief of tears. They put him in his coffin— yet still, she was by its side.
Then, when the deep wail and the cry arose, " lamentation, and weep-
ing, and great mourning/' and the father entered to take the last look
of what he, too, had dearly loved, the feelings of the wife were over-
whelmed by those of the mother ; and she bitterly reproached him, as
the cause of her boy's death. " Did you not promise, day after day,
that the surgeon should come to inoculate him ? But he is dead — and I
have now no child !"

This lesson, it may well be supposed, sank deeper into Mount Doyne's
heart than any other ; but he said it came too late. It might be so for
him — though my belief is, that, in worldly as well as in spiritual things,
there is hope, even at the eleventh hour — nay, more than hope — certainty,
if the mind so will it. It was well said by Napoleon, that " impossible
is the adjective of fools." Nothing weds us so closely to immortality
as habitual firmness. A resolved man can be, if it so pleases him,
another Alexander.

* * * * *

ft You might well give me rue, and wormwood, and nettles, Milly, as a
wedding dowry/' murmured the lady of Castle Mount Doyne, one bleak
December night, as the old nurse was fanning with her apron the uncer-
tain blaze of a wood fire in her solitary chamber. " How the noise
below distracts my poor head ! — they have seized every thing."

" Auld Morty told me that master might have got off the sheriff's sale
— only somehow he forgot to sign something. — But eh ! sure it was the
way of the family, they say. It is not sae in my ain country."

The lady smiled — but with such sadness, one would rather she had
wept.

" Keep a good heart, lady-dear," said the old steward, kindly ;
" master's friends will never desert him — tisn't in an Irish heart to look
could on the unfortunate. Och ! they know too much of that same
to think easy of it. Sure it's himself that has the grand friends in Dub-
lin. Why not ! — an' he of such an ould, ancient family— and the sheriff
and all the people's gone now ?"

" Taste a morsel of this, Misthress, honey," chimed in our former
acquaintance, Molly Maggs ; " it's as nate a hare as iver was snared.
Bat Beetle caught it a purpose for ye — knowing I had the thrue Frinch
way o' dressin' it ; he thought it nourishin'-like, and that it might rise
ye'r heart/'

" Thrue for ye, Mistress Maggs," said Morty, as he followed the
housekeeper out of the room ; " and it 'ill go hard if I can't find a drop
o' the rale sort (wine I mean) to keep the life in the craythur— though
the devil of an agent thought he swept the cellar, as well as every thing
else, clane out."

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 73. H

$8 The Procrastinator. [JAN.

" My bitter curse light on him with the light of heaven, every hour
he sees it !" responded the housekeeper ; " it was a pity the masther
wasn't more sharper-like ; I only hope shell last till he comes back."

" Oh ! the doctor, God bless him, said she might hould for a week
yet ; and he was to be back to-morrow."

The woman smiled. — " Morty, ye'r as bad as a natural Who ever
thought of heedin' what the poor masther said as to that. What did he
ever know in regard of time, except that it past, bad luck to it, like a
thief as it is, and, by the same token, took every thing along with it. —
There's one comfort left. If the things are all cleared out, the people
are cleared too ; there's none stayed out of the housefull, that gathered
when there was full and plenty for them ; — but, Morty, ye'r a know-
ledgeable man, and have read a dale o' doctor's books in ye'r time; did
ye ever find if there was much in the differ betwixt the heart of a poor,
and the heart of a rich body — I mean in the size ?"

" I can't say I ever did," answered Morty, after a pause.

" Well, then, upon my soul, that's quarer still," observed the house-
keeper. " 1 wonder if the priest could tell what makes the differ in
people, if it isn't the size of the heart?"

" Where's the good o' botherin' ye'rself with the like o' that, in ye'r
ould age, woman a-live ? Don't go to ask the priest any sich ques-
tions ; it would be like wantin' to pick the confessions out o' him ; so be
easy."

'* Well, God help us ! we live in a dark world, where all is wonder-
ful ;" and thus, having unknowingly echoed the sentiment of our best
philosophers, Molly accompanied Morty in search of the cordial-wine,
for " the misthress," whom they, at all events, had not deserted in her
adversity.

The same evening, on a soiled sheet of coarse letter paper, by the
light of a miserable candle, Mrs. Mount Doyne wrote to her husband.

" Charles — first and last object of my earnest love — come to me, for
" / am dying. You said you would return by to-morrow ; yet I fear—
" forgive me, dearest — but I do fear you may procrastinate, and that
" you may not be here to receive my last breath, and with it my parting
" blessing. I have also, my husband, to request your forgiveness for
" having often perhaps given you pain, though I meant it for your own
" good. Once — and bitter is the remembrance — once I was cruel ; it
" was when our child lay dead ; then, indeed, I was unkind — and
" unkind to you, too — to you who loved me so dearly. I will not
" attempt to refer to the past — it is past for ns ; but for you, in this
" world there is a future, though not for me. Let me, therefore, con-
" jure you, by every beloved and holy tie, to "

The unhappy lady did not finish the sentence ; and the letter was
dispatched, a few hours after it was written, with a postscript from the
faithful Morty, stating that his poor mistress had expired a few moments
after the pen had dropped from her hand.

Some weeks after this, an advertisement appeared in the county
papers, announcing the sale of the estate of Castle Mount Doyne;
and on the very day when the purchase was concluded, and the estate of
his ancestors passed into the hands of strangers, Mount Doyne left his
native country for ever.

1&32.] The Procrastwator. 99

* - * ..*- . # - * .* * .

Some said he entered into foreign service ; and this idea was confirmed
by a French officer's stating that there was a brave Irish gentleman in
his regiment, who was universally beloved, and would have been
respected but for a prevailing indulgence in a habit of indecision, which
induced him to " put off " every thing that could be delayed, and that
eventually blighted his prospects. He described him as being singularly
handsome, but of a melancholy aspect — deficient in energy every where
but in the battle-field. He was never in time on parade ; and the officers
used to distinguish him as the " late Lieutenant Doyne." The termina-
tion of his career was at least characteristic.,. He was rallied by his
comrades, the night before an anticipated battle, on his well-known
failing.

" I will be in time for once," he replied gravely, " for procrastination
has cost me already too much." He was in time, and he was the first
man who fell. " You see," he said to a companion in arms, " that I
have gained my death by being in time. I speak sincerely; death is
a gain to me — for there is nothing I would live for." A miniature was
found on his bosom, evidently the counterpart of the portrait of a female
that had been sold among the decorations of Castle Mount Doyne.

H.

NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL.

COBBETT AND THE SCOTCH. — Antipathies, like comparisons, are
" oderous," but they are wearing themselves out very fast ; and we may
yet live to see the day when prejudices of all kinds shall be unfashion-
able. Fifteen years of peace works wonders. A quarter of a century
ago the French were, in the eyes of every enlightened man in England,
a " beggarly race of frog-eaters ;" now they are our " lively arid illus-
trious neighbours." Having captured their metropolis, and fixed the
god of their idolatry upon a pedestal at St. Helena, we exalt the whole
nation to the skies ; just as the victor at a game of chess vows that his
antagonist, though beaten, is one of the best players in the world. We
affect liberality till we actually feel it. If we were to pretend to love
even the Dutch, no doubt we should succeed in becoming excessively
attached after a time. If it be advisable to begin, like Mrs. Malaprop,
" with a little aversion," surely a good deal must be infinitely better.
Meanwhile personal antipathies nourish here and there very persever-
ingly in spite of useful-knowledge societies and the march of reason.
We heard somebody the other night, discussing the conduct of one of
our popular writers, exclaim, with true English feeling — ec But what
can you expect from a, foreigner ?" — " Foreigner !" shouted fifty voices.
" Well, a Scotchman^ it's all the same."

Cobbett, however, is decidedly the best " hater*' of his day. He is the
great high-priest of them all. His prejudices amount to prodigies j his
antipathies take place of all his other attractions. They are generally
harmless, and always amusing. To say that Cobbett has no honesty, is
nonsense ; no man living is so honest in his hatred, while it lasts. The
great Dr. Gulliver Johnson shrinks upon this ground into a Lilliputian
Boswell beside him. We wish somebody would make a collection of
his bitterest and most brilliant essays in this way. Think of that sim-
ple, straightforward, and truly descriptive epithet of his, applied to the

H 2

1 00 Notes of the Month on [JAN.

Quakers — when he .called them, "unbaptized, buttontcss blackguards."
It is perfect alike in antipathy and alliteration. It may be a question
which Cobbett detests most thoroughly — potatoes or the political econo-
mists. Some people content themselves with a dash of dislike, or at
most, a spice or so of scorn and contempt upon such matters ; but Cob-
bett's is direct, downright, undeniable, and unmitigated hatred ; and
whether it be the practice of ruining kingdoms on the part of a minis-
ter, or of drinking tea on the part of the people, it is the same to him ;
his hatred never wants words to work with — his thunder always rolls as
astoundingly as if we had never heard it before — and he seems to be in
no more clanger of exhausting his stores of abuse than Sir William
Jones, who could have given the lie in fifty languages, at least. But
perhaps the Scotch may claim the honour of having monopolized the
larger portion of his detestation — as the story we have to tell will
shew.

Cobbett, it seems, the other day was called upon to attend some meet-
ing in the city ; and the time not admitting of a journey to Kensington
to prepare, he went to a shop in one of the courts in the neighbourhood
of Fleet-street to be shaved. Not perceiving the name of Mac-some-
thing over the door, he only discovered by the northern accent in which
he was requested to be seated, that he was patronizing a Scotchman.
It was too late, however, to retract, and he sat down, not. over-disposed
to listen to the chit-chat of the operator, who, ignorant of the person of
his customer, entered at once into some moral reflections upon the Bris-
tol burnings. In the heat of his enthusiasm, he happened to stumble
upon the terms, c< low rabble." At this the politician started up, of
course at the risk of his life, and for a moment looked as if he meant to
apply the razor that had just been at his own throat, to that of the
operator. " How dare you," he exclaimed, in a tone admirably pro-
portioned to the fury of his look, " how dare you — a selfish soap-suddy
Scotchman — a fellow that lives here by sufferance, and takes the bread
out of the mouth of the honest British artisan — how dare you in my
presence apply such a term as ' rabble* to the people of England ?"
The operator, all alarm and apology, hinted nevertheless, upon the
strength of the weapon with which he was so formidably armed, that he
had as good a right to the bread he ate as an English barber ; and that
among other things, he had suffered for his country. " Your country !
What country ? you don't call that a country ! But pray let us hear how
you have suffered for your country." — " Why, I happened to be aboard
a Berwick smack when she was taken prisoner by a French privateer,
and I remained in a French prison for seven years." — " So much the
better/' said Cobbett, as he resumed his seat and rubbed his hands,
apparently quite appeased. " So much the better ; we saved seven years
of your keep."

THE HORROR-HUNTERS. — Nothing is so contagious as crime. Murder
stalks like Banquo, with an issue that stretches to " the crack o' doom."
Iniquity has always its imitators ; and the more atrocious the iniquity,
the more assiduous is the spirit of imitation. We can scarcely call to
mind any deed above the usual grade of villany, that has not been fol-
lowed by another upon the same plan, a new edition, with explanatory
notes. Whenever a genius in crime breaks through the barriers of cus-
tom in such matters, and goes out of the beaten track of horrors, he

1832.] Affairs in General. 101

creates a sort of school, and may boast of his disciples in infamy.
The public assists this disposition on the part of the criminals, by in-
venting cases of guilt before they are committed. Burkings, if \ve are
•to judge by report, have been for the last six weeks as plenty as black-
berries. Every lady of fifty-five within the bills of mortality has a
-peculiar case of burking to her own share, which she " knows to be a
fact" at least ten times a day, and which she repeats with an emphasis,
that intimates she not only fears it to be false, but wishes it to be true.
This morbid and miserable appetite for horrors confines hundreds to
their firesides, nursing their imagination to keep it warm, until some
stray visitor happens to drop in, to sup off the horrors that are so hos-
pitably served up. On other minds it acts in another way ; by sug-
gesting the purchase of an inch or two of the rope with which any
conspicuous culprit is hanged; by leading men — and boys as practised
in the theory of crime as men — nay, even women, to the scene of blood,
to cut, by way of " remembrance," a twig from the hedge where the
knife that murdered Weare was found ; to chop off a, fragment of the
Red Barn, to be turned into toothpicks, tobacco-stoppers, and toys for
the amusement of infancy ; or to rush to the well in Nova Scotia Gar-
dens, as if it were some new and anti-cholera chalybeate, to drink, we
are told, (at the cost of three-pence,) a glass of the water in which
Bishop stifled his victims. This is the climax of the disgusting and the
despicable; and the water-drinkers far transcend in degradation the
lovers of rum, that were said to have emptied the vesselin which the
remains of Nelson were preserved ; or the admirers of poetry, who con-
tended so earnestly for a phial-full of the spirit in which Byron was
brought to England. But they all belong to the same class, and one
species of diseased curiosity leads to another. We once saw a ludicrous
example of the feeling on board a steam-boat. An accident had hap-
pened to some part of the machinery that caused momentary danger, but
it ended simply in a few splinters of wood being scattered about. From
these, one of the passengers picked out the largest and most picturesque
he could find; and with this rare memento under his arm, he strutted
up and down the vessel for several hours, evidently not knowing what
to do with it, and balancing his delight with his inconvenience in the
most grotesque style imaginable. This at first sight appears as harm-
less as it is stupid ; but the same collector of curiosities would no
doubt have given one of his hands, and the whole contents of his mu-
seum, for the piece of Thurtell's skin, that some experimentalize!' took
the trouble to have tanned.

FASTING IN HIGH LIFE. — It appears to us that, notwithstanding the
.ten thousand eventful topics of the month, the speechmakers must be
deplorably at a loss for subjects to debate about, and the world itself
more than ever in want of something to do, when meetings are called to
petition the bench of Bishops for a General Fast. A prayer to this
effect has been preferred to the Archbishop of Canterbury by the inha-
bitants of Camberwell ; and we are the more surprised at the fast-fever
breaking out in such a quarter, because Camberwell has been for a cen-
tury past the retreat of every common-councilman that can, by any con-
trivance or extortion, indulge in the luxury of what is called a country-
house. We could not therefore have anticipated such a petition from
them ; but even if the whole court of aldermen should, by some subver-

102 Notes of the Month on [JAN.

si on of the laws of aldermanic nature, second the solicitation, aided
moreover by Mr. Perceval's powers of persuasion, we think there is little
chance of the Bishops being prevailed upon to sanction an ordinance
that would inevitably be fatal to their own comforts for at least four-
and-twenty hours. If by any chance, however, they should conceive a
temporary fondness for fasting, and determine upon giving their appe-
tites a holiday, it can make but very little difference to the nation. The
fast is already a general one. All that is wanted is, a particular fast,
exclusively for aristocratic abstinence. If the Lords choose to go with-
out their dinners for a day, a resolution which, at all events would be
very acceptable to their cooks and butlers, we can of course have no
objection to it. Or if they should think fit to extend the fasting-period
to a fortnight, our gratitude would be in proportion. Hunger would
sharpen their legislative ideas amazingly ; and a fourteen days' appetite
would tend to give them a much clearer insight into the state of the
country, than any penetration to be derived from a daily indulgence in
turbot and truffles.

BURKINGS AT BOSTON. — Burking, like the cholera, will no doubt
make the tour of the globe. The new world is at all events determined
not to be behind the old, either in its attacks or its antidotes ; in the last
particular it has surpassed us — as the following story, which, coming,
we believe, from a Boston paper, is of course to be credited, will abun-
dantly testify.

It appears that burking has been for some time flourishing in the
back settlements, and has excited alarm from one end of the continent
to the other. On its first breaking out in Boston, a " Burking- Antidote
and Pitch- Plaster Abolition Society" was formed, the members of which
paraded the streets at night, not like Demosthenes, with pebbles, but
with detonating balls in their mouths. As was anticipated, an attack
was in due time made upon one of them ; and the result was, as may
also be anticipated, that at the moment the plaster was applied to the
mouth of the member, with the force requisite for its adherence in any
case — to say nothing of the extra force necessary to be employed, in
order to stop effectually the mouth of a Bostonian — an explosion took
place, that prevented the perpetrator from carrying his unpleasant de-
sign into complete effect, not simply by throwing him backwards at the
first shock — which was the utmost that the scientific men in Boston had
calculated upon — but by hurling him to a distance quite impossible to
calculate, as he had not been heard of up to the hour when the first
edition went to press. However, the paragraph, we are assured, con-
cludes by stating, that the editor had stopped the press to say, that the
body of the delinquent had just been picked up, in a sadly mutilated
state at New York.

We regret the discovery of this important fact in science, inasmuch as
it will, as a matter of course, be acted upon in England ; and will thus
shut out all hopes of Mr. Hunt's mouth being stopped for the next
quarter of a century.

PAGANINI AND THE SURGEONS. — Exhibitions of pleasure are not a
hundredth part so attractive, in the eyes of an enlighted community, as
exhibitions of pain. The dramatic theatres, in spite of lions on the
stage, and lures in the lobbies, can scarcely muster audiences above half

1832.] Affairs in General. 103

as numerous as the actors ; the anatomical theatres on the other hand
are daily crowded to a degree of inconvenience, that threatens to put an
end to the operations of surgical science altogether. The contortions of
Gouffe or Grimaldi never excited half the sensation produced by the
contortions of sufferers in the schools of surgery. A spectacle was, it
seems, to have taken place the other day at St. Bartholomew's hospital ;
but the crowd was so unprecedented and impenetrable, that neither the
patient nor the surgeon, aided by a strong escort of pupils, not deficient,
it is to be supposed, in the art of elbowing, were able to obtain admit-
tance ; and the operation was actually postponed in consequence. On
a future day they were more fortunate — probably the Horse-guards were
called out — to check, in some degree, the rush of surgeons and sight-
hunters ; and the operation was eventually performed. The case was
one of extreme difficulty — the removal of an extraordinary tumour on
the cheek of a female, which had been occasioned by a blow, and which
presented a spectacle sufficiently frightful to account for the inconve-
nient anxiety manifested to witness it. Mr. Earle, by the skill and
success of his operation, seems to have deserved the thanks and the
praises he received. But the most distressing circumstance attending
the postponement of the exhibition on the day first appointed was, that
Signor Paganini was deprived of an opportunity that had been afforded
him, for the gratification of his curiosity, by an " eminent surgeon," to
whom, it seems, he had expressed an anxious wish to witness some
" terrible operation." We all remember the anecdote of the painter of
the Crucifixion, who flourished when art and legislature were young,
and who nailed his sitter by the hands and feet to the wainscot, in order
to work out his notions of agony as naturally and as vividly as possible ;
and we remember, too, that when the great violin-prodigy first made his
appearance, some poetical describer insinuated, that his instrument
looked like a wild beast, which he was managing and manreuvring with,
in a style that was very likely to break the heart of M. Martin, as well
as those of the professors. But with all these flourishes on the part of
the fiddle-stick flatterers, we were not quite prepared to see Paganini
entering himself as a sort of amateur-pupil at St. Bartholomew's. Can
it be that he is going to give us a set of hospital-harmonies on his re-
appearance ? to describe upon a single string all the various grades of
surgical sublimity, from the first incision to the se wing-up ? No doubt
the " terrible operation" is to be the subject of a concert ; and we shall
be treated next season, to the delightful derangement of our nerves,
with a perfectly novel set of fac-similes of the agonies of an amputation,
and the blessings of a bandage. The patients will of course feel greatly
relieved by having their moans set to music. A cancer could scarcely
fail of suggesting some exquisite cadences, and a dislocation would be
attended with the most delightful result. His great triumph would be
to send his auditors away, as if every bone within them was breaking.
He broke their hearts last season, and he must now do something more
for his money.

When he shall have gone through all other discordancies, we would
recommend him to try an imitation of the uproar of Babel, or Bedlam,
or the House of Commons, when a sinecure is brought up for slaughter.
There is no fear about his failing. After these, he may tune his violin
to some " Translations from the Unknown Tongue/' which we are ac-
tively preparing for him.

104 Notes of the Month on [JAtf

CRIME ENCOURAGED BY LAW. — The conviction of the murderers of
the Italian boy, and the frightful disclosures that followed it, are among
the events of the past month that ought to sink most deeply into the
public mind. Every member of society, in parliament and out of par-
liament, must now feel convinced that the moment has arrived, when
all false prejudices and absurd ideas of delicacy must be given up ; and
that some immediate legislative enactment must be passed, to crush, not
in its bud, but in its full growth and maturity, a crime at which human
nature shudders to think what it is capable of, and to which history,
blotted as it is with blood, scarcely offers a parallel.
- Of the succession of revolting pictures presented in the course of the
investigation, from the commencement to the close, that of the execution
was not the least hideous. If punishment by death can be justified in
any case, unquestionably it is this : yet surely even here the awful
penalty is at least sufficient to satisfy the sternest, and the most uncom-
passionating lover of justice, without shocking humanity by the most
unnatural of all spectacles — a criminal yelled and hooted into eternity.
We are not romantic enough to expect refinement from people who
make a holiday as often as an execution takes place, and who take their
station at midnight, in order to view the ceremony to perfection eight
hours after ; but in an age like this, we cannot hear without disgust
and detestation that so many thousands could be found (one- fourth of
them females) to hoot the miserable beings upon the very threshold of
death — to r heer and wave their hats as the drop fell — and to yell their
disappointment when, by the removal of a portion of the apparatus, it
was understood that one of the culprits had been found undeserving of
the dreadful fate to which his fellows were doomed. The idea of jus-
tice never entered into any one mind in the multitude ; the only feeling
was, that a respite was a drawback upon their delight, and that to
diminish the number of victims was to diminish their enjoyment. The
only view in which this undiscriminating malignity can be excused is,
that they regarded the criminals as fiends, who had outraged human
nature to a degree that rendered justice powerless, and atonement im-
possible ; and they were incapable of reflecting that the murderers had
been previously " resurrectionists" — that they were men who had not
plunged at once into the deepest depth of crime, -but that they had
been led on, through the loopholes which the law had left them, to the
commission of a deed which, in their eyes, was only another grade in
guilt — from plundering the grave, to destroying life — from stealing
bodies, to stifling them. The law has itself to blame for the outrage,
in throwing out lures for its commission. If the purposes of science
had been provided for, as every enlightened state but our own has
provided for them, this last and foulest stain upon humanity would have
been spared. There are fifty ways in which, without much debate, a
parliament alive to the necessity of doing something, might make such
a provision.

HOLY WELL STREET AND THE " TIMES." — In our speculations two or
three months ago, concerning the various courts and crevices of the
metropolis into which the Cholera on its first landing in London would,
•in all probability, creep for shelter, it occurred to us that Holy well-
street in the Strand was percisely the retreat upon which the monster

1832.] Affairs in General 105

might most readily fasten his fangs ; and it was suggested to us by one
of the most practical reformers connected with this journal, that a con-
venient mode of obviating this calamity would be, to brick-up the
obnoxious avenue at one end, and fire it at the other. The proposition
created a " considerable sensation at the time ;" and after many morning
and evening papers had aided the publicity of the scheme by extracting
the passage, the " Times" as a matter of course (the " greatest" is
generally "behind'') took it up. Not satisfied however with leaving
the sublimity of the conception to speak for itself, the editor appended
a moral to it in the form of a query, saying (we only answer for the
spirit, not the letter, of the observation) — " But is the writer aware of
the illegality and the danger of such a remedy ?" (!!!) Now whether
we are aware of this or not, we are perfectly aware that the " Times"
has no more notion of a joke than Adam had of Almack's, and that it
would be quite as much bewildered by a whimsicality of any descrip-
tion, as an Esquimaux would be by the Edinburgh Review. Its own
occasional attempts at something which it mistakes for a sort of pleasantry
induce this conviction. Ithas about as much humour as a hippopotamus.
Its laugh is as if St. Paul's bell were to be tolled to the tune of " I'm
the boy for bewitching 'em." It takes its wit as the king in Hamlet
takes his wine, amidst the flourishing of trumpets and the firing of
cannon ; the very devils that carry the articles to the printer turn blue
by anticipation. " Give me/' the editor seems to say, after the manner
of the Dane,

" Give me a joke !

And let the Ledger to the Herald speak,

The Herald to the Chronicle without,

The Chronicle to the Post, the Post to all —

Now the " Times" feels waggish !'*

And had we felt waggish when we suggested the Holywell-street
explosion, we should have known, from frequent experience, that the
" Times" could not by any earthly or editorial possibility have entered
into the humour of the scheme ; but having thrown out the hint in
a spirit of seriousness and sincerity, we cannot but think that the cold
water thus thrown upon the suggested fire is the result of pure malice;
and that the " Times" is angry that so patriotic and original a plan should
have originated in any source but itself.

As an evidence that we can be as serious upon occasion as the
" leading journal," in its drowsiest fits of solemnity, we have now to
announce that the plan, after mature consideration (though contrary we
own to counsel's opinion — that is Sir. C. WetherelFs, who hates fires),
has been adopted by the parish of St. Clement Danes, and that a proper
number of barrels of gunpowder are now on their road to the Strand.
Mr. Rothschild has sent fifty pounds in aid of the subscription, and
the Jews generally are following his example, as they consider the event
the first step to their emancipation. All proper precautions have been
taken; the sharp three-cornered stones with which the passage was
paved (and which were so loose as to excite an apprehension that they
might be thrown up in the explosion, to the danger of the windows at
the west end), have been removed within these few days, and others
carefully rammed down, as any gentleman who chooses to trust himself
in Holywell-street will perceive. So that the only inconvenience to be
apprehended, upon a lighted " Times" being applied to the train, is,

100 Notes of the 'Month on [JAN.

the consternation that will be created ten miles round the metropolis, at
the sight of a multitudinous wardrobe, a collection of at least a fifty
masquerade-power, hurled a few miles into the air — a supernatural
assemblage of coats and continuations, supposed of course to be inhabited,
cutting capers among the clouds, as if they were so many studies for
Cruikshank. Or it might so fall out, that somebody walking in Pall
Mall may have his hat removed by the shock, at the very instant that
another drops upon his head — the same perhaps that he had given to
a poor relation or a servant a twelvemonth before. These are trifles
compared with the important advantages that will result from the
ignition, which is at all events fixed to take place in the course of the
year — between the first of April and the fifth of November. But this
cannot be done without money. Anybody passing through the Strand
may perceive that the inhabitants at the east end of Holywell-street are
decorating their houses — of course to increase their terms with the parish.
Subscriptions however will be received by the churchwardens, and as
the " Times" chooses to be sulky, at the office of this journal.

ACTORS AND AUDIENCES. — Straws indicate the course of the times.
At the theatres, formerly, every despicable clap-trap was caught up ;
every sentiment that expressed the most rooted hatred to every thing
foreign, and as bigoted and narrow-minded an idolatry of every thing
English, awakened a spirit that made even the boxes applaud in the
" still small voice" of court-refinement and politeness. It is curious to
see with what a different spirit these same sentiments are received now ;
and with what an opposite feeling to that which existed in the days of
devoted attachment to despotism, " God save the King," is called for.
The performers too, Mrs. Wood and Braham may be mentioned as
instances, catching up the impulse of the audience, sing it with an
enthusiasm that rises far above mere professional habit, and gives truth
to every tone. In the days of illumination and loyalty, when nautical
dramas were as popular as King William himself has made them, any
symptom of a mutiny among the ship's crew would have thrown every
apprentice in the pit into a phrenzy of patriotic indignation. But a
very different spectacle took place the other evening at the Surrey, on
the performance of Mr. Jerrold's drama, called " The Mutiny at the
Nore." The ship's company are ranged on the stage, and the mover of
the mutiny invites his fellows to cross over to his side ; the consequence
of course is, that the officers are left by themselves — with the exception
of one solitary servant of his " king and country,'' who only crosses
half way and hesitates as to what he shall do. At this the mutineers
hiss and execrate ; and to the utter confusion of the actor, who had thus
to balance between his country and his comrades, the audience hissed
too — with a vociferation that rendered the stage hisses inaudible. This
disapprobation touched upon a tender key, and for a moment seemed to
turn his assumed hesitation into reality : but there was no alternative — he
was obliged to make his decision in favour of " his king and country/'
and he retreated to the aristocratic side of the dock amidst a ten-fold
shower of hisses — a martyr to his anti-mutinous principles.

Mr. Jerrold has been fortunate in exciting the sympathies of the
audience in favour of his nautical heroes j it is not long ago that, as Mr.
T. P. Cooke was undergoing the customary ceremony of condemnation
in Black Eyed Susan, at Plymouth, some half dozen tars clambered from

1832.] Affairs in General. 107

the gallery, over boxes, pit, and orchestra upon the stage, beat off the
actor-admiral and his train with three huzzas, and would have carried
off Mr. Cooke in triumph, if he had not solicited their polite and generous
indulgence, on the ground of his having a previous engagement to
dance a hornpipe between the pieces. These two nautical dramas have
several very exciting qualities, to account for the inconvenient degree of
interest thus taken in them ; that, lately performing at the Surrey, the
" Mutiny of the Nore," is greatly aided' in its effect by the energy and
feeling with which the hero is performed by Mr. Elton, an actor of
high promise and superior attainments.

THE CHOLERA. — The cholera is now generally understood to be non-
contagious. The anti-contagionists have gained an important point;
of the hundred and one writers on this subject, it would be as well if the
cholera had taken a few, ere they had inflicted such " drugged potions"
as their pamphlets on the " reading public." The opinion is in favour
of an unrestricted intercourse, and if any doubt has lingered in the mind
of the fearful, it must be removed by the late publication of the French
physician, Antomarchi. The accounts he gives of the details of his
practice at the Warsaw military hospitals, and of the experiments there,
are, though revolting in the highest degree, completely conclusive as to
the fact, that fear from personal contact with the cholera-patient is per-
fectly groundless.

This assurance divests the disease of half its malignity. To know
that assistance can be rendered to the afflicted without personal risk, at
least from them, will be the means of creating confidence on one side, and
on the other, of leaving the dictates of humanity to work their way un-
checked by personal consideration. It would be frightful to think of
the condition of the poor, if the disease were to extend itself throughout
our island — when the labours of medical men and attendants will be
devoted principally to the richer class — if the horror of infection from
personal contact were likewise added to the calamity. But in the case
of cholera every one can attend on his neighbour, and little medical aid
is required. Care in restoring the checked circulation of the blood is
the first and most important point ; and numberless cheap and portable
baths are now manufactured for the purpose, which may be bought or
borrowed at a few minutes' notice.

We are not, however, of the class of alarmists. The disease amongst
us, we are inclined to believe, is but a mitigated Eastern cholera, after
all ; and when we recollect the time it has been amongst us, and the
very slow progress it has made ; when we see from various accounts the
extreme unhealthiness of the present season, — the numbers fallen victims
to our own epidemic, the " typhus ;" the small-pox and measles raging
in a most unprecedented manner in many parts of the country, — we are
not a little sceptical as to the fact of the cholera ever reaching London.
It is a little novelty for the faculty, and makes them of importance j it
has made the fortunes of sundry venders of drugs, who have feed sun-
dry Sangrados for their recommendation, et voila tout !

When the novelty has subsided, and with it the excitement, and with
it the fees, then, adieu cholera. At least let us hope so.

In the meanwhile his Majesty's lieges are beginning to recover from
their panic. Stomach-aches are beginning to be treated in the usual way
again. Cajeput is not flown to with such avidity a.s it was a month

108 Notes of the Month on £JAisf.

since. It is discovered not to be the panacea it was supposed. People
are beginning to be reconciled to colds and coughs, without treating
them as forerunners of the arch-enemy. In one respect the panic has
even been of some service, though of brief duration Sundry skin&j
some covered with fine garments and others with rags, have felt the
application of soap and water, which they never have felt before ; and
drunkenness was in some degree diminished. The panic subsiding, a
re-action has taken place. These innovations on the constitution have
"been rejected as unwholesome j cleanliness is voted a bore ; and sobriety
only fit for Whigs and political Unionists. If the abstinence from gin
had continued much longer, it was said to be the intention of Messrs.
.Hodges, Deady, and Booth, to get up a petition to Parliament, amongst
the venders of the metropolis, stating their losses and prospect of ruin,
— not " blue ruin," — and praying for the abolition of " cholera."

On the contrary, Mr. Green, of Marlborough-street, has made his for-
tune by his baths. He has likewise raised for himself a reputation likely
to live longer than the smoke of his furnaces. By the help of one of
Captain Jekyll's vapour baths, he has put the Duke of Wellington into
a perspiration, who was never in one before. To make a " perspiring
hero'' of the great captain is no minor feat.

PRIVILEGES OP THE PEERAGE. — A great event often ends in an
anti-climax. Some " delicate affairs" go off with an explosion — others
with a mere flash in the pan. Here is the Londonderry affair evaporated
before our eyes — melted into thin air —sent on its journey to oblivion,
without so much as a public subscription, or an address of condolence
to either party. By the " Londonderry affair," we mean the now barely-
to-be-alluded-to matter between the noble and the nurse, which by
shewing how fifty pounds can weigh down a marquis into the mire of
a common-law court, settled the question which had so long agitated the
world, whether peers were made of the same clay as other people.
Some of the delicious details of the story we have forgotten, and there
is little chance now of our memory being refreshed on the subject — for
the affair is compromised ; the marquis has paid, if we can trust the
newspapers, (< a handsome compensation for the assault," together with
an incredible sum incurred in costs, and other expences incident to
aristocratic indulgences. Now we dislike curiosity, on this side detes-
tation, as much as any man; we scorn and abhor impertinent inquiries ;
but we should so like to know the amount of the " compensation" that
was conceived to be necessary in this case ; and should feel obliged to
any one who would enlighten us as to the exact cost of a " handsome
compensation/' with a comparative estimate of the expence of a good-
looking compensation, and an ugly compensation. But it is really im-
portant that the country should know ; because the matter becomes
serious, when nurses may be assaulted by noblemen at a certain sum per
head. It opens a door of attack upon old women, that may lead to
frightful consequences — and nobody can say where they may end. Of
course the terms will vary in proportion to the age and condition of the
party to be assaulted; — the sex also may make some difference — but
still it would only stand an item higher in .the expence, and consequently
<at a certain price, prodigious no doubt, various illustrious members of
the legislature may have whips as well as witticisms applied to them ;
-and we shall have Mr. , Sir , and the Earl of , walking

1832.] A fairs in General. 109

home some night from Westminster, with an ugly cut and a handsome
compensation a-piece. Our allusion to this affair will, we are sure, be
forgiven, when it is thus seen to arise from anxiety for our legislators ;
for those who may come within the class of persons privileged to be
assaulted upon reasonable terms — and for those also, whom Providence
and Mr. Pitt has blessed with affluence, to a degree that places all purr
chaseable pleasures within their reach.

WAVERLEY AND WERTEB UNITED.- It was our intention to have
said six words upon the characteristic and affecting note which Sir
Walter Scott has appended to his new, and as he informs us, his " last"
tales ; but the subject has already been treated of in a style of pathos so
far above the reach of ordinary eloquence, that, though it exceeds our
own comment in length as well as in depth, we cannot resist the inclinaT
tion to extract it entire.

The Last of the Waverlcys.—Tmi "list" Tales of "the Author of Waverley !"
" Can such things be?" and not " overcome us like a summer cloud?" for it is
only " like a summer cloud" that any thing is capable of overcoming us now, iri
these days of fearful excitement, and feverish and incessant longing and looking
forth for that which, like the school-boy's " to-morrow," will never come. Can
it be that we have lived to witness the " Rise and Fall" (for there has been no
" Decline") of the greatest, the brightest, and the most beneficent genius that
has blessed and beautified the intellectual world since Shakspeare ? Can it be
that He of the Hundred Volumes! whose pages enshrine more of wisdom, and
virtue, and moral truth, and intellectual beauty — more of deep philosophy and
divine charity — more of that perfect knowledge of human life which grows alone
out of perfect love — more of all these, and of a thousand other beneficent things,
than are to be found in the writings of any other mortal — Shakspeare alone ex-
cepted ; can it be that He — the glory of our literature — the star of our country —
the genius of our age — the admiration of the civilized world ; — can it be that He
is passing from among us, into the category of things that were, and that, i»
another week, or month, or year,fttit! is all that we shall have to say or feel
concerning him ? Even now, as we write, ''his place knoweth him not." The
concluding note of his new work — (they who can read it without tears of mingled
sorrow and affection, know not what it is to joy or to sorrow — 'to hope or to
fear — or to feel any intellectual emotion, whether of pain or of pleasure, that does
not spring from the blank circle of self) — the concluding note of his new work is
dated " Abbotsford!!!" But the hand which penned it is divided from that spot
•(one of the most romantic, and to him, doubtless, the most beloved, of its
creations) by seas and foreign lands, and strangers and hirelings are tending the
wants, and it may be, smoothing the sick-bed pillow, or holding the suffering
head, of him over whose pages the whole English community will be hanginy for
the next month, in pleased and grateful admiration.

The thought recals us from our sombre reverie — we open the living pages of
.the work, the first sight of which has called forth these melancholy reflections —
the " summer cloud" that overcame us has passed away — and all is sunshine and
hope once more. He will recover — he will come back to us, renovated in heart
and hope, if it be only to receive the homage of our admiration for this new
token of his mighty claims upon our gratitude and affection. Nay,.he cannot, he
• must not die ! Why have we not my uncle Toby at our elbow, to exclaim for us,
" by G — d, he shall not die !"

This is the perfection of the Pocket Handkerchief School. No words
can do justice to it, and we are obliged therefore to resort to a simpler
mode of expressing our admiration — as follows: —

I!!!!!!!!!!!!!!-!!!!! ! ! !
Or, as Mr. Irving justly observes, " Cjziw krfdembhpxoi tkavqklmsk !'.'

[ 110 ] [JAN.

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

ROMANCE AND REALITY. A NOVEL, IN 3 VOLS., BY L. E. L.
THESE three initials stand upon the title-page like the weird-sisters, promising
magic and marvels ; but here the resemblance ends, for though they keep it to
the ear, or rather to the eye, they have not broken it to the hope. Romance and
Reality is not exactly what we had pictured to ourselves upon its first announce-
ment ; for we could not have expected, even from the impassioned and deep-
thoughted writer, that has filled our magazines and memories with what
Fallstaff calls " fancies and good nights," for the last half-dozen years, a work
of such stirring and varied power as this which we have just perused. But it is
precisely the production which all who are disposed to do justice to her genius,
will be most glad to see ; and which those who, having little love for poetry of
any kind, have none at all for her's, because they never drank of that deep spring
of feeling from which it takes its rise, and can, consequently, relish only that
species of verse which is generally tried, not on the feelings, but on the fingers —
will criticise with ten-fold acrimony. It would, however, task the ingenuity of
envy and ill-will in this enlightened age to prove much in disparagement of
Romance and Reality, or to shew any convincing" cause why it should not rank
as one of the most striking and original works of the day. It may be proved to
be in parts very carelessly written — that its periods are sometimes ill-turned —
that there are occasional repetitions of the same sentiment and the same
quotation, or even that the sentiment is false, and the quotation inaccurate ; it
might be possible to pick out a few passages that look too much like fine
writing, and remind us of the poet of whom it is said —

" That not knowing what he was thinking,
He wrote a soft song about love."

But put all these unpardonable violations of the laws of perfection into one
scale, and put any two pages either of the romance or the reality of the work
— the knowledge of the heart or the knowledge of society — the moral painting
or the sketching of manners, into another, and who will say that the defects
weigh much more than a feather against the solid gold of the opposing scale ?
We say, solid gold, not for the sake of the metaphor, but for the meaning ; no
language can be too direct and expressive, and no praise too earnest and entire,
when we consider the character of the best, and by far the largest portion of
these volumes. They have all the glow and freshness of youth, with the depth
and earnestness of maturity. They are full of thoughts, some casual and
random ones, some fanciful, some profound — but all poured forth with a pro-
fusion that, though it may detract for a moment from their effect, is certainly
no argument against their value. Truth is not the less true because the writer
utters it sometimes as if she scarcely cared whether it were so or not ; or
instead of stopping to analyze or explain an idea, hurries on to the next, and
leaves the reader to make what he chooses of it. Many of the best things in
" Romance and Reality" seem to have been set down in this careless and unin-
quiring spirit. If the writer had thought much about them, there are a few,
perhaps, that she would not have written at all ; but there are fifty that no
form of words could have conveyed more expressively ; and as many more, that
she could not have excelled in any sense, if she had pondered and puzzled for a
twelvemonth. These aphorisms are of all shades and colours ; we pass at once
from the grave to the gay, without any common-place preface or apology ; the
spirit of the scene, whether it be a Spanish solitude or a saloon at St. James's,
takes full possession of us ; whatever the subject — from the characters or no-
characters of common-life, to the gallery of literary likenesses at the Athenaeum,
and from these again to the delineation of female nature in all its simplicity, as
in Emily — and in all its nobleness, as in Beatrice — we are alike under the
mastery of a spell, and the heart yields itself to a power that can either " call
up its sunshine or bring down its showers." Notwithstanding the spirit and

1 832.] Monthly Review of Literature. \ 1 1

variety, the brilliant dialogue, the innumerable sketches of character, the lights
and shadows of life, " the logic, and the wisdom, and the wit/' that constitute
a charm of which we scarcely grow weary for an instant throughout the whole
of the first and second volumes, it is in the third that the reader must look for
evidence of L. E. L.'s decided and undeniable power as a novelist of a high
order. In the other parts of her work she has shewn us what she can do with
individual scenes and separate groupings : in the last she enters upon a new
course, and displays her capability of conceiving, combining, and working-out
her incidents, with a skill that few living writers possess. This is in itself a
tale of deeply-imaginative power — a picture finely composed and exquisitely
coloured. Of the characters, we object only to the Higg's family — a group
pourtrayed with little of the fine taste and ability observable in the other por-
traits ; and of the opinions, we can find particular fault merely with one or
two passing observations unfavourable to the more enlightened and liberal
characteristics of the age. Women are timid and averse to great national
advances ; we are afraid that more than one-half of them are Tories at heart*
Upon glancing at what we have written, we must confess it to be but a meagre
description of " Romance and Reality ;" but we have no space either for
analysis or extract — and fortunately both are superfluous ; for the work will be
read by every body, whether realists or romancers.

HISTORY AND DESCRIPTION OF WOBURN AND ITS ABBEY, &c. BY J. D.

PARRY, M.A.

We need not inform our readers that the beautiful Abbey of Woburn has
been the seat of the illustrious house of Russell since the year 1547, when the
grant was made to Lord John Russell, afterwards Earl of Bedford, by
Edward VI., its princely revenues having attracted the rapacious monastic
plunderers in the reign of his predecessor. The Russells are one of England's
historic families, and their name alone would throw an interest around Woburn
even had they not made such an extensive repertory of the most beautiful
specimens of art. Flattering, however, as the subject may be, we do not
understand Mr. Parry's dread of exposing his inability for such a simple task
as that of giving a short notice of the ancient abbey ; a list of revenue, &c. ; a
rapid genealogical view of the Russell family, and lastly a catalogue of the
pictures and statues contained in the Duke of Bedford's princely collection.
We must however own, in justice to Mr. Parry, that his work includes a very
comprehensive variety of objects, viz., from Woburn Abbey and its noble
tenants, to the dairy and pig-stye ; from Homer and the tale of Psyche (vide
p. 263), to a dissertation on the " superior consideration formerly enjoyed by
that useful animal of the class Mammalia, genus Bellua, species sus, now recog-
nized by that unharmonious and unhonoured monosyllabic cognomina of Hog
or Pig." It would be ungrateful to Mr. P., to complain of the lavish profusion
with which he showers his classic and antiquarian research on us, and we dare
say, many of his numerous subscribers, will be amused even with long remarks
of pigs, for the elucidation of whose domestic policy, Doomsday Book, Homer,
Walter Scott, &c., are laid under contribution. The catalogue of the contents
of the noble picture and sculpture galleries are, to us, not the least tempting
portion of the work. Some of our readers may be pleased to read the origin of
this illustrious house, thus told by Mr. Parry : —

" The earliest records of this family extend back to the long period of eight hun-
dred years, when they were settled in Neustria or Normandy, in which country
they are described as being the younger branches of the Barons of Briquebec, who
were potent Seigneurs ; and this part of the family possessed the fiefs of Bamemlle
and Rozell, or Rosel, near the bay of the same name, in the Bailiwick of Coutances.
Two years before the Norman Invasion of England, a Hugh de Rosel gave in aid
of the foundation of the Abbey of Caen, certain lands in Granville and Grocei. He
accompanied the Conqueror to England, and was rewarded with possessions in
Dorsetshire ; the principal of which were Kingston, afterwards called Kingstpn-
Kussell, and Berwick, the latter of which is still in the possession of the family.

112 Monthly Review of Literature. [JAN.

Kingston was held of the Crown by grand sergeantry, for the service of presenting
4 a cup of beer to the king on the four principal feasts of the year ;' as appears by
a record of the thirteenth century."

ROSCOE'S NOVELIST'S LIBRARY, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE
CRUIKSHANK.

WE take shame to ourselves for having so long neglected to notice, in a degree
somewhat proportioned to its merit, the re-edited and re-embellished series of
novels known by the above title. We will, however, now atone for our neglect,
as amply as our circumscribed limits will permit, by impressing upon the public
a correct idea of that excellence, which in these times forms the only true
claim to patronage. The object of the publishers is, to present the best works
of the best authors — of the class of novelists — edited and embellished in a style
scarcely to be surpassed. How this object has been attained we will proceed
to shew. Mr. Roscoe has brought to the performance of his share of the labour,
a mind thoroughly imbued with elegant literature, and a taste which has been
perfected under the auspices of a great master. That Mr. Thomas Roscoe has
made the best use of his talent and judgment is evident from the mode in which
the prefatory biographies of Defoe, Smollet, and Fielding are executed. In that
of Defoe, there is displayed a thorough knowledge of the cramped and disagree-
able politics of that period; at the same time, he does not lose sight of those
minute events in Defoe's life which tended more than any other to develope
character and mind. It would afford us much pleasure did our space permit us
to give an epitome of this biography ; for, at this distance of time, when party
animosity has ceased, and when the most striking points of Defoe's character
come under fair and impartial criticism, we cannot but concede to him a high
grade amongst the spirits of his day. Not the least remarkable of the circum-
stances attendant on Defoe's life is the fact, which we gather from a com-
parison of dates, that he had nearly arrived at the age of sixty, a period when
the minds of ordinary men seem hastening to decay, ere he produced that
work, on the merits of which his name has stood, and will continue to stand,
the test of numberless literary cycles. The lives of Smollet and Fielding are
executed in a style which does not derogate from the praise accorded to that of
Defoe; and if the preceding volumes are equally good with their predecessors,
which we have no reason to doubt, we shall have to congratulate the public
upon the possession of an invaluable store of light literature, which is seldom
offered to them in so cheap and commodious a form. With respect to the eiru
bellishments, if we were disposed to be brief and emphatic, or if we were inclined
to sum up their excellence, in the concise arid eloquent phrases which are so
much in vogue in various reviewing circles, we should say, according to
the most approved fashion, " This book ought to be on every lady's table" —
" No gentleman's library can be complete without this work" — " Every one
must possess himself of this bijou of literature" — no matter whether furtively or
otherwise ; but two words will suit our purpose best — " George Cruikshank."
We doubt whether any person, who is able to receive impressions through the
medium of sight, could for one moment dispute the power of Cruikshank over
that rebellious membrane of cachinnation, or control his mirth within seemly
bounds, in turning over the contents of a portfolio which at this moment lies
open before us. It was our destiny to acquire early in the career of that
gifted and original artist an intense taste for his productions, and the result of
which is, that we are now in possession of a never-failing cure for the " blue
devils" and the " spleen." Amongst our collection we find two or three illus-
trations to Peregrine Pickle, viz. the " Dinner of the Ancients" — the " Duel at
Antwerp" — and the " Discomfiture of the Physicians by the Gouty Colonel of
Bath." These may be said, without any exaggeration, to embody the concep-
tion in the text as perfectly as the author could have desired ; and the illustra-
tions to the volumes before us are, in that respect, no way inferior, although, in
one or two instances, the selection of subjects might have been made more hap-

]832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 113

pily. Those which pleased us most are in Peregrine Pickle — " Trunnison's leap
over the Waggon" — the " Painter's escape from the Bastile" — the "Thin black
Hairs" — and the " Tailors presenting arms to the Bailiffs." In Humphrey
Clinker, the drowsy nonchalance of Clinker, compared with the consternation
in Tabitha's eyes, which are peeping over her fan at an exhibition which Wini-
fred is evidently glancing at with the greatest satisfaction, is admirable; so is the
humour of the plate, at page 208, where Humphrey, having seized old Bramble's
ear, is making for the shore, with his reprisal at sea. In Tom Jones, the
illustrations are equally good; but those where Cruikshank, however, has
been most happy, are the discovery of Philosopher Square pent up in the closet,
the face and position of the affrighted sentinel, and the detection of Partridge's
amour with the gipsy.

CHOZAR AND SELA ; OR THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS ; AND OTHER POEMS, BY
JAMES FLETCHER, TRIN. COLL. CAM., AUTHOR OF " HISTORY OF
POLAND." SECOND EDITION.

An extremely interesting little volume, that will be appreciated by every lover
of poetry. The best compliment we can pay the author is to quote a short
specimen : —

" SONNET.

" The sculptured stone may never bear my name,

To draw forth liquid sorrow from the eye
Of after time, and live embalmed by fame,

An endless life of grateful memory.

Ah ! no : such hope in me were far too high ;
For if the glow of genius ever came

Firing my soul with heavenly ecstacy,
It was unseen as the sepulchral flame,
That never flashed upon the face of day,
But 'midst devouring darkness pass'd away.

The few beloved, howe'er, who read my mind

To them unveiled, 'mid many faults could find
Something to love, and till their hearts decay,

My memory fresh will live in love enshrined."

THE REFORMATION IN ENGLAND — FAMILY LIBRARY, No. 26. BY THE
REV. J. BLUNT.

Mr. Blunt's work on the Pentateuch, in which he ably applied the mode of
argument of the Horce Paulinos, to prove the authenticity of the books of Moses,
has already introduced him to the public in the character of an ingenious advo-
cate of the sacred cause in which he is enlisted. We remember listening, with
much interest, to the course of sermons he delivered on that subject, at the Uni-
versity Church, Cambridge, and came to the perusal of the present work with the
more avidity. Reform of any kind is always an interesting theme, and more
particularly so now, when the public mind is bent on the amelioration of long-
standing abuses. A popular and candid History of the Protestant Secession
from the Church of Rome (Bishop Burnet is too diffuse), is an almost essential
addition to the library of every English family ; and we hoped that Mr. Blunt
had furnished us with such a work ; of this, however, we are by no means cer-
tain. Meretricious and unseemly appendages began to disfigure the church of
Christ almost from its very foundation. Manicheans, Arians, Iconoclasts, and
Tyrophagists, all set to work on the pillars or friezes of the Christian temple,
when they came fresh from the hands of their divine architect. What then must
have been the accumulation of abuses in fifteen centuries of barbarism ? and
what a herculean task to remove them ! Such is the noble work which a His-
tory of the Reformation describes. But while recounting the abuses and follies
which the Protestant abolished, the candid historian should not forget to men-

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 73. I

1 14 Monthly Review of' Literature. [JAN.

tion those which he introduced. While the Protestant ridicules the popes for
their assumption of infallibility, let him turn to the Acts of Parliament of Ed-
ward the Sixth, and he will there see an equally gross assumption, that the
Catechism, Liturgy, &c. were written by the Holy Ghost, which none must
doubt, " under penalty of the king's dipleasure." While he makes our blood
curdle with the recital of the Catholic burnings of Mary, let him add the similar
persecutions of the Arians, &c. in the time of the Protestant Elizabeth ; while
he complains of the intolerance of the Romanist, let him read, as a commentary
on it, the Act of a Protestant Parliament, which obliged all persons to attend
Protestant churches under penalty of a pecuniary mulct of £200 a month.* All
this, and much more, Mr. Blunt glosses over. These are, indeed, sad errors,
though only of omission ; but we can see the leaven of something worse work-
ing in the heart, and influencing the head which dictated this book, that " the
more enlightened generation, as it has been called" (and is ; in pity to Mr. Blunt's
ignorance of such fact, arising from his seclusion in St. John's, we inform him
it is), will not be easily blinded to. If the want of provision for the clergy is
the main defect Mr. Blunt finds in the Reformation, after his investigation of
this History (vide p. 321, &c.), we would advise him to look again at the re-
venues of our ecclesiastical princes ; and, if he could, without offence to those to
whom he looks for promotion, to recommend a little more equal distribution,
and a little less hostile, and repugnant method of gathering them. We doubt
whether the great mass of the respectable clergy would not be abundantly grate-
ful for it, and well satisfied with the proceeds. We would, likewise, advise
Mr. Blunt to return to the perusal of Milton's tract on Reformation, and read,
mark, learn, and digest it. The time will come, we trust, when all traders and
money-changers will be driven out of Christ's temple ; and, finally, when it
will be placed altogether on a different footing. We hope that the next time
Mr. Blunt talks of " an abused press/' he wilhiot shield himself under the pro-
tection of a double entendre.

THE LAST OF THE SOPHIS, a POEM, BY C. F. HENNINGSEN, A MINOR.

Were a bill passed to abate the severity of our critical laws, Mr. Henningsen,
•we fear, would be but too happy to take the benefit of the act, notwithstanding
his attempts to meet our demands. He presents us, indeed, with a Persico-Tartar
Tale, and introduces us to the last of the Persian Sophis and Nadir Shah ; but,
although he adds to the already long list of that savage's crimes, by making
him the mysterious ravisher of the prince's betrothed bride, our conceptions of a
readable poem are not satisfied. Mr. Henningsen, however, endeavours to make
up the deficiency in the notes, in which he informs us, that a mosque is a Ma-
'hometan church (considerate instructor !) that the road to the Moslem heaven
was over a " strait and narrow" bridge, &c. We are told, also, that the author
is a minor ; but we certainly think, Master Henningsen, that we might have
learnt that fact as readily from the Roman type of the poem, as the Old English
letters in the title-page. Mr. Henningsen will, perhaps, in his next edition, add
to his favours by explaining the following lines : —

" When deep oblivion dwells

O'er soul and sense, the heart may steal

An hour, a single hour's repeal

From sorrows it is doomed to feel,

Yet why so soon, that passing dream,

That momentary Lethe's stream ?

And why so sudden must they break,

And we to wayward fate awake ?

To wish, perhaps, to sleep for ever,

On what should e'er have been, or never !"

« 23 Elizabeth, c. 1, a. 5, &c.

1 832. J Monthly Review of Literature. } 15

" The wave rolled clear and still — ,P. 8.

We should also like to see Mr. Henningsen's theory of "falling thunder" —
p. 40.

We will not, however, be severe judges, but for such lines as these : —
" For there, by abyss' fearful side— p. 32, &c.

We sentence the culprit to learn two columns of Walker's Dictionary, daily, for
the next two years ; for the following,

" He little drinks, and eateth less," &c.

to be kept on short commons once a week ; and, finally, to refrain from appear-
ing before the public during our judicial pleasure.

A TREATISE ON PULMONARY CONSUMPTION, ITS PREVENTION, AND REMEDY.
BY JOHN MURRAY, F.S.A., &c. — SECOND EDITION.

Mr. Murray believes he has discovered two new remedies for consumption ;
and he here fairly and honestly tells us what they are. He evidently writes in
earnest ; and is entitled to praise for his sincerity, and respect for his good
intentions. His first remedy is the Chlorate of Potash, taken internally. His
second, and principal means of cure, consists in inhaling the fumes of Nitrous
acid Gas, properly diluted. With regard to the salt of Potash, he proposes it
as new only in its application to the cure of consumption : it having been
before recommended by Chaussier ; but the " inhaling" he claims as pecu-
liarly his jjown — or, to use his own odd phraseology — "in the vapour of
nitric and nitrous acid, we stand alone." The value of Mr. Murray's recom-
mendations, we, of course, have no means of ascertaining, and we rather
think that medical men themselves are, in general, not much better off. The
trial of any new remedy, to be conclusive, should be instituted at the same time,
on a number of patients similarly affected and similarly circumstanced. These
conditions are found in our great hospitals alone, and to them we naturally turn
for information. We regret to say our inquiries on such matters have been
singularly unfortunate ; and Dublin, " the silent sister," is the only place whose
" hospital reports" rescue her from the disgrace of neglected opportunities, and
the shame of indifference to the cause of science and humanity. We can thus
sympathize with Mr. Murray when he complains of the general disposition to
ridicule without inquiry, and condemnation without trial. He must, however,
be aware that such is the usual reception awarded to any thing new ; and that
we may judge of the vigour of the sapling, by the rough usage it has borne
without breaking. Mr. Murray's preliminary observations are too diffuse.
They are clever and entertaining; but not " ad rem." When looking for the
remedies which he declares to be the exclusive objects of his work, we thought
he had lost himself in his own erudition ; for it was not till the 144th page we
found what we were in search of. Should the success of Mr. Murray's plans
call for another edition of his work, we think he might speak rather more con-
fidently than he does in the following paragraph relating to Laennec. " Its
author," speaking of his work, " fell a victim to the very disease he had endea-
voured to substantiate, &c., now mingles with his kindred elements. This is
generally the fate of the good and great."

THE CHAMELEON, A COLLECTION OF TALES, SONGS, &c.

The Chameleon has selected from its extensive wardrobe a, pretty sky-blue
vest for its debut, which, however, we fear, for the sake of the admirers of the
" outward book," will soon change. We understand that this little melange
comes not only from the shop, but from the pen of a bibliopole, who, we should
have presumed, in pity to the starving printers, had issued the present sheets to
keep them moving, were we not informed, in the first article, that he has been
long "seeking a name." Some of the prose sketches contain a flippant smart-
ness, which will be pleasing to many, and a snack of reading, which prove'
that the author's study has not been confined to the labels and title-pages of h'

I 2

11(5 Monthly Rev lew of Literature. QJxN.

books. But although he tells us his lute once wrought its spell on a sweet lady
(vide p. 97), we must confess that we have been proof against its influence. We
are also led to infer that the author has known as much of substantial as " ideal
beauty," but we should deeply lament his singular and unhappy fate, were he
to " exhale," in " a pure embrace," as he hints in page 75. We know not how
" the sweet lady" received such confessions as this —

" Aye ! then the haunts of mirthless din

I seek, and vex the night with riot,
Or drench with wine the flame within,

And mortgage years of future quiet" — p. 89.

But let us say it is his nater —

" Quench'd did I say ? The snow-showers fall

On Hecla's ever-burning crater :
It thunders when they meet — but all

Their chill dims not that torch of Nature /" — p. 88.

The Chameleon has a long tongue, as all chameleons have, and we hope our
fair friends (and we trust they are not a few), will allow him to chat away by
their Christmas fire- sides, while they smile at his poetical errors, particularly
as he says —

" No : I'll no more essay to sing." — p. 320.

HI9TOIRE DBS CAMPAGNES DE HoHENLINDEN ET DE MARENQO. PAR M. DE

BULOW.

This book must become the manual of every student of the stratagetic art,
and the passe-temps of every old campaigner. Bulow, an officer in the Prussian
service, is well known to most military men as the author of " Spirit of the
System of Modern War," and many other excellent works connected with the
profession of arms. The present volume is a valuable analysis of Napoleon's
tactics in the tremendous campaign of 1800. The author measures out the
field of Marengo, and walks calmly over the plain of Hohenlinden, with the
practised eye of an experienced soldier. But the chief interest of the present
translation is, that it contains a running commentary on the text by no other
than the great general himself — Napoleon. These notes are furnished by Major
Emmett, who, during his stay at St. Helena, lent it to Count Montholon for the
emperor's perusal. It was returned with the numerous annotations by Napo-
leon's own hand. We shall not enter into an examination of the work ;
students of the art of war, we refer to the book itself ; the ladies, idlers, and all
men of peace, we send to read Campbell's soul-stirring lyric of Hohenlinden.

MENTAL RECREATIONS, OR SELECT MAXIMS ; ANCIENT AND MODERN,
ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED.

" The head and front of the offending" of " Mental Recreations," are the
frontispiece, in which we are introduced to an angel of the feminine gender,
en sark, with a cat-o'-nine tails in one hand and a crown in the other,
apparently saying —

" Here they are both neat and handy,
Which hand will you have ?"

And we are led to infer from a note to the introduction, that this emblem is of
the compiler's composition. We augur, however, from the sweet smile of this
female seraph, that in performing the boatswain's office, she would be as lenient
to the backs of her culprits as honest Sancho was to his own. Tearing away
our eyes from the pretty angel and her jellisJc, we turn to the Select Maxims.
The great names appended to most of these are guarantees of their excellence,
but besides these Mr. B. presents us with many of his own, some of which
are rather piquants. Like for instance —

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 117

" The man who prides himself on his ancestry without personal merit, ma
ludicrously, though justly, compared to a potatoe plant — the best part of whick
is underground." — page 12.

Some, however, might be spared ; for instance, the remark we remember
reading in Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, " A pigmy on the shoulders of a
giant can see farther than the giant himself;" contains all the matter of Mr.
B.'s eighteen lines on Councils. — page 44.

Against the principle of a few we must enter our protest — such as that on
friends. — page 104.

Mr. B.'s theory of thought without language we do not understand. — p. 1/0.

With these exceptions, we may safely recommend the work for the literary
feasts of our friends, as a nice dish of the tit-bits of wisdom.

THE PIRATE OF BOFINE, A NOVEL. 3 VOLS.

We shall proceed upon a somewhat novel plan in our notice of this produc-
tion. We have frequently felt, on perusing an interesting book, an extreme
desire to quote the whole of it ; and as our Pirate here is really an interesting
person of his order, we have experienced the inclination in this instance. An
extract, three volumes in length, would however puzzle our printer exceedingly;
we shall therefore proceed upon the shorter, but scarcely less satisfactory plan, of
quoting the first and last paragraph of each volume.

Vol. I. First paragraph. — " It was in the year 1528, that a Spanish family
resided on the largest of the Arran Islands, situated in the bay of Galway in
Ireland."

Last paragraph. — " The Neapolitans finding resistance useless, opened their
gates to the Spaniards."

Vol. II. First paragraph. — " The night was dark and stormy — the rain fell in
torrents, while at intervals vivid flashes of lightning served to guide a cavalier,"
&c.

Last paragraph. — "This, Florian swallowed; and feeling himself faint and
sleepy, he threw himself upon his couch, and was soon buried in slumber."

Vol. III. First paragraph. — " With hurried steps, and glances impatiently
cast seaward, Barroso paced the platform before his castle."

Last paragraph. — " While Felix and Blanche happy in each other, still sought
to make others so, by the exercise of those virtues which alone lead to happi-
ness in this world, and a glorious hereafter."

We are sure that the reader will not fail to derive as much information from
these extracts, as from a perusal of the story. We might in addition quote
some forty or fifty lines of stars * * * *, with which the narrative is liberally
sprinkled, without being in the least degree broken. But we prefer selecting a
passage from Shakspeare which we find at the commencement of the work, given
in a style that renders it completely original : —

" The neighing steed and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all
The quality, pride, pomp, and
Circumstance of glorious war."

We confidently recommend the Pirate of Bopeep — Bofme we mean— to all
readers of romance.

THE HISTORY OF POLAND FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE PRESENT TIME.
BY J. FLETCHER, ESQ., TRIN. COLL. CAM. WITH A NARRATIVE OF RECENT
EVENTS COMMUNICATED BY THE POLISH ENVOY. SECOND EDITION,
GREATLY ENLARGED.

Confined at this time within the sphere of interest for our own political
arrangements, it seems as if we could scarcely steal a moment from them even
to lament over the unworthy fate of the brave Poles. How different
would have been our feelings had that unfortunate country been the caterer evem

118 Monthly Review of Literature. C^AN-

to our roost trivial follies or pampered tastes ! Had the ladies been deprived of
a choice importation of ribbons or gloves, we should have had a whole army of
Amazons to enlist in their cause, or had we been obliged to take our tea for a
week without sugar, or our fish without sauce, in consequence of their oppres-
sion, how we should be now animated with sympathy for their wrongs and
detestation for their tyrants ! Are our feelings isolated from the rest of our
fellow-men, as well as our country ? How shall we appear at the bar of history
in future years when our sons and grandsons shall inquire where was England
when Poland fell ? But bear up manfully against fortune, ye brave Polish
exiles ; can the throne of the Czar, framed of such numerous and incongruous
materials, cemented with blood, and bound with chains, stand for ever ? Can
the nations of Europe always harden their hearts ? we trust not — future gene-
rations will blush at the supineness and callosity of their forefathers, and
Poland may yet be free. We are, however, happy to find from a second edition
of Mr. Fletcher's work being called for, that there are still some hundreds who
feel an interest for the fate of this gallant nation. We recommend all who have
been lukewarm in the cause to peruse the history, where they will learn what
noble fellows they have suffered to be trampled on by numbers. The intrinsic
interest of the Polish annals is not as the too many ignorantly suppose, of tem-
porary duration ; they present one of the most singular studies of policy and
government that the world ever furnished, which such men as Milton,* Rous-
seau, and Voltaire, have turned their attention to. We should also recommend
all who wish to take a just view of the more recent Polish History, not to follow
such guides as the reviewer who has stated his presumption that " the
more immediate statements may be suspected of partiality, on account of their
avowed source." But unfortunately for the reviewer, Orginski, the author
whose " voluminous" work he alludes to, cannot be suspected of partiality, at
least to the Polish patriots, by any person who has read his four volumes' and
supplement. The additional matter of the present edition will be found to con-
tain much interesting information. The work altogether evinces talent of no
common order. It is highly creditable to Mr. Fletcher as an author and as a
man, and we again dismiss the volume with our good wishes.

TALES OF MY LANDLORD. — FOURTH AND LAST SERIES.

As we suppose that most of our readers have already perused " the new
Waverley Novel," we need not give any lengthened analysis of the interesting
fictions which are included in this Fourth and last Series of the Tales of my
Landlord. The four volumes contain two romances, one is entitled " Count
Robert of Paris," and the other " Castle Dangerous." We think the preface
the most interesting portion of the volumes. The description of Paul Pattison
arriving at the house of our old friend Jedediah Cleishbotham, must remind
every one of some poor scholar whom he may have seen at some period or other
of his life, exactly answering to the masterly delineation of Sir Walter Scott,
who, by the way, has closely followed Juvenal in his description of this par-
ticular subject, and with such excellence, that he has, in fact, almost surpassed
the great Roman satirist.

The scene of Count Robert of Paris is laid at Constantinople, on the shores of
the " many-billowed Hellespont." The plot is confined to a conspiracy against
the life of the reigning emperor, Alexius Comnenus ; its development and
total failure, together with an account of the second Crusade, may be said to
constitute the tale. The great beauty in all Sir Walter Scott's novels consist in
their entire harmony of parts — like a time-piece, each portion being indispen-
sable to the whole — together with a faithful and sometimes exquisite delineation
of character. In the tale of Count Robert we do not recognize the first charac-

* The connection between England and Poland during the Commonwealth was
very intimate, and the interest which Milton felt for the latter country is evinced
in his brief History of Moscovia (in which the singular history of Borin is fully
related), and his translation of Tobieski's proclamation.

1832.] M onthly Review of Literature. \\g

teristic of Sir Walter so clearly, and the second cannot be said to be so strongly
marked as in the Heart of Mid-Lothian, and many others of that class. We do
not feel that sympathy in the success and misfortune of individuals, however
high their rank, without the charm of locality. And thus Hereward is the
character whom we chiefly admire, and in whose fate we take the greatest
interest, simply because he is a Briton. But in all of Sir Walter Scott's novels,
however uninteresting they may be, which is but seldom the case, there are
always certain redeeming parts which abundantly reward the perusal. Thus
for instance in Count Robert of Paris, at the beginning of the first volume, the
description of Hereward sleeping under the grand gate of Constantinople, and his
attempted assassination by the Milesian ; his interview with his commander,
Achilles Tatius ; the character of Agelastes, the ambitious philosopher, the grand
mover of the conspiracy, who hides pride under the garb of humility; the
haughty and proud Caesar Nicephorus Briennius, together with the Emperor
Alexius, who penetrates through their designs with (what we now call) the
cunning of a Greek. We may likewise refer to Count Robert and the ourang-
outang, who takes no inconsiderable part in the story, as among the best of the
portraits. In the lady of Count Robert of Paris, a perfect Amazon, and in her
servant, Batha, we recognize the pencil of Sir Walter Scott. But though
beautiful passages abound in great profusion, yet, comparing the tale with some
of its predecessors, we must say, " sequiturque patrem haud passibus
aequis."

Castle Dangerous transports us from Constantinople to the strong-holds of
the Douglas family in Scotland. In the war between England and Scotland, to
establish the independence of the latter, Sir John De Walton said that he would
hold the Douglas Castle for a year and a day against the Scottish power.
Augusta de Berkely, the heiress of a large estate, promised her hand in marriage
to him if he succeeded in the attempt. Sir John De Walton eventually marries
the Lady of Berkely, although the Earl of Douglas recovered his own castle
before the year and the day had elapsed. There are the adventures of Augusta,
who travels into Scotland, impatient of the various contradictory rumours
which are brought of the fate of her lover — there is the quarrel between John
De Walton and the knight, second in command at the castle, Sir Aymer de
Valence — there is the story of Sister Ursula, and others of equal spirit and
excellence. To our historical readers we need not say, that some of the leading
incidents are directly in opposition to historical facts.

At the commencement of the fourth volume there is a description of what are
called the pleasures of the chase ; a few lines will suffice to show the spirit of
the passage : —

" If indeed one species of exercise can be pointed out as more universally
exhilarating and engrossing than others, it is certainly' that of the chase. The
poor over-laboured drudge, who has served out his day of life, and wearied all his
energies in the service of his fellow-mortals — he who has been for many years the
slave of agriculturers or (still worse) of manufacturers — engaged in raising a single
peck of corn from year to year, or in the monotonous labours of the desk — can
hardly remain dead to the general happiness when the chase sweeps past him with
hound and horn, and for a moment feels all the exultation of the proudest cavalier
who partakes the amusement."

And if our sturdy and independent husbandmen, once the pride and boast of
England, the same class who drew their cloth-yard shaft at Agincourt, and who
dealt their deadly vollies at Waterloo, are now the " slaves" of agriculture,
who but Sir Walter Scott, and such as he, has made them so ? The happiness,
independence, and honour, of millions of their fellow-countrymen would they
sacrifice, rather than curtail by one inch their robes of pride, or pluck one
strawberry-leaf from their jewelled coronets. We should feel more honest
pride in being a tiller of the earth — " over-laboured drudge" though he now be
« — an occupation which sages and warriors have ennobled, than in " sweeping,"
even with the sounding concomitants of " hound and horn," after the most
stinking fox that ever was cubbed !

120 Monthly Review of Literature. LJAN

Sir Walter Scott intimates " that these are, in all probability, the last tales
which it will be the lot of the author to submit to the public." And he con-
cludes the whole so beautifully, that we cannot help quoting his words : —
" The public has claims on his gratitude, for which the Author of Waverley
has no adequate means of expression ; but he may be permitted to hope that the
powers of his mind, such as they are, may have a different date from those of
his body ; and that he may again meet his patronizing friends, if not exactly in
his old fashion of literature, at least in some branch, which may not call forth
the remark, that —

" Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage."

We hope it will not be the last time we shall see Sir Walter as a novelist or
poet. In no other character can he appear to such advantage, and in no other
can we so conscientiously award him the following tribute —

" Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt."

NEWTON FORSTER, OR THE MERCHANT'S SERVICE, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE

KING'S OWN. 3 VOLS.

The present has been called a novel-writing age ; by which we presume is
meant, an age that produces a vast number of novels : but in point of fact it is
no such thing ; for ninetenths of the three-volumed works that require us to add
another wing to our libraries once a year, are no more novels than pantomimes
are epic poems ; or to use a figure more to Captain Marryat's taste, than steam-
boats are seventy-fours. Still we have no more objection to works of this order,
and Newton Forster is one of the best of them, than we have to pantomimes
and steam-boats ; but another name should be invented for them. They should
be called Kaleidoscopes or Cosmoramas in three volumes ; where we pass
without any note of preparation from Moscow to Madras, and from St.
Paul's to the Pyramids. flhe idea of a novel leads us to expect, not a succes-
sion of splendid pictures, linked together, as in Stanfield's Diorama, by the
branch of a tree, or a few feet of London fog ; but one picture — a plot in short,
where the events are not stray-children of the inventor's fancy, but incidents
lawfully-begotten of each other, all journeying on like pilgrims by different
roads, but meeting in the end at a Mecca, in the shape of a moral. We may
with justice say however of Captain Marryat, that his pilgrims ramble along
quite as pleasantly as Peter Pindar's traveller, who was wise enough to " boil "
the peas upon which so many novel-heroes hobble ; and this illustration, by the
way, reminds us of another from the same source, that Newton Forster is a
sort of razor, not meant " to shave," but — "to sell."

If there were no other points of interest in these volumes, the opinions and
observations scattered through them, touching the merchant's service, and other
subjects upon which the knowledge and character of the author give him a right
to speak boldly, would alone recommend them to us. He is at no time more
impressive than when he casts anchor to tell us the why and wherefore, and to
deliver himself of his sentiments. His experience supplies him with safe ground,
and his earnestness makes him eloquent. It is in this earnestness that his great
power lies ; he writes with firm nerves — or as an Irish reviewer might say, with
his fist doubled. His descriptions of events and persons thus acquire a direct-
' ness that gives them peculiar force, " and leads him to depend more upon the
strength than the skill of his blow. His sea pictures are made up of the old
materials ; his shipwreck in the work before us, is full of the old phrases, such
as " forked lightning," " angry surge," " redoubled fury," and " huge monsters
of the deep," — yet so far from being common-place, it is one of the most vigor-
ous descriptions to be met with any where ; and might go far to ruin the navy
by deterring youngsters, in these circulating-library days, from aspiring to be
mariners and midshipmen. He has a large amount of melo-dramatic tact
besides ; as is indicated in various points of this scene, in his battles and a hun-
dred others. Above all, he has great knowledge of character in various grades of
life, and very little ill-feeling to induce him to distort his pictures, and to hold

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 121

up one class of men at the expense of another. A voyage to India, for the hero
gets into more services than one, offers a tempting opportunity for sketching
character, and it is done with great shrewdness and humour. The effect would
be vastly heightened by the introduction of a few delicate touches in place of a
few coarse ones, but the reader will find all very pleasant as it is. Among the
defects of the King's Own, it seems, is the absence of a marriage at the end of it.
Captain Marryat has terminated the career of Newton Forster more pleasantly,
by winding-up his wanderings with a wedding — so that in one respect at least the
work has some resemblance to a novel.

HOOD'S COMIC ANNUAL, FOR 1832.

Mr. Hood must be happy beyond all living example, for he is not only a
master of the opposite arts of pun and pathos, but the world is so inconsistent
with itself, as to be willing to acknowledge it. He is the Garrick of literature —
the Ham 1st and Abel Drugger of book-making. Having scarcely completed our
glance at his " Aram," we are called off by his "Annual" — from deep feeling
to high fun. We must be careful in what we say of the " Comic ;" because we
are so grateful for a broad grin, that our eyes are frequently closed to defects in
proportion as our mouth is extended by drolleries. As far as we have been able
to see his faults this year, they are these ; a gradual "decline and fall" of hu-
mour in his cuts — a less immediate and irresistible attack upon our fun-facul-
ties— and a disposition (which we have had all along to complain of) to turn
painful incidents into very indifferent jokes. He seizes upon every thing that falls
in his way ; and trusts to his own unrivalled tact, to make what is mere dross
pass current, in particular circles, for gold. But then there is no lack of the true
ore in other parts ; he has some fancies in this volume — first-rate and never to
be forgotten (as the newspapers observe when a duke dies). The Pugsley Papers
are at the head of them ; and the Plan for writing Blank Verse in Rhyme, the
Letter to an Old Sportsman, the Domestic Didactics, and the Ode to Mr.
Hume, are not low down on the list. A dozen journals have had the advantage
of us, or we could quote twice that number of pages that would make even the
Reform Bill Minority laugh — which we should hold to be the criterion of comi-
cality.

REVIEW OF MUSIC.

1. The Overture to Fra Diavolo. — 2. / don't object, Duet, sung by Miss Cawse
and Mr. Penson. — 3. On yonder rock reclining, sung by Miss Homer. — 4. The
Gondolier, sung by Mr. Braham. — 5. Vainly, alas! shou'dst soothe the pains,
by Mr. Wilson. — 6. Oh! hour of joy, by Miss Romer. — 7. Young Agnes, beau-
teous flower, by Mr. Braham. — 8. I'm thine, I'm thine, by Mr. Wilson. The
whole composed by Auber, and arranged by Rophino Lacey. Chappell.

Of the overture we cannot say much in praise. It is little more than a me-
lange of the principle motivi of the opera, and although they are all very pretty
in their situations in the piece, they sound rather meagre when worked into an
overture ; not that we object to the leading subjects of operas being introduced
.into their overtures, on the contrary, we love Der Frieschutz and Oberon, and
they do most certainly contain the principal subjects of their operas ; but they
are so naturally interwoven and worked up, that the effect is wholly different.
The only part of it we relished was the latter movement in 6-8 time, and which
accompanies the Carabiniers in many parts of the opera. Its effect is truly
military.

No. 2 is, on referring to the title-page, called " The Matrimonial Duet."
According to this nonmenclature, No. 5 should be called "The desponding
Brigadier's Song," and No. 6, " The Song of the Young Lady just going to be
married." But the duet, itself, makes up for the absurdity of the title-page. It

122 Review of Music. [JAN.

is lively, stirring, and piquant; the en-harmonic modulations at the begin-
ning of page 2 are beautiful, and carry us into the opening subject again in a
most agreeable manner.

No. 3 is the most striking air of the opera, and Auber has founded the whole
character of the music throughout, upon the singular tonic harmonies which
begin the symphony, and recur in the latter part of the song. The idea is at
once original and simple in construction.

No. 4 has no pretensions, and but little merit. It is one of the ten thousand
French airs we constantly hear ground upon the organs at Paris.

Nos. 5 and 6 belong to the same class as No. 4, and if we are not mistaken,
we have heard No. 6 many years ago. The first four bars, at all events, we
can swear to.

No. 7 opens with a pretty sequence of 6ths, which gives an original turn to
an otherwise common-place melody. In one or two places the words are badly
accented, which render the song difficult to be sung in tune.

No. 8 is the worst song in the opera, and can only bear listening to at all
with the French words. The translation completely destroys the character in-
tended by the composer, in the latter part particulary.

The words are — but the reader shall give an opinion —

" ' I'm thine,' she oft would say,

' For ever thine,' —
' Other's love may fade away,

But never mine.'
Yet she now leaves my heart to grieve

And break with woe ;
I scarce her falsehood can believe
I lov'd her so."

Loved her how ? The concerted music, which is probably not published, is
by far the best of the opera. The second act contains some descriptive music,
and the instrumentation throughout is excellent. Auber has certainly esta-
blished a new school of music in Paris — a mixture of French and Italian — but
nervous and spirited. We cannot but admire him ; for while he writes for po-
pularity, he never loses sight of design and construction in his works, and in
Fra Diavolo, particularly, he associates particular characters with particular pas-
sages. Thus the singular harmonies in No. 3 accompany the Brigand chief
throughout the opera. The arrangenient and adaptation of this opera is very
creditable to Mr. Rophino Lacey ; for it is no very easy matter to arrange an
opera, the principal part of which is performed in music, and to give all the
spirit of the original in a translated form.

Ecco quelfiero istante. An Arietta, composed by Henry Smart. Cramer fy Co.

The words of this song are selected from one of Metastasio's operas, and
and adapted by Mr. Smart very happily. The melody is flowing, and the har-
monies chosen with taste. At bar 2, line 2, page 3, the words "ti sovverrai"
might have been better accentuated, but it is a very trifling fault,

Under the Walnut Tree. A Ballad ; the Words and Music by George Linley, Esq.

Chappel.

The Walnut Tree is a barren affair. It shews neither the blossoms of genius
nor the fruits of study. When its short season is past, not the kindliest spring
can ever revive it.

Not go to Town this Spring, Papa. A Dialogue, the Words by T. Haynes
Bayly, Esq. Chappel.

This dialogue can scarcely come under the head of Musical Criticisms. Its
principal attraction is the words, which are tacked upon a spurious sort of
melody.

1 832.] Review of Music. 123

The EmmetJialer Shepherd. A Swiss Song, arranged with an accompaniment for
the Piano, by F. Stockhausen, the words by I. A. Wade, Esq. Chappel.

For the arrangement of this song we can say nothing ; any boy who has just
learnt his table of Intervals could do as well, and if he had any natural taste*
much better. The words are very chaste, and the air itself, with the exception
of the latter part (which we suspect does not belong to the original), is as fresh
as the mountain on which it is often breathed. In the last bar but one of page 1
in the melody, there is a passage peculiar to the Swiss music. It is from the
5th note of the scale to the sharp 4th, then to the 2d, &c. ; the reason why
this 4th is so often made use of in Swiss songs is, that in the scale of the Alp
horn the 4th is naturally sharp, which accident has very much increased the
peculiar character of the Swiss music.

Goethe's Song of Mignon, " Know'st thou the Land;" the Music by Beethoven.

Wessel and Co.

There is in this, as well as in all the works of Beethoven, something totally
different from every other writer. He, alone, sought for treasures in the mine
of his own genius, and he found them ; all composers had their models to work
upon. Haydn formed his style upon the Bach's Emanuel, Bach in particular ;
Mozart upon Haydn ; Weber upon Beethoven ; but on whose style was Beetho-
ven formed ? The chief peculiarity of this song is in the rythm. The second
phrase contains but three bars, and the fourth, two. There is then a ritornello
of two bars, and a coda on the words, " Know'st thou the land," which rises in
a sweet, but interrogatory manner. Then follows a 6-8 movement, which will
remind the hearer of part of his Adelaide, though the time is not the same. By
all who have studied the music of Beethoven this song will be admired.

When we two parted. Written by Lord Byron, and composed by C. Rudolphus.

Wessel and Co.

We see no reason why a law should not be instituted to punish musical rob-
bers as well as house-breakers. The crime of the one is quite as great as the
other. The melody of " When we two parted" is, with the alteration of a note
here and there, no other than " Love's Ritornella/' the song of the Brigand.
The accompaniment of the one might almost be played to the other, and the
number of phrases is also the same. This is a most unblushing robbery. But,
perhaps, Mr. Rudolphus, like the man in the " Forty Thieves," thought there
was no harm in stealing from robbers ; for Mr. T. Cooke ought not to lay claim
to " Gentle Zitella." We have seen it, with a trifling alteration, bearing the
name of Dominico Corri ; and the words have gone the rounds of nearly all the
composers in Great Britain. So much for novelty.

Deux Petites Polonaises, pour le Piano-forte. Compose par J. P. Pixis.
Wessel et Co.

If these Polonaises are intended for the learner they are bad ; for they con-
tain octaves and full chords throughout, and require a masculine hand to per-
form them properly, and that, well done, no effect will be produced. Of course
they are not intended for the musician.

1. Deux Danses Autrichiennes pour le Piano-forte. — 2. A March, performed by

the Prague Minstrels. — 3. The Farewell of Rao ul Coney. All composed and

arranged by Ignace Moschelles. Wessel and Co.

No. 1 are merely arrangements, and all that can be said of them is, that they
are cleverly done, with a link here and there which serves to hang the subject
upon, and which renders them very like rondini. They are good things for
beginners.

No. 2 is spirited enough ; but requires a military band to give any thing like
effect to it.

No. 3 is a song by Blangini, with an accompaniment for the piano, by
Moschelles. This air was introduced at the first concert Moschclles gave in

124 Review of Music. [JAN.

this country, in a Fantasia for several instruments and a voice. It was sung by
Mademoiselle Cinti, with some delightful variations, and produced a novel effect.
'1 his is but the Romaunt, extracted from the Fantasia, but it is very charming.
It is too well known to need criticism.

Four Rondinos for the Piano-forte, composed by Charlss M'Korkdl.
Wessel and Co.

The above little rondos are very creditable to Mr. M'Korkell. There is but
little difficulty and much elegance in them. Although they cannot boast of ori-
ginality of passages, progression, or harmonies, still the author has happily
availed himself of his reading of Hummel and Moschelles, and made an agreea-
ble melange. In No. 2 there is a nice bit of melody, well sustained by good
harmonies. No. 4 is the best; but we would advise Mr. M'Korkell to correct
a little oversight in the 6th and 7th bars of the introduction.
Hilarit^, Pclacca BriUiante, for the Piano-forte, composed by C. M. Von Weber.

Wessel and Co.

We never see the name of the ill-fated Weber but we blush for our country-
men— we mean that portion of them who call themselves amateurs — we blush
for them that they should have allowed him to remain in London without atten-
tion or patronage ; that they should have suffered him to announce only a single
concert, — which they did not patronise. Never shall we forget his consterna-
tion upon entering the orchestre, and seeing but few, very few benches in the
room occupied. He was then very ill ; but the hope that this concert would
have produced a little annuity for his family buoyed him up. His cruel disap-
pointment hastened his end. How differently was Rossini treated here. The
nobility and the wealthy thronged to his concerts ; gold was showered upon
him ; he basked in the favour of the great. The name of Rossini was on every
tongue — he was the idol of the drawing-room and the boudoir. Was it because
he was presuming and superficial ? There can be but one opinion. Weber
was modest, unassuming, and profound ; therefore the great would have nothing
to do with him. He met with the fate of genius : he lived neglected, and he
died in poverty ! But our veneration for his name, even engraven upon a title-
page, has power to touch our feelings, and has led us into a longer digression
than some of our readers will thank us for.

We are not over-fond of polaccas. There is something mawkish and common-
place in their style usually; but the one before us is so unlike all other pieces of
that class, that we cannot but marvel at the ingenuity of the composer in avoid-
ing so successfully the oft-trodden path, and admire it as a composition. The
opening, which is bold and joyous, strongly reminds us of a passage in the over-
ture to Oberon, and immediately afterwards a cadence from the chorus of Turks,
in the second act of the same opera. There are, however, some awkward skips
which require a wide hand to perform cleverly. A cantabih tenuto follows, con-
taining a charmingly sustained melody, with a portion of its accompaniment
marziale, which gives it a singular but agreeable effect. It increases and seems
to tell a story — the advance of a troop — the return of a soldier — and the "hila-
ritie" follows with the same stirring spirit as at the opening. There are then
some brilliant gambols, and the conclusion is military. We feel pleasure in com-
plimenting Mr. Wessel upon the correctness and neatness of the engraving, and
getting up of the whole of the above pieces.

The Swiss Soldier. A Scena, composed by David Lee. A. Lne and Lee.
There is nothing new in this song. The movement with which it begins is
an evident imitation of the march and solo in the latter part of La Gazza Ladra.
Something good might have been made of the words, which have an effect about
them. The latter part of the " Fairest Flower" is likewise introduced. We
excuse Mr. D. Lee for stealing from his brother, but let him, in the name of
heaven, not extend his plagiarism beyond his family.

The Gascon Vesper Bells. Composed by David Lee. A. Lee and Lee.
This is a pretty little song, but outrageously like Moore's " Hark ! the vesper
bell is ringing." By the way, how absurd it is of the music-sellers to have en-
graved upon songs that never have become popular, 4th, 5th, or 6th edition ; we
never heard of this song, yet there is the 7th edition modestly stuck upon it.

1832.] [ 125 ]

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PHESS.

Mr. J. G. S. Lucas has designed and
engraved a companion Print to his Sam-
son carrying off the Gates of Gaza : en-
titled, the Destruction of the Cities of
the Plain.

A Concise View of the Succession of
Sacred Literature, in a Chronological
Arrangement of Authors and their
Works, from the Invention of Alpha-
betical Characters to 1830 ; by J. B. B.
Clarke, M. A., Vol. IT.

The Offices of the Holy Spirit : Four
Sermons, by the Rev. Charles Simeon.

Sermons, by the late Rev. Edward
Payson, D.D., Pastor of the Second
Church in Portland, in theUnited States.

An Essay on the Rights of Hindoos
over Ancestral Property, according to
the Law of Bengal ; by Rajah Rammo-
hun Roy.

Remarks on East India Affairs ; com-
prising the Evidence to the Committee
of the House of Commons on the Judi-
cial and Revenue Systems of India ;
with Suggestions for the future Govern-
ment ot the Countrv ; by Rammohun
Roy.

Who can They be ? or, a Description
of a Singular Race of Aborigines, inha-
biting the Summits of the Neilgherry
Hills, or Blue Mountains of Coimba-
toor ; by Captain H. Harkness, of the
Madras Army.

India; or, Facts submitted to illus-
trate the Character and Condition of the
Native Inhabitants; by Robert Rick-
ards, Esq., Part IV.

Six Weeks' Tour in Switzerland and
France, giving an accurate Account of
the different routes, and affording every
necessary information for the guidance
of future Travellers ; by the Rev. Wil-
liam Liddiard.

The Records of a Good Man's Life ;
by the Rev. Charles B. Tayler, Author
of " May You Like it,"

Summer Thoughts and Rambles ; a
Collection of Tales, Facts, and Legends ;
by Henry Glassford Bell.

The Double Trial; or, the Conse-
quences of an Irish Clearing : a Tale of
the present Day ; by the Rev. C. Lucas.

Cabinet Annual Register, and Histo-
rical, Political, Biographical, and Mis-
cellaneous Chronicle for 1831.

A Numismatic Manual ; or, Guide to
the Study of Ancient and Modern Coins,
with Plates from the Originals ; by John
Y. Akerman.

Kidd's Guide to the " Lions " of Lon-
don ; or, the Stranger's Directory.

Saturday Evening, by the Author of
" Natural History of Enthusiasm."

Essays; Moral, Political, and Lite-
rary, selected from the Quarterly Re-
view.

The Young Gentleman's Pocket-Book,
containing a Series of Choice Readings
in Popular Science and Natural His-
tory.

Maternal Sketches; with Minor
Poems: by Elizabeth Rutherford.

A New Novel, entitled Reform Glean-
ings in Natural History : by Edward
Lesse.

Historical Drama: a Series of Na-
tional Tragedies, intended to illustrate
the ^Manners, Customs, and Religious
Institutions of different early Eras in
Britain : by J. F. Pennie.

Ten Sermons upon the Nature and
Effects of Faith ; by the Rev. James
Thomas O'Brien.

The Mosses, and the rest of the Cryp-
togamia ; forming the Fifth Volume of
the British Flora of the late Sir J. E.
Smith ; by Dr. Hooker.

LIST OF NEW WORKS.

BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORT.

Memoirs of Hampden, his Party and
Times. By Lord Nugent. 2 vols. 8vo.
30s.

The Life of Frederick the Second,
King of Prussia. By Lord Dover. 2
vols. 8vo. 28s.

Select Tracts, relating to the Civil
Wars of England in the Reign of Charles
the First. By Writers who lived in the
Times and were witnesses of the Events.
2 vols. 8vo. 21s.

The Family Library, Vol. 26, being
the History of the Reformation in Eng-
land. By the Rev. J. Blunt. 5s.

History and Description of Woburn,
and its Abbey, &c. By J. D. Parry.
7s. 6d.

History of the Representation of Eng-
land, drawn from Records ; and of the
Reform of its Abuses by the House of
Commons itself, without the aid of Sta-
tute Law. By Robert Hannay, Esq.

The Peerage of the British Empire,
as at present existing; arranged and
printed from the personal communica-
tions of the Nobility. By E. Lodge,
Esq. 8*vo. 14s. Also the Genealogy
and Arms for ditto. 8vo. 16s.

FINE ARTS.

A Concise Summary of a Series of
Notes and Observations, Practical and
Theoretical, on the Art of Landscape
Painting in Water-colours.

Remarks on Landscape Painting in
Water-colours.

126

List- of Net? Works.

[JAN.

Gallery of the Society of Painters in
Water-colours. Part I. 10s. 6d.

MEDICAL.

Practical Examinations on the Imme-
diate Treatment of all the Principal
Emergencies that may occur to the
Head, Neck, Trunk, and External Parts
of the Body. By W. S. Oke, M.D. 1
vol. 8vo. 8s.

Remarks on the subject of Lactation ;
containing Observations on the Healthy
and Diseased Conditions of the Breast-
Milk; the Disorders frequently pro-
duced in Mothers by Suckling ; and nu-
merous Illustrative Cases, proving that
when protracted it is a common cause in
Children of Hydrencephalus, or Water
in the Brain. By Edward Morton,
M.D. 5s.

A Demonstration of the Nerves of the
Human Body, founded on the subjects
of the Collegia] Prizes. By Joseph
Swan. Part II. 21. 12s. 6d.

Practical Remarks on the Nature and
Treatment of Fractures of the Trunk
and Extremities. By Joseph Ames-
bury. 25s.

Kane's Elements of Practical Phar-
macy. 8s. 6d.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Select Library, Vol. 5 ; being Stew-
art's Visit to the South Seas. Edited
by the Rev. W. Ellis.

Mental Recreations, or Select Max-
ims, &c. of Philosophers, Statesmen,
Divines, &c. 12mo. 6s.

An Essay on National Character ; be-
ing an Inquiry into some of the Prin-
ciple Causes which contribute to form
and modify the Characters of Nations in
the State of Civilization. By the late
Richard Chenevir. 28s.

Adcock's Engineer's Pocket Book for
1832. 6s.

Hodgson's Mythology, for Latin Ver-
sification. 3s.

A Treatise on Geometry ; comprising
a Copious Demonstration of the Ele-
ments of Euclid. By Robert Wallace.
5s.

Why and Because, Vols. 1, 2, and 3.
By John Timbs. 3s. each.

The Bankrupt Court Act. By War-
ren. 2s. 6d.

Time's Telescope, for 1832. 9s.

Excitement ; a Book to induce Young
People to Read, for 1832. 4s. 6d.

Musical Forget Me Not, for 1832.
12s.

The East India Register and Direc-
tory, for 1832. 10s.

Affection's Gift for 1832. 3s.

The Parliamentary Pocket Book for
1832. 18s.

The Chameleon ; a New Annual.
9s. 6d.

The Philosophical Transactions of the
Royal Society of London, for 1831.
Part II. 11. 12s.

NOVELS AND TALES.

Cameron ; a Novel. 11. 11s. 6d.

The Jew ; a Novel. 11. 11s. 6d.

The Robber. By the Author of
" Chartley, the Fatalist." 11. 11s. 6d.

Sir Ralph Esher; a Story of the
Court of Charles II. By Leigh Hunt.
11. 11s. 6d.

The Invasion. By the Athor of the
Collegians. 21. 2s.

Eugene Aram ; a Novel, in 3 vols. By
the Author of Pelham.

The Cabal ; a Tale of the Reign of
William the Fourth.

POETRY.

The Last of the Sophis ; a Poem.
By C. Heuningsen. 5s. 6d.

Poetic Offerings ; Original and Select.
2s.

Chaunt of the Cholera ; Songs for
Ireland. By the Author of " the
O'Hara Tales." 3s. 6d.

The Disembodied ; and other Poems.
By the Rev. J. Willis. 12mo. 8s. Gd.

The Common-place Book of American
Poetry, with Notss. By G. B. Cheever.

Hood's Comic Annual for 1832. 12s.

RELIGION AND MORALS.

The Cottager's Monthly Visiter for
1832. 6s.

Considerations on the Holy Catholic
Church ; a Charge delivered to the
Clergy. By the Rev. S. Butler, D.D.
2s. 6d.

Clerical Legacy ; or, a Manual of Ser-
mons. By P. Williams, D.D. 5s.

Luther's Table-Talk ; or some choice
Fragments from the Familiar Discourses
of that Godly, Learned Man, and Fam-
ous Champion of God's Truth, Dr. Mar-
tin Luther.

1832.] L 127 ]

MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

THE present, as we observed of the previous month, seldom affords much
novelty of agricultural report. On the approach of Spring, the plot will thicken.
There has been too much rain during the month, for our heavy lands, already
water-logged and sodden ; but on the whole, it has been a mild and favourable
autumn for the operations of the season, which, to use a common phrase, are on a
full average of forwardness. As to the light and thirsty soils, they continue to
enjoy in full measure the benefits conferred upon them during the three or four
past years. The early sown wheats are doubtless too forward, and in some danger
of exhaustion from their rampant luxuriance ; and that which is still more to be
apprehended and regretted,.their almost equal sharers in the soil, the weeds, are also
too generally a most magnificent crop. The short time which the seed has required
for germination has occasioned the least possible loss. From the excitement
of so much watering, joined with the mildness of the weather, with almost
constant South-westerly winds, the grasses, both natural and artificial, have ob-
viously outrun their strength, and been deprived of a great portion of their nutri-
tious power ; and the vetches and winter beans, are so prematurely forward, that
they must suffer universally, in the event of a severe frost. The quantity of the
sainfoin seed in the S. W. counties makes some amends for deficient quantity. Tre-
foil was short in the straw, but the quantity of seed considerable, and where it
escaped damage from the rains, the sample good : this we fear is more than can be
said generally of the clover and the other grass seeds. In Scotland, perhaps gene-
rally, some portion of the wheat sowing will be deferred to the commencement of
the new year, latter December being there deemed the worst seed season : yet
there remains a strong objection to this practice, in the possible case of a con-
tinuous frost. The late wheat crop in Scotland is said to be excellent in quality,
but defective in quantity both of corn and straw ; the demand for wheat at market
ready. Their barley crop was unusually extensive, from so much failing wheat
having been ploughed up, and the land resown with barley. This grain is not so
generally discoloured in the North as with us, and the weight superior, amounting
to 58 Ibs. per imperial bushel, in the best samples. The grain being sold by weight,
the growers are said to derive a considerable advantage in that respect, by their
superior method of winnowing. Hay and straw sell at a high price. The
Scots, more fortunate than their brethren of the South, in wheat and barley, are
far less so with their other crops. Their oats, a principal article, are very defi-
cient, quantity and quality — pulse unproductive — potatoes an inferior crop, not
Avell secured— turnips materially injured in the first instance by mildew, subse-
quently by frost. Many farmers at a late fair sold their turnips at a high price
to the drovers, who were unable to dispose of their store cattle. One drover, who
had 500 head of cattle, disposed of them at 21. a head less than he had been pre-
viously offered. Fat stock of the best quality, being very scarce, rendered high
prices.

Throughout England and Wales the deficient character of the wheat crop with
few very favourable exceptions, is too fully and experimentally confirmed ; and
the dullness in sale and late decline of price, must be attributed as well to the
unusual quantities thrashed for market, as to importation, and it is prospectively
ominous that many parts of the country are left almost bare of wheat, whether in
the hands of the farmers or millers. Oats are deemed the most productive crop
of the year ; beans and peas a failure. That nutritious article, the Swedish turnip,
is generally a satisfactory crop, the bulbs remarkably large ; and mangold has
proved somewhat beyond expectation in quantity ; where housed dry, of good
quality.

The market prices and demand for store cattle have rather declined since last
month ; not so perhaps for fat stock, in some measure, on account of the graziers
holding back their beasts on a speculation of superior Christmas prices, in which
they suffered considerable disappointment. Sheep have not lately been so quick
of sale, but they have suffered no depreciation, obviously from the considerable
diminution of the national flock by the rot, which, from the constant moisture of
the atmosphere, is unfortunately recommencing on certain unfavourable soils.
Pigs gradually advancing. The late demand for milch cows brought many to
market and reduced the price. A singular and pleasing account has reached us
from some of the dairy counties, that from the vast quantity and full bite of

128 Agricultural Report. [JAN.

grass, notwithstanding its supposed deterioration in nutritive quality from super-
abundant moisture, the cows are rendering a full spring supply of milk, and the
butter wearing the beautiful and inviting yellow hue of May. Our horse markets
have not varied in character for years—always plenty of ordinary quality, yet not
so depressed in price as in former times. The really useful and those of high qua-
lification, no where abundant, or to be obtained under a very high price. Pro-
mising and hunting like horses, masters of weight, producing 2 or 3001. plus.
Racers at a higher figure than was ever before sported in England, and never
before was there a more ordinary stock of that class bred. Wool in demand, and
has reached the clip or July price, with the appearance of an advance. Hops are
stationary, the duty, as we anticipated, having reached a higher figure than
generally expected. Many of the farmers of low and wet soils, withdrew their live
stock to the home stall, on the commencement of the present month. The abun-
dance of out-door provisions has left the most ample stock of fodder and roots
known in any year, for winter supply ; but it is to be feared, many farmers do not
possess the means of providing live stock for its consumption. As yet, however,
the national demand has been fully supplied.

The 33d anniversary of the great Smithfield cattle show has lately passed, our
annual attendance on which, has never yet failed. As usual, the space was filled,
up stairs and below, to its utmost capacity. Assuredly, there were no symptoms
of farming and grazing depression visible at this show. All the animals most
scientifically fattened. Lord Althorp, equally ready to promote the improvement
both of two and four legged live stock, gave his attendance and assistance, on the
day before the meeting.

Smithfield.— J$eef, 3s. 4d. to 4s. 4d — Mutton, 4s. Od. to 5s. Od.— Veal, 4s. 6d. to
5s. 4d.— Pork, 4s. Od. to 5s. 4d — Retail price, lOd. to Is — Rough fat, 2s. lOd.

Corn Exchange.— Wheat, 46s. to 78s. — Barley, 25s. to 40s — Oats, 20s. to 30s —
The London, 41b. loaf, 10£d — Hay, 40s. to 80s.— Clover ditto, 50s. to HOs.— Straw,
24s. 3d. to 36s.

Coal Exchange —Coals, in the Pool, 24s. 3d. to 32s. 6d.
Middlesex, December 23rd.

ERRATUM IN OUR LAST. — We owe to an able and much respected friend, and
indeed to our friends generally, for doubtless it has concerned many of them, an
apology for a strange mistake that crept into our last number. We were
somewhat abruptly admonished of our error by a note from a correspondent,
intreating us to use our interest with Messrs Jennings and Co. of the Poultry, to
obtain for him the editorship of the Landscape Annual, vacant by the lamented
decease of Mr. Thomas Roscoe. We were struck dumb with sorrow and surprise
at such intelligence, having on the previous evening seen him in his usual health
and cheerfulness. Deeming it a duty to offer consolation to his afflicted widow,
with a heavy heart we repaired to her residence, where instead of a closed house
and all the other signs of mourning, we found his family at dinner, with as few
signs of wailing, as might be expected from those who possessed light hearts
and ample appetites. The affair was quickly explained — The writer of our
biographical notices had unwittingly substituted the name of Thomas Roscoe,
for that of his father, the late William Roscoe, Esq. of Liverpool, (whose por-
trait embellishes this number,) an error which had created premature hopes in
our aspiring correspondent. We have had some difficulty in pacifying Messrs.
Jennings, who talked seriously of an action for damages, about to be suffered by
the " Landscape Annual." Mr. Roscoe has only requested this public apology,
and indemnification of certain sums paid for the postage of letters arriving
daily from all parts of the country condoling with Mrs. Roscoe on her bereave-
ment. The house, as the playbills say, was " crowded to excess" for some days,
with visitors offering consolation and advice ; and Mr. Roscoe's friends and
relatives at Liverpool, had already purchased mourning before the mistake was
rectified.

FEBRUARY, 1832.
CONTENTS.

Page

I. A Project for the Diffusion of Useful Ignorance 138

II. The Re-assembling of Parliament 137

III. A Ramble with the Travellers 138

IV. An Ode to Sir Charles Wetherell, with a Graphic Sketch of

"Anti-Radical" 144

V. Specimens of Latin Comedy, No. I. The Captives — Plautus.... 147

VI. Calamities of Carving 156

VII. A Modest Defence of Literary Puffing 161

VIII. The Parisian Newspaper Press „ 166

IX. Rivers! 174

X. The Currency and the Bank of England * 178

XI. Elliston, and the Ass's Head 185

XII. A Legend of the Egean 187

XIII. Sonnet — from Petrarch 194

XIV. A Warrior of the Nineteenth Century 195

XV. The Polish Widow to her Son 198

XVI. Tithes versus Rent 199

XVII. Parliamentary Pastorals, No. I. by Corydon Croker. — No. II.

by the Damon of Newcastle ..« 208

XVIII. The Dramatic. Monopoly t, 210

XIX. Brevities 216

XX. The Lay of aLost Minstrel 217

XXI. NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL : — Savings
in St. Saviour's — " Peculiarities" of the Press — The School-
master " Abroad"— Black and White— Anti-Mustachio Decree
—Fire-Proof Dresses — Jack Mitford— The Greenwich Rail-
Road — The Advantages of going to Jail — A Proposition fairly
canvassed — Theatricals in High Life — Burns and his Dinnerless
Devotees — Magisterial Mummeries — Marvels of Literature —

Dramas to Order — Remarkable Confession 218

XXII. THE DRAMA 229

XXIII. REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS HO

XXIV. FINE ARTS 244

XXV. WORKS IN THE PRESS, AND NEW PUBLICATIONS 245

XXVI. AGRICULTURAL REPORT, &c 247

TO "OUR CRITICS."

WE owe many obligations to our contemporaries, daily and weekly, metro-
politan and provincial ; and we are always glad to acknowledge them. But the
sweets we are thus grateful for, cannot be supposed to render us insensible to the
bitters which are now and then, inadvertently no doubt, administered to us. In
short, we have a grievance to complain of : — it is this ; that a few of our friends
occasionally do us the honour to quote from our pages, without the slightest
mention of the source from whence the extract is derived. The Globe (and there
is no. journal, morning, evening, or weekly, that we respect more) flattered us
exceedingly by burthening one of its columns with three passages from our last
number ; but unluckily the effect of this kindness was a little diminished by the
omission of the title of the work from which they were taken. This, however, is
not so bad as the treatment we have met with at the hands of three provincial
journalists, who (each of them) carefully selected the most brilliant paragraphs
of the whole number, and placed them to the credit of the " New Monthly Maga-
zine !" We have too much respect for the talents and liberal spirit of the
editors of that journal, to suffer any little frivolity of our own to be attributed
to them ; and we are not merely willing, but anxious, to bear the odium of any
extract that may be made from our pages. But, after all, the obligations ac-
knowledged at the commencement of this paragraph, far outweigh any causes of
complaint that even the ingenuity of discontent could devise.

- o mo ^r

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Those of our correspondents who have favoured us with their addresses will
hear from us before the 5th of the month ; all others will find their communi-
cations at the publisher's after that day.

Articles intended for insertion in the ensuing number must be forwarded by
the 10th of the month.

It is requested that all communications may be addressed " To the Editor"
only, and forwarded to Messrs. Whittaker, Ave-Maria-Lane. It is scarcely
necessary to say that no unpaid letter can be received.

The writers of poems, and other short pieces, are requested to keep copies of
them.

9/fl

cr 7rr<

!;

_ 'to qifffJj. i

II. BAYLIS, JOHNSON'S-COURT, FLEET-STREET.

Hmdua Y fd«{.<

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OP

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.
VOL. XIII.] FEBRUARY, 1832. [No. 74.

A PROJECT FOR THE DIFFUSION OF USEFUL IGNORANCE.

(REJECTED BY THE EDITOR OF THE QUARTERLY REVIEW.)
THE MARCH OF KNOWLEDGE. — It is full time that the career of
this democratic principle should receive a check. We do not allude
to its fatal effects upon the continent — a Bourbon in exile — a Polignac
in captivity — a Miguel in danger ; — let foreign nations protect them-
selves ; our own perils are too many and imminent to give us time or
space to discuss those of our neighbours. Our object is to kindle a
flame of resistance to the further advance of knowledge in our native
land. There is no chance of quiet until we overcome this domestic
enemy. Jeremy Bentham is not a more irreclaimable radical, nor
Daniel O'Connell a more indefatigable agitator. It is this unseen but
restless demagogue, that has raised the cry of reform from every corner
of this deluded country. Hence the broken sleep of my Lord Duke of
Northumberland ; hence the shattered health of his grace of Newcas-
tle ; hence the tear on the venerable cheek of my Lord Eldon. The
classic union of ease and dignity is dissolved ; there is no repose in the
snuggest sinecure ; no peace of mind in benefice or bishopric — all be-
cause of knowledge. While we yet speak, it menaces the chastity of
the constitution in Scotland, and its very life in Cornwall ; fulminates
fierce anathemas against the patriotic section of the peerage ; and darts
a sacrilegious glance at the temporalities of the church. Were principles
indictable like persons, knowledge would long since have been tried for
sedition, perhaps for treason, and sent to the colonies, or the gallows.
It would hardly have escaped so many Tory administrations to become
the ally and instrument of Whigs and Radicals. The Attorney-Gene-
ralship of Sir James Scarlett would have saved us the trouble of devis-
ing the plan which we now offer to the conservative party, and which
we humbly submit is the only way left to avert their ruin. We speak

K 2

132 A Project for the Diffusion of Useful Ignorance. [FEB.

in sad earnest : unless the measures we are about to propose are speedily
taken, we venture to predict that at the close of another century, pro-
bably much sooner, the friends of established institutions will look
round them in vain for a single sinecure place ; nor will there be a
mitre, nor so much as the shovel-hat of a dean, throughout all England.

We begin, by taking for granted, that the most effectual way of coun-
teracting the influence of knowledge, is by the instrumentality of the
antagonist principle — ignorance. The grand object, therefore, is to
augment the quantity of the latter as much as possible, and bring it
into action (if we may use the phrase) with the greatest possible mecha-
nical advantage. Now, if we remark the proceedings of the Knowledge-
party, we shall find that the secret of their success consists, not in the
intrinsic strength of their cause (as they insolently pretend), but in the
organized and systematic plan of operations they have long and steadily
pursued ; not squandering their resources in desultory efforts, or relying
upon the powers of individuals, however vast their learning, or splendid
their talents ; but concentrating their forces in a variety of societies and
associations, such as Mechanics' Institutes, Circulating Libraries, Socie-
ties for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, &c., — acting, in fact, upon
the same principle which led those kindred spirits, the Reformers of
Birmingham and other places, to form themselves into the confederacies
called Political Unions. To this systematic method of carrying on the
war, it appears to us, that knowledge is indebted for all her successes ;
and it is our deliberate opinion, that the interests of ignorance owe their
present depressed (though far from desperate) condition, to the neglect
of corresponding operations upon that side. Their dependence has been
entirely upon occasional sallies and detached movements — a speech of my
Lord Londonderry, or my Lord Dudley, a pamphlet by Mr. Sadler,
or an article in the Quarterly, by Basil Hall, or the Ex-Secretary of the
Admiralty. All that mere personal prowess could do was unquestionably
done ; powers of dulness and mystification, almost supernatural, were
put forth by individuals ; and, as far as either cause was capable of
being furthered by the mere quantity of ignorance or knowledge in an
isolated effort, Lords Londonderry and Brougham were equally pow-
erful supporters of their respective parties. But it was not upon this
sort of guerilla warfare the latter nobleman and his friends reckoned for
success : no ! they established lectureships ; pulled down ancient ale-
houses and erected Mechanics' Institutes ; they founded a society for the
avowed purpose of extending useful, and (mark the arts of the seducers!)
entertaining information ; they encouraged Lancastrian schools ; patro-
nized Hamiltonian, Pestalozzian, and divers other systems for propa-
gating knowledge as it were by force of steam ; and to crown all, they
founded an Institution in the democratic precincts of Russell-square, to
which they gave the name of University, with the fraudulent intent of
masking its real object, by leading the unthinking to regard it as a
similar establishment to those of Oxford and Cambridge ; whereas it
soon came out, that its views were diametrically opposite, and that in
reality it was only another engine for carrying on the trade of dissemi-
nating truth and knowledge.

Having thus stated the machinations of the enemy, and the successes
that have attended their manoeuvres, our advice to the conservative party
is simply as follows : — The Romans overcame the world by adopting the
military arts and weapons of the nations by whom they were themselves

1832.] A Project for the Diffusion of Useful Ignorance. 133

originally vanquished. " Fas est ab hoste doceri," was their maxim.
Let the foes of education but follow the same line of policy, and it is
highly reasonable to expect that the same good fortune will be their
guerdon. As the partizans of knowledge combine their lights, so would
we counsel those of ignorance to unite their opacities— to unite them
skilfully and methodically — perhaps we might be permitted to say sci-
entifically— with one grand object constantly in view : the distribution
of the greatest possible quantity of ignorance amongst the greatest pos-
sible number of persons, which might be called, to adopt an expression
from the Benthamites, THE GREATEST-IGNORANCE PRINCIPLE.

It was once an hypothesis of astronomers that night was caused by
certain dark stars, supposed to rise at sunset, and irradiate the earth with
darkness, precisely in the same way that the sun irradiates it with light.
However this question be determined, it is certain that intellectual night
is capable of being produced in an analogous way. An ignoramus may
do as much to obscure and perplex any given subject as a philosopher to
elucidate and explain it. It is notorious that speeches, books, and ser-
mons are as valuable instruments of communicating error and folly, mis-
information and non-information, as the opposite elements. This is matter
of daily experience, and we have only to read the parliamentary debates,
or look over the booksellers' catalogues, to get as many instances as we
like. Now we are prepared to shew that not only is ignorance suscep-
tible of propagation, but of propagation by system, or in other words, by
means of societies and institutions similarly constituted to those which
Brougham and his myrmidons have established, and are daily establish-
ing, for the diffusion of knowledge. If a single ignoramus (as nobody
denies) is often so mighty at overshadowing the topic he treats of,
whether it be scientific, political, or moral, the effect to be expected from
a college of ignoramuses, or any similar institution for collecting, as it
were, into a focus all the rays of darkness in the kingdom, must necessa-
rily be prodigious. And why should not the conservative party have
their mechanics' institutes, their circulating libraries, their societies for
the diffusion of useful ignorance, &c., as well the reformers and radicals?
A mechanics' institute, provided with a proper lecturer, would answer
just as well for inculcating the baneful effects of machinery, or the bless-
ings of the corn-laws, as the opposite doctrines. The member for Preston
has delivered philippics without number against threshing-machines and
harrowing-machines ; and we see no reason why, if adequately salaried^
he might not lecture the labouring classes once or twice a week to the
same useful purpose. We seriously suggest this to the Tories, as the
most effective way of employing the talents of their new auxiliary, Mr.
Hunt. In like manner Mr. Sadler — what might not his profound igno-
rance of the true principles of political economy accomplish, if, instead
of being dissipated in replies to the Edinburgh Review, it was uniformly
and steadily brought into action from some professor's chair, endowed by
his noble patron the Duke of Newcastle ? The abilities of Mr. Goul-
burn might in the same way be turned against those of Sir Henry
Parnell. What a glorious obscuration a course of public lectures by the
Ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer would shed over the whole science of
finance ! Why, he would involve it in such a night that the knowledge
of the Irish baronet, which now shines so conspicuously in his late pub-
lication, would look like a star of the twelfth magnitude, or require the
eye of a Galileo to discover it. In the next place, nothing would be

"• s/ToqfiS'w .fcf-si ?.ti£ •

134 A Project for the Diffusion of Useful Ignorance. [FEB.

easier than to defeat Lord Brougham's favourite project, or hobby, the
establishment in every town and village of circulating libraries for the
labouring classes. By merely keeping these institutions faithful to the
principles on which our ancestors founded them, we should foil the noble
philosopher at his own weapons. Instead of such books as " The Work-
ing Man's Companion/' " The Advantages of Machinery," and " The
Mechanic's Magazine," the shelves should contain nothing but novels and
romances, such as " The Atrocities of a Convent/' " The Enchanted
Castle," £c. for adults ; and for children, " Jack the Giant-killer,"
" Cinderella/' and " The Life and Death of Cock Robin." There is an
obvious objection to historical romances, as well as to travels and voyages;
but a few such works as Croker's edition of Boswell could do no harm.
Many useful hints for new works might be taken from the publications
on the other side. For instance, as there is a book entitled f( The pur-
suit of knowledge under difficulties," so there might be prepared another
on "The pursuit of ignorance under difficulties" in which all the tempta-
tions to the acquisition of knowledge, and the countless obstacles to be
surmounted in the present trying times (when that tremendous character,
the schoolmaster, is abroad,) by those who are nobly determined neither
to be frightened nor flattered into education, might be fully set forth, and
illustrated in the lives of noblemen and gentlemen who have set the most
brilliant examples of this never-enough-to-be-lauded resistance. Instead
of the plebeian names of Franklin and Watt, and Black and Saunderson,
the work we contemplate would be dignified with the names of dukes,
bishops, generals, and even princes of the blood royal. We should have
Northumberlands, Newcastles, Winchelseas, WharnclifFes, Wellingtons,
a host of Right Reverend Prelates, and a Royal Highness or two. We
should never be obliged to travel out of the peerage for instances ;
certainly never to descend lower in the scale of rank than members of
the House of Commons.

But to proceed with the main parts of our plan, we would most earn-
estly recommend the formation of " A SOCIETY FOR THE DIFFUSION OF
USEFUL IGNORANCE." That ignorance is useful, is well known to those
who have governed England for the last hundred and fifty years : they
have experienced its advantages in so many ways, it has been the means
of raising them to such a height of prosperity and power, that gratitude
alone obliges them to omit nothing that can save its interests from ruin.
The society we now propose would have ten supporters amongst the
aristocracy for one supporter of its rival ; and as to writers, we may be
sure, that as the harvest would be rich, so the labourers would be many.
Murray would of course be the publisher ; and, to suit the present crisis,
the subject of the first number might be, " The evils of a representative
government." The next and last proposition we shall make (for we do
not mean to give more than an outline of a plan on the present occasion),
is the foundation of a new Royal Society. The members should have
affixed to their names the letters F.S.I., or Fellow of the Society of Igno-
ramuses. Nothing could look better than Sir Robert Inglis, F.S.I., or
Captain Gordon, F.S.I., or the Right Hon. Henry Goulburn, F.S.I.
Not to be behind its rival at Somerset House, the chair of this new insti-
tution ought to be filled by a Royal Duke, and the choice would not be
a matter of much difficulty ; the public having long since conferred a title
upon a particular personage, which marks him out for president of such
a society the moment it shall be incorporated.

1832.] A Project for the Diffusion of Useful Ignorance. 135

If the ignorance party should be prevailed on to follow the advice thus
frankly, though humbly tendered to them, they will have one great
advantage which their adversaries never had and never can have, namely,
the authority and influence of the whole corps ecclesiastic exerted in their
behalf: hierarchy and priesthood will be with them to a man. There
will be no need to order the bishops to charge. Down to the minor
canons all the artillery of the church are ever ready to open their brazen
mouths upon the cause of education. The incumbents of fat benefices
know that ignorance and tithe are as near akin as cause and effect, and
piously do they believe that tithe and gospel are convertible terms ; so
with their whole " vis inertiae'* of soul and body will they not fail to
throw themselves into the front of the battle. Then consider the univer-
sities on the Cam and Isis ; from remote antiquity how skilfully fortified
against useful knowledge ; and (with the exception of a few traitors in
the camp) how admirably garrisoned ! Under the joint command of her
two representatives — representatives in the true import of the word —
Oxford might make good her stand against the strongest force that
Gower-street could send against her, particularly with such a Tyrtaeus
as Mr. Robert Montgomery to animate her members to the conflict. At
first sight it seems deplorable, that the Political Economists should have
succeeded in establishing in the university in question a professorship of
that branch of knowledge ; but on the plan already explained it is far
from matter of regret ; all that is necessary is to take care that the chair
be always filled by a proper person, a point which might be secured by
framing an oath to be taken by candidates, solemnly abjuring (like
transubstantiation and divided allegiance) the doctrines of free-trade and
the other best-established principles of the science.

That even by the plan here suggested, the career of intellect, after it
has been suffered to acquire so vast an impetus, would easily be stayed,
we do not presume to assert ; but sure we are, that by no other project
devisable in the brain of man will so desirable a consummation ever be
effected. The mass of reason and intelligence now accumulated in this
once ignorant and happy country is enormous ; and unless an over-
whelming weight of the contrary materials be collected and thrown into
the opposite scale, the evils we have already experienced are light com-
pared with those which await us. There must no longer be any waste
of ignorance permitted ; its energies must be economised and concen-
trated. Dissipated as they too long have been, they have produced no
more effect than gun-powder in a school-boy's squib ; constrain their
action to regular channels, and they will do the execution of gun-
powder in a soldier's rifle. To resume a former metaphor, we must
not only have dark stars, but dark constellations — ay, and not only
constellations, but systems. The luminaries in the firmament of folly
must learn to regulate their motions, and darken the world by rule.
The wandering stars must observe orbits, and the Wetherells and Lon-
donderries, who may be said to be the comets of the opaque system,
must leave their eccentric courses, and become more efficient, even at
the expence of being less conspicuous, in the grand confederacy against
light. All the obscurity that can be collected from every quarter of
the unintellectual world is not — depend upon it, my lords and gentle-
men of the conservative party ! it is not — more than enough to com-
pensate the illumination with which the instructors and reformers of

viom 3th

136 A Project for the Diffusion of Useful Ignorance. [FEB

mankind have deluged society — to dispel that unnatural glare which
hurts the tender vision of so many peers and placemen, and scares the
poor bishops from their comfortable slumbers — and to diffuse once more
over the nation, if not the blessings of utter darkness, at least that
"dim religious light," in which, and in which alone, the ineffable
advantages of a gorgeous church and a borough parliament will ever
be discerned by the bulk of the people. Keep no terms, noble lords
and honourable gentlemen ! any more, with knowledge. It is a foe
you may hope to conquer, but will never conciliate ; you must destroy
it, or be destroyed by it ; you are its natural prey ; and an alliance
betwixt you is impossible, until the wolf lies down with the lamb. Its
policy and your's are at eternal .variance. In the state, it aims at the
total abolition of pensions and sinecures, of close borough and com-
mercial monopolies, with every thing, in short, after your own hearts ;
in the church, it will never rest while a mitre glitters, or a tithe-pig
wags its consecrated tail. An aristocracy, like yours, of wealth and
blood, it scorns ; and, had it power to-morrow, it would substitute one
of talent, industry, and virtue — the qualities most congenial to its
plebeian tastes. In short, it goes about " like a roaring lion, seeking
whom it may devour ;" and its voracity will never be appeased, until
reform has finished his work of havoc, and there is nothing left worth
living for in England. Already has this evil made terrific progress ;
already has many a venerable prejudice given way, and many a time-
honoured abuse been trampled down ; the flag of knowledge, inscribed
with the ill-omened word Reform, floats from many a fortress, which
was fondly deemed impregnable to truth and reason ; but still it is not
too late to avert your ruin. A vast deal is still left worth fighting for ;
there are still offices in plenty unincumbered with duties ; there are still
bishoprics ; there are still corn-laws ; still many a way open into the pock-
ets of the people. But to save these good things from the fate that has
befallen others, the genius of ignorance — your genius — noble lords and
honourable gentlemen ! must rise with collected strength, and go forth
in the spirit of ten thousand Vandals. From no second irruption from
the store-house of the north does your country look for her deliverance ;
but to the Goths and Visigoths of her own soil. On you, the Welling-
tons and Wetherells, the Newcastles and Northumberlands, the Sadlers
and Sugdens — whether, in the Commons' House of Parliament, or in the
hereditary chamber, you "darken counsel by words without know-
ledge"— on you devolves the proud task of beating down the arch-
enemy, and establishing the throne of ignorance for ever in England.

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THE RE-ASSEMBLING OF PARLIAMENT.

PARLIAMENT has once more met for the (C dispatch of business" — that
is, they have re-assembled to talk about trifles, and to do as little as
possible. The debates of the last fourteen days sufficiently shew, that
the favourite plan — the most pertinacious interruption, with the smallest
possible progress — will be consistently adhered to, as long as the Reform
question shall be agitated. Indecent haste, and unconstitutional hurry,
are still the watchwords of the Opposition ; their Jack-the-Giarit killers
are, night after night, employing their pigmy faculties in spreading
strawrs over the pit, on the brink of which the Ministers are stalking
with giant- strides, as if they really meant to walk into it. This is no
time for parliamentary etiquette, and slow-paced politeness; every mind
in the country is made up on the subject, one way or the other; and all
that the house has to do nightly, is to divide. Our state- Falstaffs must
learn, that there is a time when discretion ceases to be the better part of
valour. It is well for them, that the country has still confidence in their
integrity and good intentions ; but good intentions alone will tire the
most confiding people in time, who will be apt to require other demon-
strations of integrity, than deprecatory addresses to Sir Robert Peel,
and gentle dissuasives to Mr. Croker. It would be ludicrous — if Lord
Althorp, by listening with such gravity, did not render it lamentable — •
to see some " friend to the constitution" start up at this the eleventh
hour, and declare that the whole foundations of the state were giving way,

because Lord John Russell had represented, that the borough of

contained only two hundred houses, instead of two hundred and one.
He might as well say, that a plot existed for pulling down St. Paul's,
because he had met a man with a pickaxe in Cheapside. It is the busi-
ness of these people to talk, and the business of ministers not to listen.
Such springs will serve well to catch woodcocks, but, from the com-
pany we find him in, Lord Althorp should be a bird of higher wing.

A more formidable battery, however, has been opened upon the
ministry. They have been nearly burnt to death, between the two slow
fires of Lord Aberdeen and Mr. Herries. Belgium and Russia have
been hurled at them, at the same moment. They escaped, however,
both from Scylla and Charybdis ; and we hope the danger of a defeat
has inspired in them the only thing that they require — the courage to
conquer.

The Fast-Day, a farce, has been read in the parliamentary green-
room, and is to be immediately produced. Of course Mr. Perceval is
the author of it. He spoke with closed doors, and an open Bible.
Nobody seemed to recollect that three-fourths of the nation are keeping
fast-days all the year round. Mr. Goulburn concurred in the pro-
priety of national humiliation, but said, " he preferred it in the tosual
way." National humiliation, we imagine, means national starvation and
bankruptcy ; and few statesmen understand " the usual way" of pro-
ducing these results better than Mr. Goulburn.

Lord Eldon was very facetious the other night on the subject of the
Birmingham petition in favour of the Bristol rioters. The honour which
government might have done itself, by saving the unhappy men, would
have infinitely exceeded even the satisfaction with which a legislator
like Lord Eldon must contemplate their doom.

[ 138 ] [FEB.

•xfogqxa orfw

A RAMBLE WITH THE TRAVELLERS.

OUR recollections of Travellers have been called up, by a perusal of
Mr. St. John's lately published " Lives" of some of the most celebrated
of them.

To the philosophic inquirer, surveying with anxious eyes the various
moral features which characterise the physiognomy of the great human
family, the study of man under the variations of climate must continue
to be one of surpassing interest The researches of such men as Pococke,
and Chardin, are to him magic threads, by whose guidance he is enabled
to penetrate into the devious labyrinths of fiction and fable, and to trace
out with a precision otherwise impossible, the footprints of ancient cus-
toms which have been worn out by the successive generations of time,
and the introduction of a more refined civilization. The true traveller
is in fact the philosopher of history, and he beholds, as in an enchanted
mirror, the past ages, in their pride and magnificence, passing before
him. Gibbon formed his idea of the " Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire," while lingering among the ruins of the Coliseum. But inde-
pendent of any higher or more consequential reason, the narratives of
travellers will always be read with delight, for their own sake. They
prove to us in every page the correctness of Lord Byron's remark, that
" truth is stranger than Jiction." The imagination of the most fertile
novelist cannot pourtray feelings so various, or shades of character so
many-coloured, as are to be found in the high-ways and by-ways of
human life. The wonderful sights of Ibn Batuta, are contrasted with
the plain and unornamented science of Hasselquist, and the cold and
passionless classicalities of Pococke, with the daring and untiring enthu-
siasm of the unfortunate Ledyard. We have romance and reality so plea-
santly blended, that we do not stop to separate one from the other. We
have not forgot the pleasure with which we dreamed in silent wonder
over the terrible accounts of c( fish which resembled a mountain," and
•whose eyes were like two doors, " so that people could walk in at
one eye and out at the other ;" or of the pearl-divers, who remained
under water for two hours without any personal inconvenience ; or of
that extraordinary tree which possessed the power of bestowing rejuve-
7iescence, so that any one fortunate enough to catch a falling leaf, was
restored by an alchymy more rapid than that attributed to the philoso-
pher's stone, to his summer bloom and activity. The celebrated Mi-
chaelis, thought that the stones upon which Moses had commanded the
laws of God to be graven, might be at some future period discovered
in Palestine ; and many early eastern travellers were not without a hope
of taking the accurate dimensions of the foot-prints of our Saviour.
Some odd twenty years ago, we never doubted the Indian traveller,
when he described the Land of Darkness, as being situate forty days*
journey from the city of Bulgar, in Siberia.*

Those days of beautiful credulity are gone by, and we are now de-
sirous of obtaining the reality without the romance. The diffusion of
travellers over the world, has been gradually increasing from William
de Rubouquis, who hoped to convert the Khan of Tartary to the ca-

* The narrative of the extraordinary traveller to whom we allude, Ibn Batuta,
has been translated, it may be recollected, by Professor Lee. It abounds in mar-
vels of the most startling character.

1832.] A Ramble with the Travellers. 139

tholic religion, down to the explorer of central Africa, who expected to
find Timbuctoo a city of Emerald Palaces. Bruce has been succeeded
by Lander, and Lady Montague by Mrs. Colonel Elwood. But in
proportion to the increased love of discovery, the glory of the emprise
was abated. A voyage to Canton is thought little more of than a sail
to Dublin, and a month in Barbary scarcely entitles the tourist to any
honorary attention. In a very scarce work, t( The Travels of Certain
Englishmen into various Countries," we remember to have been ex-
tremely amused at the quaint and hyperbolical terms in which the
editor eulogises his hero ; " By land," he says, " he travelled farther
than Jacob, and the same way that Jacob did, from Hebron to Padan
Aram ; and hath had hard lodging in his travel as Jacob had, viz. the
ground to his bed, a stone for his pillow, the skie for his covering, and
sometimes the aire for his svpper." The conclusion of the preface de-
serves to be quoted — " And thee, gentle reader, travelling towards the
heavenly Jerusalem, where God grant we may at length all arrive. Je-
sus Christ being our pilot and Jenizary to conduct us thereunto."

William Biddulph, from whose letters, published in 1609, these ex-
tracts are made, lived, as the reader will perceive, in the reign of Eliza-
beth ; and we observed an instance of the estimation in which she was
held, in a marginal note, where he alludes to a report of her death which
had reached him in his travels. " Queen Elizabeth," he says, " was
famous throughout the whole world, and her death will be wailed by
heathen people."

One of the most curious manuals for travellers we have seen, is a
little work purporting to be written by the " three much admired,
Robert, late Earle of Essex, Sir Philip Sidney, and Secretary Davi-
son."* Even in the sixteenth century, that affectation which has since
been the distinguishing characteristic of English tourists, appears to
have been common — Lord Essex, writing to his cousin, in 1596, cautions
him against, '(t being given to affectation, which is a general fault among
English travellers ;" and the advice of Sir Philip Sydney to his brother,
as to the manner of his behaviour to persons whom he might meet in
his wanderings, is worthy of a place in the note-book of every traveller.
" Task him well,'* he says, " before you drink much of his doctrine,
and when you have heard it, try well what you have heard before you
hold it for a principle ; for one error is the mother of a thousand. But
you may say, how shall I get excellent men to take pains to "speak to
me ? Truly, in few words : either much expence, or much humbleness/'
The latter would be the preferable method, a meekness and teachable-
ness of heart will always meet with correspondent gentleness from the
intellectual learned.

But we are wandering from the Travellers. One of our chief
favourites is Pietro della Valle : as Mr. St. John very justly remarks, he
was endowed with qualities almost certain to make him illustrious,—
enthusiasm, romance, and enterprise. Gibbon, while attacking his
wearisome vanity and frequently tedious egotism, yielded him the high
meed of knowledge and judgment, and considered him the most acute
observer of Persia and its inhabitants that had hitherto appeared.
The most romantic in his adventures of all true travellers, as the Poet

* The title, if we recollect rightly, is to the following effect. Profitable Instruc-
tions, describing ivhat special observations arc to be taken by travellers, in all nations,
states, and countries.

140 A Ramble with the Travellers. [FEB.

Laureate has styled Him, he seems to have been carried forward by the
natural impetuosity of his character. He speaks of his " always hungry
intellect/' and the love-disappointment which he experienced at Rome,
was perhaps the most fortunate event of his life, for it turned his abilities
into that track which led him in after time to the Temple of Fame. His
vanity is excessive, but then it is rendered amusing by the hyperbole of
its nature. He has left a ludicrous description of the " miseries" he
underwent at a dinner to which the Indian king invited him, and of his
extreme anxiety not to touch anything likely to soil his fingers, which,
considering the nature of an Oriental repast, must have been very
difficult. There happened unfortunately to be a dish of rice and butter
before Pietro, which the king was exceedingly desirous he should taste.
He made many excuses, but the king obviated them all by offering to
send to his house for a spoon. " The servant," Delia Valle informs us
with great complacency, " brought back a silver spoon, a fork, and a
clean and fine napkin, very handsomely folded in small plaits." Having
laid the napkin on his knees he began to eat ; and the royal entertainer
and his company being astonished, as they well might, at these " exqui-
site and, to them, unusual modes," exclaimed, " Deiiru ! Deitru I A
great man ! a god !" Indeed so highly did the king and his party seem
gratified, that our traveller narrowly escaped death by repletion.

But the character of Pietro della Valle offers traits of a different kind ;
we have rarely read anything more touchingly beautiful than the nar-
rative of his wanderings in India, accompanied by the coffined remains of
his lovely wife Maani. We would refer our readers for this pathetic pas-
sage in the history of the Italian to his own letters, or to the elegant
abridgment given by Mr. St. John. A change had truly come over the
spirit of his dream, and he went forward upon his future pilgrimage as one
having no hope in the world. He writes from Rome, three years after, to
his friend Schipano, in terms that convince us that his love of her who was
st to be no more seen" upon this earth, had suffered no diminution. The
burial of the body of Maani is affectingly related. " On St. James's
Day," he says, writing to his friend, " the 25th of July last, intending
to bury the body of Sitti Maani Gioeride, my wife (which I had brought
with me so many voyages) in the Chapel of St. Paul, belonging to the
Church of Asa Coeli, in the capital, before I unclosed a coffin of lead
prepared, I resolved to open the innermost wooden coffin, that I might
see how it was after so many years. I found the flesh of the head wholly
consumed. The rest of the body seemed better preserved, but because
the face was no longer to be seen I would not unfold the linen further.
The dry herb wherewith I had first filled the vacuities of the coffin
were still entire." He then proceeds to say that he descended into
the vault and assisted in placing the coffin " with his own hands," and
he concludes thus : " This last office of piety which remained I have paid
to the mortal reliques of my dear consort Sitti Maani ; yet it is not
the last that I perform to her other and immortal part, which I accom-
pany with suffrages ; neither have I abandoned those in the tomb, but
deposited them, intending (when it shall please God) to have my own
ashes laid in the same place and to rise again with her." We quote,
with trifling alteration, from the translation of 1665.

Our space will not permit of our lingering with Della Valle, but the
passage in which he alludes to the peculiar mode of instructing Indian
children may be noticed. It was after passing the Western Ghauts that

><ioinft ftoibsfi- >f*m& M

1832.] A Ramble with the Traveller*. 141

J To T£hfc!0i;;ioc[ftir uvjfn

the traveller's observation was attracted by the singular manner in which
some little boys were learning arithmetic. It must be almost unneces-
sary to remind the reader that on that method the celebrated Madras
system was subsequently founded. Delia Valle little thought, when
writing to Schipano, from Ikery, in the November of 1623, that in less
than two hundred years that " pretty and easy way of learning" would
be modelled into a scheme of education, at once the most simple and the
most successful which has ever been discovered.

Africanus is another favourite. The fact of his having actually
visited Timbuctoo has contributed in modern times to enhance his repu-
tation, which is deservedly high for deep and accurate knowledge and
elegant and perspicuous narration. He flourished long before Delia
Valle, but we have not bound ourselves to any chronological arrange-
ment in these remarks. He made two visits to Timbuctoo, first with
his uncle, who was sent on an embassy from the King of Fez, and
secondly about the year 1516. His picture of the African city differs
widely from Caille's. The king, he says, was viewed with terror by his
subjects, who approached him in the most humble posture, " falling
prostrate on the ground and sprinkling dust upon their heads," a
humiliation in which strangers and foreign princes were obliged to par-
ticipate. M. Caille, on the contrary, describes the reigning prince as
very gentle and benevolent, and his government perfectly patriarchal.
So far the country appears to have improved since the time of Leo.
They both agree, however, in praising the mild and inoffensive manners
of the inhabitants.

Algiers has undergone a far greater change since the visit of Africanus.
The modern traveller seeks in vain for the cedificia sumptuosissima of
which he speaks. Algiers is seen to most advantage from the sea,
where it presents a beautiful spectacle, glittering with thickly planted
olive and orange trees. A very interesting account of the state of
Algiers, immediately preceding the French invasion, may be found in
a work entitled Tableau du Boyanne de la Ville d'Alger et de ses Environs,
published at Paris in 1830. Its author, M. Renaudot, is we believe an
officer in the artillery.

Leo Africanus, like other travellers, conceived an exaggerated idea
of the villas and gardens surrounding Algiers ; they have been reckoned
at twenty thousand, but M. Renaudot states the estimate to be at little
more than half that number.

With respect to females, we are told ; — " a Moor observed one day to
some follower of the Bey of Muscasa, that he had just been cutting off
the head of one of his wives, who would not live in peace with the others.
His friend replied, with great unconcern, that he acted perfectly right,
and hoped that he would meet with one of a more quiet temper." We
recollect an anecdote somewhat similar in Mr. Turner's " Turkey." A
lady was congratulating Signor Papathopolo, a rich Greek, on the many
virtues of his wife. " Bisogna die sia buona," he answered, " altra-
mente si taglia la testa ;" which may be roughly Englished, that if she
did not conduct herself to his satisfaction, he should think himself at
liberty to take her head off. If the relations of the wife be rich enough
to prove that the husband has been unjust in his complaints of her,
they may succeed in procuring his punishment for the murder. But
this is only to be effected by large presents.

M. Renaudot tells so singular an anecdote of filial affection among the

142 A Ramble with the Travellers. [FEB.

Moors, and one so peculiarly characteristic of the people, that we are
induced to translate it from his own work.

A Portuguese surgeon was accosted one day by a young Moor from
the country, who, addressing him by the usual appellation of foreign
doctors in that place, requested him to give him some drogues to kill
his father, and as an inducement, promised to pay him well. The sur-
geon was a little surprised at first, as might be expected, and was
unable to answer immediately ; but quickly recovering himself, (for he
knew the habits of the people well), he replied, with sang-froid equal
to the Moor's, " Then you don't live comfortably with your father, I
suppose ?" — " Oh, nothing can be better/' returned the Moor ; " he has
made much money, has married me well, and endowed me with all his
possessions ; but he cannot work any longer, he is so old, and he seems
unwilling to die." The doctor, of course, appreciated the amiable
philosophy of the Moor's reasoning, and promised to give him what he
desired. He accordingly prepared a cordial potion, more calculated to
restore energy to the old man, than to take it away. The Moor paid
him well and departed. About eight days after he came again, to say
that his father was not dead. " Not dead !" exclaimed the apothecary,
in well-feigned surprise, "he will die." He composed accordingly
another draught, for which he received an equal remuneration, and
assured the Moor that it would not fail in its effects. In fifteen days,
however, the Moor came again, complaining that his father thrived
better than ever. " Don't be discouraged," said the doctor, (who doubt-
less found these periodical visits by no means unprofitable) ; " give him
another potion, and I will exert all my skill in its preparation." The
Moor took it, but returned no more. One day the surgeon met his
young acquaintance in the street, and inquired the success of the re-
medy. " It was of no avail," he replied, mournfully ; " my father is
in excellent health. God has preserved him from all our efforts ; there
is no doubt now that he is a Marabout" — (a Saint).

The Moors in Africa afford abundant matter for sad and melancholy
reflection. The territory of Algiers, it will be remembered, embraces
a considerable portion of the Numidia and Mauritania of the ancients,
The names of Massinissa and Jugurtha occur to the memory y the first
rendered immortal by the picturesque and affecting narrative of Livy,
and the second by the fiery and melo-dramatic history of the penetrat-
ing Sallust. If the traveller be inclined to seek for the descendants of
those men who bearded the Roman power with so much vigour and
intrepidity, he will find them, to borrow the words of M. Renaudot,
miserably clothed, and knowing nothing of their ancestry, or the names
of the places which the}7 themselves inhabit, and acquainted only with
the deserts, which ignorance and barbarity are daily extending around
them. Wonderful and inscrutable to our aspurged eyes are the changes
of time ! Over how many hundred cities, once the thrones of magni-
ficence, has the river of years rolled since the brief segment of time
from the creation until now ! The Turkoman looks out from his black
tent upon the broken temples and ruined pillars of the gorgeous Perse-
polis, and the wretched and half-starved peasant hides himself among
the aqueducts and triumphal arches of Imperial Carthage ! W.

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" ANTI-RADICAL/'

INSCRIBED~TO SIR CHARLES WETHERELL.

1832.J C 145 ]

ODE TO SIR CHARLES WETHERELL.

" Descend, ye Nine !"

Yet stop ! —
Ere from your seat celestial ye come down,

To drop

Benignity and balm into my line-
Teaching me how to win the olden crown

Pindaric ;
To blend, in fact, with drolleries divine

A pathos deep as Garrick ;
Let me but pause a moment — to prepare

A *' name" for him

Who here hath found a " local habitation" —
The monarch of all wisdom and all whim,
Whose train our pages are most proud to bear.
Yet, ah ! to find a fitting designation
Would tax the skill of the united Nine,

When phrases were most fine.
How shall I name thee, how conceive the stanza,

Oh ! Knight illustrious !

Knight of the rueful visage, windmill- warrior —
Or, what is more appropriate, Sancho Panza ;
The 'Squire of Toryism stark staring mad,
• Doomed, on a hack (has Cruikshank shewn a sorrier ?>
To stumble on with " motions" most industrious —
Punning, predicting, proverbizing still —
To save the falling and to smite the bad ;
Slaughtering the Whigs, that take their wicked will
Of weak and innocent boroughs — washing out
The state's dark stains with rhetoric's ablution ;
And slaying those foul fiends who go about
(As Hampden, Sidney, Russell did, no doubt)
Deflowering the virgin-Constitution.

II.

Again, and yet again, Sir Knight, I ask,

How merely mortal quill should treat of thee,

Most merry and immaculate M.P.

(I wish the poet-laureate had the task !)

Oh ! who could paint a rainbow with one hue,

Or harlequin — all blue ?
As little may I hope to find one name
Descriptive of thy glory and thy fame ;
Thine — whom a crazy world, that always snarls,

Calls "mad Sir Charles."
Whom brother-members, in familiar parley,
Jocosely designate as " old Sir Charley."
But whom we here pronounce, in purer taste,
The droll Democritus of dull debaters —
The Pan of politics, the prince of satyrs,

The Great Unbraced ;

Patron of habits loose — and looser reasons ;
So loose that even Tories fear to trust 'em ;

Denouncer of high treasons
Against the hoary majesty of custom ;
An ex-expounder of the libel-laws,
Levelling the tree of freedom with " old saws ;"
M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 74. L

146 Ode to Sir Charles Wether ell [FEB.

The fabled nibbler, the illustrious Mouse,
c&UTUAtl? Burning to set the British lion free
(As Castlereagh
Was wont to say)
From the vile net of Liberty.
Isio ; Oh ! great Grimaldi of the lower-house ;

Clown in the parliament's long pantomime ;
A merry-Andrew, holding up the pall
Of sixty boroughs stifled in their prime-
Mourning their fall

In fine Joe-Miller jokes and apothegms,
That, set in dulness, glisten more than gems;
Oh ! Lord Low Chancellor in that strange cause
Of " Twenty Millions versus Twenty Tories,"
Ungrateful would it be to give thy glories
Less than a super-natural cognomen.
Thou art a. link in nature — though not lit ;
Zoology must leave thee still unclassed—

Unless some showman,
WTho deals in curious monsters unsurpassed,
Fine dwarfish giants, and fierce poodle-bears,
Should in his great sagacity think fit
To take thee, as first conjuror, to fairs.

III.

An odd conundrum art thou, great Sir Charles ;

A sort of Philip Quarles,
Mistaking England for a desert isle,
Where "learned lions, and " right reverend" leopards,

Should feast — instead of shepherds.
Thy arguments quite equal Captain Shandy's ;
Thy speeches — might be measured by the mile ;
Thou beau-ideal of the anti-dandies,
The very Brummel of the race of slovens !
Yet chiefly this thy future bards shall sing ;
Thou art the rival of the famed Fire-King,
Who for a " crown" (but not like thine, we know)
Like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
Would shut himself, rare oddity ! in ovens.
Yes, though thou art indeed the " ancient Pistol"
To that most funless, and yet fine " old Jack,"

Whose sack

(I mean the woolsack) was his constant care —
Thy letter to posterity must bear

The postmark " Bristol."
Of this renown thou canst not be bereft ;
Thou art the martyred knight who fled, in fear,
A blazing city, to be roasted here —
, The lawyer who, in common, somewhat thrifty,
And long inured to smoke, behind him left
One Wig, to fall beneath the strokes of fifty.
What were Napoleon's retreats to thine ?
Oh ! clear " explainer," learned inuendo,

Lucus a non lucendo,

Oh ! greater than Guy Fawkes, oh ! Phosnix fine,
Thou with the heroes of mythology,
When the Millenium comes, must take thy station ;
And Herschels yet unborn shall find in thee,
A tail-less comet, or a constellation.

1832.] [ 147 ]

SPECIMENS OF LATIN COMEDY — THE CAPTIVES, OF PLAUTUS.

NO. I.

COMEDY, which might be etymologically interpreted " village-song,"*
cannot be better defined than in the words of the great Roman orator,
who calls it " the imitation of life, the mirror of custom, the image of
truth." The primary object of comedy is the amusement of the people ;
and, therefore, all compositions which accomplish this end may lay
claim to the title. But the Greek and Roman comedians took such
different courses for the attainment of their common end, that their
dramas can hardly be considered as belonging to the same class of
writing. The comic writers of Greece took for their subjects the politi-
cal measures of their most distinguished statesmen, and withheld the
poignancy of their satire from no member of their councils or their
senate, when they thought they could employ it to the gratification of
the people. Thus the comedy of Greece acted as one of the mightiest
engines for the conservation of the public liberty. Such unsparing
attacks, however, on the character and the integrity of her legislators
could never consist with the grave and aristocratic spirit of Rome.
Her comedians were not suffered to imitate those of Greece, by exer-
cising that political surveillance over the conduct and the proceedings of
her statesmen ; and were thus compelled to seek, in private life, for
suitable subjects for their pen. The Latin comedy was more adapted
to the bacchanalian festivals of half-civilized Rome, than to the fasti-
dious ear of refined and philosophic Athens. But, though the construc-
tion and design of the Latin comedy differed so essentially from that of
the Greek, Plautus did every thing in his power to give his plays a
Grecian air, by using Greek names, and frequently copying even whole
scenes from the Grecian comedies.

But our object is not to try the patience of our readers with a regular
and consecutive history of comedy, or to risk a tedious and uninteresting
comparison of the Greek, the Latin, the English, and the French; but
to present them with a few well-selected specimens of the best por-
tions of the comic writers of ancient Rome : we shall imitate the John
Bull custom of Horace, and rush at once in medias res.

The most ancient author, of whom any entire comedies are extant, is
Plautus. The first of his plays, from which we shall take our extract,
is entitled Capteivei — the Captives ; we have been induced to begin
with this in preference to any other, not only because it is one of the
best of his comedies, and was pronounced by that celebrated scholar
and critic, Gotthold Lessing,f to be the most perfect comedy that had
ever, up to his time, been acted on the stage, and was particularly
recommended by M. LemercierJ to the study of young poets, but
because it differs greatly from his other plays, and may be considered
as the first of that class of dramas, called Comedies Larmoyantes, which
at one time obtained such popularity in France.

We must first give a short account of the plot, that our extracts may
lose none of their interest from being deprived of their connection.
Hegio, the chief character in the play, is a gentleman of Aetolia, the

xwpjj wj.

t See his Beytrage zur Historie und Aufrahme des Theatres.

:£ Cours de litter, tome II.

L2

148 Specimens of Latin Comedy — [FEB.

central district of Greece ; he had two sons, one of whom, when only
four years old, was carried off by a slave, and sold in Elis, a country in
the north-west of the Peloponnesus, or the Morea. Hegio was soon
afterwards deprived also of his other son, and has to lament that he has
" begot his children only to be childless ;" for a war subsequently broke
out between the Elians and the Aetolians, and he was taken captive by
the Elians. The bereaved father, with a view of afterwards ransoming
his son, by an exchange, purchased an Elian prisoner, called Philocrates,
together with his servant, Tyndarus ; and the play opens with the
master, Philocrates, personating his slave, while the slave, Tyndarus,
assumes the character of his master. Hegio, a good-natured old man,
though none of the keenest, is thus deceived, and is persuaded to send
the true Philocrates (the master), under the name of Tyndarus (the
slave), to Elis, in order to effect the exchange of his son. The fraud,
however, is discovered to Hegio by one of his other captives, called
Aristophontes, before Philocrates returns ; and we find the old man
execrating both master and slave, and lamenting that he has ' ' lost the
kernel/ and, for security, the shell is left" him. Hegio, now fearing
that he has lost all hope of ransoming his child, condemns Tyndarus to
labour in the mines. Just after this Philocrates returns from Elis with
Hegio's son, and also brings with him the fugitive slave, who had stolen
his other son in infancy. It is then discovered that Tyndarus is this
son, who was sold by the slave to the father of Philocrates, and was by
him appointed to wait on Philocrates, who afterwards treated him as his
confidant and friend. Our readers cannot but be struck with the great
resemblance of this plot to that of Ben Jonson's comedy, entitled, " The
Case is altered."

The scene is laid in Calydon, a city of Aetolia.

One of the most interesting characters, which we have omitted to
mention in our account of the plot, that there might be no interruption
to the thread of the narrative, is the Parasite. He is the broad comic
character of the drama. In this, as in most of the other plays of Plautus,
the Parasite is a sort of episodical character ; he is not so familiar on
the modern stage, but he is chiefly exhibited in the old comedies of
Ariosto and Aretine, who copied so servilely from the plays of Plautus
and Terence. On him we depend chiefly for the humour of the piece.
In the Captives he goes prowling about all day for a supper, and failing
in all his attempts, at last we find him entering on the stage, at the com-
mencement of the third act, with the following amusingly lugubrious
soliloquy in his mouth : —

It is a sad case for a poor wretch, to prowl

In quest of a meal's meat, and at the last

With much ado to find one ; — sadder is it

To fish and hunt the live-long day,

And at the last find nothing ; but most sad

To have a keen and craving appetite,

Without a morsel to appease its longing. —

A plague upon this day ! — I'd dig its eyes out,

Had I the power ; it has so filled mankind

With enmity towards me. — Never sure

Wras there a wretch so starved, so crammed with hunger,

Or one whose projects have so little prospered. —

I fear my throat and belly must keep holiday.

Would it were hanged for me, this scurvy trade,

i

-

1832.] The Captives, of Pluutus. ] 1!)

_, . „ .. .. , , . , ~ ... Jjk> a-uiv

Ihis Parasite's profession !— Our young bloods

Consort not now-a-days with us poor drolls ;
They care not for us humble hangers on,
Who are content to take the lowest seat
At table, who bear buffets like a Spartan,
And have no other fortune but our jests. —
Their choice is to associate with their equals,
Who, having supt with them, return the favour
At their own houses.

Human nature has altered but little since the clays of Plautus.
Hungry wits, who trust to their pleasantry alone for a supper, are not
in danger of having their digestion impaired by a surfeit. Although,
by the way, we might instance a few diners-out at the present day as
splendid exceptions. The Parasite continues : —

Buffoons they now

Count nothing worth ; in fact they're all self-lovers.
For when I went from hence a while ago,
I went up to these youths in the forum.
" Good day," said I : — "where shall we dine together r"
No answer. — " Who speaks ?" says I : " Who now
Will promise me a dinner ?" — Still silent all,
Not a word did they reply ; nay, not a single smile.
" Where shall we sup then ?" says I : still no invitation.
One of my best jests, such as heretofore
Have got me supper for a month, I then
Repeat them. — Not a soul vouchsafed to smile.
I then found out, 'twas a conspiracy :
Not one e'en deigned to imitate a dog,
When he's provoked : — But if they did not choose
To laugh outright, at least they might have shewn
Their teeth, as though they smiled. — Finding myself
The scoff and mockery of these sparks, I leave them,
March up to others, others still, and others ;
But no, 'twas just the same ; all in confederacy,
Like the oil-merchants in the market. — Well then,
Finding myself thus fooled, I came back hither.
There were more parasites sauntering in the forum,
And to as little purpose as myself. —
But I'm determined that the law shall right me
Against all those who join in combination
To have me starved. — I will appoint a day
For them to give me their answer. I will have
Large satisfaction. — Dear as are provisions,
They shall be fined at least ten entertainments.
Now to the port where I have yet one hope
Of feasting : — if that fail me, I'll return
To this old Hegio, and his scurvy supper.

Hegio had previously invited Ergasilus, for such is the Parasite's
name, to sup with him, warning him, at the same time, that he would
have but an aspcra cocna, or homely supper. We shall see, by-and-by,
the result of Ergasilus's visit to the port. Hegio now appears on the
stage (with Aristophontes behind), giving an account of his yesterday's
proceedings, in which he tells us that, upon going to see bis other cap-
tives, and on asking if any one of them knew Philocrates of Elis, Aris-
tophontes cried out instantly, that he was his friend and intimate.
Tyndarus (who, as our readers will recollect, personates Philocrates),

J50 Specimens of Latin Comedy — £FEB.

somehow gets scent of the matter, and is greatly alarmed, and appears
in the next scene in the most distressing torture of mind, almost frantic
with the fear, or rather confident expectation, of a discovery of his
fraud : —

Ah ! fatal moment ! Would I were dead now,

Rather than alive ! — Hope has deserted me,

No succour will come near me. — The day is come

When there is no chance to save my life !

My ruin's unavoidable, — no hope,

That can dispel my fear, — no cloak to screen

My subtle lies, false dealings, and pretences :

No apology can excuse my perfidy,

No subterfuge can palliate my offence :

No room for confidence, no place for cunning. —

What hitherto was hid is brought to light,

My tricks laid open, and the whole discovered :

Nor have I aught to do, but meet my fate,

And die at once for me and for my master.

Aristophontes, who is just gone in,

Has been my utter ruin ; for he knows me,

He is a friend and kinsman to Philocrates.

Salvation could not save me, if she would :

Nor can I 'scape, — except that I contrive

Some cunning trick, some artifice. — (Cogitating.)

A plague on't ;

What can I think of ?— What devise ?— My thoughts
Are foolish, — I am at my wit's end.

Tyndarus now sees Hegio and Aristophontes advancing, and, accord-
ingly, retires on one side ; he is evidently quite perplexed, and, as he
said, " at his wit's end." However, like many a man besides, though
desponding and hopeless, when brought to the test, he acquires a con-
fidence and dauntlessness not easy to be shaken. He resolves, as we
shall see in the sequel, to meet it in limine, to deny all acquaintance with
Aristophontes, and to braze him out with sheer impudence. But seeing
an interview unavoidable, he could not help half turning aside, and inly
muttering—-
Can there exist a greater wretch than I am ?

Aristophontes perceived Tyndarus turning aside as if unwilling to
meet hirn, and accordingly saluted him with the following interroga-
tion:—

Why is this, that you avoid and slight me,
Tyndarus, as though I were a stranger, and you ne'er
Had known me ?— It is true I am a slave,
As you are : — though in Elis I was free;
You from your youth have ever been a slave.

Hegio saves Tyndarus the trouble of replying —

In truth I am not in the least amazed
That he should shun you, and avoid your sight,
Or hold you in despite and detestation,
When for Philocrates you call him Tyndarus,

TYND. Hegio, this fellow was at Elis deemed
A madman : — give no ear to what he says.
'Tis there notorious that lie sought to kill
His father and his mother, and has often
Fits of epilepsy come upon him,
Which makes him foam at mouth. — Pray keep away from him.

1832.] The Captives, of Plautus, 151

The unsuspicious Hegio gives ready credence to the ingenious fig-
ment of Tyndarus, and follows his advice by ordering the slaves to
remove Aristophontes from his presence. Aristophontes, infuriated to
the last degree at the abominable effrontery of Tyndarus, almost too full
of rage to give vent to his real feelings, and, to undeceive their common
master, breaks out in these words : —

How say you, rascal ! that I am mad, and sought
To kill my father and my mother, and have often
Fits of epilepsy come upon me,
Which make me foam at mouth ?

HEGIO. Be not dismayed. Many under this disease
Have laboured, and spitting has recovered them.

TYND. I know to some at Elis it has proved
Of special use.

ARIST. And will you credit him

HEG. I credit him ! — In what ?

ARIST. That I am mad !

TYND. See how he eyes you with a furious aspect !
'Twere best retire. — 'Tis, Hegio, as I said : —
His frenzy grows upon him, — take you care.

HEG. True, — when he called you Tyndarus, I thought
That he indeed was mad.

TYND. Nay, but sometimes
He knows not his own name, nor who he is.

HEG. He said you were his friend.

TYND. 1 never saw him ;
Alcmaeon, and Orestes, and Lycurgus,*
Are just as much my friends as he is, Hegio.

ARIST. How, rascal ! — do you dare bespeak me ill ?
Do I not know you ?

HEG. By my troth, 'tis plain
You know him not, when for Philocrates
You call him Tyndarus : — you are a stranger
To him you see, and mention him you see not.

ARIST. 'Tis he pretends himself the man he is not,
Nor owns himself the man he is.

TYND. (Ironice). Yes, to be sure, you'll get the better of me,
In reputation for veracity.

ARIST. You, as it seems, my truth will overpower
With falsehood.

Aristophanes now finding it impossible to extort a confession from
Tyndarus by any other means, determines to put the question to him
point blanc, and continues —

Look me in the face now.
TYND. Well.

ARIST. Do you deny that you are Tyndarus ?
TYND. I tell you, Ideny it.

ARIST. And do you say
You are Philocrates ?

TYND. I say, I am.

ARIST. (to Hegio). And you, — do you believe him ?
HEG. More than you,
Or than myself. — The man you say he is,
Set out this day for Elis to his father.

— •

* These were three noted madmen ; of whom the two first became insane from
having killed their mother.

152 Specimens of Latin Comedy — [FEB.

ARIST. What father ? He's a slave.*

TYND. And so are you
Once free as I was, — as, I trust, I shall be,
When I have gained this old man's son his liberty.

ARIST. How, rascal ! dare you say you're born a freeman ?

TYND. Not freeman; but Philocrates, I say.

ARIST. See, Hegio, how the rogue makes sport with you !
For he's a slave, and never owned a slave
Besides himself.

Aristophontes here taunts him with his having been a slave ; and
Tyndarus, resolved not to be behind hand with Aristophontes in this
•way, begins rallying him, in his turn, with his quondam servitude : —

TYND. So then — because you lived
A beggar in your country, without means
For your support, you would have every one
Placed on the self-same footing with yourself ?
No wonder : — 'tis the nature of the poor

rii -i , j /.

1 o hate and envy men of property.

ARIST. Hegio, take care ; nor rashly credit him ;
As far as I can see, he means to trick you : —
Nor do I like at all his talking to you
Of the redemption of your son.

TYND. I know you wish it not ; but with the help
Of Heaven I shall accomplish it : — I shall restore
His son to him, and he will send me back
To Elis to my father ; for which purpose
Have I sent Tyndarus.

ARIST. Why, you are he ;
Nor is there any other slave at Elis
Of that name but yourself.

TYND. And will you still
Reproach me with my state of servitude
Brought on me by the chance of hapless war ?

Aristophontes now grows quite enraged at the shameless impudence
and assumption of Tyndarus., and Tyndarus takes advantage of his fury
to confirm what he had before said to Hegio about his madness.

ARIST. I can't contain myself.

TYND. Ha ! do you hear him ? —

Wont you fly out of his way ? — He'll pelt us with stones
Unless you have him seized.

ARIST. I'm vext to death.

TYND. Look how his eyes strike fire ! — A cord, a cord,
Good Hegio ! — Don't you see his body's charged
With livid spots all over ? — The black bile
Disorders him, poor fellow !

ARIST. The black pitch
Disorder you beneath the hangman's hand.

TYND. How wild he talks ! By evil spirits he's possessed.

HEG. Suppose I order he be seized ?

TYND. You would act by far the wisest part.

ARIST. It vexes me I cannot find a stone
To dash the villain's brains out, who insists
That I am mad.

In law, slaves were not considered as having any relations.

1832.] The Captives, of Plautus. 153

TYND. There — do you hear him, Sir ?
He's looking for a stone.

ARIST. Shall I beg, Hegio,
A word with you alone ?

HEG. Speak where you are,—
What would you ? — I can hear you at a distance.

TYND. If you permit him to approach you nearer,
- He'll bite your nose off.

Aristophontes now prevails, though with difficulty, on Hegio to grant
him a private audience, which leads to the final disclosure of the arti-
fice, as has been detailed in the account of the plot. When Hegio's
eyes "were opened to the gross imposture that had been played off* upon
him, his natural facility of temper resigned its sway, and the frenzy,
which his disappointment and mortification excited in his mind, ended
in the condemnation of him who was afterwards discovered to be his
own son, namely, our old friend Tyndarus the psuedo-P /liberates.

We are now brought to the commencement of the fourth act, which
shews us plainly that the Parasite's attempts have not been ineffectual ;
for Ergasilus appears on the stage in a state which must remove every
lingering doubt of his having done ample justice at least to the wines,
if not to the viands of some bountiful patron. Hegio perceives him
advancing at a distance, though, as Ergasilus's eyes had probably suf-
fered some obscuration from his potations, he did not descry the old f
gentleman ; and thus we find him walking towards Hegio's house, and
vociferating:—

Haste, haste, Ergasilus — look to thy business.

(Very loud) Hence, — take care, — I warn you, and forewarn you. —

Let no man stop me in my way, unless

He thinks he has had enough of life ; —

Whoever stops me, he shall kiss the ground.

I'll do't — by heavens I'll do't. — Let every one

Pursue his own track, nor by any thing

Clog up the street. — My fist "is a balista,

My arm a catapulta, and my shoulder

A battering-ram. — On whomsoever once

I dart my knee, I'll give him to the ground. —

Whatever mortal I shall light upon,

I'll knock his teeth out, and employ the wretch

In picking them up again. — If any dare

Oppose my cause, I'll make him well remember

The day, the place for evermore, and me :

Who stops me, puts a stop to his existence.

I give you notice, caution you beforehand,

That it may be your own fault, if you're caught. —

Keep home, then guard you from assault.

Then for your bakers, breeders of swine,

Rascals who feed their hogs with refuse bran,

That no one can pass by their bake-house

For the stench ; — let me but see one of their swine

Here in the public way, my fists shall give

The owner such a dusting .......

Then for your fishmongers, who hawk about
Upon a four-legged, dull, provoking jade,
Their stale commodities, whose very stench
Drives off our saunterers from the forum : — troth,
I'll beat their filthy baskets 'bout their chaps,

154 Specimens of Latin Comedy — [FEB.

That they may know how much offence they give

To others' noses

No more a parasite, but I'm a king,
More kingly than a king— a king of kings.

Ergasilus at last arrives at Hegio's house, and stands thundering at
the door for admission ; but Hegio, being just outside, requests him to
desist, and, upon coming up to him, finds the parasite in transports of
joy about something, but what he could not conjecture.

Now order, — says Ergasilus. —

HEG. Order what ?
ERG. A roaring fire.

HEG. A roaring fire ?

ERG. Yes, a roaring fire ;
A huge one let it be.

HEG. What, you great glutton,
Think you that I will set my house on fire
To please you.

ERG. Nay, prithee, don't be angry. —
Will you order, or will you not, the pots to be put on ?
The dishes to be washed ? The larded meats
And kickshaws to be set upon the stoves ?
Won't you send some one to buy fish ?
HEG. He dreams with his eyes open.
ERG. Bid another go for pork, lamb, pullets.
HEG. Yes, you understand good living, had you
The wherewithal to get it.

ERG. For hams,
For choicest fish and fowl, and a fat cheese.

HEG. Easier 'tis for you to talk of all
These dainties, than with me to eat them.

The visit of Ergasilus, however, was not all annoyance ; for though
the combined excitement of the juice of Bacchus, and of its consequent
ecstatic delight, would not allow of an immediate enunciation of the
object of his peremptory call, Hegio was soon rewarded for the trouble
•which his guest had caused him, by the pleasing news he brought.
Ergasilus had seen Hegio's captured son, Philopolemus, at the port.
Hegio's joy at the intelligence was only equalled bv that of his inform-
ant; though the joy of the parasite probably arose less from his delight
at the restoration of Philopolemus, than from the prospect of his prefer-
ment to some honourable station in the extensive household of Hegio —
a prospect which was no sooner anticipated than realized ; for Hegio
immediately elevated him to the dignified post of head cellar-man, and
gives him a carte blanche to provide a magnificent banquet worthy of
such an occasion.

This was the height of the parasite's ambition (as may easily be con-
ceived when we see him, in one instance, swearing by ' ( holy gluttony,"
as the dearest and most sacred object to which he could address his
invocations), and we accordingly find him congratulating himself on
his new honours in the following soliloquy : —

He's gone : and has entrusted to my care
The high and grand concern of catering. —
Immortal gods ! how shall I cut and quarter !
How I shall chop the crags from off the chines !
What devastation will befal the hams !
What a consumption rage among the bacon !

1032.] The Captives, of Plan his. 155

What massacre of fat sow's pap. Of brawn
What havoc there will be ! — Then what fatigue
Awaits the butchers ! what the pork-sellers ! —
But to say more of what belongs to a good repast,
Is loss of time, and hindrance. — I will now
Go enter on my government, and sit
In judgment o'er the bacon, — set at liberty
Hams, that have hung untried or uncondemned.

Hegio's servants, unaccustomed to such lavish profusion as Ergasilus
was contemplating with such rapture, were quite alarmed at his por-
tentous threats, and terrified at the prospect of such promiscuous expen-
diture ; though their fright probably arose more from an apprehension
of the result of such proceedings to themselves, than from the strange-
ness of the circumstances; for Hegio was one of that class of gentlemen,
who, though they possess considerable wealth, conduct their establish-
ments with a frugal, if not a parsimonious economy. The consternation
of Hegio's domestics is amusingly described in the following scene, in
which a lad comes rushing out of the house, to give the signal of alarm
to any one he could find. His exclamations may not be unworthy of a
translation : —

May Jove, and all the gods, Ergasilus,
Confound thee and thy belly, with all parasites,
And all who shall hereafter entertain them !
Storm, tempest, devastation, have just broke
Their way into our house ! — I was. afraid
He would have seized me, like a famished wolf; —
I was, -indeed, in a most piteous fright,
He made such horrid grinding with his teeth. —
Soon as he came, he knocked down the whole larder,
With all the meat in't : — then he snatched a knife,
And stuck three pigs directly in the throat ; —
Broke all the pots and cups, except the measures,
And asked the cook whether the salting pans,
With their contents, might not be clapped upon
The fire altogether all at once : — He has broke
The cellar door down, laid the store-room open.—-
Secure him, I beseech you, fellow-servants : —
I'll to my master, tell him he must order
Some more provisions, if he means to have
Any himself: — for as this fellow manages,
There's nothing left, or will be nothing soon.

Hegio is now returning from the port with his son Philopolemus and
Philocrates, till at last they arrive at the house, where they all meet
together — Hegio, Tyndarus, Philocrates, Philopolemus, and the slave
who stole him ; and now, on comparing notes, they discover that Tyn-
darus, whom Hegio had condemned to labour in the mines, is in reality
his son ; and Tyndarus has some faint recollection that his father's
name was Hegio. The chains are accordingly taken off from Tyndarus,
and fastened on the slave who stole Philopolemus, and to whom we are
primarily indebted for the Capteivei of Plautus.

Thus then have we presented the readers of THE MONTHLY with
the first of our series of "Specimens of Latin Comedy" — a subject
which has been much neglected in modern times, and in England almost
entirely forgotten. How deserving it is of this neglect, our readers will

156 Specimens of Latin Comedy — The Captives, of Plautus. [FEB.

now have some opportunity of judging. But it can be no inconsiderable
acquisition to the English litterateur to rescue from the obscurity of an
antiquated dialect of a dead language, the comedies of one, whose purity
of diction and elegance of composition induced Varro to say,* that " if
ever the Muses were to speak in Latin, they would use the language of
Plautus." It was no disgrace to Plautus, that, while he was dazzling
his countrymen by the coruscations of his wit, and instructing as well
as amusing them by the productions of his pen — it was no disgrace to
him, we say, that he had to labour in a mill, in order to save himself from
beggary ; for such was the case ; but if we occasionally meet with an
equivocal expression in his writings, or a metaphorical allusion incon-
sistent with the modern rules of decency, we cannot be surprised. The
faults of Plautus were not the faults of the man, but those of his circum-
stances and his age. Livius Andronicus, his predecessor, was a slave
before he was a poet ; and Terentius, his successor, bent his neck to the
yoke before he figured on the stage. But Plautus was at the same
time a miller and a comedian ; as, in after times, the far-famed Cin-
cinnatus was at once husbandman and dictator. And as, in the one
instance, Rome disdained not to furnish her theatre from the mill,
so, in the other, she disdained not to take her legislator from the
plough.

_

CALAMITIES OF CARVING.

I9W

" Ah, who can tell how hard it is to carve .'"

I HATE carving — hate it in all its branches, moods, and tenses-
abhor it in all its figures, forms, and varieties. What is carving, in
fact, but a spurious kind of surgery, which we are called upon to exer-
cise, without the advantage of a common apprenticeship ? Far from
crying, like other children, for a knife and fork, my early years were
marked by a decided aversion to those weapons ; and when my uncle,
who brought me up, first put them into my hands, and abstracted my
spoon, I regarded it as the loss of a sceptre ; nay, its consequences
amounted almost to a prohibition of food, and I felt something of the
horror of anticipated starvation. Long, indeed, I endured the mortifi-
cation of seeing dinner come and go without the ability to secure a
tolerable meal ; for my uncle was a martinet in all matters of the table,
and his whim was, that the plates of the youngsters should be removed
as soon as the knives and forks of the elder branches had ceased to ply.
My cousins got through their work adroitly : they had the advantage
of early initiation in the mystery ; moreover, they had a natural liking
for the instruments which were my abhorrence. With a quick sense
of shame, much natural timidity, and an appetite of no ordinary cast,
many a meal passed with ineffectual struggles to assuage that hunger
which is the unfailing attendant of a sound constitution, and regular
bodily exercise. On one occasion, the effort to satisfy myself had nearly
cost me my life. Spurred to despair, I attempted to dispatch the slice
assigned as my allowance, without the preparatory process of cutting.

* Quintil. I nst. Oral. x. 1. c.

1832.] Calamities of Carving. 157

At length I succeeded in mastering the difficulty of the knife and

fork as far as regarded this preliminary step ; but, truly is it said —

'.'Bil won

" Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclin'd." ;ij noijiaiujvjji

Carving was still my abhorrence. An expert carver was ever allied, in
my imagination, to an executioner, or headsman. He who asserts a
liking for the art, tells us, we know, a gratuitous falsehood. Your pro-
fessed carver is a lover of good dinners, a man of tit-bits; his passion
for which has conferred upon him the facility of dissection. Can it be
credited, then, that he is fond of an art, which imposes the obligation of
offering the choicest parts to others in entire exclusion of himself? Can
he expect us to believe that he desires to sit utterly dinnerless two or
three times a week, as infallibly he must, if he acquit himself in the
style the hateful office enjoins ? Yet, as I cannot compete with, let me
not abuse him. If absurd custom demands that the lady of the house
must sacrifice one of her guests to the comfort of the others ; or if any
one, in an insane moment, volunteers himself as the victim, he gains a
reputation which I have never been able to achieve by similar means.
It were vain to recount the miseries in which my want of relish for this
mystery have involved me. Not to mention the positively painful
situations in which it has placed me, the minor distresses I have endured
are beyond the power of enumeration.

Judging by the obstacle the barbarous art of carving has proved to
my views, and observing the beneficial effect which has attended adepts
in it, I conclude the man who can carve well to be in the direct road
to the highest offices of church and state ; and if I were asked what
were the three grand requisites for success in life, I should unhesitat-
ingly reply, in full conviction of the truth, the first, carving — the
second, carving — the third, carving.

I was designed for the church, and despite of my lack of qualification
in the carving art, which, with men of my cloth, is considered nearly
as essential as subscription to the thirty-nine articles, I entered into

orders. The living of S soon afterwards became vacant, and the

bishop of the diocese, to whom I was slightly known, and who had
been oil terms of intimacy with my father, expressed himself disposed
to confer it upon me. The friend to whom I owed this communication,
gave me, at the same time, an invitation to dinner for a day in the fol-
lowing week, adding that his lordship would be of the party. I would
fain have declined this intended kindness ; but reminded that the bishop
would be there, whom it was important I should meet — that my tem-
poral interests might greatly depend upon it, I consented, but with a
reluctance which, though not expressed, ill comported with the service
my friend conceived he was rendering me.

The chance of being placed next to some dish which might call my
carving into play, would, in this instance, have dictated a refusal, and
in all cases the apprehension has heavily outweighed any enjoyment,
which otherwise 1 might have anticipated. Many a time have I dressed
to join a convivial dinner-party with the same stagnation of feeling, the
same half-conscious sense of the operation, with which a culprit pre-
pares himself for the scaffold. My mind recoils at the jostling, the
shuffling, and manoeuvring, I have been guilty of to avoid proximity to
a particular dish, which might be supposed to contain a joint ; in fact,
I have always shirked a large cover, as though a living tiger were

158 Calamities of Carving. [FEB.

crouching beneath it ready to spring upon me. But the day for my
meeting the bishop arrived. As it was (to use my friend's expression),
one upon which my temporal interest might greatly depend, I resolved,
as far as possible, to atone for my ignorance in carving, by looking
through various books upon cookery, which contained carving instruc-
tions.

One I was possessed of, which treated largely of this infernal art,
and presented pictures of birds and beasts, with lines drawn, indicating
the course the knife was to take. I studied hard, and went through
the whole list. I then paced my room, and, in imagination, cut up, in
the most approved manner, all animals, common arid uncommon ; and
though thus, in some measure, theoretically prepared, still I made my
appearance with a fluttering heart at my friend's house. As I entered
it, a combination of fumes, escaping from the kitchen, readied my
olfactories ; and as I followed the servant to the drawing-room, I re-
solved to avoid conversation before dinner, and recal my morning's
study, fixing my particular attention upon the dishes, which I might
now, from the hint given to my nose, expect to appear. But, strange to
say, none but the most unusual viands would now occur to me ; and I
was busily engaged in banishing visions of quails, herons, swans, and
others of the feathered race, least subject to human mastication, when
dinner was announced.

The only seat unoccupied upon my entrance, was one next the lady
of the house ; and before I could well extricate myself from my mus-
ings, my friend begged I would lead her to the dinner-room. I offered
her my arm therefore, though I would gladly have exchanged this
distinction for a howling wilderness ; since it seemed to bespeak the
probability of my sitting next her, and if so, I knew too well, though
she did not, what was likely to follow. As I augured, so it proved —
she assigned his lordship a station on her right hand, and placed me on
her left — the post of honour, it might be ; but I remember the pillory
occurred to me, as a sort of paradise compared to it. The cover being
removed, a turbot was exhibited to view ; the lady turned to me, re-
questing my assistance. My last hope, flimsy as it was, hung upon his
lordship's soliciting this distinction; but he sat erect and mute; and
when she politely handed me the fish-slice and the knife, I felt about as
much obliged to her as though she had presented to me a poisoned gob-
let and a dagger. But there was no retreating ; I was tied to the stake.

Now be it known I was no gourmand, and independently of my gross
want of skill, I knew not for my soul, why one part of any creature
designed for our use was not as good as another. Moreover, the tail
of the turbot was towards to me, and I judged from this circumstance
that it was designed I should commence there. I began therefore at
the tail, and insinuating the fish-slice at its very extremity, turned over
a thin fin-less morsel to his lordship, whose plate was first at my elbow.

The bishop looked any thing but the living of S at me, as it was

placed before him. The lady soon perceived my error, and before I
had dispatched another plate, pointed to the upper part of the fish. I
dashed in the slice, under the superintendence of her fair finger, and
detached a portion for the other guests ; for every one, as fate would
have it, would eat fish, and no one would taste soup — a sound which my
ear eagerly longed to catch, as a remission of at least a part of my sen-
tence. Unceasing demands made me desperate, and I laid about me

1832. J Calamities of Carving. 159

with knife and slice, but with so little address, that before half the
company were supplied, the turbot lay an unsightly heap of ruins, and
the most experienced eye might have been puzzled to determine what
in reality it had originally been. This achieved, I waited in grim
despair a second attack upon the next dish, and in the brief interval, I
had full leisure to observe that I had disconcerted the lady, and dis-

E leased the bishop ; which did not, however, so entirely absorb my
iculties as to conceal the certainty that I was undergoing the ban of
several of the other guests. But before I could cast up the sum total
of my demerits, a servant appeared, bearing an enormous dish and
cover, which he placed in the situation the hapless turbot had so re-
cently occupied. The cover being taken off, a turkey was exposed. I had
as soon it had been a rhinoceros. However, limited as was my informa-
tion, I chanced to know that the breast was the favourite part, and
desiring to atone to the bishop, on whom I kept a penitent eye for my
late infraction of the law of gulosity, and considering I could not do
too much to repair my error, I sent him a junk in the form of a wedge,
that might have puzzled the capacity of an alderman. Here I was
again set right by my fair and offended auxiliary, who, in evident per-
turbation, audibly whispered " thin, Sir, if you please, thin.'* I took
her at her word, dispatched slices to the others which rivalled Vauxhall.
" The cry was still they come ;" turkey, nothing but turkey would go
down — all the fish-eaters had suddenly become bird-fanciers. A legion
of plates were at my elbow, and it was now necessary to disengage
some of the limbs. My fate had reached its crisis — in endeavouring to
cut off one of the legs, I suddenly drove the ill-fated bird to the edge
of the dish, and sent the gravy it contained, like a jet d'eau over the
spruce dress and rubicund face of his lordship. No trap-door opened
under my feet, for which I heartily prayed, and prayed in vain. The
bishop, after vainly endeavouring for a moment to rid himself of the
effect of the accident, was translated to an adjoining apartment, to which
the servants accompanied him, and when he resumed his seat, who can
paint the anger that sat on his brow ? on the brow of him, who, from
his sacred calling and exalted station, is said to be " above the atmos-
phere of the passions ?"

At length the cloth was removed — I had not swallowed a morsel,
and the bumpers I drank to subdue my uneasiness, assailing an empty
stomach and disquieted spirit, soon attacked my brain ; I went
through almost every grade of intoxication. I talked incessantly ;
became vehement and vociferous ; and finally was fast verging towards
something worse, when a glimpse of my unhappy state, before reason
was quite dislodged, helped me to discern the expediency of a retreat.
I made an abrupt exit, but I have no distinct idea how I succeeded in
getting home. All I remember is, that I tripped in the mat on leaving
the dinner-room, and turning my head into a battering-ram, made a
forcible entry into an opposite parlour, where, as my evil stars would
have it, my fair hostess had retired to write a note. I was past making
any apology. The servants, alarmed at the noise, ran to my assistance,
and though stunned by the encounter between ray skull and my friend's
mahogany, I recollect, when they took me up, hearing one of them
answer the inquiry of the lady, " It's the gentleman, ma'am, what
splashed my lord bishop." These were the last words I heard that

160 Calamities of Carving. [FEB.

night, and certainly the bespattered diocesan was the first image that
occurred to me the following morning. It was plain my prospects in
that quarter were utterly ruined, and as I lay in bed I revolved and
re-revolved, with the advantage of a parched tongue and fevered brain,
the means of ridding myself at once from all the disquietude which I
felt must ever be my lot whilst carving was in fashion. If I looked back
I saw nothing but suffering, acute suffering — if forward, I perceived
one interminable vista of similar discomforts. It was clear, that to
avoid the dissection of dishes, which despite of my efforts to escape
were often placed under my distribution, I had feigned sprained wrists,
cut fingers, and sudden indisposition, until they could be feigned no more.
Something therefore was immediately necessary to be decided upon to
relieve me from the burden of such an existence as I was enduring.
Mine was no common calamity — a marriage, a bankruptcy, a duel, may
occur in the course of a man's life-time ; but carving is of diurnal oc-
currence—no man is safe for four-and-tw^ity hours — no sooner is one
dinner dispatched, than in some way or other, another must be in pre-
paration ; and who can endure an everlasting conflict with antipathies ?
I resolved therefore to quit England, once and for ever — a country
where the very poor are the only very happy people — for they have no
dinners.

Arriving at this determination, I wavered for a fime between China
and France. The Chinese, I had heard (like sensible people), always
eat alone ; but I knew less of their general habits. France occurred to
me as the land of ragouts, hashes and fricasees; of course, little or no
work for the knife, and much for the spoon. I determined therefore
for France. I rose with alacrity, dispatched my affairs, collected my
moveables, and made all ready for a start.

Fortune, however, could not be satisfied without a parting blow at
me, even when I had consented to succumb to her dictates and expa-
triate myself. During a ride which I took to bid farewell to my few
remaining relatives, I was approaching, about fifteen miles from my
house, an inn which I had been in the habit of stopping at, when a
fellow belonging to it called to his companion, and exclaimed, in a sub-
dued tone which he thought could not reach my ear " I say, Tom, here
comes Chops" I looked round, but perceiving no one, dismounted and
entered the house. Presently after, having ordered some refreshment, I
heard one of the waiters in the passage ask another, if a party who had
just arrived were to dine in the Unicorn. " No, no,'* said he, " they
can't dine there, Chops is in that room." Assured, as I was the only
tenant of it, that they must have some reference to me, I rang the bell,
and when the waiter entered, insisted upon an explanation. After
much prevarication, and a promise on my part of entire forgiveness
whatever it might be, he said, " Why, all the servants calls you so, Sir,
because you never orders nothing but chops."

It was too true ; my anti-carving faculties had doomed me to a mo-
notony of mutton — to perpetual dinners upon chops.

Now, fortune, I defy thee — I am'on board the packet — the wind is fair,
and in a few hours I shall be across the channel.

B. F.

1832.] [ 161 ]

A MODEST DEFENCE OF LITERARY PUFFING.

" Puffing is of various sorts. The principal are the puff' direct, the puff preliminary, the puff
collateral, the puff collusive, and the puff oblique, or puff by implication."

THE CRITIC.

" ET tu brnte !" What ! a truculent and despiteous attack upon the
pleasant and profitable practice of literary puffing from the reviewers !
Nay, this would " raise a soul under the ribs of death ;" and I must posi-
tively run a tilt with my grey goose-quill against these dirt-throwing
Zoili, giving no quarter, not even to the Quarterly, until I make them
confess that they are themselves the authors of the very evil they depre-
cate, and infinitely more culpable, both as to fact and motive, than the
parties they presume to arraign. They really remind one of the fuli-
ginous kitchen utensil, in^he proverb, reproaching a more cleanly one
with its blackness ; or of the goose finding fault with the gosling —
*' Why do you go nodding and waggling, so like a fool, as if you were hip-
shot foundered ?" Gentlemen Reviewers ! (excuse this term ; it proceeds
from my recent perusal of the " extinct titles") — Gentlemen Reviewers!
you are like Othello,< not because of your black looks, or of your stifling
the innocent in their own sheets, but because your occupation's gone.
The field-day of the Reviews is over ; they are giving way to Maga-
zines ; they are gasping for the breath of life ; their final extinction is
rapidly approaching. Of the minors, several have already yielded up
the ghost ; some, volunteering the punishment inflicted by Mezentius,
have protracted their sufferings by incorporating themselves with a
defunct brother ; others have struggled to escape extinction by chang-
ing their titles, or periods of publication ; all are rapidly diminishing in
influence and circulation ; and if two or three still command a sale of
any magnitude, it is precisely because they are no longer reviews, but
party pamphlets, criticising authors, not books — appealing to the passions
and prejudices of a particular class, instead of addressing themselves to
the lovers of general literature : and who are the writers selected
for this honourable office? One or two men of eminence are ad-
mitted, that their names may give a sort of sanction to the work ; and
these individuals may perhaps have virtue and independence enough to
spurn the shackles to which their coadjutors must submit; but the mass
are notoriously mercenaries, who, with the natural irritation of their
tribe, are embittered against the possessors of talent in exact proportion
to their want of it. " Let those teach others who themselves excel,"
was the maxim of former times ; but in the march of no-intellect we
have reversed all this ; the convicted dunce wields the magisterial rod,
the ass sits in the professor's chair, and both are naturally severe, be-
cause the Boetians have found, by degrading experience, that it is much
more easy and pleasant not to like, than to do the like — Hi prce cceteris
alios liber'vus carpere solent, qui nil proprium ediderunt : — those men will
be most disposed to depreciate others >vho have done nothing themselves.
But the Latin quotation does not accurately describe the Zoili in ques-
tion. Generally speaking, they are not men who have written nothing,
but who, having signally and miserably failed in their own literary
attempts, take their revenge by attempting to run down and destroy
those who are likely to succeed, more especially in the departments

M.M. New Series.— Vol.. XIII. No. 74. M

162 A Modest Defence of Literary Puffing. [FEB.

where they themselves have demonstrated their incapacity. H'mc illcs
lachri/mce— hence their virtuous indignation— hence their impartial stric-
tures— hence their disinterested regard for the sacred cause of literature !
Not infrequently they are known to be actuated by less amiable motives
than even these — by some petty, paltry, dirty personality; but it is
immaterial whether ignorance or malice prompt them, for both concur
in the same language, as geese and snakes both hiss ; and of all such
critical sibilations, it may truly be said, without the poor conceit of a
Paranomasia, that the author upon whom they are inflicted — " laudatur
ab his." Like Fuller's earth, their abuse may defile him for a moment,
only that when it is rubbed off it may leave him the cleaner ; and even
this evanescent injury it is not in the power of every puny whipster to
inflict, for we must not suppose that all weeds sting because nettles do.
It has been well said of calumnious imputations in general, that they
resemble the rubbish thrown up by a furious volcano, of which the
lighter portion is dispersed by the winds, while the heavier falls back
into its own mouth — a remark specially applicable to the angry diatribes
and scurrilous personalities of reviewers. He of the ungentle craft,
whose assault upon puffing has stimulated us to this defence of injured
innocence, does not attempt to absolve his own tribe, and his own art,
ingeniously confessing, that "title-pages, prefaces, advertisements, and
even critiques, may be clubbed together as one great lie." Can he won-
der, after this candid admission of a fact, which the public had
long since discovered, that reviewers, utterly disregarded by all classes,
even down to boarding-school misses and pensive lieutenants, as
criteria of literary merit, have fallen into their present state of languor,
exhaustion, and approaching dissolution ? It is really edifying to hear
literary bravoes, whose profession it is to stab in the dark, who never
venture from their hiding-places without a crape over their features,
who may be hired for a miserable pittance to attack either friend or foe ;
it is truly instructive to hear such men assuming the high and noble
tone of indignant virtue, and stigmatizing the poor puffer as the most
odious of caitiffs, because, forsooth, he may not always be sincere and
disinterested in his praises ! Oh, the candid, honest, truth-loving var-
lets ! As if it were not a thousand times more honourable to deal in
unmerited encomium than in hired detraction !

I have said that reviewers themselves were the real authors of all
the puffing evils and enormities against which they vent their spleen,
and the assertion is susceptible of very easy proof. What ! is a bane to
exist without its antidote ; are malevolence, scurrility, perversion, and
all the captious chicaneries of corrupt hypercriticism, to have undis-
puted possession of the literary field; are authors, ex necessitate,
such nefarious felons as not to be allowed benefit of clergy ? No ; as
Nature, where she plants a vegetable poison, generally provides an anti-
dote, so in the moral world she causes sympathies to spring up by the
side of antipathies. Extremes, moreover, have an inherent tendency
towards each other ; the pessimist makes the optimist : and thus it is
that the unfairness, the bitterness, the rancour of reviewers have gene-
rated those much more excusable failings, if such they may be termed,
of superlative, fulsome, high-flown panegyrics. One excess invariably
begets another. If a reviewer endeavours to shew that an author is a
slavering idiot, his friendly puffer naturally attempts to prove that he
is an Admirable Crighton ; and if the latter do not always come into

1832.] A Modest Defence of Literary Puffing. 163

court with clean hands, it is precisely because he has had to deal with
so dirty an adversary as the former. The washerwoman cannot cleanse
our clothes from the filth which the scavenger throws about him, with-
out being herself occasionally contaminated ; but her occupation is not
on that account the less necessary or the less respectable. It is natural
that stains and dirt should hate the whitewasher who obliterates them,
but it is, nevertheless, they themselves who have called him and his art
into existence : and thus do I maintain, that as the devil is the father of
lies, so are reviewers the parents, and the cause of puffers.

Be it observed, that in all these mutual mal-practices, acting and
re-acting with aggravated effect uoon each other, the author has no
share ; he has parted with his copyright, has no interest in the conflict,
and can find no more pleasure in being made the shuttlecock between
the black and white battledore, than would a well-dressed gentleman in
being alternately jostled by a miller and a chimney-sweeper. Were
the author at the same time the puffer, I should scorn to become his cham-
pion, for I abhor all egotism, holding it to be a disfigurement rather
than a beautifying of one's proper features. Minerva threw aside the
flute, when she found that it puffed up her own cheeks — a classical
authority against every other description of self-inflation. Bobadils and
Bardolphs, ancient Pistols and Falstaffs, with all such thrasonical and
blustering bragadocios, have only rendered their cowardice the more
conspicuous by vaunting their valour. Did the Gascon expect to be
believed who boasted that his seven-foot mattrass was stuffed with the
mustachios of the enemies he had killed in battle ; or he who declared,
that it became him to be cautious in approaching the foe, because, as
he was all over heart, the prick of a pin would kill him ; or he who,
being observed to tremble before an onset, said that his body shuddered
at the thought of the dangers into which it would inevitably be hurried
by his valorous spirit ? Such philautical hyperboles are not less ridi-
culous and offensive than vain, for we may be assured that the more we
speak of ourselves in superlatives, the more will others speak of us in
diminutives ; and the less we put ourselves forward, the more will the
public be disposed to advance us. et Praefulgebant Cassius et Brutus
eo ipso quod eorum effigies non visebantur/' says Tacitus. There is the
authority, indeed, of a distinguished nobleman and author, for a certain
degree of personal boastfulness, as well as for an occasional extension of
truth — te The exercises I chiefly used, and most recommend to my pos-
terity," says my Lord Herbert of Cherbury, "were riding the great
horse ; and I do much likewise approve of shooting in the long bow."
His posterity, I hope, have disregarded his injunction ; and, indeed, I
have been given to understand that some of them suspect the above
words to convey a different meaning from that which they would seem
to import, a question into which I enter not, being reverently chary of
wresting the sense of our ancient writers !

And now then, the literary puffer not being the author of the works
eulogized, what can be more amiable, more benevolent, more praise-
worthy than his character ? Whether it be by premeditated accident or
fortuitous design that his laudatory paragraphs go the round of the
papers, dividing the attention of a breathless public with Warren's
Blacking and Rowland's Kalydor, how philanthropical is his practice,
and how benignant must be the motive that prompts him ! Howard
sinks into insignificance, compared with a public benefactor who so con-

M 2

164 A Modest Defence of Literary Puffing. [FEB.

siderately points out to us the tit-bits of literature, makes us think the
better of one another, and inculcates a liberality of judgment, which
must be equally gratifying and improving to all parties, ever excepting
the critics. Has not the eulogist, moreover, when by constant puffing
he spreads and diffuses the leaves of his favourite book, and purifies the
peccant humours of the critical world, the example of Nature before
him, who by a similar process unfolds the vegetable leaves, and dis-
perses the foulness and ill humours of the atmosphere? — Even should
the amiable encomiast undesignedly bring grist to his own mill, by
availing himself of a natural and most useful auxiliary, surely he is not
more culpable than the miller who confessedly lives by puffs, and yet
pursues his avocation without impeachment ; so true is it that one man
may steal a horse, while another must not look over the hedge.

A few words as to the alleged evils of this system, which, accord-
ing to the reviewer, is to effect an universal corruption, a pervading dis-
regard of truth, a total depravation of literature, results long since pre-
dicated from the abuse of criticism, but no more likely to be realized in
the one case than the other. Reviews having been detected, have
utterly lost their influence, and such must speedily be the fate of puff-
ing. Both evils will work out their own cure, and the latter the most
rapidly, and certainly, if there be any truth in the dictum, that " praise
undeserved is censure in disguise/' or that —

" A vile encomium doubly ridicules,

Since nothing blackens like the ink of fools."

The wine-merchant and the blacking- vender, whose trades ought to
be united, like those of the ancient barbers and surgeons, in the same
company, have not injured the genuine commodity, by puffing the
spurious one ; it does but occasion us a little more trouble to examine
our money, when we know that counterfeit coin is abroad. No one will
be twice taken in by the same imposture, or if he is, qui vult decipi,
dedpiatur. Auctioneers' statements, such as those of a hanging wood,
where there is nothing but a gibbet, or of a purling stream, which is
represented by a stagnant gutter, do not operate any delusion, being
now looked upon as professional lies, a mere faqon de purler. In this
instance, then, the evil has effectually wrought its own cure, as it will
ultimately, ay, and speedily too, in the case of literary puffing. Minor
publishers will follow the example of the first offender, their paragraphs
will be huddled together in the same corner of the paper, the public
will take no more notice of them than they do of the wall- writing of
rival competitors in blacking, and the booksellers will gladly discontinue
an expense, when they find it to be at once burthensome and unavail-
ing. In the event of such a consummation, it is to be hoped they will
add the amount saved to the copyright, the authors being the only par-
ties who have any real right to complain in the whole transaction.

It is a mistake to suppose that puffing is a peculiar characteristic of
the present era, or even that it has suffered any material increment in
the last half century, as any one may see who will read over the Critic,
published nearly fifty years ago. The suppression of lotteries has in
fact very much diminished the quantum of this offence, and even the
asserted augmentation and flagrancy of literary puffing is rather a
change of form than any addition of substance. All publishers in their
advertisements are in the habit of subjoining commendatory extracts to

1832.] A Modest Defence of Literary Puffing. 165

the works announced, cited probably from reviews of their own dicta-
tion, or under their immediate influence, if indeed the encomium within
inverted commas be not altogether quotations from their own heads—-
and this is held to be an allowable practice ; but if the paragraph in
question be detached, and inserted separately, there is as furious an
outcry against the offender as if he had committed high treason against
the majesty of Paternoster Row. Truly this is a distinction without a
difference, and I suspect that those who clamour against it are more
jealous of its apprehended success, than scandalized at the offence itself.
Even Sheridan has failed to notice one species of literary puff, from
which the present era is happily exempt, and which may be termed the
puff devout, if it might not with more propriety be designated the puff
profane. It is that wherein a work is attempted to be sanctioned, and its
circulation to be extended, by obtaining for it the imprimatur of Hea-
ven, a daring act of irreverence, limited, I believe, to Lord Herbert of
Cherbury. This nobleman having secret misgivings as to the pro-
priety of publishing his work et De Veritate," since the whole frame
of it differed from all former writings concerning the discovery of
truth, wished to obtain a sign from heaven as to the course he should

Eursue ; wherefore taking the work in his hands, and kneeling down,
e devoutly besought some manifestation of the divine will. " I had
no sooner spoken these words," says his lordship, " but a loud, though
yet gentle noise, came forth from the heavens, for it was like nothing
on earth, which did so cheer and comfort me, that I took my petition
as granted, and that I had the sign I demanded ; whereupon I resolved
to print my book." If this be not rather a miserable evidence of vanity
and self-delusion, it is unquestionably the most audacious puff upon record.
There is one more species of puffing, scarcely more justifiable than
the above, to which I shall only allude, in order to stigmatize it with
reprobation, and to express deep regret that it should ever be resorted to
by publishers who make the smallest claims to respectability. Sheridan
thus admirably describes it in the Critic — " The puff collusive is much
used by bold booksellers and enterprising poets. ' An indignant corre-
spondent observes, that the new poem, called Beelzebub's Cotillion, or
Proserpine's Fete Champetre, is one of the most unjustifiable perform-
ances he ever read : the severity with which certain characters are
handled is quite shocking ; and as there are many descriptions in it too
warmly coloured for female delicacy, the shameful avidity with which
this piece is bought up by all people of fashion, is a reproach on the
taste of the times, and a disgrace to the delicacy of the age/ Here you
see the two strongest inducements are held forth : first that nobody
ought to read it ; and secondly, that every body buys it ; on the strength
of which the publisher boldly prints the tenth edition before he has
sold ten of the first ; and then establishes it by threatening himself with
the pillory, or absolutely indicting himself for scan-mag !"

If booksellers now-a-days do not venture to recommend their publi-
cations upon the ground of their indelicacy, they scruple not to attract
readers, by openly setting forth the personality and scandalous nature
of the work they are puffing, thus pandering to a vice which is the
stigma and opprobrium of the day, adducing as a merit that which
ought to condemn the book with every right-thinking and right-feeling
reader, and perverting public morals by an unblushing substitution of
wrong for right. " That's villanous, and shews a most pitiful ambition
in him that uses it. Oh, reform it altogether !".

[ 166 ] [FEB.

nKT

>hfi ^I31il(| THE PARISIAN NEWSPAPER PRESS.*

JJOB t^jh • fro

„ Si qui,j novjsti rectius istig

Candidus imperti : si non, his utero mecum."

HORACE EPIST.

THE English, in general, have a very incorrect idea of the Parisian
Press, of its influence, and of the character of its editors ; and I have
often heard very able politicians speak of some Parisian journal in a
manner so contrary to its real merit, that I conceive it to be very essen-
tial to truth to expose the system of the Parisian press ; speaking impar-
tially, avoiding exaggeration, and refraining from personalities as much
as possible. But if my just criticism, instead of being useful to their
future conduct, should excite in them the spirit of revenge, I advise
them to beware, lest, to defend truth, I should be obliged to reveal
secrets which are buried in the bottom of my heart, and which will
there remain until my honour is compromised by their concealment ;
then they will know, but too late —

" Quod nos tela etiam, ferrumque baud debile dextra
Spargimus, et nostro sequitur de vulnere sanguis."

VIRGIL ./ENEID.

I shall divide the Parisian daily journals into four classes — The Slave
Ministerials, The Occasionally Ministerials, The Slave Opposition, The
Occasionally Opposition. The Legitimist, The Bonaparlist, and the
Republican journals, are comprised in the class of the slave opposition.
The independent portion of the press will occupy but little space in this
article.
The morning papers are—

The Moniteur Universel.

The Journal des Debats.

The Constitutionnel.

The National.

The Temps.

The Journal du Commerce.

The Nouveau Journal de Paris.

The Globe.

The Quotidienne.

The Courrier Francois.
The Tribune.
The Echo de Paris.
Galignani's Messenger.
The evening papers are—
The Gazette de France.
The Messager des Chambres.
The Revolution.
The Courrier d'Europe.
The Stenographe. .

The small theatrical journals, such as the Figaro, &c. form no part
of the present subject.

The Moniteur Universel is the French official journal ; it is printed
by the government, and, of course, its composition is most insipid, and
most insignificant. This paper was established after the first revolution
of France, and has since served, without exception, all the rulers of the
French dominions. M. Sauvo is its acknowledged nominal editor;
but its real editor is always the first secretary of the minister of the inte-
rior. The columns of this paper are open to all the paid defenders of
the reigning administration ; and at present M. Barthe, the minister of
justice, often inserts in it long elaborate articles in favour of his col-
leagues. Facts have been so repeatedly misrepresented in this journal,
that it is fallen into the greatest discredit ; and for this reason is styled
by the public, instead of Le Moniteur Universel, Le Menteur Universel.

* "We have been favoured with this communication by a foreigner of high rank,
and give it in his own language. [£D.

1832.] The Parisian Newspaper Press. 167

. The Journal des Debats is one of the best written and the best
arranged journals of Paris. Its political principles are purely aristo-
cratical ; and its editors have always been of the Bourbon party, and
sham constitutionalists. When Polignac came into administration, Ber-
tin de Veaux, its principal editor, became all of a sudden of the oppo-
sition, and concurred with the other journals in overthrowing the prince's
Erer. But when the fatal ordinances of Charles X. appeared, the
rnal des Debats would not sign with the other journals the protesta-
of illegality ; and having made its submission to Peyronnet, ob-
tained the license to continue its publication. After the expulsion of the
elder branch of the Bourbons, this paper became the champion of the
family of Orleans, and has done, and still does, all in its power to render
Louis Philippe as little democratical as it is possible. The most renowned
members of the juste milieu fill the columns of this journal with their
lucubrations ; and one may easily perceive those that belong to Guizot
and Dupiri, and those that have been written by Sebastiani, Thiers,
Villemain, and other partisans of Perier. I must, however, say, that
the Journal des Debats gives often the best foreign information ; that
morals, decorum, and delicacy, are always observed ; and that an article
of this paper will produce a greater sensation on the public than articles
of any other journal of Paris.

The Constitutionnel, which has long been, and is still considered by
many foreigners the political arm of the French press, has at present
very little influence on the enlightened portion of the French nation.
It owes its celebrity and circulation to its early appearance as an oppo-
sition paper soon after the restoration of the Bourbons, and to the gor-
geousi title of ConstitutionneL Its object is rather a commercial than a
political one ; for it is the property of a few individuals, the greater
part of whom have no other interest at heart than to get money. This
is the reason why the Constitutionnel has no fixed principles, and is
sometimes ultra ministerial, and at other times as much the reverse; for
whenever one of the proprietors has been denied a favour, or a sinecure,
by a minister, for any of his proteges, it is to be expected that a rude
attack will be made against the administration ; but it will cease the
day the demanded favour has been granted. This stratagem is so well
known in Paris, that when such a change takes place, it is a common
saying— f( Le Constitutionnel est fache ; on lui a refuse quelque chose."
I must however add, that among the fifteen share-holders of this paper,
there are two honest and truly independent writers, who for a very
long time have not participated in its management ; and one of them has
also attacked the professed principles of the Constitutionnel, addressing
letters to the National and other journals, to acquaint the public of his
being quite a stranger to the system of politics adopted by his co-pro-
prietors. By so doing he obtained a sensible amelioration in the politi-
cal editorship of the Constitutionnel, and has been appointed chief
conductor of it about a month ago. Every one is therefore now more
satisfied with its articles. As for foreign news, this paper contains good
interest ; but not seldom its accounts are much exaggerated, and some-
times officially contradicted.

The Courrier Franqais, established in 1818, has distinguished itself
by its constant opposition to all the administrations of the restoration,
and by its repeated attacks against the despotism of the mock constitu-
tional power of the Bourbons. Often its editors incurred the severity of

;! nwo eirifli -ti

168 The Parisian Newspaper Press. [FEB.

the king's attorney-general, and of the judges, literally at the disposition
of the government; and twice not only its editors were prosecuted,
tried, and condemned to fine and imprisonment, but the publication
itself, by an extraordinary interpretation of the constitution, was sup-
pressed for two months.

However, on its re-appearance, the Courrier Fra^ais recommenced
with increased force its opposition, and soon became very popular all
over France. The eloquent Foy, Benjamin Constant, Girardin, La-
marque, De Tracy, and the most celebrated members of the opposition,
in order to remunerate the zeal and perseverance of this journal, filled
its columns with their articles, and from this epoch its influence and
circulation increased with astonishing progress.

Notwithstanding the powerful aid of so many literary and political
contributors, one of the editors, in order to maintain the independence
of the Courrier Fran^ais, and pay the continual fines which were imposed
month after month by the corrupted judges, sacrificed his entire for-
tune, and for several years was reduced to subsist upon the emoluments
derived from his employment as editor. Although Richelieu, Decazes,
Villele, Martignac, and Polignac, did always all in their power, first to
ruin the Courrier Fra^ais, and afterwards to bribe its editors, their
intrigues had no success ; and to the last day of the restoration, this
journal lost no opportunity of exposing any fault of the government, or
of censuring the least act of arbitrary power ; and as often these attacks
were corroborated by facts, they excited public indignation, and pre-
pared the struggle of the late revolution of 1830. During, and after
this epoch, the editors of the Courrier Fran^ais have constantly distin-
guished themselves for their personal courage, their independence, and
their active co-operation in restoring order and tranquillity.

Under Louis Philippe, they have kept themselves at a dignified dis-
tance from the Palais Royal, and thus have avoided to fall in the snares
of the court, and have been forgotten by their ancient friends in the dis-
tribution of places and honours.

From what I have just mentioned, it may be easily perceived that
the Courrier Fra^ais is one of the best opposition papers of Paris ; but
it must be allowed, that sometimes its opposition is too violent, and that
personal animosity often occasions some ungenerous attack against the
government, and, consequently, an indirect appeal to the mobility of the
lower classes, encouraging them to use their numerical wisdom and pre-
ponderance. However, when in any popular movements the general
welfare of the nation is at stake, the Courrier Fra^ais, fully aware of
its influence on the minds of the people, always enforces order and for-
bearance, and certainly more than once the government have felt the
benefit of it.

As for its principles, no one can exactly say to whose party the Cour-
rier Fran9ais belongs ; but it is certainly liberal, and much inclined to
Bonapartism, with republican institutions.

The National owes its origin to a dissident member of the Constitu-
tionnel, the present much renowned M. Thiers, the champion of Casi-
mir Perier. This historiographer having been humiliated in his pride
by the refusal of his co-proprietors to allow him to become one of the
chief conductors, gave up his share, and established the National in
opposition to the Constitutionnel. This paper, in the beginning of its
opposition, published some very strong articles against the administra-

J 832.] The Parisian Newspaper Press. 169

tion of Polignac ; its editor was tried and condemned, and, it must be
said, the prophecy which it contained with regard to the eldest branch
of Bourbon, was fully accomplished by the ordinances of Charles X.,
and by the late revolution, during which the National gave proofs of
courage and character. But on the 29th of July, while all the walls of
Paris were covered with placards — "No more Bourbons," — M. Thiers,
who had had an interview with the Duke of Orleans and with M. Lafitte,
published a small paper in favour of the present King of France, repre-
senting him as a revolutionary general, and as a great friend of the nar
tional independence and of the freedom of the French nation. Thousands
of these papers were given in the Faubourgs, and thus the multitude
began to think and speak of the Duke of Orleans, and then the members
of the Provisional Government prevailed on Lafayette, and Louis Phi-
lippe was proclaimed " The Provisional Lieutenant-General of France !"
About this important affair strange rumours were spread ; some said
that M. Thiers received for this service a very great sum of money ;
others insisted that he did it only because the Duke of Orleans had been
generous to him during the restoration ; certain it is, that as soon as
Louis Philippe was elected King of the French, this journalist became
a counsellor of state, had all the places he demanded, and is now consi-
dered as the favourite of the reigning dynasty ; and what is truly extra-
ordinary, since M. Lafitte has lost his influence at court, M. Thiers,
who owes all he possesses to the ex-banker's generosity and friendship,
Jias forgotten the past, and is become one of his opponents. For what
regards the National, the ancient colleagues of Thiers would not change
their principles, and are still working hard in opposition to the system of
the administration of Perier ; but their opposition is often too virulent,
and their attacks are sometimes very unconstitutional. Nevertheless,
the National is a well-conducted paper, its principles are truly based on
the honour, independence, and freedom of France, and its influence is
very great with the enlightened portion of the nation, and particularly
with all classes of students in France.

The Temps is a journal of the fashionable world, and consequently
has no fixed principles of its own. It was established about three years
ago, under the auspices, and with the funds of seventy-one opposition
members of the Chamber of the Deputies, of whom several filled its
columns with their articles. The editor is well known all over France
for his cunning and abilities in similar enterprises, and is a man per-
fectly fit to direct the material part of a journal. His private character
is not highly honourable, and his conduct in former political and com-
mercial transactions has incurred the just reproaches of all those who
know him. For under the administration of M. de Villele, being the
editor of the Tablettes Universelles, without the permission of the pro-
prietors, he sold them to government, and left Paris in a great hurry, to
escape from the prosecution of those who had been defrauded by such a
scandalous transaction. However, with regard to the present publica-
tion, he seems to meet with the approbation of his constituents, and the
circulation of the Temps increases. At the epoch of the late French
revolution, the editor of this paper gave undeniable proofs of his per-
sonal courage, opposed himself most bravely to the brutal force of the
gendarmes, who went, by the order of Mangin, to seize and destroy his
printing-office. He succeeded in concealing some presses, and during
the three glorious days was very active in publishing, and circulating

170 The Parisian Newspaper Press. [FEB.

among the people and the army, articles fit to excite great courage in
the former, and desertion in the latter. It must be allowed that he
strongly contributed to promote the success of the insurrection, and the
triumph of the popular party. When the new government of Louis
Philippe was established, the Temps by degrees became the partisan
of the juste milieu, and the champion of the Guizottine administration.
At the resignation of Lafitte and Merilhou, Casimir Perier, the inti-
mate friend of Guizot and Dupin, was chosen to succeed the former,
and, it may be said, that he became the seven ministers of France, as his
colleagues are bound to his tyrannical control. Since Perier reigns
over Louis Philippe and his subjects,* the Temps militates in his
favour ; but now and then Sebastiani is rudely attacked, and his expul-
sion is strongly recommended. This must be attributed to the private
animosity of a writer to whom Sebastiani has not granted a demanded
consulship. This journal exercises no great influence on the public in
general ; but its articles have much power over the principal agents of
the administration, and are not disguised by those friends of the new
king. Klaproth, the well-known master of several unknown tongues, is
the conductor of the foreign department of the Temps.

The Journal du Commerce was chiefly established for the ameliora-
tion and welfare of commerce, and the best French economists contri-
buted to its publication. For a very long time it has been of great
service to commercial men. Politics were not the main object of this
publication ; but no subject of importance on this point was ever neg-
lected. Since the revolution of 1830, the editors of this journal have
shewn great personal independence ; for they have neither demanded,
nor obtained any favour, or places. Very little of all that has been done
by the different administrations of Louis Philippe has been approved
by the Journal du Commerce ; it is for the movement party, and strongly
co-operates in forwarding the popular interests. Such is the prudent
manner which the editors have adopted in attacking all the past and
present ministers, that their journal has never been compromised, and it
is, perhaps, the only opposition paper which, since the late revolution,
has not been prosecuted by the king's attorney-general.

The Nouveau Journal de Paris is the most scandalous ministerial
paper of Paris, and it is truly despicable. Voltaire was very right in
saying — " II y a une certaine fatalite attachee a certains noms." For
the old Journal de Paris, by selling its independence and its opinions
to M. de Villele, disgraced all those who had had any thing to do with
its publication ; and the Nouveau Journal de Paris has done still worse ;
for after having been for some time one of the warmest defenders of
popular rights and national independence, it has sold itself to Casimir
Perier, and to the nabobs of Louis Philippe. Such is the submission
of this paper, that not one article, nay, not one word, can be inserted in
its columns unless it has first .been approved of both by the secretary of
Perier, and by the appointed censors of Louis Philippe. Ab uno
disce omnes. The Journal de Paris has fallen into such contempt, that
although it is dispatched gratis to several places, no one takes the pains
to peruse it ; but all the public authorities dependent on the ministers,

• Now Casimir Perier, and his ^ successors, may reign over the King of the
French, if they can, but as for his subjects it is impossible, since it has been
proved before the Chamber of Deputies, that the French are no longer subjects of the
King of the French Hi

1832.] The Parisian Newspaper Press. 171

have been, and are obliged to take in this paper for the welfare and
conversion of their subalterns.

The Quotidiemie is a true jesuitico-aristocratical journal, but it often
combats under the standard of Bonapartism and Republicanism, for the
purpose of embarrassing and overthrowing, if possible, the present state
of things in France. Its influence is immense in the south and west
provinces, and particularly with the nobility, the clergy, and all
the partisans of absolute monarchy. The Quotidienne is conducted
with the greatest ability, and some of its articles, written against the
existing government, are very interesting, and standing on facts and
logical principles, produce a great sensation on the public in general.
It is for this reason that all the ministers who have been in power since
the revolution of July, have been very sanguine in prosecuting the Quoti-
dienne, whose editor, M. de Brian, has repeatedly been tried, and condemn-
ed to imprisonment and fine, and is still to be confined for more than ano-
ther year. But neither the assiduities of the attorney-general, nor the
severities of the jury, have yet deterred the editor from persevering to
attack the dynasty of Orleans, and all the consequences of the revolution.
It is very remarkable that, notwithstanding this paper is of the most
daring opposition, it often contains, before any ministerial journal does,
very important and interesting information, which can only be known
to persons who approach the king, and must be in the most intimate
acquaintance of the ministers. This seems to me to be a convincing
proof that some of the faithful servants of Louis Philippe are still in-
clined servire Deo et Mammonce.

The Tribune is a journal which forwards more than any other Pari-
sian paper the movement party and the republican system. Its writers
and editors are almost all young men belonging to the secret societies of
France. M. Marrast, one of them, took a very active part in the late
revolution, and is one of the most violent members of the society of
the Amis du Peuple, and makes in this journal a continual personal war
on Casimir Perier and all the champions of the juste milieu. His his-
torical narration of the political transactions of the three glorious days of
July has produced a great sensation on the public, and has exposed
in a -clear light the duplicity and cunningness of many mock patriots,
especially of Casimir Perier. It is to be remarked that what he has
advanced has never been contradicted, either directly or indirectly, by
the partisans of Perier. The Tribune is much esteemed by all the
students of France, and exercises a very great influence on the lower
classes of the population of Paris. " The patriot king," and his most inti-
mate friends, are often personally attacked in this paper, and by written
documents and historical facts, they are exposed as opposed to the
principles of the present state of things. It is on these grounds that
the Tribune has been twenty-eight times seized, and its editors brought
before the jury. But notwithstanding all the endeavours of the king's
attorney-general in all the tyrannical trials, they have only twice been
found guilty of libel. There is no rumour circulated either on the
exchange, or in the public, which can injure the dynasty of Orleans, or
the ministry, that is not inserted directly in the columns of this journal,
and soon is known to all the lower classes of Paris.

The Globe was founded about ten years ago by M. Dubois, a very
clever, and very studious gentleman, and for a long time has been the
best French scientific, philosophical, and literary journal. All the per-

172 The Parisian Neivspaper Press. [¥EB

sons who supported his management were well known for their liberal
principles, and the learned public perused their publication with great
interest and profit. In 1830, under the impolitic administration of
Polignac, the Globe became a political paper ; and in its first number it
contained an article so hostile, and so historically true, against the Bour*
bons, that it was immediately seized, and its author and editor, M. Du-
bois, was tried and condemned. When the revolution of July arrived,
M. Dubois was still confined. For the first three months after the new
era of France, the Globe continued in its system of opposition, and
always defended the sovereignty of the people. But towards the end of
1830, this paper became the journal of the well known religion of Saint
Simon, and since that period it is entirely devoted to promote and
defend this new sect. It must be allowed that some members of this
incomprehensible doctrine are men of great abilities, and very eloquent;
but, in spite of their endeavours, in July last, the number of their con-
gregation had not yet amounted to a hundred. The Globe, therefore,
having become the property of a sect, does not belong to the public
press, and has no influence on the people. Whenever, out of curiosity,
any person takes the pains to peruse this publication, disgust, generally,
or a stronger sensation, is the consequence.

I have always thought the writers of the Globe as persons who are
deranged ; and I have formed this opinion, lest I should be obliged to
think that they are impostors and rogues.

The Echo de Paris is a mere recapitulation of all the Parisian morn-
ing journals, and it is published every day at eleven o'clock ; but as no
body is influenced directly by the Echo de Paris, I think I have already
spoken enough of it.

Galignani's Messenger is an English and French melange. It conr
tains political articles, extracted from the English and French journals,
but with so little care and skill, that it is truly astonishing to see that it
still has a great circulation. A good English paper, in my opinion,
could not fail to repay an intelligent speculator.

The Messager des Chambres is an evening journal, and owes its origin
to the administration of Martignac, for it was established to defend
its system. When its patrons were expelled from the ministry by
Polignac, the Messager attacked continually, and strongly, the new
administration ; and with the revolution of July it became again minis-
terial, and has been ever since the most servile defender of the system of
Perier and Guizot.

The Gazette de France is the best conducted evening paper, and may
be considered as the greatest enemy of the dynasty of Orleans, and of
the revolution of July, for its attacks are constitutional, and founded on
the faults of the present government. Its circulation is immense through-
out France and the continent ; and its principles are in favour of legiti-
macy. The principal writers of the Gazette de France are not, as one
would think, illiberal ; but they defend, to gain money, any system ;
and when they meet any writer of the National or of the Tribune, they
do not deny that they . defend a bad cause, and against their own con-
science.

The Stenographe has been lately established by some young reporters
of the morning journals ; it is published in a corridor of the Chamber
of Deputies when the house is sitting, and is of the Juste milieu ; but
exercises no influence, and often reports the most absurd foreign news.

1832.] The Parisian Newspaper Press. 173

The Courrier d' Europe has been founded by the partisans of Henry V.,
and is conducted with much ability. The celebrated lawyer, Berriyer,
writes daily in this journal; and his articles, under the cloak of nation-
ality and justice, are subversive of the principles on which stands th£
present government of France. Its influence and circulation are great in
the south and west provinces ; and there is scarcely a curate or a priest
that does not promote the welfare of the Courrier d'Europe.

The Revolution is the most violent Parisian journal, and, faithful to
its title, it is continually advocating the revolutionary party, and excit-
ing the lower classes to assert their rights by general assemblies. Like
the Tribune, it carries on a personal war against Louis Philippe and all
his ministers by relentless attacks. The famous Republican Bonapartist,
Lennox, fills often its columns with his projects, and letters, ad dressed to
the king and the nation ; and under the mask of the national dignity and
common welfare, does all in his power to overthrow the dynasty of
Orleans, and to promote the interest of young Napoleon. But the attor-
ney-general is indefatigable in ordering to seize, and prosecute this
journal; and the editors have often been tried, and condemned to prison
and fine. This, however, has not deterred the young writers of the
Revolution, and they continue, with increased animosity, to embarrass
the existing government, and to create disaffection in the population.

Now that I have given an idea of the Parisian press, and of the spirit
that animates its editors and writers, I think that the English may form
their own opinion as to its influence on the public. They will perceive
the present order of things is tottering, and that soon there must be a
great change in France. Will it be Republican, or a third Restoration ?

P.S. Since this article was composed, two other new journals have
appeared in the French capital. They are The Patriot and The Mouve-
ment ; and both of them, from their first appearance, have declared a
systematical opposition to the Juste milieu. The Patriot is edited under
the immediate direction and control of M. Mauguin, one of the most
distinguished members of the Chamber of Deputies, and one of the best
jurisconsult and statesmen of France.

The Mouvement has been established by General Dubourg, the only
officer of rank who, from the first day of the revolution of 1830, declared
himself for the popular party, and who contributed very much to the
triumph of the citizens, and to the tranquillity of the metropolis. But
a few days after the victory, he was disgraced by those who had got
into power by cunningness and baseness, and since that period has been
six times arrested under suspicion of Republicanism and Bonapartism.
However, after having been each time arbitrarily confined for five or
six weeks, he has always been restored to liberty without appearing
before the jury. From the above statement, the reader will easily per-
ceive that this journal has no mercy for the existing government of
France.

.

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[ 174 ] [FEB.

U ; now RIVERS f

jr&pr

RIVERS ! ! How many delightful recollections ; how many fine asso-
ciations ; how many splendid visions are called up by this word ! The
glory and riches of empires are linked with it, as well as all that is
beautiful or picturesque in nature ; but it is my intention at present to
take up the subject in a matter-of-fact way, and to write a plain expla-
natory paper — not a rhapsodj^. There is no word perhaps to which so
great a latitude of meaning is allowed as this word river. The garden
of an acre, and the garden of a rood, have common features : they are
both gardens ; only the one is a little, the other a big garden. The
mountain of four thousand, and the mountain of twelve thousand feet,
differ in sublimity ; but they have a thousand points of resemblance—
they are both called mountains, and nobody sees any thing absurd in the
designation. But where shall we find any similitude between the mighty
flood of the Amazons, and the sparkling stream that bounds our gar-
den, or winds through our lawn ? Yet, they are both called rivers ;
the term is applied indiscriminately to the wide waters of the new
world, and to the trouting streams of our English counties — to the vast
expanse that embraces the rising and the setting of the sun, and to the
insignificant current that may be diverted to turn a mill-wheel. There
is evidently nothing in common with these, excepting that they are both
running water ; and yet, I fear, there is no mode of distinguishing and
duly settling the claims of running water, unless by prefixing augmen-
tatives or diminutives to the word river.

I would make the following classification :• — First come the mighty
rivers. These are the rivers of South America — the Amazons, the La
Plata, the Oronooko. Then follow the great rivers — a more numerous
class — the St. Lawrence, the Mississippi, the Ganges, the Nile and
Niger, and some others ; but none of this class are to be found in the
continent of Europe, which supplies the third grade : these I would
designate the large rivers ; for great and large are not entirely synony-
mous ; and, to most minds, the term great river, and large river, will
present a distinct image. The lower we descend in the scale, the more
numerous do we find the species. The continent of Europe abounds
with examples of the third class — such as the Rhine, the Danube, the
Rhone, the Elbe, the Tagus, the Ebro, the Guadalquivir. The fourth
class is still more numerous ; and of this class, which I would call con-
siderable rivers, we may find examples at home. Father Thames takes
the lead, and the Severn, and perhaps the Trent, the Clyde, the Tweed,
the Tyne, and the Tay, may be entitled to the same distinction. Abroad,
it would be easy to name a hundred such ; let me content myself with
naming the Loire, the Meuse, the Soane, the Garonne, the Adige, and
the Maine. Fifthly, come the small rivers. Multitudinous they are,
and not to be enumerated in the compass of a magazine ; but, as
examples, I may name the Wye, the Dart, the Derwent, the Dee, the
Aire, the Spey, the Ex, and a thousand such ; while on the continent,
of the same class, may be mentioned the Gave, the Seine, the Reuss, or
the Sambre. The word river can no longer be employed. Now come
the family of streams — nameless, unless to those who live upon their
banks ; then follow rivulets ; and lastly, we close the enumeration with
rills.

With each of these classes our associations are in some degree dif-

1832.] Rivers! 175

ferent. With the mighty river we have no distinct association ; all is
vague and indefinite. We know that they flow through vast unpeopled
solitudes ; and our only image is a joyless waste of waters flowing in
vain. Our associations with the great river are less depressing, and
somewhat more defined ; the sun rises on one bank and sets on another.
We have a vision of cities, and even of commerce ; but with these asso-
ciations of life many dreary ones are mingled. African deserts ; Ameri-
can forests ; flocks of buffaloes ; the solitary lion slaking his thirst ; or
the great river-horse walking by the shore. How different are the asso-
ciations — now, indeed, recollections — called up by the third class. We
see the large river rolling its ample flood through cultivated plains,
watering them into fertility and abundance ; and images of life and
utility are vividly present with us. Our associations with the fourth
class are similar, but more varied, and more defined. These lie nearer
home; and with the ample stream of the Thames, the Clyde, or the
Garonne, are presented a thousand images of cheerfulness and activity,
the very opposite of those which were associated with the mighty rivers
of the New World, giving no token of man or his works. Again, our
associations change at the recollection of the next class. We have to do
with nature rather than art ; utility is confined to the turning of the
mill-wheel, or the irrigation of the meadow. The small river cannot bear
upon its bosom the commerce of kingdoms, but it is familiar with the
charms of nature ; it visits by turns the sublime, the picturesque, and
the beautiful ; and our associations are with these : we see effect added
to the wild and desolate ; grace, to the gentle and pastoral. And now
we come to the family of streams— the rifest of all in pleasing associa-
tions, and gentle and endearing recollections. For who is there that
has not passed a day — a long summer day — upon the banks of a cledr
brawling stream ? And who is there that does not associate with it a
thousand images of simple rural life, and a thousand scenes of quiet
delight ? The heart of an angler " leaps up" at the recollection ; he
sees the green pastoral slope before him, and he knows that at the foot
of it runs the trouting stream ; he quickens his pace, unscrewing his rod
as he walks on ; and now he sees the clear, yet dark-coloured water
tempting him forward, with all its eddies, and dimples, and little rapids,
and noise and bustle. But it is not the angler only to whom the stream
recals pleasant and endearing recollections; he is but an indifferent
worshipper of nature, who cannot wander the live-long day by the mar-
gin of a stream, without a rod. But the rivulet and the rill yet remain
to be noticed ; and with each of these our associations are somewhat
different. Rivulet —

Free rover of the hills, pray tell me now
The chances of thy journey, since first thou,
From thy deep prisoned well, away didst break,
A solitary pilgrimage to take.
9ffo ,;)S»(T Among the quiet valleys, I do ween

Thou with the daisied tufts of tender green,
iWsH 0 Hast loving lingered ; didst thou not awake

With thy soft kiss, the hare-bell bending low,

r-1,1-1 /• , i • i -i i » • ^

Stealing her nectar from the wild bee s wooing ?

And thou hast toyed (though thou wilt tell me, no)

With many a modest violet, that looks

Into thy glassy pools in secret nooks.

Come, tell me, rover, all thou hast been doing !

176 Rivers! [FEB.

As for the rill, the tiny tinkling rill, our associations are of the
simplest, gentlest character — far-up valleys, heaths, and mosses; and
that music —

" The noise as of a hidden brook

In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night

Singeth a quiet tune."

Beauty of scenery is almjost, though not altogether, in an inverse
ratio to the magnitude of the river. Scenery is evidently out of the
question with rivers, whose banks cannot be distinctly seen from the
centre of the stream. The next two classes — great and large rivers —
do not certainly offer so great attractions as the fourth and fifth classes.
The scenery of the Rhine, the Rhone, and the Danube, is sufficiently
celebrated ; but at the hazard of appearing singular I will venture an
opinion, that the scenery of the Upper Rhine, the Upper Rhone, and
the Upper Danube, is more beautiful than it is lower down. The banks
of the Rhine, from Schaffhausen to Cologne, may be more gigantic, and
possessed of stronger features, but it is certainly less varied, and, as it
seems to me, less interesting than between Schaffhausen and its source.
The banks of the Rhine, too, between Geneva and Lyons, are much
more beautiful than between Lyons and Avignon. The same may be
said of all large rivers — of the Danube, which is more interesting above
than below Vienna ; or the Guadalquivir, which loses below Seville all
the attractions it possessed between Seville and Cordova. And the
reason is obvious. A river does not become large until it descends into
the plains ; and it is not among plains that we must look for fine
scenery. It is among small rivers, or the beginnings of great rivers,
when they too are small, that we must go to feast with nature. The
Gave, the Reuss, the Wye, the Dee, or the Spey, will satisfy the most
extravagant expectations of the most ardent worshipper ; and many,
too, of the insignificant streams, nay, even nameless rivulets, will
conduct the traveller among scenes of surpassing beauty. Among the
Pyrenees, among the Bavarian Alps, and in the Tyrol, I have often
been led by such companions among the most majestic scenes that nature
offers to the contemplation of man.

It has often been a question with me, whether it is more agreeable
to journey up or down a stream. In journeying down, there is cer-
tainly more companionship, for we are fellow-travellers; and there
is no small pleasure in seeing our companion, for whom we naturally
acquire a kind of affection, growing daily bigger, receiving the contri-
butions that pour into it, and, as it were, making its way in the world.
But, on the other hand, if, in journeying upward, the stream be less our
companion, in as much as it is ever running away from us, this is
balanced by other advantages. There is still a fonder feeling engen-
dered by going back with it to its infancy, and tracing it to those small
beginnings, from which, like many other great things, it must ascribe
its origin. Gradually we perceive its volume diminishing; now we
may wade across it ; now, leap over it ; now, we are able to bestride it ;
and, lastly, we stoop down, and drink from the spring.

This naturally leads me to speak of the sources of rivers. " Throw-
ing my shoes off," says Bruce, in his travels to the source of the Nile,
" I ran down the hill, towards the little island of green sods, which was
about two hundred yards distant ; the whole side of the Jiill was thick

1832.] Rivers! 177

grown over with flowers. I after this came to the island of green turf,
which was in form of an altar, apparently the work of art, and I stood
in rapture over the principal fountain which rises in the middle of it.
It is easier to guess than to describe the situation of my mind at this
moment." This rapture was perhaps foolish, but it was natural ; and
even those who cannot, like Bruce, boast of having accomplished that
which has baffled the inquiry and industry of both ancients and moderns,
will yet admit, that there is a peculiar pleasure — a pleasure, perhaps
per se — in reaching the source of any well-known river. This may
partly arise from the consciousness of having overcome difficulty ; for
to reach the sources of any of the greater rivers some difficulties are to
be vanquished ; and it may also be in part attributed to the many asso-
ciations that are instantly awakened, as following the tiny rill with our
eye, imagination continues to accompany it in its long and victorious
course, fertilizing empires, enriching cities, and carrying the products
of industry to the remotest parts of the habitable world.

The sources of the greatest rivers are not the most remarkable for the
features that surround them. The sources of the mighty rivers of the
Western Hemisphere, or even of the great rivers of Africa or Asia,
have not, as far as is known, been visited by the traveller, with the
single exception of the Nile ; their sources are probably placed amid
those unapproached solitudes, where the foot of man- hath never yet
wandered; what appearances of nature may preside over their birth
we have no means of knowing ; but it does not appear from the narra-
tive of Bruce that the source of the Nile afforded any example of extra-
ordinary sublimity. The sources of the large rivers of the European
continent are many of them well known ; but the sources of neither the
Rhine, the Rhone, nor the Danube, present those majestic and imposing
features that distinguish the sources of some of the smaller class. Nor
is this difficult to explain; the large rivers have not one, but many
sources ; and, as the source par excellence, we mount to the highest,
which invariably lies among the upper fields of snow. The smaller
rivers, on the other hand, may gush at once from a single spring, placed
perhaps among the rocks, and ravines, and precipices, which lie lower
than the line of congelation. It is, at all events, a fact, that the most
sublime sources are those which belong to the smaller rivers. Of these,
I. may mention the Soane, the Gave, and the Sourgue — the two latter
especially. The Gave rises in the magnificent amphitheatre of Marbore ;
and the Sourgue bursts at once, an imposing torrent, from the immortal
fountain of Vaucluse.

Different, very different, are the associations called up to different
minds, by the contemplation of a river's source. The utilitarian would
most rejoice to stand by the spring from which swells forth the Ohio or
Mississippi of the Western Hemisphere, destined to carry the riches of
one world to contribute to the wants and luxuries of another ; or he
would rejoice, like Bruce, to stand beside the sources of the Nile, ap-
pointed by its inundations to fructify lands, that, without it, would be
deserts ; or place at the source of the Rhine the utilitarian, the historian,
the novelist, and the simple lover of nature, and the thoughts of each
would run in a different channel. The utilitarian would see in it a
mighty artery, carrying on the circulation between Western Germany,
the Netherlands, Holland, and the rest of the world; the historian
would recal to his memory the epochs in which the Rhine has been the

M. M. Series.— VOL. XIII, No. 74. N

178 Riverst [FEB.

barrier to conquests, the scene of warfare, or the object of treaties ; the
novelist would see only the grey ruins of the baronial castles that frown
upon its heights, and would recollect only the feuds of feudal times, and
the legends that tell the achievements of chivalry, or the triumphs of
love : while the lover of nature would see but a rich assemblage of
images ; a blending of nature with art ; woods, rocks, and cataracts ;
and the noble stream gliding away, beautiful, if even it bore upon its
bosom no token of industry — and interesting, even if a battle had never
been fought upon its banks — or if its time-worn castles had never been
built for any other purpose than to adorn the landscape.

THE CURRENCY AND THE BANK OF ENGLAND.

BELIEVING that the question of the currency— -though now almost
buried in oblivion — is yet the one important subject for the consideration
of all who view with dismay the calamitous condition of the country, we
propose, in the following remarks, to turn aside from the warring ranks
of Reform, to exhibit the fatal consequences of that unj ust, unnecessary,
and violent alteration in our circulating medium which has brought on
the present melancholy stagnation of our trade ; from which has resulted
the hunger, nakedness, and disaffection of the working classes ; with
all that train of ills, the hourly accumulating weight of which now
threatens to hurl this monarchy to the ground.

To exhibit a full view of the present condition of our affairs, we must
return and re-examine the track which we have travelled since the days
of " Prosperity Robinson ;" that short gleam of sunshine in the wilder-
ness of war, when all was joy through the tents of Israel, and the nation,
like an overloaded camel, appeared to have arrived at last at a well, and
a green spot. Suddenly the scene was overcast again, and the panic
ensued. We propose, then, to shew that this panic was produced by
bad legislation ; that the subsequent one pound note act — though in-
tended as a remedy — was an aggravation of that great national calamity,
and that, if it be not now speedily repealed, that favourite and never-
failing political recourse, " the hand of Providence," can alone save this
country from universal ruin, despair, and civil war.

This glorious and beautiful scene, exhibited by the country during
the administration of Robinson, has been called a prosperity of paper ;
and so it certainly was, for a prosperity of paper is a prosperity of
national credit. It was a prosperity of flourishing manufactures, agri-
culture, and foreign trade; it was a prosperity of improving towns,
roads, and public institutions ; it was a prosperity of increasing wages,
blankets, and household furniture, and of decreasing crime and poor
rate. Suddenly all these blessings were swept away by that tyrant of
the commercial world — the Bank of England ; for the panic was oc-
casioned by a most capricious, unjust, and arbitrary contraction of its
issues, when our most substantial merchants, manufacturers, and pro-
vincial bankers, were suddenly and treacherously consigned to beggary
and oblivion. But, notwithstanding the heavy blow thus inflicted on
the nation by the overgrown power of the Bank of England, our trade
would soon have revived again, owing to the vast accumulation of
capital and stamina made during even that short period of prosperity in

1832.] The Currency and the Bank of England. 179

a country possessed of such vast capabilities as this ; if the whole com-
mercial fabric of the nation had not been shaken by the fatal one pound
note act — a measure which has perpetuated the miseries of the panic —
which has starved despairing thousands, and brought England and Ire-
land to the verge of rebellion.

For it is apparent that the bankers are the supporters and Corinthian
pillars of trade, and that a paper circulation is the essence, profit, and
credit of the business of a banker's transactions of loan — discount and
deposit being peculiarly liable to hazard — whilst the profit upon notes in
circulation is certain and unfailing. It is equally clear that the five
pound notes, still permitted to be received by the public, are useless to
that class of society who deal in labour, there being an indispensable
necessity for something smaller to change them with ; and, since the
small notes have been forcibly withdrawn by law, the whole paper cir-
culation of the kingdom has been at once swept away, and the banks,
restricted to unprofitable gold, can no longer grant the public that ac-
commodation from which they are debarred themselves.

We propose, to examine first the justice of thus passing a law for
the purpose of destroying the business of a banker, and, afterwards,
the expediency of this extraordinary measure.

A banker is a dealer in money ; he possesses the common right of all
other traders to take and to give credit ; he has a right to issue all the
notes which the public will voluntarily take ; and his own judgment,
self-interest, and local knowledge, will regulate properly the amount of
his issues, for the redemption of which his estate and mansion are at
hazard. On the other hand, the public possesses the right, power, and
opportunity to judge of the trustworthiness of the banker. Common
principles of mutual self-interest thus operate throughout. If banks
occasionally fail, so cotton spinners sometimes fail ; a law prohibiting a
banker from issuing less than five pound notes is an oppression similar
to a law forbidding a baker from selling less than five loaves of bread,
or a draper less than five yards of cloth, and it is entirely inconsistent
with the freedom of trade, that the greatest trade of all, and that which
governs and supports all others, should thus be fettered and destroyed.

But as few ministers of this country have ever consented to see the
plain, secure, and easy methods of government, by following the com-
mon rules of natural justice, we will examine those motives of supposed
expediency in which this fatal measure originated, and upon which it
has been persevered in till chaos is well nigh come again. We appear
to be destined to destruction by our false worship of the ( ' golden calf."
Our ministers will not learn the alphabet of political economy ; they do
not know that gold and silver possess no natural properties superior to
paper, shells, or other convenient representatives of the various com-
modities of life ; that specie cannot be eaten, worn, or administered as a
drug; and that a paper circulation is superior to gold, as much as
lighter commodity is more convenient than one heavier and more costly
of transportation. No alarm need ever be entertained for an abundant
supply of the precious metals in this country, for the rate of exchange is
at all times in favour of England with every nation to which we trade,
exclusive of the celestial empire ; consequently bills upon our bankers
are above par in foreign countries, and, by the amount of the premium,
so much better than gold. The specie of such countries is thus at our
entire command, and can all be brought to England in as short a time as

N 2

180 The Currency and the Bank of England. [FEB.

it would occupy to convey it ; and when Lord Ellenborough laments that
forty-five millions of gold have been exported to China in a period of
eighteen years, he may be assured that that sum is a portion only of the
amount brought to this country, in a similar time, from countries with
which we have this favourable balance of trade ; that this partial outlet
of our specie produces no injury to this nation whatever ; that abundance
of gold will ever be in our power whilst we continue to export cloath-
ing, tools, and blankets, to the people of France, Russia, and America ;
and that bullion committees, bank restrictions, and currency regulations,
a,re mischievous follies in a nation possessed of our mines of coal and iron,
a temperate climate, and patient, ingenious, and industrious people. That
there is no deficiency of gold in this country is proved by that fatal
declaration of the Duke of Wellington, that there were twenty-eight
millions of sovereigns in the Bank of England ; for this immense mass
of gold might as well be all thrown down again into the mines of Mexico
as lie buried in the vaults of the Bank. We want, then, an instrument
for the dispersion of this gold, a service which the country bankers and
the one pound notes effectually performed.

But it is advanced that London, Liverpool, and Manchester, possess
no paper circulation, and, none being wanted in these cities, it is not re-
quired elsewhere. Here the reverse is the truth. London, Liverpool,
and Manchester, from their advantages of situation, great capital, and
other commercial and manufacturing advantages, have a balance of trade
against the country, as England has against the nations ; this brings in
abundance of provincial gold upon the bankers in those cities, which,
therefore, require no paper circulation ; whereas the country bankers
require a circulation of small notes as a counterbalance to the advan-
tages of those cities. Consequently London, Manchester, and Liverpool,
will absorb, at last, the whole metallic money of the nation — ruin will
encompass first the distant portions of the empire — a deficiency of reac-
tion in the suppression of the usual supply of commodities into the starv-
ing country will carry the misery to the cities, and over all the kingdom.
The suppression of the small notes has produced the famine, fires, and
insurrectionary movements in Ireland. This measure counteracted the
good effects of Catholic emancipation ; we gave the people of Ireland
religious liberty, and took away their bread ; we stopped the overflow
of our superabundant capital into that impoverished country, and ren-
dered it impossible for an exhausted, disorderly, and famishing people
to pay their ancient rents, rates, and tithes, whilst this new extraordi-
nary inroad upon their trade rendered money of double value, and un-
attainable to the mass of the people. Abroad, the consequences of this
measure have been equally fatal. In the United States of America the
low prices of the staple exports of that country — erroneously attributed
to the operation of their Tariff — has almost dissevered the southern from
the northern states of the Union ; in the West Indies, the depreciation
of the value of sugar, coffee, and rum, has aggravated to despair the
distresses of the planter ; and all nations are now so dependant upon our
commercial policy, and so compelled to follow in the wake of England,
that this violent alteration in our moneytary concerns has shaken and
distracted the globe.

All these evils are said to be rendered necessary by the excess of spe-
culations in preceding years. That many speculators arose during the
season of the administration of Robinson is certainly true ; that much

1832.] The Currency and the Bank of England. 181

injury was sustained by their hollow operations is equally certain, and
so there will ever be some poition of dishonesty and folly amalgamated
with the vast and complicated transactions of a great commercial nation.
But still the common principles of human self-interest will protect us suffi-
ciently against the effects of speculation, for bankers do not usually give
away their notes for nothing to these speculators : the speculators do not
deliberately encounter ruin and a prison ; our insolvent and bankruptcy
laws are the only available defence against speculation, and since none
are compelled to speculate, or to be speculated upon, it is apparent that
the loss of property consequent upon such transactions is the proper
punishment of voluntary folly.

But let us examine these speculations, and lay bare the imbecility of
Robinson and the other ministers of that time. It has been shewn by the
author of the "Wealth of Nations,'' in his consummate reasoning upon
the subject of monopolies, that the only companies entitled to special in-
corporation are joint-stock banking companies, road companies, and fire
and life insurance offices ; those alone having these three requisites to
be of great national utility, such as cannot be executed by private capital,
and the affairs of which can be brought into a regular routine of man-
agement. This is founded upon the equal rights of all subjects in a
free state, where the exemption from the usual severe liability to con-
tracts and the other privileges of a joint-stock company ought only to be
granted in return for some national advantage ; besides that the opera-
tions of private self-interest are more beneficial to the whole community
than the waste, irregularity, and fraud, which are found in all incorpo-
rated bodies. Now the various companies incorporated by Robinson
were of no national utility — washing, milking, and mining can all
be carried on by private individuals. These companies should have all
been stopped in parliament ; and if the Bank of England was induced to
contract its issues by the mania for these speculations, still the panic,
and the ruin of thousands, is much more directly at the door of those
improvident ministers themselves. Thus legislative folly destroyed one
of the most prosperous scenes of commerce ever known in England,
when comfort reigned almost universally through the country ; our
wealth was overflowing upon every land, and Lord John Russell and
Parliamentary Reform were neglected, forgotten, and unknown.

But the suppression of the paper currency has been persevered in by
all succeeding ministers upon a principle of over- trading, over-produc-
tion, and over-population — new terms in the art of government, which
seem to have been borrowed from the Suetan or from Satan. Our own
poor exhibit no superfluity of wages, clothes, or food ; our gaols are
crowded ; Ireland is strewed with men expiring in the agonies of want ;
and we yet live under a government which in the midst of famine, fires,
and rebellion, yet attributes our calamities to an over-production of the
blessings of existence. A short time, indeed, will this monarchy en-
dure if this diabolical policy be followed, and if our ministers do not
speedily unlock the sluices of the stagnant pools of trade. The history
of China presents a timely warning to these over-population ministers.
That empire has seen twenty-two dynasties, each brought to the throne
by a vast and bloody revolution, caused, says Montesquieu, by commer-
cial restraints upon an industrious people in a populous empire. Their
government discourages navigation and foreign trade ; the cities are
jealously guarded from commercial intercourse with strangers ; sump-

182 The Currency and the Bank of England. [FEB.

tuary laws prevent the circulation of the money of the rich ; and though
China contains the wealth of half the nations, yet its masses of gold and
silver lie accumulated, buried, and useless. Bread cannot be obtained
by the people more than in the poorest country ; travellers see the lower
orders devouring offal and vermin ; at length famine drives even that
feeble race to despair, gang-robbery, and rebellion, and the throne is, of
course, overturned. This is the inevitable order of events. In this
small island these scenes of revolutionary violence will arrive too soon,
for it is not in the power of human government to stay the increase of
our race. Encompassed by the sea, we cannot fly beyond these san-
guinary laws, and it is upon extensive continents alone, where abun-
dance of land is open to a retiring population, that tyrants have existed
who have laid their dominions waste. It is a temptation of their fate
that our ministers should presume to stem the increase of mankind j our
population has doubled since 1798, and, in defiance of human regula-
tions, will continue to multiply with all the rapidity of progression ;
whilst emigration, cottage destruction, and transportation are but as
drops subtracted from the sea. Under a just government there can be
no surplus population in this country ; wealthy, fertile, and secure at
home, with the stores of all nations poured at our feet, and a super-
abundance, not of people, but of the blessings of existence. Give us but
our natural rights of human intercourse and barter — abolish the mono-
poly of the trade in money by the Bank of England — abolish the mono-
poly of the trade in bread by the aristocracy in the corn laws, and the
monopoly of the trade of half the world by the East India Company,
and there is then a certain, plentiful, and unfailing provision in this
country for five hundred millions of people, if so many could stand
upon the island. Clear away these obstructions from the channels of
trade, and the tide of population, however full, will then flow easily and
usefully along. Indeed, no alternative remains, for the people of Israel
will be strangled no more ; there is a fiery pillar in the sky, and our
ministers must retrace their fatal steps, or Pharaoh, and all his host,
at last will be buried in waves of blood.

But it is the province of a counsellor not only to point to the errors
apparent to us all, but to exhibit also their most speedy and effectual
remedy.

The Bank of England, then, is at the head and front of our commer-
cial dangers, and ought to be abolished. The Bank of England is a
common joint-stock company — consisting of Mr. Horsley Palmer and
his partners ; men who have no more right than any other company of
money-dealers to the rank, style, and title, of the Bank of England ;
for it is the magic of its name alone which enables this bank to mono-
polize the whole credit of the English nation — to create panics, and
desolate the commerce of the kingdom. There is no necessity for any
national bank in this country : the same amount of capital is in the
kingdom — the trade in money should be allowed to flow in its natural
channel, like the trade in corn, iron, wool, or other merchandize ; and a
national bank is no more required than a national tallow-chandlery, or a
national bakehouse. Even retrenchment demands the immediate abo-
lition of this charter : for the Bank of England receives annually two
hundred and sixty thousand pounds for the management of the national
debt ; and as this enormous sum is the mere commission of the banker,
we propose to remove the management of the national debt to some

1832. J The Currency and the Bank of England. 183

cheaper money-house ; for this business merely consists in taking the
daily transfers of stock, and paying the quarterly dividends to the re-
spective fundholders, in which the Bank of England incurs no hazard
whatever — but, on the contrary, usually holds about four millions of the
public money, received from the Customs, Excise, Post-office, and other
branches of revenue — the Treasury being proved by the Report of the
Finance Committee to be merely a piece of straw. This business, then,
can be managed equally well by any other responsible banking-house ;
and if an advertisement were inserted in the newspapers, that upon a
certain day, contracts for the annual management of the national debt,
directed to the Speaker, would be opened in the House of Commons, it
would probably be found that the bank of Coutts and Co. would un-
dertake the management of the 3 per cents, for the sum of ten thousand
pounds per annum ; and Jones, Lloyd, and Co., or Baring and Brothers,
the whole remainder of the stock, at a sum of four or five thousand
pounds ; for an immensity of business may be transacted for a certain
sum of fifteen thousand pounds per annum, without any hazard what-
ever, and with the advantage of immense sums of the public money in
hand. The interest upon the accumulating unclaimed dividends will
alone pay this annual expense for management ; and it cannot therefore
be politic to continue gratuitously to present two hundred and sixty
thousand pounds annually to Mr. Horsley Palmer and his partners in
the Bank of England, whose whole original capital is only about four-
teen millions — not greater than other banking concerns — but who, by
plundering the revenue, have supported a mass of extravagance, forgery,
and defalcations ; maintained an immense nursery for clerks, patronage,
and directors, and yet have been able to lend us back about twenty
millions and a half of the public money. This twenty and a half mil-
lions may therefore be repaid by the new contractors for the manage-
ment of the national debt, or the sum may continue to rank amongst
the other stock, the Bank of England to receive the interest upon it,
amongst other fundholders, from Coutts, Jones, or Drummond. It only
remains for the parliament, in the ensuing session, upon the application
for a renewal of the charter, to take away the name of the Bank of
England, and substitute that of the Threadneedle-street Joint Stock
Banking Company ; and if Mr. Horsley Palmer and his partners cannot
carry on their business under that name, and upon a level with the
other bankers of the kingdom, it is then certain that the Bank of
England is in a most desirable situation for being converted into a
bazaar. Almost all our calamities have arisen from the dishonest pri-
vileges granted by law to the Bank of England ; the authorized sus-
pension of its payments in the specie, contracted to be paid upon the
surface of its notes, was a violent, unjust, and arbitrary exercise of
power, which led to infinite calamities at home, which for thirty years
has involved us in senseless foreign wars, and rendered Europe one vast
slaughter-house. The time, therefore, is providentially arrived for the
destruction of this internal tyranny; and we shall be traitors to our
children if, after the present session of parliament, a stone of the Bank
of England remains upon a stone.

Having thus slain and dismembered this dragon of the commercial
world, the repeal of the one pound note act, and of all other restrictions
upon the trade in money, may with safety follow, and, indeed, the

184 The Currency and the Batd -. of England. [FEB.

repeal of the many restrictive laws upon our trade, is the only policy
by which the future affairs of this country can now be carried on with-
out vast and furious convulsions. All interference with our trade is
needless, impolitic, and unjust; for commerce consists of an infinitude
of small wheels, each best directed by the judgment, industry, and
skill of individuals. These will always harmonize and combine into
one self-regulating engine, which no ministry can ever adjust, but
which all their measures inevitably tend to derange. Our whole com-
mercial policy, monopolies, bounties, and prohibitory duties, are at
variance with natural liberty, reason, and good policy ; they all coun-
teract themselves, waste millions of the public money, and disorganize
the course of trade. The capital and labour of nations should be
allowed to flow, without interruption, in the channels which nature
opens peculiarly in all countries ; for governments are not instituted to
superintend the common transactions of the people ; and it is a maxim
given to us by Burke, that after the authorities have repressed violence
and discountenanced fraud, the less that they interfere with the affairs
of mankind the better. This is a just sentiment — it embodies the
whole origin, objects, and duties of human government. In an en-
lightened condition of society, mankind require but little government
at all ; and to establish a pure administration of justice, and to defend
the country from foreign invasion, is all that the public should usually
yield to the powers that be. Freedom of person is only the half of
liberty ; free trade is included in the security of property, and without
an unfettered right to pursue the course of commerce where we will,
our freedom is a shadow. There is the liberty of conscience, the
liberty of the press, and the liberty of trade. We ought to be deter-
mined upon real commercial liberty, because upon that all other liberty
depends. A restrictive commercial policy has destroyed the commerce,
wealth, and liberty of every great, prosperous, and powerful nation.
Venice, Spain, and Holland, have all fallen beneath the weight of
tyrannical restrictive chains, and destroying monopolies are fast hurry-
ing England into the condition of the states of modern Italy ; a land
of palaces and of hovels— of nobles and of slaves. Self-preservation,
therefore, requires that the government of England should no longer
oppose an extension of commercial liberty; nor, with all our suberabun-
dance of the blessings of life, can we enjoy comfort or repose, till our
ministers shall learn that their wisdom is folly, and that our legislation
is the curse of the country.

Certain it is, that by a repeal of the one pound note act, and the
abolition of the Bank of England, the government may soon mitigate
the public misery, and render England once again a peaceful, a con-
tented, and a loyal nation. This must be the work of a Reformed
Parliament.

1832.] [185 ]

ELLISTON AND TftE ASs's HEAD.

ELLISTON was, in his day, the Napoleon of Drury-lane, but, like the
conqueror at Austerlitz, he suffered his declensions, and the Surrey
became to him a St. Helena. However, once an eagle always an eagle ;
and Robert William was no less aquiline in the day of adversity than
in his palmy time of patent prosperity. He was born to carry things
with a high hand, and he but fulfilled his destiny. The anecdote
which we are about to relate, is one of the ten thousand instances of
his lordly bearing. When, the season before last, " no effects" was
written over the treasury-door of Covent-garden theatre, it will be re-
membered that several actors proffered their services gratis, in aid of
the then humble, but now, arrogant and persecuting establishment.
Among these patriots was Mr. T. P. Cooke — (it was just after his pro-
motion to the honorary rank of Admiral of the Blue). The Covent-
garden managers jumped at the offer of the actor, who was in due time
announced as having, in the true play-bill style, " most generously
volunteered his services for six nights !" Cooke was advertised for
William ; Elliston having " most generously lent [N.B. this was not put
in the bill] his musical score of Black-Eyed Susan, together with the
identical captains' coats, worn at a hundred-and- fifty court-martials at
the Surrey Theatre \" Cooke — the score — the coats, were all accepted,
and made the most of by the now prosecuting managers of Covent-
garden, who cleared out of the said Cooke, score, and coats, one thou-
sand pounds at half-price on the first six nights of their exhibition.
This is a fact ; nay, we have lately heard it stated that all the sum was
specially banked, to be used in a future war against the minors. Cooke
was then engaged for twelve more nights, at ten pounds per night — a
hackney-coach bringing him each night, hot from the Surrey stage,
where he had previously made bargemen weep, and thrown nursery-
maids into convulsions. Well, time drove on, and Cooke drove into
the country. Elliston, who was always classical, having a due vene-
ration for that divine " creature," Shakspeare, announced, on the anni-
versary of the poet's birth-day, a representation of the Stratford Jubi-
lee. The wardrobe was ransacked, the property-man was on the alert ;
and, after much preparation, every thing was in readiness for the im-
posing spectacle. — No ! There was one thing forgotten — one important
" property !" Bottom must be a " feature" in the procession, and there
was no ass's head ! It would not do for the acting manager to apolo-
gize for the absence of the head — no, he could not have the face to do
it. A head must be procured ! Every one was in doubt and trepida-
tion, when hope sounded in the clarion-like voice of Robert William.
" Ben !" exclaimed Elliston, " take pen, ink, and paper, and write as
follows !" Ben (Mr. Benjamin Fairbrother, the late manager's most
trusty secretary) sat, ' ' all ear," and Elliston, with finger on nether lip,
proceeded : —

" My dear Charles,

" I am about to represent, ' with entirely new dresses, scenery, and
decorations,' the Stratford Jubilee, in honour of the sweet swan of
Avon. My scene-painter is the finest artist (except your Grieve) in
Europe —my tailor is no less a genius, and I lately raised the salary of
my property-man. This will give you some idea of the capabilities of

186 Elliston And the Ass's Head. [FEB.

the Surrey Theatre. However, in the hurry of " getting up/' we have
forgotten one property — every thihg is well with us but our Bottom,
and he wants a head. As it is too late to manufacture, not but that
my property-man is the cleverest in the world (except the property-
man of Covent-garden), can you lend me an ass's head, and believe
me, my dear Charles,

" Your's ever truly,

" ROBERT WILLIAM ELLISTON."

" P.S. I had forgotten to acknowledge the return of the Black- Eyed
Susan score, and coats. You were most welcome to them."

The letter was dispatched to Covent-garden Theatre, and in a brief
time the bearer returned with the following answer :-—
" MY DEAR ROBERT,

" It is with the most acute pain that I am compelled to refuse your
trifling request. You are aware, my dear Sir, of the unfortunate situa-
tion of Covent-garden Theatre ; it being at the present moment, with all
the ' dresses, scenery, and decorations/ in the Court of Chancery, I
cannot exercise that power which my friendship would dictate. I have
spoken to Bartley, and he agrees with me (indeed, he always does),
that I cannot lend you an ass's head — he is an authority on such a sub-
ject— without risking a reprimand from the Lord High Chancellor.
Trusting to your generosity, and to your liberal construction of my re-
fusal— and hoping that it will in no way interrupt that mutually cordial
friendship that has ever subsisted between us,

" Believe me, ever your's,

" CHARLES KEMBLE."

" P.S. When I next see you advertised for Rover, I intend to leave
myself out of the bill to come and see it."

Of course this letter did not remain long unanswered. Ben was again
in requisition, and the following was the result of his labours : —

" DEAR CHARLES,

" I regret the situation of Covent-garden Theatre — I also, for your
sake, deeply regret that the law does not permit you to send me the
e property' in question. I knew that law alone could prevent you ; for
were it not for the vigilance of Equity, such is my opinion of the ma-
nagement of Covent-garden, that I am convinced, if left to the dictates
of its own judgment, it would be enabled to spare asses' heads, not to
the Surrey alone, but to every theatre in Christendom.

ft Your's ever truly,

" ROBERT WILLIAM ELLISTON/'

" P.S. My wardrobe-keeper informs me that there are no less than
seven buttons missing from the captains' coats. However, I have or-
dered their places to be instantaneously filled by others."

We entreat our readers not to receive the above as a squib of inven-
tion. We will not pledge ourselves that the letters are verbatim from
the originals ; but the loan of the Surrey music and coats to Covent-
garden, with the refusal of Covent-garden's ass's head to the Surrey,
is " true as holy writ/'

>o*m

1832.J [ 107 ]

A LEGEND OF THE EGEAN.

WHEN Homer sung, there stood, on a promontory of the largest and
most fruitful island in the Archipelago, a small temple, dedicated to
Apollo. Thither did the shepherds and vine-dressers repair to hear the
-will of the just gods expounded by the sage Eobardus. No other priest
nor priestess aided his ministry, yet he dwelt not alone. There was a
maiden ever with him, trained to watch that the fire was not quenched
on the altar, that the image of day's lord lacked not its offerings of
hymns and garlands.

Now the islanders had but few themes for conjecture, yet, albeit,
they knew nothing of AphehVs birth, they dreamt not, while she was
a child, of slandering Eobardus as her father ; neither did they, when
she became a woman, dare to doubt the sanctity of the tie which bound
her to the servant of Sol. So innocent were these simple peasants ; so
charitably, peacefully good was their priest; so celestially pure the
young and lovely Aphelia !

Her nymph-like form was fair as alabaster, her face well nigh as
pale i yet her dark eyes floated in the dews of health ; her black tresses
shone with the lustre of youth ; her elastic step was all airy grace and
freedom. Gentle she was, and gay, yet proud, even to a sweet shyness,
with all, save her revered instructor. She loved to listen as he related
the histories of other lands, but most was she wrapped in that of her
own. It was this :-—

Their late king, Lysander, had two brothers. The youngest, Pale-
mon, early left the court, and sought glory in arms. After some years
he returned, the widowed father of a hopeful prince, but found that his
sovereign, queen, and their infant, were no more ; the people groaning
beneath the yoke of the second brother, Thracius. Filled with dire
misgivings, Palemon set forth for Delphos, where his great piety ex-
torted from the oracle this sad truth : that the unnatural Thracius had
secretly put the royal pair to death, and given over their child to a man
pledged for its destruction. His subjects, apprized of this, instantly
deposed him, and elected Palemon in his place ; but he, having too
mercifully banished, instead of executing or imprisoning his guilty
brother, had been, for more than fifteen years, forced to wage war with
him, even on their contested territory.

Eobardus and Aphelia knew not how soon the beauteous valley which
lay beneath them might become the scene of bloodshed and deso-
lation. Constantly did the maiden implore her protector that he would
devote her to the god, believing, in her ignorance of evil, that the most
savage passions must respect the sacred person of a priestess; but
though Eobardus still kept her within the temple, he delayed her con-
secration. Long and oft did she kneel, praying Apollo to befriend the
righteous cause, and defeat the fratricide, the traitor, the usurper, the
foe to concord.

At last she was awakened by great shouts, and the shepherdesses
came to her, saying —

" Sing, sing, oh Aphelia ! and bid the worthy Eobardus exult ; for1,
lo! Palemon, the avenger, and his brave son, Laurelius, have slain the
tyrant, and dispersed his invading legions. Yea, there shall be peace
in our isle, under an upright ruler. Praise be to Apollo, to Mars, and
to Jove !"

188 A Legend of the Egean. [FEB.

Eobardus embraced his young charge with tears of holy transport ;
and the maiden said, — " Assuredly, father, it is now that I ought to
make my vows in token of gratitude to Phoebus !"

fe Aphelia," returned her monitor, " not so. It is now that thou
mayest safely leave me/'

" Leave thee, and live, my sire ? It cannot be."

" Child of mine adoption, it must be ; but mine eye will watch over
thy roof; thou shalt see me day by day. It is time that thou shouldst
think and act for thyself, acquiring those feminine and household arts
of which, as yet, thou knowest nought. I am to bestow on thee a cot-
tage, with a garden, a field, a vineyard, and a flock. The venerable
Phrosyne, thy nurse, shall still attend thee. There thou wilt be at
liberty to make friends of thy kind ; shouldst thou love, consult me on
thy choice, my daughter ! for it is the will of higher powers that thou
shouldst be the mother of warriors."

Behold, then, Aphelia, whose life had been hitherto so ethereal, cheer-
fully lending her small snowy hands to the tasks of a rustic. No hearth
was so neat as her's. She spun, she gardened ; she learnt to buy and
sell. Her wine, her mead, were soon famed in the isle. Her eco-
nomy, her bounty to the poor, endeared her to all hearts ; and was there
a dispute, of so temporal a nature that the peasants would have blushed
at appealing to Eobardus, they carried their cause before his pupil,
whose keen sense of right, and deep love of harmony, so obviously
blended, that her decisions were sure to silence, if not to satisfy both
parties ; and young or old would whisper — ({ Aphelia is inspired !"

Yet her high thoughts and lonely musings interfered neither with
her womanly duties, nor her child-like calm ; though she said and did
all things with an air so noble, she was so sincerely kind, so free from
vanity or lightness, that the shepherdesses were not jealous of her, and
even the swains she rejected remained her loving servants.

" Be as my brother, dear Alexis \" would she say, with an artless
smile ; " I will pray that Cupid may draw his arrow from thy breast,
and heal the wound ; but I cannot, my sweet friend, ask the young god
to pierce my bosom for thy sake. Be as my brother."

It was early spring when she settled in her cottage ; and after some
months of prosperous labour, she bethought her, that, besides her due
and daily service at the temple, it behoved her to thank Apollo in the
very scene he had blest. So, one eve, just after sunset, she went alone
to an open space, in a myrtle thicket by her dwelling, piled up a little
altar of turf, laid on it some boughs of laurel, a piece of honeycomb, a
bunch of grapes, then kindling it from her lamp, knelt down, and sung
praises to the god of light.

It must have been a rare spectacle, that virgin in her fearless solitude.
If the gross sy Ivans lurking near could there have dared to gaze and
listen, they must have unlearnt the ill desires, by which they so oft pro-
faned scenes no less fair, and weepingly have owned, what a hallowed
thing is love when inspired by chastity !

So entranced was the maid, that, every now and then, she imagined
the rich tones of a lyre filling up the pauses of her chaunt ; but ere she
could ask herself if this might be so, a heavy peal of thunder crashed
over her head, and a dart of lightning paled the fires of her bloodless
sacrifice. Aphelia started to her feet, crying bravely —

" How have I offended ? What god is angry with me ?"

1832.] A Legend of the Egean. 189

" Oh, Aphelia !" murmured an exquisite voice near her, "the sight
of beauty thus employed must needs be acceptable to Heaven !"

Again the maiden sunk on her knees, and bowed her forehead to the
earth, she knew not why. As she did so, she felt as if fond arms were
exerted to raise her; and the same delicious accents continued.

" But that thou canst fear, I would not call aught so lovely mortal.
Look up, dear, pious maid ! though a stranger, I am not an enemy ;
speak to me, Aphelia \"

Trembling in his support, she turned her tearful regards towards
him ; but — oh, the glorious eyes which were feasting on her blushing
face ! Her own fell again to his feet ; but though pride, awe, wonder,
and gratitude, oppressed her spirit, yet, in that instant's glance, she had
taken in an image, which her senses had carried to her heart, forbidding
it to dread.

Never had she conceived aught so majestic, so divinely propor-
tioned, as that boyish, and plainly-attired form. The fair and blooming
face was smooth as that of womanhood ; the features, though regular to
a perfection such as she had not even imagined, were o'er-informed
with varied expression, the wild, golden curls encircling them like
rays. At his side hung his lyre, his bow and quiver. Aphelia felt as
if her heart was melting away.

" Heiress of a strange but splendid doom !" cried the youth, " I have
been sent far, a willing wanderer, in search of thee, and came to thine
abode with Eobardus ; thou wert not there ; so, leaving the good old
man to rest his limbs, I sought thee here, but would not disturb the
rites in which I saw thee occupied. Behold one free from the selfishness
of passion ; if thy heart hath already selected its mate, I may soon have
the power to crown thy choice with competence."

ee Doth not my lord know/' she answered, in a low voice, " how little
the gifts of Hymen or of Plutus tempt his servant ?"

" Nay, speak as to one more humble than thyself, and tell me — how
canst thou, so delicate, so queenly, bear to labour for thy bread in
obscurity r"

" It is the will of the gods ; and while my life is spotless, I am con-
tent."

" Hath then Aphelia no wish ?"

ce My master knows I have."

" Name it, as to a friend who may not guess, yet burns to gratify it."

" I pant to be more wise, more good. If thou wilt make me so, I will
bless thee."

" Come with me, then, to Eobardus."

The priest received them with delight ; and though he called this
wonder nothing but Myrtillo, the maiden perceived that he treated the
youth with great reverence.

" Wilt thou not offer thy poor guest aught wherewith to refresh him ?"
asked Myrtillo, gaily.

Aphelia spread her board with simple dainties, and would fain have
served him like a menial, but he would not permit this, so the wrinkled
Phrosyne stole from her the honour of waiting on their mysterious visit-
ant, whose every look and word betrayed the soaring, the refined nature
of his soul. Sometimes he took his lyre, and sung to her lays, in which
reason and honour seemed to have been arrayed in words by the Graces :
then talked he to her of Pallas, and the Nine ; of the independence

190 A Legend of the Egean. [FEB.

to which mortals fnay attain, by emulating the superior gods, lie in-
structed her on many subjects of science and philosophy, but the moral
of his brilliant discourse was ever the same.

" Let us use what talents we possess in the service of benevolence and
truth, sacrificing vanity and covetousness at the commands of justice
and of duty, so will our deeds be grateful to Jove, whether we sit on
thrones or work in the mine."

And Aphelia felt more enamoured than when he had spoken of her
own charms. The hours passed fleetly, and it was after midnight when
Eobardus and Myrtillo rose to depart.

" As soon as the sun sets to-morrow expect me again, loved and
excellent maiden !" So saying, the youth imprinted one balmy kiss on
her forehead, and was gone.

Impelled to admire, nay adore, Aphelia felt dazzled into a kind of
delirium ; so infinitely above her, above aught she had ever known, was
this gracious being, she scarce dared acknowledge her suspicions even
to herself; that one whose smile brought joy to millions, should deign
to bend his eyes on her, was ecstacy supreme ; for all night, and all day,
till near the appointed time of his return, she stood at her door, watch-*
ing the sun, and, though with fresh devotion, she thought he would
never sink into the sea. A butterfly flitted by her, and she cried aloud,
ff Oh, Psyche ! powerful as was he thou lovedst, his might was not that
of mind, of virtue ; but I can never offend by curiosity. My lord's will
be mine ! Eobardus, sure, knows all — yet Aphelia dares ask nothing."

She turned to her favourite laurel, and, with a dignified rapture,
spoke again —

" Yet, bounteous as he shines, had he addressed me rashly, I too
would have besought the continent Dian to have rooted me among these
trees, rather than have earned his fickleness by mine own folly ; bvit so
mild, so candid ! what should I think ? I cannot blame the enthu-
siastic pleasure with which I anticipate our next meeting ; for there is
in my heart already an esteem so rational, a tenderness so confiding,
that, could I retain his undivided affection, and know that he depended
op me for happiness, which he could nowhere else command, I could
doat on him in his age ; but, oh ! I shudder at the price I may pay for
his precarious favour. Fatal distinction ! He will leave me while I
am still young, and when I die, he will not weep ; for eternal memories,
immortal hopes are his. He cannot sympathize with human emotions !"

Her sublime shepherd himself stood before her, and alone. She
bowed in silence.

" Fairest," he said, " assert thyself, discard this timidity, and, as
we may meet daily for some while, I pray thee treat me as an equal !"

And again he led her in, and gave her new lessons in wisdom and in
goodness. Nor was she his only scholar. Among the shepherds he
perfected order and humanity ; softening their manners, by giving them
an increased taste for the temperate, decent charities of life. Beneath
his care Alexis became a poet, and ceased to weep that he had loved
Aphelia vainly, in the pride he felt, while singing her praise to the
wonder of his kind. Many envied Myrtillo, yet none could hate him;
for, simply as he dressed and fared, he had some secret hoard, from
which he could reward the industry, and right the wrongs of those'
around him.

" Mine Aphelia/' he modestly sighed, one evening, as they sat alone

1832.] A Legend of the Egean. 191

together, " I am called so much from thee by day, that I would thy
home was my own. Send me hence no more, lest I return not again.
Dost thou not love me ?"

" Oh ! my patron, my benefactor, my governor and guide !" she
answered firmly, "thou art my spirit's light, and vital heat; yet I
would rather meet thee no longer, than unworthily retain thee. Be this
interview our last, if my words displease. I will not tempt the Fates by
presumption, nor aid my lord to offend a higher power ; yet if thou
knowest it to be right that I should consent, Eobardus will know it also.
Love like mine deserves his blessing ; without it, let me remain thy
maiden slave."

Myrtillo, with a wondering smile, led her to the temple ; its priest,
after due prayers, uniting their hands, assured the bride that Juno
sanctioned these nuptials.

" Ambitious visionary !" whispered Myrtillo, on their way home,
" the realities of life will sorely try this dream-love of thine."

Fearful changes, indeed, befel them. All at once his mystic treasures
seemed to fail him, and he was forced to toil, with his fair partner,
through the cold rainy season, upon scanty food. Of the villagers, some
pitied, some neglected, others reviled them ; even Eobardus could do
nothing to ameliorate their wants. Myrtillo' s cheek thinned, his com-
plexion tarnished ; nay, he would sometimes treat his wife with indif-
ference, almost harshness ; yet, strange to say, she loved him more
devotedly, more happily than ever, and would exclaim, with a fervor
unfelt before, — " Oh, dearer for each imperfection ! mine equal ! my
fellow-being ! my husband ! thou canst suffer with me ; thou wilt never
leave me, but requite this zeal, when our locks are grey. Thrice wel-
come, poverty, that unteaches me my fears ! Yet we shall be rich,
beloved ! for we shall be parents."

Nevertheless, he would turn from her cheering smiles with a doubtful
sigh; but the strength, the sweetness of her patience failed not; even
when surrounded by fears and pains, she became a mother. Her boy
was strong as the young Alcides, handsome as a demi-god ; and Myr-
tillo embraced them both with so exultant a delight, that she fancied
herself more dear to him than ever.

Scarce was she again in her garden, the sweetest flower it had ever
seen, when her husband, with a thoughtful aspect, addressed her.

" Aphelia ! thy poor and lowly love must seek his fortunes other
where."

" Wheresover it pleaseth thee to lead, we will follow/' she answered.

" Pardoning creature ! yet, how must thou regret that thou didst
not wed the rich, the equable Alexis !"

The wife looked on him upbraidingly, but only sighed forth —

" I have worshipped thee as a divinity, I have loved thee as a mortal.
I must obey thee in all things, and ought to blame thee in none. Cease
thou to care for me, I will never complain ; but doubt not my truth,
oh, Myrtillo ! if thou wouldst that we should still live in peace together."

(c Nay," returned he, " nothing but misfortune hath followed the
blendure of our destinies. What if I disunite them ?"

" Wayward man, thou canst not," she replied, sportively, holding her
infant towards its sire. .ioiifw

" But I may leave thee — woman !" he answered coldly.

She did not weep, but pressing her babe to her bosom, uttered slowly —

192 A Legend of the Egean. [FEB.

*' If thou canst be happier, I will strive to live on the remembrance
that I have been happy, and on the presence of my son."

" He is as much mine as thine, remember," retorted the father. " If
I bore him from thee to my home, he might rise to high honours."

Aphelia gazed on the being who thus spoke. The bloom returned to
his visage, the unearthly radiance to his eyes ; he stood over her with
such an air of conscious power and freedom, that, prostrating herself
before him, she cried wildly —

" It is then as I feared. Jove warned me by his thunders in vain !
Take our son, but, ah, in pity, take his mother's life too. It will be no
sin in thee !"

The supposed Myrtillo kissed her, saying hastily —

" No, beloved ! keep thy boy. If I reclaim ye not shortly, conclude
me no longer an inhabitant of this world."

He was gone ; and when Aphelia fled for comfort to Eobardus, she
learnt that he also had departed, none knew whither.

Now, added penury fell on the widowed one ; bereft of her help-
mate, and encumbered with an infant. The aged Phrosyne could give
her little aid, and less advice. Fain would Alexis have shared his all
with her ; but declining every benefit from him, the matron struggled
on. — " It is the will of the gods that I should be thus tried," she
thought ; " but while they spare my child and my health, I dare not
repine — for my conscience is unburthened. Nor avarice, vanity, nor
Unholy passion, brought me to this. No, my babe ! thou wert not born
in infamy, and, therefore, I shame not to see thee inherit the blue eyes,
the golden curls of thy sire. Whatever he may be, I am his spouse,
and will train thee to integrity for his sake."

One day, as she sat nursing her little one beside the door, she was
startled by the sound of music ; and, on looking up, beheld a grand
procession winding along the road. In a sumptuous car sat a warrior
of mature age, attended by soldiery and slaves. She would have
retired, but that her boy, caught by the glitter, held out his dimpled
arms, and laughingly sprung to and fro in her embrace, to the sound
of the cymbals.

Presently the car stopped, the commanding hero alighted, and ap-
proached her. She stood as one in a dream.

" Aphelia," said the stranger, mildly, fc Eobardus hath told me thy
history. What he permitted is forgiven, but must be forgotten. Feli-
city awaits thee ; thou hast no choice but to accept it ; thy child, too,
shall be protected, so thou thinkest no more of the faithless, the abject
Myrtillo."

The woman's fortitude returned. Looking with scorn on all this
pomp, she said —

" Never shall my son or I abide where we may hear my husband
slandered. Honest labour in this hovel is the felicity I choose/'

" Know, then," exclaimed her hearer, sternly, " that I am Palemon,
thy king, and can chastise the disobedience of a subject."

" If I speak treason, slay me !" answered Aphelia, undismayed.

" Not so," returned her sovereign ; " for learn that thou art the child
of Lysander, whom the good priest swore to destroy, that he might pre-
serve. Behold, an oath made unto a sinful mortal is not held binding
by the righteous gods."

" Mighty kinsman !" cried Aphelia, " if these miracles be true, yet

1832. A Legend of the Egean. 193

can they in no way change me. I care not what I am, so I die that
shepherd's loyal wife."

" Perverse, degenerate princess !" said the monarch, " suppose thy
minion dead."

" Prove it, great king ! I can but die too, rather than disown him."

" How, while mine own son is ready, in spite the past, to espouse
thee."

" He cannot force me to be his— oh, Palemon !"

" But I, Aphelia, can consign thee to a dungeon, and separate thee
for ever, both from Myrtillo, and this pledge of your ill-starred
loves."

" Affliction, indeed, dread king, thou canst make me endure ; but
shalt not bend my soul to vice. Thou mayest rob the widow of her
liberty, her offspring, but not of her truth."

" Ha !" whispered the brother of her sire, with solemn significance.
" What if Apollo himself should convince thee that there is, there hath
been, no Myrtillos to set thee free ?"

" All gracious deities forbid !" ejaculated the young matron, ener-
getically. (t There was — there is — there can be none but Myrtillo for
me. My poor, frail love !"

" Dreamer ! the weaknesses and errors for which thou lost that being,
though they wronged and pained thee, were but assumed."

" It matters not," almost shrieked Aphelia, t( if — whatever else he
prove — he was the faultless, the wise, and constant lord I at first be-
lieved him ; shall I be less faithful than I would be to him, were all the
imperfections thou namest redoubled ? No ! he shall not cast me off,
or if he doth — I will never be another's !"

She swooned upon the earth. Palemon himself raised her and her
child to the car. On reviving, she found herself within the temple.
The shrine was decked with branches. The sacred fire was kindled.
Before it stood Eobardus, in his robes of office. At sight of his familiar
face, Aphelia rose, and cried aloud —

" Bear witness, oh servant of the sun ! If I be not Myrtillo's wife, I
am henceforth the priestess of Apollo. This boy also do I give unto
him, vowing that we will acknowledge no other king, no other ties.
Who shall dare dispute the firmness of mine oath ?"

There was a brief silence ,• and then a thrilling voice replied — •

" Aphelia ! that dare I."

She lifted her eyes. Above her shone the features of her love ; but
the radiant garb, the laurel crown, renewed her every terror.

" What !" added this beauteous vision, " have I not done enough in
educating thee for thy lofty state, in trying thy virtue by poverty, un-
kindness, desertion, all that can tempt a woman? Must I also own
thee as a peasant's bride, or part with thee, and mine heir, for ever ?
No ; thou who wouldst not yield to light love, even, as thou believedst,
with a god ; though, to conceal my birth, I availed myself, on detecting
it, of the delusion I sought not to create. Accept thy mortal husband's
reverence with his passion. Start not. This wreath I wear but in remem-
brance of the cruel Thracius's fall ,- the locks it clasps shall grow grey
ere the brow it shades ever more, even feigningly, frowns on my beloved.
Grace but a palace as thou hast dignified a cot, and be assured, that a
maid— a matron — noble as the wife of Laurelius, must, indeed, be ever
the favourite of Apollo !"

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 74. O

194 A Legend of the Egean. [FEB.

" Oh, Hay life !" sighed Aphelia, embracing him, " so that thou art
holily mine, I heed not whether thou art a rustic or an emperor."

The father of her love now entreated her pardon for his apparent
severity ; Eobardus, for his seeming abandonment, though, in truth, he
had secretly hovered over her, ever observing her conduct, and ready
to prove himself her friend. He apologized not for having trained her
in seclusion, as there alone could she have been safe while ThraciusVx
lived.

This good priest, with the disinterested Alexis, and the worthy
Phrosyne, shared the prosperity of their beloved princess. Eobardus
recorded her life, on a richly illuminated scroll, which was handed
down from generation to generation, until it was so worn out, that I
found some difficulty in transcribing it. But to the lays of the younger
Alexis do I owe the little more I have to add. These are a few extracts
from his great poem — The Laureliad.

" Blest is the man whose mate, though wedding him under the idea
of his being a god, yet becomes only the more attached and dutiful on
finding out that he is but human."

" Blest is the wife who discovers that her husband's faults were all
pretended, and his virtues his own."

" Blest is the parent whose children please him, by pleasing them-
selves."

" And thrice blest the people, whose king hath voluntarily undergone
their tasks, trials, and privations; who hath devoted his thoughts to
their improvement ; for their sakes reducing oppression to the dust, and
raising merit to its birthright."^

I. H.

-<>.< A

OVBfi MUOV

Jlfcr: ujU*

SONNET.

FROM PETRARCH.

OH, Love ! who hath not felt thy mighty power ? ? owJ/io

Seek in the deep cold earth the treasure it contains,

Seek for that pure, chaste heart; the blest remains

/-x/. n i L -. •, iv, <. . ,,. /. , i. ro 1 9fU JB tvJoo

Of all that cheered my youth s first blissful hour :

Tear from the hand of Death his lovely prize,
And fix once more thy precious ensign there ;
Renew the flame that burned so fresh and fair,
And guides me still, though quenched, alas ! it lies.
The panting stag by cruel hunters driven,
Ne'er seeks the stream, as I my treasure lost.
Sweet pilgrim, whither flown ? Death's power is crost,
Since she who bound me here hath fled to heaven ! —
TO ,irJIiqOh, bondsman blest, — sweet was such slavery,

Thy chains are broken now : — alas ! thou'rt free !
Jgom K rftrv?

tti

hna <h9bkft am™

Jifeu 9fio il .forar:

J832.] [ 195 ]

".f OTW.? m * <j a^11 ^w

jtreifeqqR eij[ WARRIOR OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

;3f{ fttUTJ fit jftal/O(I.t t:!

IGNORANCE of the common affairs of the world in which they live, and
a deficiency of memory truly deplorable, have been long considered
as afflictions almost peculiar to the " higher classes." I do not mean
those convenient lapses of memory which have been the characteristic
failing of great men in all ages ; but inherited constitutional defects, fos-
tered by education and example. Men possessing a greater abundance of
the good things of this life, think little and know less of the affairs of
others ; however, it is some consolation to those of humbler pretensions,
that they can occasionally enjoy a laugh at the expense of the privileged ;
while it is not discreditable to the good humour of the others that they
are generally disposed to join in the mirth which their peculiarities
create. Many amusing instances of affected forgetfulness are related ;
but the affectation of ignorance is even more amusing than that of loss
of memory. To corroborate my assertion, I shall adduce for example as
pretty a bit of coxcombry, in this particular department of exquisitism,
as it has ever been my fortune to witness. And, be it understood, what
I am about to relate is no fiction ; but the narration of a scene which
actually occurred, without pledging myself, however, to the very words
used on the occasion, though certainly to the spirit of them.

On one of those 'very hot days in the summer before last, I called
on a friend who holds an appointment in the Tower. For the con-
venience of attending to his duties he has a house within the fortress,
and thither I repaired to await his usual time of returning home.

I seated myself by an open window ; and, gazing at the White Tower,
the visions of past ages were speedily conjured up, and would have
taken entire possession of my faculties had they not been put to flight
by a vision of a very different nature. Directly opposite the window at
which I had placed myself, there is a shady avenue of lime-trees which
stretches across the parade. My attention was attracted by the appear-
ance of two young men emerging from the umbrageous shelter of the
trees, and sauntering listlessly along until they nearly reached the win-
dow at which I was seated. One was an officer of the Guards, then on
duty at the Tower. He was dressed with all the elaborate minuteness
of a finished exquisite. Not the slightest crease or wrinkle was dis-
cernible in his well-cut regimental coat ; it seemed actually pasted on
him. Buttoned up to the throat — his waist contracted to the smallest
possible dimensions — the sun shining fiercely on his bright red regi-
mentals, and reflected from the glittering gilded ornaments with which
he was bedecked — his face flushed with heat almost to surfeit — he seemed
almost an object of compassion ; it put one in a fever to gaze at him ;
he looked like a red-hot man, a very Phoenix amidst the flames ! His
companion was attired in mufti, that is, as men dress who are not
military. The two gentlemen drew still closer to my window, when
the guardsman halted and took up a position against a stone pillar, or
wall, I forget which, apparently overpowered with exertion. He
twitched a small riding-whip backwards and forwards with a most
laudable degree of perseverance, and looked stedfastly on the ground —
or perhaps it might have been at his boots, I can't say — as it seemed, in
profound meditation. His companion stood with his arms folded, and
in an attitude equally contemplative with his friend. If one might

O 2

19G A Warrior of the Nineteenth Century. [FEB.

judge from appearances, some weighty consideration pressed heavily on
them both.

" Well, my dear boy Harwison," said the Guardsman, doubtless
meaning to say Harrison, but having some difficulty in pronouncing the
letter R. — " I do consider this the most frwendly act, the most disin-
terwested piece of frwendship I've ever expewienced — 'pon my soul
I do."

" Nay, niy dear boy," returned the other, ' ' no thanks — you think
too much of my little exertion in your favour. Though, to serve a friend,
I will say it is not a trifle that can stop me."

" Twifle ! my dear fellow/' said the Guardsman — " twifle do you
call it ? If it were only a twifle I should say little, but serving a
frwend at the wisk of your life is no twifle, egad ! — 'pon my soul it
isn't."

I doubted the correctness of my remaining within hearing of a con-
versation of so serious and important a nature, and therefore moved the
window a little higher, that the noise might give them warning of my vici-
nity. It made no difference. They did not move from their position. The
guardsman, indeed, discomposed himself for an instant by casting up his
eyes ; but seeing the occasion of the noise, he yawned and resumed his
attitude.

" Yes, Tom," said the military Exquisite, <e this is the only dwawback
on the service ; and I can't for the life of me see why the City Light
Horse Volunteers should not be placed on this cursed duty. It would
suit them much better than the Guards. It is not the thing for gentle-
men— it isn't, 'pon my soul."

" They would be much more at home here, than the Guards, certainly,"
said Harrison.

" I would almost as soon be sent into countwy quarters/' continued
the Guardsman; " there are farmers' daughters and people who can amuse
one there — 'pon my soul I would."

" It is devilish hard on you, I must admit," rejoined his friend.

" Hard on us, my dear fellow ! it's banishment ; positively banishment
from the common wights of civilized life. I would as soon have a com-
mission in the archers of King Tamyhamyhe of the Sandwich Islands ! —
'pon my soul I would."

" It is exceedingly severe, I must say."

" Severe ! my dear fellow, it's atwocious/' said the Guardsman, almost
emphatically, " positively atwocious ; the genewal complaint of the ser-
wice ; to be sent to this cursed jail — Oh ! it's monstwous ! — 'pon my soul
it is !"

" Monstrous hardship indeed," said Harrison.

" Hardship ! my dear boy. There are few can bear hardships better
than myself ; I can make my dinner of a broil'd chicken and a pint of
hock at any time, on necessity, and in winter I have more than once slept
in a room without a fire ! — 'pon my soul I have !"

" Well, never mind/' said Harrison, " it is but for a short period."

" Short pewiod ! my dear fellow. You've an odd idea of a short pewiod.
If the place was bearwable indeed ; if one's frwends could come; but then
that cwuel distance from town, and that impenetwable barwier, the city,
wenders that impossible — 'pon my soul it does."

" Not impossible," remarked Harrison, " they can surely come as I
did."

1832.] A Warrior of the Nineteenth Century. 197

" As you did ! my dear fellow, my twump of twavellers !" said the
Exquisite, f( no, no ; I can't expect that; you're one of a thousand. I
know of no one beside yourself who would wisk his life to see a frwend
in distress. Yes ; I do wemember one ; but he insured his life before
passing the city ; and wewy wight too — 'pon my soul it was."

" Well, but I obviated the necessity of that/' said Harrison, <( for I
came by water !"

" By water ! my dear fellow," said the Guardsman, with incredulous
astonishment. " No, no, Harwison ; you're joking me : I never heard of
your ever having been at sea in your life ; you're joking — 'pon my soul
you are."

" Not I indeed," returned the other, " I embarked at Westminster-
bridge, and landed here at the Tower."

t( Embarked at Westminster-bwidge, and landed at the Tower ! My
dear Harwison, this is a discovewy indeed," said the Guardsman, with as
much earnestness as was consistent with an Exquisite to assume. " You
are entitled to my gwatitude in evewy wespect, you are indeed, Harwison ;
I must write circulars to my fr wends diwectly. The wigors of my exile
will be considewably ameliowated, when they know they wun no wisk
of coming thrwough the city. You are entitled to my gwatitude, my
dear boy — 'pon my soul you are. — Egad, 1 think it is a hoax after all —
'pon my soul I do."

'' You may rely on what I say,'* said Harrison seriously.

" Rely on what] you say ! my dear fellow, you delight me. I must wite
immediately and send invitations. But where the devil is that fellow
Buckley ? never in the way when I want him. You must be devilish
hungwy, Harwison — 'pon my soul you must."

" And if I were hungry/' said Harrison, " I think I can even now
detect the scent of some food which would destroy the appetite of a. can-
nibal ; faugh ! it's boiled beef !"

' f Boiled beef ! my dear fellow, you don't say so ; what a horwor !
Let us move. The man who could eat boiled beef wouldn't scrwuple
to commit a murder — 'pon my soul he wouldn't/'

Just at that moment, two gentleman came up the paved way leading
from the archway, under what is called the Children's Tower. One was
an elderly gentleman of almost venerable appearance ; his hair was quite
grey, and he carried a small book in his hand. The curiosity of Harrison
seemed suddenly excited, and touching the Guardsman, he exclaimed —

" Look yonder ; don't you know who that is ?"

" Know who that is !" said the Exquisite, " how should I know ?
Egad ! I don't know myself in this place — 'pon my soul I don't."

" Why, my dear fellow, it's Scott."

" Scott ! WTiat, Scott of the Guards ?"

" No ; Walter Scott."

" Walter Scott !" said the Guardsman, pausing ; " and prway, Harwi-
son, who is Walter Scott ?"

This was a climax that I was hardly prepared for, though the intel-
ligence was most gratifying ; for I had the satisfaction of following the
'•' Wizard of the North" through the departments of the Tower, and
the information I gained from the remarks he made, which were by no
means meant exclusively, fully compensated for the time I had wasted
on the hero in the scarlet coat — that pink of chivalry — and his intrepid
companion.

[ '198 ] . [FEB.

THE POLISH WIDOW TO HEll SON.

PLAY on, my lovely infant child, and I will watch the while—
The ills, that sadden all around, have not yet check'd thy smile ;
And as thy cup of life may near its brim alone be sweet,
Be happy, ere the gathering clouds above thy path- way meet.

Thou heedest not the sable robes thy little limbs that fold ;
Thy Father's and thy Country's fall are both to thee untold ;
The very eagles of our foe, that pass so proudly by,
Are mark'd by thee with childish joy, not knowing tyranny.

But this will change — the dream will pass — and thou must learn the tale
Of deeds that blanch the manly cheek, and make our maidens pale ;
And when to me thou'lt sweetly turn of ages past to know,
Oh ! how shall I reply to thee, and hide a mother's woe ?

To speak of Poland's ancient fame — and then her fallen state ;
To mention Kosciuszko's name — and then record his fate ;
To tell thee of a Father's love — and then a Father's grave,
Who perish'd for that native land he had not power to save.

Yes — this will truth demand from me, a tale unspoken now,
And then, methinks, the cloud of grief will darken o'er thy brow ;
And make that youthful spirit, erst so gentle and so gay,
To thoughts of sadness and of strife become an early prey.

And, when to manhood's state arrived, thou'lt spurn the Polish dance,

To learn to urge the war-horse on, or couch the Polish lance ;

The spirit of the fallen brave shall be revived in thee,

And thou shalt long to strike a blow to set thy country free.

In vain will dangers frown around, and prudence bid thee hold,
The ardour of a noble mind shall not be thus controll'd;
Though baffled oft, again, again the Poles will claim their right,
And rather die than tamely crouch before a despot's might.

.

Perchance that little hand, which now is grasping at the flower,
May be the first to draw the sword against oppression's power ;
Or to the Polish winds unfurl the banner of the free —
They wafted it in days of yore, and what hath been may be.

But, ah ! again the patriot band may only strive in vain
Against the myriads of the foe upon the Polish plain ;
And nations, powerful and free, again may view them fall,
Unmindful of Sobieski's name, or honour's sacred call.

And then, my son, thy father's doom may speedily be thine —
To meet the " soldier's fiery death" while in the foremost line ;
Or worse ! if wounded in the fray, with mingled pride and pain,
Through life amid Siberia's wastes to drag the galling chain.

Oh ! fears have thrill'd the mother's breast, however Hope hath smiled,
Or Fortune seem'd to hover o'er the cradle of her child;
Then think, thou tyrant of our race, what feelings mine must be,
To see the prospects of my son thus darken'd o'er by thee !

1832.] L 199 ]

TITHES, VERSUS RENT.

SOON after the article with this title in the preceding " Monthly" had
gone to press, a friend of the writer's put into his hands a Treatise on
Tithes, by one Parson Bearblock. The writer, having no predilections
for parsons or tithes in the abstract, but only in comparison with land-
lords and rent, threw the book aside, taking for granted, it was a
question-begging high-church farrago. Chancing to take it up a day
or two after, he was agreeably surprised, to find it written in a very
good spirit ; and, bating a few professional absurdities, just suited to
confirm the opinions which his own unprofessional observation had led
him to form upon the subject.

The writer has plenty more to say, in the same strain, as in the
former article ; but, though like most men, who take the trouble to
think seriously and constantly upon any subject, he believes firmly in
the correctness of his views, and flatters himself, that those who happen
to light upon his reasoning, will agree with him, he is much more
anxious to contribute to the cause of truth, than to gain any credit to
himself as its advocate. He offers no apology therefore to sensible and
serious readers, for making the matter of Parson Bearblock's treatise
the leading, and a large portion of the present article.

The present is a most critical juncture. Reform is wanted almost
every where : in most places so thorough a reform, as to be very
aptly styled Radical Reform ; but, though no time must be lost in
setting about this general business of reform ; though the Tory cry,
" Wait a little longer," must be treated with the contempt due to its
sinister intentions ; still, even at this juncture, requiring as it does,
promptitude and decision, hurry and rashness will be as mischievous
as at any other season.

The writer has, of course, the highest opinion of his own sagacity
and collusiveness; but his amour propre is not so pervading, as to
entirely supersede his judgment. He knows when to yield the pas,
especially for his own purposes, to so satisfactory a personage as Parson
Bearblock.

The writer is really a very public- spirited individual ! Above all
things his object is, at present, to save the good, well-meaning public
from doing itself immediate, irreparable injury : from mutilating itself:
from cutting off its nose to be revenged on its face. Nobody so fit as
the writer to help the public, from his own resources, as far as sound
logical induction from general facts, from matters of notoriety, may be
useful for the purpose : but the writer not being a man of business,
but only a looker on, is not, of course, intimate enough with the details
of transactions between landlords and parsons, and farmers, and labour-
ers, to furnish from his own resources that most satisfactory, and, at
this day, universally acceptable proof, by induction from particular
instances. Parson Bearblock, as will presently be seen, is an admirable
ally for the writer in this respect.

Parson Bearblock's weak point is the assuming, that the right to
tithe, in the present day, is derived from Heaven : all he says to this
effect, is of course quite inadmissible, though excusable enough in one
brought up at the feet of Gamaliel. Especially, should Parson Bearblock
be excused for forcing the Jewish economy forward in his defence
against the person who had impugned the right of parsons to tithes.

200 Tithes versus1 Rent. [FEB.

This erring individual had, it seems, become from a thriving brewer
a bit of a landowner ; and having, according to the parson's very plau-
sible account, been, while in the brewing line, distinguished from or-
dinary brewers by a reluctance to admit the claims for poor-rate upon
the profits of his coppers, and mash-tubs, and coolers, it was not odd
that he should be similarly disinclined to allow the parson's interference
with his produce, as soon as he became a country gentleman. It appears,
that this gentleman was so far prejudiced against the system of legisla-
tion upon which the poor-laws are founded, as to forget the obligation
'to bear his share of the burden of its positive legal enactments. Accord-
ingly, in the excess of his zeal (no doubt only against the theory of the
poor-laws, and not with an eye to his own personal exemption) he went
such lengths, as to make out the profits of his brewery very much less
'than they were upon inquisition proved to be. This was patriotic,
doubtless ; but still it indicated a mind not disposed to stick at trifles ;
and common candour therefore obliges us to make great allowance for
the parson, who pressed the divine right of tithe into his service
agairfst so dashing and unhesitating an opponent as this ci-devant
brewer. This slight preamble was necessary to illustrate the animus
by which Parson Bearblock was actuated in his treatise. Now for the
contents of the text, as they bear upon the argument, " Tithes versus
Rent."

Parson Bearblock's gentleman brewer had stated, totidem verbis, that
the parsons had " forfeited by their conduct all their right to tithe,
and to the protection of the state," and urged as a raison de plus for
their being still farther bullied, " they are perpetually quarrelling in
law-suits." Our parson answers thus. " Our adversaries are the
quarrellers ; for they have been beat in nineteen out of twenty tithe-
cases, that have come before the courts !"

" No part of the community/' says Parson Bearblock, " have suffered
so much oppression as many individuals among the clergy. No men
have been so harassed to get their daily bread, though they have seldom
demanded more than half their due. Lord Mansfield declared once in
the House of Lords on a tithe-cause, that ' he was ashamed .to see such
a cause in that house ; for it was one of the blackest complexion that
ever disgraced any tribunal/ "

The parson being considered a knowing man, was asked to value
some tithes in the West of England. He found the parish of vast
extent, and that the poor bullied vicar had been awarded, by composi-
tion, to the amount of £268 per annum. This sum he had, with the
utmost difficulty obtained by pleading to his liberal, benevolent parishioners
in forma panperis. These considerate souls though, had so harassed
him with a law-suit about pews, that he became involved in debt, and
died in a low and miserable way, wholly insolvent ; leaving his pro-
perty in the pockets of his parishioners, unthanked, though by no means
itnregretted ; for his successor was not so likely to be dependent upon
their will and pleasure for his subsistence. " I gave," says Parson
Bearblock, " my opinion, that £1,400 would be a moderate annual
composition for the tithes. Up was the parish in arms, of course,
directly. Exorbitancy, extortion, oppression, downright robbery, was
the cry ! but what was the issue ? Why, a composition to the amount
of very nearly £1,200, in preference to setting forth the tithes in kind.

In this instance then, the landowners had been pocketing nearly
£950 a year, during the life of the former vicar !

1832.] Tithes versus Rent. 201

" Again/' says the straightforward Parson Bearblock, " the vicar of
a parish in the eastern part of Kent, requested me to value tithes, which
to his predecessor had yielded £500 per annum. I named £1,200 as
the lowest estimate. A gentleman, whose proportion of tithe had
hitherto been five times less than my estimate, sent the following reply
to the notification of the new incumbent. ' Sir, your estimate so much
exceeds my opinion of the value of the tithes, that it requires not a
moment's hesitation on my part to declare, that I never will accede to
such terms.' A similar answer was received from all the interested
parties ; who, of course, did not like to surrender the profit which had
been hitherto allowed them. Our parson, however, knew what he was
about. He produced his calculations before some of the principal
occupiers ; who acknowledged his candour and fair dealing, and retired
to try and agree amongst themselves to raise the £1,200. They were
all, however, too much bent upon cheating each other, to come to an
agreement as to the proportion to be borne by each ; and it ended in
the tithes being leased to a respectable gentleman for the whole sum of
£1,200, and the gentleman, who wrote the note, applying to be admitted
as a partner in the bargain/'

" The landowner," says the parson, (this most admirable parson for
the writer's argument) not only takes his full rational rent, but he can,
and often does, exact more rent than the land is worth j and there are
farmers in many parts of this kingdom who know this, and suffer under
it. If therefore tithes were abolished, the industry of these farmers
might be almost crushed ; for in these cases of excessive rent, the farmer's
greatest profits arise from the moderation of the clergy in taking a com-
position, instead of carrying off in kind, that portion of the produce
which belongs to them. The farmer commonly appeals to the lenity of
the parson, of which lenity the landowner reaps the benefit.

A Devonshire farmer is on record, as having once on a time caught a
glimpse of the truth, and asked in vestry, " who are to have the tithes
when they are taken from the parson ?" — " The landlord," was the
answer. " Then," said he, " I'd rather they should 'bide as they be,
for I can always deal better with the parson than I can with the land-
lord."

Parson Bearblock was gratified by the compliment paid to his fair-
ness on one occasion in Hampshire, where the farmers actually solicited
him to value the tithe, on their part, against the incumbent's surveyor.
What a very Daniel in judgment must this parson have proved himself,
for even farmers to allow his merit ? to prefer his decisions to those of
a common surveyor ! Where is the large landowner whom they would
have so trusted, but for their dependence upon the ^general disposition
of the landowning class to cheat the parson. The parson's case against
that of the landowner is as clear as light.

Again, this parson — to be depended upon even by farmers — valued
some tithe at Hertford at 4s. 9d. an acre. The tithe-payer was, in this
instance, a noble lord, a landowner, par excellence. No doubt our
parson, moderate as he always was in his estimates, was even the more
disposed to favour the delinquent in this case, because he was a noble
lord. A professional, if not constitutional determination to aristocracy,
was one of the parson's misfortunes. One might have expected him to
be cured, by his past experience, of any undue respect for the class :
but no — only 4s. 9d. did the parson award his friend the incumbent;

202 Tithes versus Rent. [FEB.

four shillings and ninepence did the nobleman refuse to pay, instead of
(as the parson afterwards ascertained he ought to have paid) £2. 18s. Od.
Thus the noble lord was not content with the parson's tameness, or rather
meanness, in offering to take less than one twelfth of his due ! Here be
facts for the dispassionate and candid amongst the men of England !
The Lord deliver them from the judgment of such wholesale-parson-
haters as a Westminster reviewer ! Our parson was a most veracious
parson ; but human credulity would have been too much taxed to be-
lieve him, had he merely stated his knowledge of the ci-devant brewer,
above alluded to, having written as follows, in consequence of a simi-
larly moderate demand by a parson, of 4s. 9d. an acre on land possessed
by the noble house of Cowper. The evidence of his own words yet
. remaining, the just and patriotic malster, (for it seems he had substi-
tuted malting, as well as landowning, for brewing — any thing to gain
an honest penny !) after quoting some sarcasms of the poet Cowper on
the peculiar failings of the clergy, continued in his printed pamphlet
thus : — " Had the pious poet, when he wrote these lines, foreseen, with
prophetic spirit, what would have fallen (namely, the affair of the
4s. 9d.) on the offspring of his illustrious house ! could his imagination
have reached the hateful scene of such a rector, who, after every offer
of conciliation, could consign the revenues of his living to an alehouse-
keeper, to exercise his dominion over the estates of the nobility, gentry,
and tenantry of the parish, celebrated as the birth-place and residence
of the noble house of Cowper ! had he seen the dejection of the hus-
bandman, placed beyond the power of nobility to relieve ! had he
seen the delightful domains of his relations overshadowed by such a
scene, and reduced to such a state of ecclesiastical vassalage I as must
wound the feelings of every true Briton, his pen would have fallen
from his hand before he had finished the portrait, his tender heart-
strings would have broken, and his pious spirit would have fled from
these scenes of noise and strife to the peaceful realms of eternal bliss !"
So much for Parson Bearblock, and the farmers, and gentleman
brewers, and noble corn-dealers !

The writer of the present article felt, in his own instance, the general
prejudice against a book, by a parson too, on tithes ; and, as he consi-
ders himself a fairer man, more inclined to give the devil himself his
due than most men in England, he is well aware how little can be
known by third parties in general, by mere uninquisitive lookers-
on, of the comparative merits of tithes and rent. The fair-dealing
writer himself was prejudiced against Parson Bearblock's book ; and
he feels certain, therefore, that gentlemen in general, who are not
nearly so fond of inquiry as he is, would as soon think of reading a
religious tract on the peculiar acceptability to Heaven of mortified,
discontented spirits, and sour faces, as upon the treatise on tithes in its
own proper form.

Gladly, then, has the truth-loving-writer availed himself of the
friendship of the very discriminating editor of the-as-it-is-now-con-
ducted-undoubtcdly - sound -principled, -universally - interesting, - extensively -
circulated ,-and-indeed- pretty-generally - appreciated-and- acceptable-publi-
cation, the Monthly Magazine, to insinuate the matter-of-fact evidence of
the tithe- treatise into the ear of those before whom he pleads the cause,
" Tithes versus Rent."

But time's up — Parson Bearblock's seasonable interposition has

1832.] Tithes versus Rent. 20&

enabled the tithe-champion to get his second wind. He's on his own
pins again — odds are on the tithe-man. Look out there, seconds,
bottle-holders, ring-keepers ; there's a blustering, bullying-looking
fellow there, just behind the titheman, that looks as if he meant foul
play — I'll be hang'd if he isn't like a Westminster reviewer ! Who
knows but he's a knife in his sleeve, and is watching his opportunity to
stick tithy under the fifth rib. Keep an eye on him, and rap him hard
over the shins if he breaks the ring. Now for the last round : the
renter's sadly distressed, and all but settled. Step into him, tithy, and
finish him offhand.

Tithe has completely answered its original intention. Legal tithe
was instituted, when voluntary tithe was discontinued. The portion of
voluntary tithe which was expended on the poor, was never otherwise
than a most miserably insufficient provision for them.

Legal tithe was instituted to support a vigorous and pretty nearly
incessant system of preaching and praying. It has not been owing to
parsons ; but to the improved taste of society acting upon parsons, that
daily genuflexions, and chauntings, and responses at matins and vespers
in cold chapels and churches, have been discontinued. Parsons have
furnished society with all that was contemplated by the original insti-
tution of church property ; they have always been ready to supply as
much preaching and praying as there has at any given time been a
demand for. This is an unanswerable vindication of the parsons' moral
right to the property they at present possess ; since the moral right
to property, held upon the performance of stipulated observances,
depends upon nothing else than the due attention to those observances.
The legal right to tithe is unquestionable. The rational right must
endure, until after rent has been quashed j it is still found prejudicial
to the good of the country, to charge the land with the deduction from
its produce of even a tenth. Then, and not till then, will a consistent
and patriotic radical reformer lift up his voice against the payment of
tithe.

It would be just as reasonable to give the hideous new palace to the
Duke of Devonshire, instead of converting it to a public purpose suited
to its capabilities (supposing it to be condemned as a kingly residence),
as it would be to let the landowners get hold of the tithes, merely
because the present proprietors of them are not more useful than ever they
were intended to be.

As in the natural and moral worlds, the mass of that which is good
and useful is of a retiring and unobtrusive character, so also in the poli-
tical world, the good and useful work in comparative secrecy. The
benefits which the lower orders especially, and through them, of course,
all others, derive from the essential parts of institutions, which exagger-
ated radicalism condemns in the lump, because it is not painstaking
enough to try to find out good as well as evil, nor candid enough to
notice good when it chances to meet with it ; these benefits are so real,
and so many, that it behoves every man who can make himself clearly
understood by the public, to try 'to save the public from doing itself
irreparable injury by utterly abolishing such institutions. All intelligent
and candid reformers must exert themselves, especially just now, to help
disabuse their less intelligent brethren of the bitter, unmitigated,
unchristian, unmanly hatred which exaggerated radicalism induces them
to entertain towards institutions, from which, in the midst of their mani-
fold abuses, a great deal of daily, noiseless, unpretending good is derived

204 Tithes versus Rent. [FEB.

to society. If there be any one truth in politics beyond rational contra-
diction, it is this— that " very few, if any, of the institutions of this
country can be destroyed, absolutely destroyed, without great and last-
ing injury to the very lowest orders of the community ." Reform, more
or less, all of them require ; most of them so thorough a reform as
to be aptly styled radical ; but absolutely to destroy these institutions,
would be to perpetrate the most malignant, cruel, devastating, enslaving
act of political criminality that the mind of man could devise, or his vio-
lence accomplish. The writer considers the reservation of a tenth from
private property in land, for purposes of religious and moral public im-
provement, to be one of those institutions which must only be reformed,
not abolished. Rent he considers to be tolerable as long as it can be
afforded, but not a moment longer. He considers it to be clearly one of
those social privileges which have the least of natural justice for their
foundation ; one of those cumbrous items in the lading of the state-
vessel, which must be first thrown overboard in order to enable her to
ride out the tempest.

Humanity and reason alike demand, that the intentions of those who
have bequeathed property for benevolent purposes should be adhered
to, as much as present interests may allow. It is inhuman to cut off
from a dying man the satisfaction of doing good to his country, by a
virtuous and wise disposal of his property. Yet this must be the case,
unless he can feel assured that the public will not wantonly set aside his
provisions, but, though the inevitable changes of human affairs must, of
course, render it, sooner or later, necessary to modify his bequest, wrill
religiously adhere to the spirit of it ; until, as is still farther possible, the
very spirit of it shall be no longer compatible with public interests.
The unreasonableness of wanton interference with bequests is obvious ;
it would, by destroying the confidence of testators in the public, cut off
from it the benefits of such confidence.

To apply this reasoning to the question of tithe : —

This reservation from the property of individuals grew out of the
pious and, at the time, wise intention of providing for the permanent
support of Christianity. It never occurred to the good souls, the tes-
tators (how should it? the world was then its infancy of civil and
political knowledge) that there ever would be a better way of main-
taining gospel truth than public preaching and praying. It never
occurred to them that printing and mechanism would put the Scrip-
tures and Common Prayer (that degrading title ! preciously common in-
deed has prayer become ! too common, by half, to be efficacious. Just
as common, and just as indicative of spiritual aspiration, as Sunday
clothes, and church bells, and pew openings and shuttings, and a thou-
sand other common things) in the hands of every reading Christian.
Nay more, that pious tracts, with such enticing titles as " Crumbs of
Comfort," would be comeatable for a halfpenny, or the mere asking the
nearest good and charitable lady of the village. The good testators had
themselves been edified by priest, and book, and bell ; how should they
dream of its being ever possible to do without them ? We have, that is
all the men amongst us, long ago found out that there is nothing more
for the mere priest to do for us. Every man is aware now-a-days that
a priest is as much in the dark about all real difficulties in religion as
himself; that a real bona fide mystery is a mystery to the priest as well
as the simplest clown in the land. Still the good testators, our ancestors,
knew nothing of this ; nor do we owe them the less consideration on

1832.] Tithes versus Rent. 205

that account. We are quite as much bound to adhere to the spirit of
their bequests, though we cannot to the letter. We are bound, by
humanity and reason bound, to apply the funds they set apart for a
religious purpose to a religious purpose, as long as those funds can be,
by dint of our contrivance, efficaciously so applied.

Now, no fair man, in his senses, will suspect even, much less assert,
that to give up any portion of the tithe to the landlowners would be to
convert it to a religious purpose. Such a purpose would be absolutely
diabolical.

We all know how injurious over-feeding is to the lower animals; how
it makes them dull, and slothful, and useless, and positively mischievous,
as consumers of what might else be usefully bestowed. The application
of this simile to the overloaded man of wealth is obvious. We must
not then be so far beguiled by the solemn, oracular coxcombry of a
Westminster reviewer, as to aid in the wicked work of increasing the
religious disadvantages which nearly now overwhelm our land-
owning brethren. They have long been so full as to be in constant
imminent danger of forgetting God, of denying him, and, in pride
and self dependence of heart, exclaiming, " Who is the Lord ?"
If we would, with the property bequeathed by our ancestors for
God's service, promote the views and objects of the devil, let us
give the tithe, or a portion of it, to the landowners. They can
then escape the arch fiend's fangs by nothing short of a miracle. If,
on the contrary, we will act as humane and reasonable men, and
regard, as much as possible, the intentions of our ancestors ; if we will
resist the temptation to return evil for evil, let us snatch the aristocratic
brand out of the fire ; let us save and try to convert to use what remains
of it, charred and disfigured though it be. Let us, to drop figurative
language, rather insist on the landowner's refunding every shilling of
which he has ever cheated the public by defrauding the public officer —
the parson. Let us not suffer him to escape the necessity of surrender-
ing to the public at present, towards an improved method of cultivating
Christianity by the philosophy and general ability, rather than the lungs
and sanctified demeanour of parsons, every shilling of profit, or by com-
putation, every square inch of land, for which neither himself or ances-
tors ever gave a shilling of purchase money.

Though rent were quashed, or all but quashed, or only paid in such
proportion of surplus produce as a cultivator, chosen by a proprietor,
eould afford to assign him after full employment and full payment of
labourers, still would land be well worth buying.

A trading speculator does not scruple to forego the interest of money
for years in order to insure a profit at last. Such profit would be the
possession of an imperishable property conveyable to children's children,
or relatives or friends. Is it not plain that, in the course of a hundred
years, the family of one who had thus laid out his gains in lucrative busi-
ness, would have more of those gains to shew than if he, the original
accumulator, had continued speculating with and risking his gains, in
order to accumulate still more ?

Where is there a wealthy mercantile concern which dates the origin
of its mercantile wealth so far back as a hundred years ? There is none
such to be found. The mercantile families, who have not insured them-
selves against chance and change by investments in land, are very short-
lived families indeed. Their gains, and along with them their names,
soon perish.

206 Tithes versus Rent. [FEB.

The writer is here endeavouring to shew that landed property possesses,
independently of lucrative rent, immense advantages over any other
in the fact of its durability. The writer knows full well, if his attempts
to advertise the public of a most important truth should attract any
attention, how commonly the counter argument will in society assume
the tone of indignation and impassioned sense of injury.

" What, then," will the Duke of Newcastle's class, in all its degrees,
exclaim, tf am I not only to be deterred from doing quite what I will
with my own, but is my own to be rendered absolutely profitless to me ?
* Quousque tandem abutere Radicalis palientia nostra ?' As well take my
property from me at once as abolish its uses ! This is surely the first
time that any such principles were openly avowed in decent society !
If this be not to advocate spoliation, it is the next degree to it, and must
soon lead to it," £c. &c. &c.

It is, therefore, important to shew that to deprive a landlord of a por-
tion of his rent profits is not to rob him of his property. The landowner
will, of course, be very slow to apprehend this fact, and will never can-
didly admit it. The public, however, the humane and compassionate
public (the most humane and considerate, notwithstanding what block-
heads sometimes say to the contrary), is to be prevented from feeling
anything like pity for the landowners ; it must be heart-hardened, with-
out loss of time, against all appeals in the shape of the argumentum ad
misericordium in favour of rent.

There is not, within the whole compass of political verity, a more cer-
tain truth than this ; and with this the titheman purposes to floor the
rentman of the Westminster, beyond any chance of his coming, up again
to time. " The security of landed property, and the returns it will
yield to a cultivator (not a rent receiver), constitute advantages far be-'
yond those of any other sort of property, and these are all the advan-
tages to which landed property is entitled."

And now, having beat the renter out of all power of farther mischief
from him, and jumped over the ropes of the ring in token of my own
unabated powers of fight, let me, good gentlemen patrons, have a word
with you before we part.

Gentlemen of England ! if you'll only be persuaded to set apart a
little of the zeal and energy with which you prosecute the various pur-
suits of ambition and profit, for a personal, inspiriting, manly interest in
the advancement of unadulterated Christianity ; if you'll only take the
lead in religious matters, instead of leaving them, as beneath your manly
dignity, to the well intentioned and amiable, but feminine and mis-
judging patronage of your grandmothers, mothers, wives, and daughters,
the work of substituting a body of masculine, philosophic, clerical,
Christian philosophers, for the present aides-dii-camp of the dowagers
and faded spinsters of the country, will have been accomplished in a
very short time indeed.

You shall not, gentlemen of England ! good and well-intentioned fel-
lows as you are in the main, while I have a voice to expose the injustice,
" dum spirilus hos regit artus,'' shift the blame of the present comparative
inefficiency of the parsons to their shoulders, from the only one's that
ought to bear it — from your own !

I tell you plainly it is your own fault that the interests of Christianity
are entrusted to less clear-sightec^ and experienced persons than your-
selves. I complain not of those amongst you who care nothing about
religion. Every grown gentleman has an undoubted right to despise

1832.] Tithe versus Rent. 207

religion in his heart, provided he do not, in consequence, interfere with
the interests and tastes of his neighbours. But I make a charge against
the religiously disposed laymen of England, that they never have yet,
as a body, approached the subject of religion like rational, serious men ;
that they have hitherto prostrated their intelligence at the petticoats of
religious ladies, and the cassocks of presumed spiritual pastors and
masters. I assert that there has been, up to the present moment, no
national demand, from the masculine intelligence of the country, for a
system of masculine and practical religion.

I assert that the parochial parsons would not have been able, by their
own unassisted efforts, to create such a demand in general society ; that
the good parsons are the sort of wishy-washy old ladies they usually
are, the mere bugbears to frighten boys and girls into decorum, because
they could not keep their characters unimpeached without being so ;
because the absurd control over them, vested in the wig and apron of a
diocesan, backed by constitutional prescriptions, has hitherto made it im-
possible for a manly parson to procreate a masculine system of religious
instruction beyond the precincts of his own premises. It is not owing,
then, to any inherent fault of parsons themselves, much less to the mode
of property by which they are maintained, that they are priggish, quiz-
zical nondescripts, neither man nor woman. From one set of the men
of England, those, namely, who are too manly, too much engaged in
more important matters to pay any attention to religion, the parsons have
been, and, of course, always must be, estranged. The other set, the well-
meaning, religiously-disposed men, have conspired with the good women
of the country to make the parsons fools ; to make them believe, for
instance, that, because they are called in old books Stewards of God's
Mysteries, they really know more about mysteries than other men ; that
they are the only men who can read and understand the plain words and
sentences of the Bible; that, by virtue of apostolical ordination, they know
more about the Bible than equally sensible and well educated laymen
who attend to the subject. The gross, voluntary flattery of these good
laymen and these good ladies, joined with the approval and patronage
of civil and ecclesiastical authorities, and the aristocratic landowners
(the sly landowners, who find their account in the moral emasculation
of the parson, to whom it answers, more than to any other set of men,
that the parson should be a spiritless, mistaken creature), all these cir-
cumstances combined have made the parson the nondescript he is when
he is a good parson — have fretted many a parson of sense, and spirit,
and sound religious principle, into such a contempt for the peculiar
duties required of him, as to make him sick of the profession, as it is
politely termed ; and thus gain him, amongst the self-constituted and
satisfied religionists, the character of a bad parson.

The writer has a friend, a retired medical practitioner, of a very
radical cast of opinion, but withal manly and candid, and inclined to
give the devil his due. This old gentleman, having kept an observant
eye upon society during a long experience, assures the writer that he
has not known more than two or three downright bad subjects amongst
parsons ; that he never knew a parish in which the parson (though not
the wisest man in it by a good many) did not set the best moral example of
any gentleman in it ; that he never knew a parson who was not grossly
cheated out of his dues, besides being expected to set a liberal example
in alms-giving, to the exoneration from that duty of those who were de-
frauding him.

[ 208 ] [FEB.

PARLIAMENTARY PASTORALS.

No. I. BY CORYDON CROKER ; FAMILIARLY KNOWN AS THE " POTATO-POET."
On ! ye Clubs, spread your doors open wide,

To your darkest recesses I fly ;
From those terrible Whigs I would hide,

And escape from each Radical's eye.
'Tis a shame that no author can brook

To be damned in that Scottish Review ;
But Macauley has cut up my book,

And my speeches demolishes too.
Quotations of Latin and Greek

I always have ready at hand ;
When the subject inspires me to speak,

With an eloquence brilliant and grand :
I own that I sometimes misquote,

And am often more flippant than fine ;
But I learn all my speeches by rote,

And I sometimes forget ev'ry line.
But never from History's page,

Will I think of quotations again ;
For so little I look like a sage,

When my blunders are proved to be plain.
And I've had so much drubbing of late,

That I always feel nervous and shy,
If Jeffery should join the debate,

Or Stanley should rise to reply.
Yet my friends echo loudly their " Hears !"

When they think I've been making a hit,
And they flatter me on with their cheers,

While mistaking my nonsense for wit.
I have spoken when late was the hour,

Yet they made the roof ring with their joys ;
Poor things ! what they wanted in power,

They determined to make up in noise.
'Tis in vain I am witty and wise,

In my best and most eloquent mood ;
The reporters compress my replies,

And omit all I thought was so good.
Though attacked by a ruffianly Press,

One Paper at least I can boast ;
Yet between you and I, I confess,

There's seldom much sense in a " Post."
E'en the " Bull" seems to lie upon thorns,

And roars with a terrible look ;
Yet he does little harm with his horns,

Though possessing the power of a Hook.
But our " Standard" flies high and erect,

As it waves its proud flag to the wind ;
(Not a soul, I believe, can suspect,

How much they may tremble behind.)
I pass by King Charles and his Horse,

As I go to St. Stephen's alone ;
And I look to the right with remorse,

Where so long I made all things my own.
If I hadn't adhered to his Grace,

When he made that rash vow 'gainst Reform ;
I might have been still in my Place,

Like "the Pilot that weathered the Storm."

1832.] Parliamentary Pastorals. 209

No. II. BY THE DAMON OF NEWCASTLE.

MY Boroughs are furnished with tools,

The best, and most willing of slaves ;
If the world does not take them for fools,

It is not the less sure they are knaves,
Not a man who would do as I pleased,

If my bidding were flagrant or fair,
But with joy on his person I seized,

And I hastened and settled him there.

Though he looked very gravely and wise,

And spoke very learned and fine,
Yet his speech was a trap to catch flies,

For his principles always were mine.
When he rose in the House to impart

His reasons persuasive and terse,
Though he pressed both his hands to his heart,

His argument lay in his purse.

But I always took very good care,

That my votes were not given away ;
Like the jackall, I looked for a share,

While the lion was gorging his prey.
For the minister had at command

Nice pickings, as much as one wishes ;
And always allowed me a hand,

In the share of the " loaves and the fishes."

I had always some snug little berth,

For my uncle, or cousin, or brother ;
And I knew what each sinecure's worth,

When I pensioned my sister or mother.
But I fear the Reformers will take

Without scruple the whole of my gains ;
And my heart feels as if it would break,

Though I've long been concealing my " panes."
Are not Boroughs most excellent things !

Do not all our " great interests" share 'em !
Is not talent hatched under the wings

Of Gatton, and Haddon, and Sarum !
Though it may be as newspapers say, —

One's a wall nearly down to the ground ;
And the eggs it is likely to lay,

May be not, like itself, very sound.

Lord Grey must indeed be as mad

As the mob he incites to rebel,
If he knows not that, though it be bad,

The " System" still works very well.
And how shameful to sweep from the nation

Those customs so old and divine ;
By a change in the representation,

And a downfall of all that is mine.

But a struggle shall firmly be made,

And " the Church is in danger" we'll swear ; —
(Though, I must say, I'm far more afraid

That my Boroughs are doomed to despair.)
'Tis unjust to give up to the crowd,

What we have a right to alone ;
And a shame if we are not allowed

To do what we like with our own !
M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 74. P

210 ] [F«B.

THE DRAMATIC MONOPOLY.

IT would at first sight appear surprising, that this question should
ever arise. The very title of our article, a " Dramatic Monopoly," is
in itself an absurdity ; — the sole right of judging every effort made in
dramatic literature — the sole right of appreciating every attempt in the
histrionic art, with an almost equal control over the works of our native
musical composers, and those of a no less gifted body of painters ! If
such a power had been created in a time of literary debasement, and
political slavery, it surely could never be allowed to continue in an age
of regenerate genius and lynx-eyed freedom. But it is so — here, this
day, in England. It must then be perpetuated in behalf of some Peri-
cles, whose equal judgment and faultless discrimination render him the
only arbiter, fit to decide on the productions and the reward of the
highest art ? No. On behalf of two trading corporations interested in
keeping the reward at the lowest possible rate, and so confident in their
patent rights, that they prefer making objects of those whom chance,
subserviency, family connection, or aristocratic recommendation may
offer, to taking the trouble of assisting the progress of ability, or cheer-
ing with hope its diffident aspirators. This is not the language of
rhetoric, or the mock feeling of interested advocacy. It is the plain un-
varnished truth. Let us take the facts as they are on record in every
newspaper of the day.

Some prosecutor, whose name we presume he will have no objection
that we should forget, at the avowed instigation of the proprietors of the
Theatres Royal, Drury Lane and Covent Garden, carries on proceedings
in the Court of King's Bench, and, by virtue of a statute, long since
repealed by common sense and common usage, obtains a verdict against
a manager of the name of Chapman, for performing certain pieces, ac-
tually purchased by him of the author, and played by actors whose talents
found their market in the salaries he paid them. It was decided vir-
tually to be against law, that any plays should be bought in London,
except such as the larger theatres chose to purchase, even should they
themselves refuse such productions when offered ; and that any actor
should presume to use the gifts of nature and education for the benefit
of any other establishments, even though the monopolists might think
proper to dismiss him.

This was pushing the argument to a sufficient extent of absurdity, but
with the usual senselessness of oppression, they forgot that such an ar-
gument is a two-edged weapon, and they determined on- trying its use a
step or two further. They caused notices to be served on all the minor
managers, threatening them with a like fate, unless they might prefer
the pleasing alternative of closing their doors. Utterly reckless of the
fate of twenty-five hundred individuals directly dependent on the es-
tablishments they sought to destroy, and of the losses which must fall
upon many thousands more, the patent proprietors determined at one
blow to secure their monopoly. The public, these proprietors thought,
cared little for those engaged at the minor theatres, and would hardly
take the trouble to understand the general question. They were mis-
taken on both points. The public viewed, with kindness and sympathy,
the honest exertions of so many hundreds, supporting themselves and
those dependent on them by honourable exertion ; the public saw with

1832.] The Dramatic Monopoly. 211

no little indignation, an attempt made by those who called themselves
the patrons of the drama, to destroy the livelihood of so many of its
members ; and, although it would have been difficult to awaken the at-
tention of any considerable number to the oppression allowed to exist in
the monopoly of the regular drama, a prosecution for the performance
of a new piece, bought and paid for by the person representing it, was
at once tyranny made palpable to the understandings of all. And thus
has the whole question been agitated by the very act of the soi-disant
patentees themselves, at a time when it is the interest of all monopoly
quietly to relax its grasp, and not, by a tighter pressure of the rein, to
make itself more palpably, and more hatefully felt. We are now at
liberty to consider the English stage open to an entirely new settlement.
The dramatic Polignacs have cast down the authority they should never
have possessed, and it is the business of those interested in the well-go-
vernment of the state, to give a new constitution to the Drama.

Let not our legislators imagine that this is a task unworthy of their
care, or one which ought to be postponed to a hopeless future. The
dramatic literature of England is the noblest monument of its poetical
glory. The truth and wisdom contained in this high dealing with the
feelings and the destinies of man, are the household texts even of political
science. How often does a quotation more vivid than the reality,, more
apt than the fact itself, serve, not merely to ornament, but to enlighten
their debates ! Have not all the greatest spirits of the time appealed to
Shakspeare and our elder dramatists, as their teachers in the knowledge
of humanity ? To parliament in this very question is confided the fate
of all future competitors for this usefulness and this glory. The splen-
dours of war pass away before the opening eyes of the world as an excit-
ing but a feverish dream. Mankind are beginning to recognise their real
benefactors. The legislator who secures their rights, the statesman who
watches over their prosperity, are the objects of their wiser gratitude.
Nor in this thankfulness is forgotten, the minister of the poetic fire — >
whether his inspirations be poured out upon the canvas or the marble,
his oracles delivered by the tongue of eloquence, or inscribed by the
pen to eternity.

The discussion which arose with certain of the minor actors, in a mere
defence of their existence, has now entirely altered its form arid bearing.
They had appealed to the public, and the public replied to the appeal,
with this very just proviso, that as they were now parties to the contest,
their own interests should have a share in the treaty. Undoubtedly the
real interests, the ultimate ones, of all the servants of an art dependent
upon public protection, must be identified with those of the patrons. The
benefits of fair competition are, in a word, the objects sought by both.
Let us regard the question by the light of the past, and the glimpse we
may snatch of the future — first, as it relates to the actors ; next, as it re-
lates to authors ; and the public part of the discussion will almost work
itself out incidentally to such a division.

The only four houses legitimately entitled to perform any thing above
the rank of burletta in London, Westminster, South wark, the immensely
populous suburbs — in short, within a circle whose diameter is forty-two
miles, more thickly inhabited than any such space in the whole civi-
lised world — are the Theatres Royal Drury Lane, Covent Garden,
Haymarket and English Opera House. By a natural use of the mono-
poly, the seasons of these houses are so fitted to each other, as to occa-

P 2

212 The Dramatic Monopoly. [FEB.

sion the least possible interference for themselves ; consequently for the
public and the artists, the least possible competition. The seasons of
the first two are by this contract limited to nine months each, that of
the Haymarket to four months, and that of the English Opera House to
six ; thus amounting in effect to two houses open for eleven months
each in the year, for the exclusive performance of tragedies and come-
dies, and another open for six months for the performance of opera and
melodrama. The actors of the larger houses are those, with very few
exceptions, employed at the two smaller ones ; so that hitherto, at least,
scarcely more than two companies have been lawfully exercising their
art in this vast area — the only part of the British dominions capable of
affording an adequate remuneration to the highest attainments in the
art.

But, lest this competition should allow too great latitude for the
demands of artists, another very natural combination has ever and anon
been resorted to ; to limit the salaries at each house by a fixed scale,
with a stipulation that the actor refusing the terms offered by one,
should not exercise his trade at the other for one whole year after such
refusal. This regulation, has, of course, sometimes been enforced and
sometimes broken through, as imagined temporary interests of the
ephemeral managements have prompted the one course or the other ;
but it has been frequently acted upon, and its spirit is a consequence of
monopoly far too natural to be long in abeyance.

It is necessary too, that the physical endowments of actors should fit
the monstrous arenas in which they are to be exhibited. By virtue (or
by vice) of the patents, there is neither beauty, grace, nor expression,
in any delicate organization. A whisper must be given in the under-
tone of a speaking-trumpet. The silent anger of the eye and mouth
might be discerned by the first row of the pit, but the galleries would
infinitely prefer the dignified demonstration of a knock-down blow.
Passion must lose its very class and kind in the exaggeration with
which it must be notified and proclaimed. Tenderness must be voci-
ferous, and melancholy uproarious. If any one doubts, let him care-
fully read any of our stock-plays with a view to the discrimination of
their various feelings, and then take a peep at the stage -versions. It
is not the fault of the performers, or the audience ; it is the size of the
theatres. It would, however, be no dishonest or unfitting occupation
for a critic, to take a view of the most popular performances of the
English stage, with reference to their intrinsic merits as opposed to
these accidents.

We put it to the performers of the greater houses, whether they con-
sider it worthy of their station, in their art, to suffer this question to be
exclusively agitated, and probably settled, by those minor actors, into
whose hands chance and oppression have at the moment thrown it.
Have they no interest in the honest settlement of this matter upon a
fair, liberal, and permanent basis ? We are far too deeply impressed
with the high merits of many of them, to imagine that any alteration
which can tend to the benefit of their profession at large, must not bear
them on still in the vanward to reap the advantages, though their own
inactivity may deny them the fame. Surely an entire body, esteemed
by the nation at large, and cherished by those who appreciate their art,
need not fear the unpopular authority of two corporations, whose every
act is but a step nearer to their own fall. If by one gracious and

1832.] The Dramatic Monopoly. 213

honest effort they choose to free themselves,, that freedom cannot be
denied them. If it be possible that so just a cause can be lost, their
pusillanimity must be at once the cause of defeat, and the excuse of the
victors. But let us hope better of them. We need not gratuitously
pay them so ill a compliment, as to suppose that they cannot perceive a
better reward for their services from twenty unconnected competitors,
than from two mock-bidders, who have previously settled among them-
selves the price at which the auction shall close. We cannot suppose
them to be so insensible to the higher objects of their art, as not to
prefer its exercise where it may be best discerned and appreciated.

One of the objections which we have heard, and which we consider
as the only one in reference to this part of the subject which merits a
reply, is the idea that the drama might thus become vulgarized — that
the performance of the great tragedies, entrusted to unworthy hands,
would have the effect of corrupting the public taste, and leading it from
the real criticism of acting, to the love of unnatural farce, and melo-
dramatic high colouring. Let us examine the position. The question
is only this ; whether an actor shall play a particular character under
the free patronage of his audience, or by the fiat of an individual spe-
culator ; whether excellence is best understood and appreciated by those
whose money rewards its exertions, and who pay in exact proportion to
suit their appreciation, or by a manager, whom a thousand interests
but those of the art may prompt to use such ability, without much re-
ference to its proper claims. And by which is the public taste the more
vulgarized? By the performance of any known character by an
incompetent individual, who may be instantly compared with those who
have ably sustained the part ; or by the absence of ability in writing, as
well as acting, by the venting of nonsense which, however badly, may
not be inappropriately mouthed ? Comparison, free^ and unlimited, is
the only test of excellence ; those who reward talent are its only
efficient judges ; and real ability need no more fear the eclipse of
pretension than the lustre of the sun need shrink from the ray of a
rushlight. But there is a means of vulgarizing their profession, which
some of the defenders of its assumed dignity do not appear to remem-
ber. To make the principal attractions of a national theatre consist of
the worst kind of melo-drama ; to depend for the resources of its trea-
sury for one-third of the season upon an exhibition of wild beasts, in a
performance not even possessing the claims of ingenuity, and a clever
display of the qualities of the quadruped performers ; for another third
of the season upon a comic pantomine, and probably for the remainder
upon an Easter spectacle — these are indeed effectually to vulgarize the
drama. The question is one in which all personality should be scru-
pulously avoided ; but as the illustration is so strikingly before us, let
us ask what must have been the impression of a Frenchman on reading
the bills of Drury-lane theatre for some months past, and comparing
the display of the tragedies of Macbeth and Firginius, and of the name
of a representative of the principal characters now, at all events, un-
rivalled— with the type of Hyder All, and the ambitious announcement
of M. Martin ! Again and again we call upon the actors, as a body, to
consider the subject with as much attention and as little prejudice as
can be brought to the task. It would surely be ungraceful in them to
accept the parts of camp-followers., and share in the booty, though they
dreaded the conflict.

214 The Pramaiic Monopoly. [FEB.

Those, however, who are by far the most deeply and permanently
concerned, as individuals, in procuring a just settlement of this cause,
are the dramatic authors. Indeed, they have much to claim from the
equitable consideration of the legislature. A law of acting copyright,
over which their own supineness has so long nodded, is absolutely
necessary to secure to them the moderate reward of their labours ; and
it may be urged in reply to any seeming indifference upon the present
question, that they have been too inactive even to apply for a protec-
tion, which they would probably gain without opposition, and which
would have the speedy effect of doubling the incomes of many of their
body, without inflicting the slightest injustice upon any one. To be
sure, it is impossible to live out of the world and in it at the same time ;
and those who are accustomed to the dreamy repose of their own
thoughts, find it painful to be awakened to the necessities of their in-
terests. When aroused, however, they can be efficient in no common
degree, and we do not fear that it will be impossible to excite them
now. Let them gain one or two points, and they may safely sleep for
the remainder of their lives — and this is holding out no slight boon to
these lovers of idleness.

Some illustrious exceptions, however, to the general inactivity, have
had the good sense to perceive, and the honest energy to declare, their
interests in the debate. If the competition, which is necessary to secure
a fair price for talent, be an argument with actors, it is much more so
with authors. Their art is one only to be learnt by personal experience
of effects — one whose probation cannot, like that of actors, be passed in
provincial towns, but which must from the beginning have its growth
and encouragement, where only authorship is paid — in the metropolis.
If the size of the monopolizing theatres be an objection to the exercise
of the art of acting, how much more fatally does it affect that of writ-
ing. The necessity of removing the interest from the ear to the eye,
must reduce plays from being the vehicles of thought, passion, wit,
sentiment, and wisdom, to mere pantomimic pageants. Here is the real
secret of the deterioration of the drama ; the art itself is changed: it is
no longer a combination of metaphysic plot, of character, and language ;
but must, from the size of the houses where it is represented, become
a series of practical jokes, or physical situations. Nor does this bane-
ful influence confine itself to these larger houses. The people once
led to believe that they may enjoy the drama through the readier
medium of the eye, consider the listening to poetry as a severe employ-
ment, instead of a delightful relaxation. Indeed, we have sometimes
been tempted to go so far on this point, as to consider the tripartite
stage of Shakspeare, and the simple dress of his times, as apter vehicles
for the realities of his dramas than the gorgeous scenery and careful
costume of the present era ; but this, perhaps, is a whim. The cer-
tainty is, that audiences do not now go to listen ; that authors are, in
consequence, released from the necessity of writing what should be
listened to, or but little encouraged if they complete this condition ;
that a play dependent principally on character and dialogue, must be
a short play to be tolerated, even though the plot be pleasant, and the
execution adequate. We are quoting sentiments, avowed by such of
the monopolists as have the power of thinking upon the subject ; and
let him who doubts, ask the "readers" for the two larger theatres.

And is it possible that the conceptions of authors should suffer no

1832. J The Dramatic Monopoly. 215

mutilation from these two beds of Procrustes ? Is it possible that they
should not either be so framed as to avoid having the head lopped off,
to make the body fit in the first instance, or that they should, to be
represented, be forced to be seen headless after all ? Are no fine ideas
cast aside on this account ? and are there no others sacrificed, because
the outline of the plot offers no character for A, B, or C ? or the whole
might not be advantageously cast among the performers of either theatre ?
It is by this that authors are become — the few who, dramatically born,
must continue dramatists, in spite of their interests — the slaves of indi-
vidual caprice. It is by the monopoly that they are obliged to give up
originality for conventional idea, that they are obliged to build up a
new monster for the representative of an old one.

What would have been the fate of " The Midsummer Night's Dream,"
or ee The Tempest," if now submitted for the first time to the consideration
of a manager of Covent Garden or Drury Lane Theatre ? The highest
use that would be made of them would be to submit them, properly
cut, to Mr. Farley or Mr. Barrymore, as pretty openings for panto-
mimes. Such is, indeed, all they are fit for in the present state of the
houses. In theatres, where every word might be heard without painful
attention, the case, to be sure, would be somewhat different. The very
unfrequency of such subjects would give them a sufficient share of
attraction to remunerate author, actors, and manager. Again, how
many more plays would be written, if a popular author, in taking up his
pen, considered himself amenable to no criticism but that of his own
judgment and the taste of the public. Certain that his production
would find its value in an open market, he would commence his task
cheerfully, and complete it without misgiving. The mere amount of
remuneration for each play might not be quite so great at first, but the
gross amount would be tenfold, and each author's share proportionate.
Let every writer take into his consideration the time he expends upon
the chance of getting a play brought out, in conciliating those who
ought to hail him with welcome, in the agitation of reconciling almost
impossible interests ; let him add this to tlie time taken in composition,
and then say how enormous a portion of his life each play costs him.
Let him compare, too, the honour and pleasure of the two occupations —
that of cultivating his own imaginations to their perfection in his closet,
with awaiting the caprice of others in halls and porters' lodges. With
his unfettered strength, exerted in the certainty of an independent
reward, would he not write four times the number of plays that he can
at present ? Would he not work out those finer sketches which he
is obliged to lay aside for something more common-place and palpable,
and therefore more certain ? Woiild he suffer his energies to be
diverted to less worthy pursuits, because by them only he can live ?
What is the hope of a dramatic author of the first class, as the monopo-
lists would have the arrangement remain ? Take up the files of bills
of the two great houses for many years, count the number of new pieces,
assess the sums yearly paid to authors, mark the number of those forced
upon the manager, by aristocratic influence or private connection. If
the trade were free, who would dare ask of a manager to ruin himself
by the performance of any play he could not conscientiously offer to the
public ?

We know that it has been said, that plays fit to be acted cannot be

216 The Dramatic Monopoly. [FEE

procured. Plays so far fit for spectacle, as to agree with the size o.
these theatres, and yet fit to be considered high literary efforts, are, to
be sure, not easily produced ; but, in the main, this cry is cant, mere
cant, and those who use it are fully aware that it is so. In a free
market, would Rienzi and Foscari have each lain upon the shelf for
more than four years, and the talents of their authoress been cast by
neglect into contributing to annuals, and the editing of American
stories ? How long did Alfred remain unrepresented ? In the feverish
excitement which attends the career of one play towards its representa-
tion, is the mind left calm enough to proceed to the creation of others ?
Are poets proverbially so philosophic ?

Look at the past and the present, reason from experience or from
common sense, employ certain knowledge or uncertain speculation, and
all must agree with us in denouncing the present system as a huge
burking-machine of dramatic genius. It is a Juggernaut, senseless
itself, before which life falls prostrate, and is extinguished. In the name
of civilization, in the name of honesty, in the name of those imprescript-
ible rights of mind, which Nature and Providence have given — down
with it !

Our limits warn us that we must close. The view of the matter, as
it concerns the public especially — hints for the practical settlement of the
question — some words on the rights of vested wrongs, and other points
which claim our attention, may be offered hereafter.

BREVITIES.

PUBLIC men cannot always go direct to their object, as the crow flies.
It is but fair to make allowances for the thick medium in which they
act, and the courtly windings they are often compelled to follow.

A wise and benevolent man may reasonably wish for children, if able
to maintain them ; but perhaps he is neither very wise nor very benevo-
lent if he suffers his deprivation to make him unhappy. What is it we
admire or find interesting in children ? Their beauty, innocence, help-
lessness, cheerfulness, simplicity ; but he is a selfish sot who cannot
appreciate those qualities in the offspring of others as well as in his own;
and who, having the power, wants the inclination to cherish and attract
them to him.

" Former," " latter," and " namely," are three verbal dowdies — the
anti-graces of diction, who still, by prescriptive right, are sometimes
found in good society.

We feel astonished that torture should ever have been used by ra-
tional beings, as the means of getting at truth ; but, no doubt, when it
was abolished, many admirers of the good old times thought the innova-
tion exceedingly dangerous. In like manner our posterity will scarcely
believe that persons were allowed to vote away the public money, as
representatives of the people, who literally had no constituents at all,
and purchased their seats in Parliament as regularly as their chairs for
domestic purposes.

The anger of a generous man is effectually disarmed by a little gentle-
ness on the part of its object — as a bread and milk poultice is sufficient
to allay a casual inflammation in a healthy frame.

1832.] [ 217 ]

THE LAY OF A LOST MINSTREL.

cxt ,.9Tg tpticm- _ . , „ . '•"*

919C0 ,inn BlALIl °-( the Br°°m S y°Uth had been 'IBB J' :

A tailor—cutting blade ;

•°« ^nd proved his trade he did not love,

By making love his trade.
His "heart's delight," industriously,

By toil made many a penny,—
Jenny hard worked at spinning, and

Worked hard a spinning-jenny.
All day he'd watch the attic pane,

To see how Jenny got on :
His heart would " cotton" to the maid,

While she, sweet maid, made cotton.
The youth he wrote to tell his flame,

She answer'd, maiden silly ;
He wore her billet on his heart —

Her heart was on her Billy.
The course of true love, saith the bard,

Never yet smooth did run —
A rival had begun his suit

Ere Bill his suit begun.
Smart Stephen Strap, with sayings sly,

Jenny would oft divert,
Crying, " Bill's not expert at seams,

He only seems expert."
In wrath the tailor learnt the end

Of such a fair beginning,
He sent her spinning-jenny first,

And then his Jenny, spinning.
The faithless one with Stephen wed ;

Cried Bill, half-broken hearted —
" She'll think, of course, that I am dead,

When told that I'm departed."
So quick enlisting (no one now

His valorous heart impeaches),
He breeches-making still pursued,

Simply by making breaches.
But wars must end ; so Bill returned,

And stood, with humbled mien,
(Being cleaned out with crossings foul,)

To keep the crossings clean.
Yet still he on his rival smiled,

Whom clouds now hung above ;
For Jenny shewed the love of power,

More than the power of love.
But tailors die as well as men ;

For death grants little leisure, —
Nor e'er was known to disappoint,

If once he takes his measure ;
And fits his customer so tight,

No room he leaves for dodging ;
Though if he calls him from his board,

At least he finds him lodging.
Bill's fall, which happened on his stand,

By every one was wept,
To think that he who swept the way,

At last away was swept ! H.

• C 218 ] [FEB.

.

)rf;t IT NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENEEAL.

SAVINGS IN ST. SAVIOUR'S. — Parish economy is often as bad as parish
extravagance. The London Bridge Committee, and the parish-dignita-
ries of St. Saviour's, have been laying their apologies for heads together,
in order to bring about the demolition of a beautiful portion of one of
the most beautiful and antique pieces of architecture in existence — the
the Church of St. Mary Overy, Southwark ; the resting-place of Gower,
the father of English poetry, of Philip Massinger, and of other rare and
revered benefactors to our literature. It seems that the Spiritual Court,
or the building called Our Lady's Chapel — certainly one of the most
remarkable of the many architectural beauties of the edifice — is a little
in the way; according to the elevated notions of the Nashes of Tooley-
street ; and as uniformity, in the opinion of such persons, takes place of
every other architectural consideration on earth, of course our Lady's
Chapel must give way, that decorations, in the form of new wine-vaults
and a lamp-post, may figure among the ornaments and utilities of the
Surrey side of the bridge. Mr. Weston, " the banker," was by far the
loudest and most enlightened supporter of the pulling-down principle ;
telling the parishioners, in the true spirit of a borough-banker, that
" they should not allow any nonsense of national pride to deter them
from merging all objects in their own advantage/' Architecture and
antiquity are fine things, but, as Mr. Weston says, we must look "to
the present times, and to ourselves." The demolition of this magni-
ficent appendage to the church would be a pecuniary saving to the
parish ; he had made the " calculation" with considerable nicety, and
found that the "householders would be gainers'* by its destruction.
That is, Mr. Weston, as the occupier of a spacious dwelling, would
save six shillings upon his next church-rate ; and the other inhabitants
of the parish would average an advantage of eleven-pence each. We
recommend Mr. Weston to propose, at the next meeting, the pulling
down of the church altogether ; it would realize a sum sufficient to
enable the whole parish to live tax-free for a twelvemonth. We our-
selves would give something for a nail from Massinger's coffin

Luckily, however, there were some spirited and sensible people at that
and other meetings, and discussion is to precede the demolition.

„ .. -,

" PECULIARITIES" OP THE PRESS. — We never could find out what
those people are made of, who lay down a newspaper and say " there's
nothing in it." We pity the news-lover who travels from the Advertiser
to the Albion (farther he cannot go), and cries fe'tis all barren." To
us every column is a casket of gems. The most shocking accident, or
the most horrible offence, will often provoke very ludicrous associations,
simply by the manner in which it is set forth. The stereotyped phraseo-
logy of the press is to us a standing joke — a perpetual and never- to-be-
exhausted spring of " rational entertainment." Is there an unusual
shower of rain in any village within five hundred miles of London? — of
course, its like was not known (< in the memory of the oldest inhabitant."
Does it happen to take place in town instead of the country ?— of course,
" the metropolis was visited by one of the most awful/' &c. Is there a
chimney on fire ? — of course, the " devouring element" blazes through
a long paragraph. Is a straw-bonnet-maker's apprentice robbed of her
reticule, or exposed to the indignity of having her veil gently thrown

1332,] A/airs in General 219

back, displaying her beauties to the gaze of the vulgar ?— of course, the
deed was perpetrated either by a " wretch," or a " monster in the
human form." Is somebody acquitted by the Lord Mayor upon a charge
of swindling ? — of course, he is a " person of very interesting appear-
ance." Is somebody convicted upon a similar charge ? — of course, he is
a " suspicious-looking character/' Does a gentleman fail to recover, at
the hands of a magistrate, a wife who has run away from him fifteen
times ?— of course, his feelings " may be more easily conceived than de-
scribed." Do five fools, aged fifty-one years each, happen to meet
together at any time on this side of the antipodes ? — of course, it is dis-
covered that " their united ages amount to two hundred and fifty-five
years." Are people married now-a-days? — no, they are always "led
to the hymeneal altar." Are they hanged ? — by no means ; they are
f< launched into eternity." Do rich landowners give their famished
tenantry a dinner at Christmas ? — it is hailed as a noble specimen of
"genuine English hospitality/' and in this spirit the following must of
course be regarded : —

" Good Cheer. — Yesterday being Twelfth. Day, the whole of the prisoners in
the Borough Compter were regaled at the expense of John Holmes, Esq., the
high bailiff, with roast beef and plum-pudding, plentifully served to them, with
a comfortable sufficiency of yood old English porter, for which the objects of the
bounty shewed a becoming gratitude by their peaceable and orderly demeanour ;
concluding the repast by wishing happiness and long life to their generous bene-
factor, not forgetting their humane keeper, Mr. Law."

Now we can find no fault with this good cheer ; on the contrary, we
wish every prison in the kingdom had a high bailiff like Mr. Holmes ;
but still we are a little anxious to know what "good old English porter"
is, and where it is to be obtained. Or is it to be had only by becoming
an inmate of the Borough Compter? The "humane keeper" forms a
peculiarly novel termination to the paragraph — though the phrase " not
forgetting" is certainly somewhat equivocal.

THE SCHOOL-MASTER "ABROAD." — Abroad in this instance means

America, where steam and the school-master have lately been walking
hand in hand ; and the result is, the invention of one of the most won-
derful machines that ever obtained a patent — or indeed that ever puzzled
and petrified mankind since the days of Archimedes. A mechanic in
America, we are told (but, by the by, we are not told whereabouts),
"has invented a machine for seminaries, which by means of steam, not
only warms the room, but flogs the boys on a graduated scale, according
to their offences." We earnestly trust that the patentee may be pre-
vailed upon to send a model of his invaluable machine to that joint-stock
company of grandmothers, the Society of Arts ; and we hereby throw
open our pages to him, in the hope that he may be charitably induced
to describe the extraordinary invention. No preparatory seminary, es-
tablishment for young scoundrels, or boarding-school for young block-
heads, should be three months longer without it, if our morals are to
keep pace with our mental progression. Eton and Westminster would
be under eternal obligations to the inventor ; for it has been for a cen-
tury past perfectly clear, that mere manual labour is utterly inadequate
to the infliction of the proper amount of flagellation, required by the
young aristocrats and juvenile boroughmongers at those celebrated pub^
lie seminaries. Such a machine must be a rare godsend to Dr. Keate,

220 Notes of the Month on [FEB.

or his deputy, as well for its heating as its beating capabilities — making
the ushers red-hot, if need be, and correcting the refractory branches of
the rising generation without the least trouble to the present inflictors.
As the boys are now subjected to the additional penalty of purchasing their
own rods, they must under the new system become responsible to the coal-
merchant of the college, in proportion to the extent of their punishment.
The " graduated scale " in this new steam-flogging apparatus, we con-
fess provokes a little scepticism j and we should really like to know the
various quantities of hot- water required for the correction of those
school-boy-enormities, which we ourselves once practised with so much
pleasure and so little impunity. If one quart would award punishment
for the crime of " fagging " a junior boy to death, or kicking him eleven
times round a room two hundred and fifty feet long, how much would
be required for him who should omit to cap to the head usher, or whose
parents had forgotten to send the periodical basket of game ? It would
need a nice calculation to deal with the minor offences of way-laying
servant-maids, driving cattle far a-field, setting dogs at lame itinerants,
and breaking the windows of democratic pastry-cooks that have the im-
pertinence to ask for their money.

Would it be possible to render such a machine of any practical use in
that political Eton College, the House of Lords ? If by means of steam,
flagellation could be bestowed in proportion to the folly exhibited, Lord
Londonderry would, in one single month, find his coal-mines in some
danger of exhaustion.

BLACK AND WHITE. — One of the greatest evils that can happen to
humanity is to be " put into black and white" against one's will. You
happen to make confession of some infirmity — or to be critical upon a
a friend, in the strictest confidence — and the account is served up to
you in print the next morning with your coffee. Happily, the days of
Swift and Pope are past : we are no longer in danger of standing in a
poetical pillory, or of creeping to immortality in a couplet. Epigram
has had its elegy. But prose is at work : paragraphs are let loose upon
us with the fangs of panthers, and jokes go off at us at every corner, like
spring-guns. There is no getting at the news, without seeing that
Hook or Rogers has said something smart at our expense. And the
best of these jokes is, that nobody inserts them : they drop from the
stars, and the very printer cannot guess how. We are held down, like
Gulliver, by a thousand little cords, and are assured that it is merely a
gossamer's web. To figure in paragraphs in this way, is to get into
" black and white," as effectually as the heroine of a comic engraving
that we have seen, who is placed between a chimney-sweep and a miller.
You come in collision with scandal, in the first place, and are, of course,
darkened all over ; when, in order to shew that black is not " so black,"
but that white is <( very white" indeed, up comes some good-natured
friend of an opposite colour, and covers you with his floury defence.
Your situation is then supremely enviable.

ANTI-MUSTACHIO DECREE. — When sentence of shaving was passed
the other day upon the mustachios of our military exquisites, a panic
ensued quite equal to any demonstration of horror that could be expected,
if Mr. Hume were to succeed some night in stopping the army-estimates,
and in abolishing half-pay altogether. But, of course, these ringleted

1832.J Affairs in General 221

Caesars and whiskered Alexanders best know what is the most valuable
article about their heads, and have a right to take care of it. At all
events the regulation and its results are not confined to England ; — in
the chamber at Cassel, we are informed, " a deputy denounced as un-
constitutional, an order issued by the regent, forbidding the civil officers
to wear mustachios. He said, the sultan himself had no right to touch
the beards of his subjects ; and that if to-day mustachios were disposed
of, to-morrow every Hessian may be ordered to have his head shaved."
Now this looks sadly like a piece of satire upon the parliamentary pro-
testations and prophecies of our anti-reformers at home. They have said
the same thing over and over again : " the king himself," say they,
' ' has no right to touch the boroughs of his subjects ; and if to-day Old
Sarum is disposed of, to-morrow every anti-reformer may be ordered to
have his head shaved." Nothing can be more likely. We admit the con-
clusiveness of the reasoning, and are happy to think that the poor cutlers
of Birmingham are likely to be so extensively employed ; though, to be
sure, the number of the foolish daily grows fewer, and the demand for
razors and strait- waistcoats may not after all be very excessive. At Cas-
sel, the chamber passed after a short discussion to the order of the day ;
— ours is still likely to be a long discussion, and " order " will not come
till it is over.

FIRE-PROOF DRESSES. — Among the many, or rather the innumerable
triumphs of science that happen hourly, may be mentioned the invention
of a new and very satisfactory fire-proof great coat, or other outward
garment, formed of course of some exceedingly incombustible materials,
and capable of being shifted with surprising convenience. We imagine
it to be a sort of cloak or mantle, made of real Thames water — but at all
events it is something quite as effective in shutting out the effects of fire,
as the dress of Chabert himself. By the way, as the fire-king was said
to have died lately, it is possible that his wardrobe fell into the hand of
somebody who intends to assume to himself the merit of the invention.
No matter ; the dress is proposed for general adoption in all cases of
fire, and tailors, duly instructed, are already at work in various direc-
tions. Now we must admit that this invention or discovery, in an
age of incendiarism like this, is peculiarly well-timed ; but we must also
acknowledge that it is calculated to give some colour to the rumour cir-
culated in anti-reform circles, that, as soon as the lords shall have thrown
out the bill a second time, it is the intention of the reformers to burn
London a la Bristol, cutting off the communication between Surrey and
Middlesex by setting fire to the bridges. It was their intention at first
to apply their torches to the Thames itself, but this they are determined
to leave for the anti-reformers to do. Sir Charles Wetherell, who is
known to be very particular about his costume, and also very tenacious
of burning his fingers, has already given orders to Stultz for one of the
new dresses — observing facetiously, that if it could be made smoke-proof,
he should prefer it.

JACK MITFORD. — We have had the loves of the flowers, — we shall
shortly be edified by the (f lives of the caterpillars ;" for the newspapers
of the past month, have, with scarcely an exception, treated the world
with a biography of the worthy whose name commences this paragraph.
Jack Mitford was the prime manufacturer of sixpenny infamy, in the

222 Notes of the Month on [FEB.

shape of lying lives of actresses, &c., and, consequently, his memory
deserves to be embalmed in the columns of the best public instructors.
He was the Jack Ketch to the Court of Scandal, and would execute any
one for less than hangman's fees. He was one of those filthy satyrs, who
drag on a life of dirt and drunkenness, by poisoning the minds of the
young, and pandering to the impotence of the old. It was therefore
fitting that his departure from this world should be reported with due
emphasis by our daily and weekly contemporaries, who, in the plenitude
of their charity sank the iniquity* of their hero, and touched with grace-
ful regret upon his incidental weaknesses. However, it cannot be dis-
fuised, that the booksellers will have a heavy loss in Jack. He was the
ir Walter Scott of a crim. con. case, — and for the illustrating a seduc-
tion,— the colours of Charles Phillips were dull and leaden compared to
the rainbow tints of this literary Bishop. He burked a reputation with
the readiest dispatch, and on the most moderate terms : one glass per
character was his usual price ; and any advance on this, his general fee,
would purchase the worldly perdition of a whole family. Jack's ap-
pearance was in unison with his no character : the shell was worthy of
the pearl. He looked the offspring of crime and misery. We never
saw a human creature bearing more indelible marks of the filthiness of
his craft. He looked as though, a moral ogre, he lived upon murdered
reputations. The dirty means by which he gained his " daily gin"
seemed to corrode even his outward man : active depravity had antici-
pated the marks of age, and stamped him prematurely old. Of his
acquirements, one of his biographers speaks as follows : —

" Jack Mitford's acquirements were very varied. His name is, unfortunately,
too much associated with a class of works in our literature (! !), which, to name,
would sully the purity of our pages. But, alas, Jack Mitford was but little to
blame for this prostitution of his pen ! Those filthy miscreants who live by pan-
dering upon the worst of vices, and excite in action those feelings which, if suf-
fered to mature, would undermine the very fabric of society, found in the needy
resources of this unfortunate man, and his taste for gin, an engine suited to their
purposes. Under the influence of this liquor, they bought him over to their
interests, and while insensible of its fumes, he used his pen for purposes which
his saner moments viewed with horror and indignation !"

A piece of rascality, committed in the " saner moments " of Jack Mit-
ford, has come to our knowledge, which in few words we will relate.
Mitford waited upon a gentleman engaged in the conduct of a journal,
with a written report of the proceedings of a libel case, tried that day in
the Court of King's Bench. The copy was accepted, and the case, in
which Mitford nourished as a witness, and most vehemently belaboured
Adolphus, appeared in the paper. It was scarcely published, ere a notice
of action, by the alleged plaintiff, in Mitford's report, was served upon
the proprietor of the journal. Then — and unhappily not till then — the
whole affair was discovered. The report was one of " Jack's " ingenious
lies, committed in his " saner moments," — and the plaintiff, a gallant
officer, who really had a suit pending, stipulated to receive upwards of
ninety pounds from the duped journalist, as a consideration to forego all
further proceedings. Of course " sane " Jack Mitford shared in the
spoil, though we doubt whether he viewed it with " horror and indig-
nation."

Jack, it is said, wrote the poem of Johnny Netvcome in the Navy.
His biographer says :—

1832.] Affairs in General. 223

" Mitford waa then a beggar, and Johnston the bookseller, who published it
[the poem], was afraid to trust him with money, knowing that when he had
cash in hand, he would not work. Each morning he received a shilling, and a
certain quantity of paper, which he engaged to fill with rhymes and deliver by
night. His method was to put some gin in a blacking-bottle, and twopenny-
worth of bread and cheese, with an onion and some salt ! Thus provisioned he
repaired to Bayswater fields, where he sat and wrote. It was a dry summer,
and he seldom had to encounter rain. In a gravel-pit, near the water-works, he
made a bed of grass and nettles : the nettles that grew on each side he twisted
over so as to form a canopy, and here he lay for forty-three nights — the poem
being finished in that number of days. Before day-light [it was a " dry sum-
mer"— Jack must have been an early riser] he would rise and wash his rag of a
shirt in a stagnant pool, which he put on wet, and yet never caught cold, nor
did he ever enjoy better health than when confined to his nettle-bed and a
shilling per day."

The biographer descants on the luxury of " an onion/' a couch in the
fields, and the ablution afforded by a (f stagnant pool," with the gusto- of
an experienced sensualist. However, we can believe, if we except one
particular, the whole account as applied to Jack Mitford. We do not,
or we should be heretics indeed, dispute the blacking-bottle and gin — we
can away with the onion, and grass bed ; nay, we will strive to believe
the nettles— (how real poetry is often associated with matters of fact ! a
satirist making to himself a bed and curtains of nettles !) — but we can-
not, though we stretch our belief to the wonders of a Waterton or a
Munchausen — no, we cannot yield credence to the "rag" washed in the
tf stagnant pool." The clean shirt we turn from as apocryphal.

It is said that a statue of Jack Mitford is about to be erected at the
corner of Holywell-street, a place peculiarly benefited by the labours,
not only of his drunken months, but of his " saner moments." If it be
asked why we devote this space to the exhibition of this literary Abhor*
son, our reply is, that the exposure of such creatures goes far to neu-
tralize their venom. Unhappily, in these days, miscreants of the Jack
Mitford genus are not uncommon ; and though they may elaborate their
poison over champagne instead of gin, they are alike worthy of the cold
contempt of those whose reputations they would vilify.

THE GREENWICH RAIL-ROAD. — The world seems never at a loss for
projects. One rail-way makes many, and the frog Greenwich is puffing
itself into the ox Manchester. A company has been formed, with a
capital of the usual number of hundreds of thousands, or millions, for
the purpose of establishing a rail-road communication between the me-
tropolis and Greenwich. We like new projects, if for no other reason
than to shew a spirit of resistance to those who hate innovations of all
kinds ; but we confess that we are romantic enough to like them the
better when they happen to be based upon some object of utility. But
•we are as yet at a loss to discern the peculiar desirableness of this new
rail-road from the Green-park to Greenwich-park, and from Greenwich-
hospital to Guy's-hospital. Such a communication would no doubt tend
greatly to facilitate the progress of the ftys, caravans, and stages, on
Easter and Whit-mondays ; and the tumbles down One-tree-hill might
be rendered much more regular by means of a rail- way; but we can see
little other good that it is likely to effect — unless indeed it should tend
to the comfort and convenience of the old pensioners, in their occasional
peregrinations to town. They might pay their visits to their shipmates

224 Notes of the Month on [FEB.

in Wapping, and be dispatched back to their quarters with the velocity
of a cannon-ball. Something might be thus saved to the country in the
article of wooden-legs ; but still we are a little sceptical as to the advan-
tages that are to result from the Greenwich Rail-road Association.

THE ADVANTAGES OP GOING TO JAIL. — Mr. E. G. Wakefield's recent
pamphlets, " Swing Unmasked," and " Facts connected with the punish-
ment of Death," are just now going the triumphant round of the news-
papers. The Times quotes, the Sun praises, the Spectator adopts ;
while all three agree in opinion that they contain much shrewd observa-
tion, much sound, practical morality, much valuable, and even novel,
information. Assuredly these are signs of the times when a gentleman
goes to Newgate to complete his education ! Had Mr. Wakefield never
honoured that classic region with a three years' residence, instead of
being the man he now is, <c a thing of mark and likelihood," he would
merely have been one of the multitude, a cypher in society as in literature.
But going to jail has been the making of him ! It has not only enlarged
the sphere of his observation, but, strange to tell, even improved the
quality of his ethics. He enters Newgate a thoughtless, reckless roue ;
he comes out of it a sage, a moralist, a philosopher ! As Christian in
the Pilgrim's Progress washed off all his earthly stains in the chilly
waters of Death, so Mr. Wakefield regenerates his intellectual Adam in
the purifying atmosphere of Newgate. In fact, he perfects his educa-
tion, and takes his degree there, precisely like a student after a three
years' residence at the University. Since therefore this incarceration
has redeemed our clever pamphleteer, by expanding his judgment and
maturing his powers, who knows whether it may not be made to pro-
duce the same blessed effect on others ? At any rate the experiment is
worth trying. This is the age of theory, when all systems, all opinions,
whether fantastic or otherwise, are sure to meet with encouragement.
With due submission, therefore, we propose that all our embryo politi-
cians be henceforth sent, one after the other, to jail ; some for two, some
for three, some for five years, according to the urgency of the case, and
the extent of their acquirements, in order that they may be thereby
qualified, like Mr. Wakefield, to enter on the great business of public
life, in. a shrewd and practical spirit.

A PROPOSITION FAIRLY CANVASSED :— Is THE WORLD GOOD OR BAD
UPON THE WHOLE ? — In those instructive volumes recently published by
Colburn, entitled " Jefferson's Memoirs," the great American philoso-
pher, writing to his friend Lafayette, is made to say " the world is good
upon the whole ; were I to live my days over again, I would do so most
readily." This is undoubtedly high, but it is far from being decisive or
even weighty authority. And why so ? Because from first to last, from
the alpha to the omega of his career, Jefferson's life was one long, un-
interrupted triumph. The stream of his good fortune knew neither flux
nor reflux, but flowed on from youth to age in a broad, calm, and un-
wrinkled channel. He never knew disappointment except by name ;
nor adversity except as he witnessed its effects on others. At twenty he
was a rising man in America ; at twenty-five he was her prodigy ; at
thirty he drew up the Declaration, and witnessed the achievement of her
Independence ; at forty he was her Secretary of State ; at sixty her
President ; and up to the period of his dissolution her most venerated

1832.] A fairs in General. 225

patriot, statesman, and philosopher. During all this time he enjoyed
unabated health and consequently felicity, for— so intimate is the con-
nection between health and happiness — there can be no true pleasure,
and not much social feeling, where the gastric juice is disordered. To
such a man the world was of course " good upon the whole ;" but his
was an extreme case ; and it is by general, not particular examples, by
the authority of the aggregate, not of the individual, that matters of fact
must be decided. Ask the majority of our Spitalfields, Manchester,
Macclesfield, and Congleton mechanics j of our labourers, West India
proprietors and ship-owners ; of our lawyers, clergymen, authors, actors,
half-pay subalterns, and tenpence-a-day soldiers ; — ask each, or all of
these, what they think of the world, or even put the question to the
vote throughout the kingdom ; and let us be guided by them, not Jef-
ferson, in our opinion of its worth. For our own parts, so far from
thinking the ee world good upon the whole," daily experience convinces
us more and more that it is a sorry business at the best, and that Burns
and Chesterfield spoke but the strict truth, when the one declared that
man was made, not to rejoice, but to mourn ; and the other expressed
satisfaction that his bustling and varied life was at length drawing to a
close. The question is one to be decided, not by two or three major
authorities, but by a thousand minor practical ones.

THEATRICALS IN HIGH LIFE. — The Duke of Bedford and the
Marquis of Londonderry, however little they may agree in the House
of Lords, have exhibited something like a reciprocity of taste out of it —
in running a race of private theatricals against each other. The Duke,
however, has not appeared himself; but at Wynyard Park, the Marquis
has superintended the production of the Wreck Ashore — in which Lady
Londonderry, as Alice, entirely eclipsed Mrs. Yates ; while his lordship
— but hear his critic :

" The melancholy incidents of the piece were frequently enlivened by the
Marquis of Londonderry, and his talented son, Viscount Seaham ; the former of
whom, in the character of Marmaduke Magog, the parish-constable and beadle,
and the latter in " the cute country lad," Jemmy Starling, kept the audience in
roars of laughter, whenever they appeared on the boards. The Marquis possesses
a rich vein of comic humour, which he kept in full play throughout the whole of
his performance. His lordship reminded us of a popular actor, named Rock,
who figured on the Durham boards, some twenty years ago, and to whom, in our
opinion, he bears a very striking resemblance as a comedian, Of Lord Seaham,
who is not eleven years of age, we cannot speak in terms sufficiently intelligible, to
convey to our readers an idea of the gratification we derived from his perform-
ance. To say we were delighted and astonished, is to say too little; and we shall,
therefore, content ourselves, by simply expressing a hope, that the splendid talents
of the heir of Wynyard, developed thus early, may hereafter be employed in the
service, and to the advantage of his country."

It is rumoured that John Reeve intends to start for America ; for it
it is evident that he has no chance against a Marquis, who happens to be
so perfect a genius in the parish-beadle business. The reference to Rock
puzzles us. Does the critic mean Captain Rock r Mr. Buckstone, also,
when he wrote and acted the part of Jemmy Starling, little thought that
he was so soon to be extinguished by so wonderful a little viscount as
Lord Seaham. How his lordship's capacity, however, for playing
Jemmy Starling is to tend, as the critic hints, " to the service an . ' , ,-
tage of his country," we cannot surmise— except as it may tend to keep

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 74. Q

22<5 Notes of the Month- on [Ft: B.

him, for a few hours now and then, out of the House of Lords. That
may be something.

BURNS AND HIS DINNKRLESS DEVOTEES. — We had hoped that the
meeting at the Freemason's, in celebration of the birth-day of Burns,
and of the coming of the Ettrick Shepherd, would have been marked
by a sense,of hospitality as well as by an appreciation of literature. But
the result proves it to have been quite innocent of both. There was no
dinner, and no devotion. It was a Scotch, scrambling, seat-seeking,
speech-making, stupid, stewardless scene of starvation. Nobody gained
anything by it but an appetite — price, one pound five. The health of
the Duke of Wellington was drunk — as if the company were determined
to consider him a Scotchman ; and the " Warriors of England" were
proposed, as if Burns had been the Colonel of the Scotch Greys. Hogg,
Lockart, and Allan Cunningham were the only persons of literary note
present; and they may say with FalstafF — " an we are not ashamed of
our company, we are soused gurnets."

MAGISTERIAL MUMMERIES. — The retirement of Mr. Const the other
day was an affair of infinite jest ; but we are little disposed to be merry
at the expense of such very grave persons as magistrates. Mr. Const is,
no doubt, a very amiable man ; but really he should have yielded to the
pressing solicitations of his brother magistrates, to remain a "little while
longer" — one month, one " little month." This was all they asked, and
he was stoic enough to deny. The whole bench, according to the
papers, were " deeply affected, and immediately retired to dinner."

The Irish magistrates are just as unwilling to serve as Mr. Const — but
for very different reasons. " Most of the magistrates there," we are
told, " have ceased their functions rather than pay £8. for a new licence."
Surely £8. for the pleasures of tyranny for a whole twelvemonth, cannot
be considered an unreasonable charge. There are people in England
who would pay £800. for the privilege.

MARVELS OF LITERATURE. — We have the pleasure of announcing
to the literary an exclusive piece of information. It involves such con-
sequences to the whole human race, that we hardly know how to give
it a sufficiently distinguished situation in our pages. Perhaps some may
suppose that we are about to substantiate the current rumour, that the
Queen, assisted by the leading literary and political ladies of her court, is
about to write a fashionable novel ; or that Lord Brougham is actively
engaged in preparing for the press a revised edition of Dr. Watts's
Hymns and Spiritual Songs — not at all; the fact is, that '• The Bard of
Heaven !" — as some have been pleased to designate one Mister Robert
Montgomery, — the same gentlem'an who, by a little effort our readers
may perhaps recal to mind, made some few juvenile attempts at
poetizing a short time ago, — his imagination and intellect having made
rapid strides since that period, is about to bewilder and utterly confound
this infidel world, by bringing to light a poem to be called the
" Messiah !" In this great undertaking we hear he has been assisted
by the Rev. Mr. Irving and Mr. Spencer Perceval; the subject of the
unknown tongues to be treated of by the Rev. Gentleman, and of that
the fasting of forty days by Mr. Perceval.

Fourteen editions are already bespoke by private friends, although

1832.] Affairs in General. 227

at present the affair is quite a secret. We are promised an early copy
for notice in our next number.

DRAMAS TO ORDER — A copy of Mr. Jerrold's Bride of Ludgate, has
been forwarded to us ; we have,, in another place, given our opinion of
its merits : our present observations relate to the remarks prefixed to the
drama., in which the system, which has rendered our large theatres
contemptible, is aptly touched upon.

"The fate of the dramatist is peculiarly hard. If he succeed in penetrating
the almost impenetrable phalanx of ' puny green-room wits and venal bards who,
for a playhouse freedom, sell their own,' that environ the ' great lessee' — nay, if
the word ' accepted' greet his ear, let him not vainly imagine that his difficulties
are at an end. There is a back-stairs influence, — a power behind the throne, to
be counteracted and overcome. Time was, when every showman was master of
his own puppets ; but now, — as the ' medicin malgre lui' said of the heart being
once on the left side, and the liver on the right, — the college (the march of intel-
lect !) have ordered it otherwise. Every puppet is his own manager ! The play-
wright must propitiate, flatter, and succumb to — actors ! To transmit a drama
direct to head-quarters is an unpardonable breach cf theatrical etiquette ; Mr.
Jenkins must first glance his eye over it, to see if every character be made subor-
dinate to his monopolizing ascendancy. If the parts run tolerably equable and
dull, and the interest centre solely in himself, — if he stand no possible chance of
being defrauded of a single clap from some fugitive Joe Miller, surreptitiously
put into the mouth of a lesser or greater droll, he issues his veto that the name
of Mr. Jenkins may be advertised in the bills ! But, if the inexperienced author,
calculating on the company's capabilities, kindly bounteous, care for all, forth-
with he seizes his critical tomahawk, lops off the redundances, and what he
appropriates not to his particular use, like a loathsome weed, indignantly casts
away. This mutilation of his scenes the playwright must submit to, if he would
enlist the mirth-moving shrugs and grimaces of Mr. Jenkins.

This picture is as disheartening as it is true. However, let us hope
that dramatic free-trade will ultimately remedy these abuses. We
know not how far the statement may apply to particular actors — we
relate only what we have heard — which is this ; that when Farren
read the above extract he asked his brother — the pundit of the
Assurance Office — " Whether an action would not lie ' against the
publisher of the libel. We are not yet enabled to give the fraternal
answer.

REMARKABLE CONFESSION. — Mr. Hood imagines Eugene Aram to
relieve his burthened conscience, by telling the tale of his crime to one
of his pupils, as a dream. As if to exemplify the truth of this conception,
a weekly contemporary, not in any other respect like Eugene Aram, has
in like manner made confession of himself by advertisement, in guise of
the reprobation of others. The unhappy man says —

" The noise of impudence and quackery is so loud in the press, that a
calm elevation of voice only once a year, may be excused in those who
are never egotistic, or combative at any other time." New Year's Address
of the Literary Gazette.

Thus he feels conscious, that he is not one of these privileged to speak,
as the grotto boys beg, " only once a year," and he is compelled to this
expedient to obtain a hearing of his confession.

Pretending to speak of the press, but really describing the Literary
Gazette, he observes —

"'It twines itself into so many folds — proceeds upon so many hidden

Q 2

228 Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. £FEB.

motives — proclaims its false pretences so boldly, that it is indeed difficult to
distinguish through its medium the right from the wrong, the true from the
false. None can more regret than we do, to see the noblest engine which man
can employ so exceedingly debased [here is remorse] — to see that which ought
to spread knowledge and virtue and benevolence over the world, made the organ
of slander and depravity and malignity [too strong, the Lit. Gaz. is not so much
to blame]. Were the individual oracles whence these pernicious principles are
diffused, held up to the scorn and infamy they richly merit ; were they but dragged
from their darkness, and rendered visible in their own naked insignificance and worth-
lessness ; we can fancy how astonished the public would be at its folly in having
listened to such guides. This is wise [yvw0i o-scwrov]. Persons for whom the English
tongue has but one impressive term, blackguards ; boys pert from school ; men
never met in society, and without the responsibility of reputation ; ignorant and
envious libellers ; the justly disappointed ; the scurrilous and the self-interested,
take too prominent a part in our periodical literature, and to those who are in the
secret of their existence furnish an abundant wonder that they should produce the
slightest effect upon the mind of the country."

The same remark has often occurred to us when we have happened
to glance over the slip-slop columns of our repentant contemporary, but
politeness forbade the utterance of it, till his very full confession gave us
the permission. The penitent must be greatly eased by this delivery of
his breast, which, after all, was unnecessary, for every body knew the
facts, except indeed the other dunces. It is easy to imagine how heavily
burthened his mind must have been when we consider, among a multi-
tude of minor offences of puffery, that he blew the trumpet for the
King Death of Quacks, Augustus St. John Long. The ghosts of the
patients have doubtless haunted the editor's couch.

He continues to say, with great propriety, " We confess that our wish
is strong, for an improvement not only in ourselves, but in our contem-
poraries."

Certainly a little education and instruction in good manners would be
serviceable to many of the public instructors, and especially to those
whom the penitent does meet in society. Where is the fable of the
bug, who boasted of his bed-fellows ? Whenever we hear a creature
talk of his society, and whom he meets, we set him down for a bug.
A gentleman would no more think of turning his associations to pride
than of bragging of wearing clean linen ; but a fungus is properly in
perpetual admiration of his own place in the world.

The contrite man, under a strange delusion, says, " Be it ours still to
cherish the literature of England, and make known its merits to every
quarter of the globe ; never be it ours to hurt one good feeling by
the miserable ambition of being smart and clever" Of smartness and
cleverness no one can accuse him ; but what in the name of wonder
has put into his head that he cherishes the literature of England ! The
literature of England is not dry-nursed, not brought up by spoon. We
will tell him what he does. The publishers send him suds, and he blows
bladders with it, or, to drop metaphor, he " cherishes" advertisements,
and propagates puffs.

1U38.J [ 229 ]

.

THE DRAMA.

MINCE-PIES and turkeys, twelfth-cake and pantomimes, which were
meant, no doubt, to connect in friendship the old with the new year,
like most things of venerable date, seem to be now at a most awful dis-
count. Verily, ours is the age of innovation ; and even the Christmas
festivities appear to suffer from the prevailing rage — not that we mean
to insinuate that the taste for mince-pies and turkeys is on the decline.
Heaven forbid ! that would indeed be a bitter reflection on the glories
of John Bull — but we maintain that the merit of those friandises as
symbols of certain festivals and enjoyment is fast going to decay. The
genius of pantomime is dead ! Farley — Farley himself, we are afraid,
has shone to the awe-stricken eyes of nursery-maids and children,
in the last effulgence of his magic — and when he is gone, alas ! — But
the subject is too pregnant with melancholy speculations ; for the pre-
sent, we are happy to announce that Farley is in a sound state of health
— long may he live to pantomimize at Covent Garden theatre. This is
as much as we can say about the pantomimes this year !

Take some ridiculous dresses, supposed to be the old Spanish costume
—get some faded scenery — collect from plays, most venerable for their
antiquity, those incidents " stale, flat, and unprofitable," which have been
stage-property these hundred years — provide yourself with a ladder of
ropes, lanthorn, disguises, &c. &c. — write a competent quantity of bad
prose, and worse verse — give a bad part to Farren, and two or three
bad songs to others, and the whole will produce a musical drama. We
are extremely partial to the musical drama, and we must pronounce
" JMy own Lover" one of the very best specimens of its kind ! It pos-
sesses one extraordinary merit, that if the gods and fate permit its ever-
so-frequent re-appearance, you witness the last representation with the
same pleasure as the first. During the performance you laugh or yawn,
cry bravo or pish ! pooh or pshaw ! and then when the whole is over, you
are as much at a loss as ever to know what it is about ! We have heard
that an opera must be seen half a dozen times before one can form a just
estimate of its merits — perhaps the same rule holds good with regard to
a musical drama. When we have seen it six times (!) we may speak
with a more corrected judgment— -until then, we do consider it neither
just nor prudent to say more.

There was once an astrologer that was no astrologer ; he has a long beard
and a wand ; people flock to his study to consult him. Among others
there is a count, called St. Megrin ; he is in love with a married lady, and
that lady was the Duchess of Guise. She reclines on a sofa — dreams —
awakes. The lovers meet fort apropos. They say something of the
tender passion. There is a little stamping of feet behind the scenes,
Holloa ! he comes ! The astrologer, who is no astrologer, here smuggles
the Duchess away. Enter the Duke in a rage. The Count likewise
gets into a fury — but no murder. Exit Count ; and the Duke picks
up a cambric handkerchief. Flame and furies ! 'tis the very identical
handkerchief which the Duchess had bought two or three days before
at Howell and James's, or some such emporium. The Duke very natu-
rally falls into a fit of jealousy. He had read Shakspeare's Othello, and

230 The Drama. ^ [FKB.

knew that handkerchiefs are proverbial for conjugal infidelity. He
looks again at the cambric proof; and that the audience might not
think him rash and hasty, he shews them the mark, X. Y. Z. He says,
in a concentrated voice, " Very well, my lady ! I'll do your business/'
and off he goes.

Act the 2d. Noblemen are seen idling (a thing common enough, to be
sure). Count St. Megrin is in a deep reverie. The Duke of Guise
declines fighting the Count, because he is only a count. Herewith the
amiable King, to obviate the difficulty, creates St. Megrin a Marquess and
a Duke at once ; but now see the strange perversion of human nature—
they are as far from fighting as ever. Is this fair ? we candidly ask,
supposing a Mr. Smith, or a Sir John, is made a peer, that he may
vote in favour of Reform, will not this Mr. Smith, or Sir John, get a
title under false pretences, if he does not stand by the original agree-
ment ! But let that pass. The Duchess is melancholy, and talks with
a pretty page. The Duke comes, and desires her to write a letter — she
obeys — when, lo ! it is an assignation for the Count. She suspects foul
play, and declines. " You won't, hey ?" quoth the Duke, with a malig-
nant sneer. He puts on his gauntlet, and then squeezes the Duchess's
delicate wrist so tightly, that it makes her cry out — " Do?it, Henry, you
hurt me !" — a piece of intelligence which we thought superfluous. The
barbarous Duke does not relent. What can she do ? She writes.

Act the 3d. The Count comes to the assignation, in spite of a hint
from the astrologer. He, however, takes a charm which will render
him invulnerable. A very distressing scene — we do not recollect the
exact words, but the spirit of them runs thus — " Oh, Heavens ! why do
you come ?" — " That's good ; why, because you told me." — " Yes ; but
'tis all a plot — you will be murdered !" — "Bless us, you don't say so !
Oh, treacherous woman !" — " Accuse me not, the cruel Duke obliged
me to write." — " Well, well, that alters the case ; but do you love me ?"
— " Upon my honour." — " That's enough ; I die content !"

A noise is heard — the Duke advances — confusion and despair — a
ladder of ropes is thrown in by the page. The Duchess enacts with
her arm the part of an iron bolt. The Duke tugs at the door, while
the invulnerable lover escapes by the window. The lady's arm at
length gives way, as we had anticipated, and the Duke, in a phrenzy,
exclaims — " Holloa ! where is he ?" — Gone ! The invulnerable lover
is, however, dispatched under the window as well as the page, whilst the
Duchess lies writhing under the combined tortures of a compound
fracture and poison, &c. &c.

Such is the outline of the plot of the tragic drama — " Catherine of
Cleves," translated and abridged, adapted, and materially altered, by
Lord Leveson Gower. We think his lordship's powers might have
been much better employed on a different subject. There is no dig-
nity— no stamina in " Catherine of Cleves," to elevate it to the rank of
tragedy ; it will make an excellent two-act melodrame, but no more. The
exhibition of bodily torture is, to say the least, excessively repulsive ; and
the only two stirring situations in the play owe their chief interest to
that exhibition.

The " Bride of Ludgate" has been performed with complete success
atDrury Lane ; but the star of the season was produced on Wednesday
last, entitled the " Rent-Day," by the same author. Mr. Jerrold is

J832.J The Drama. 231

distinguished in the dramatic world— they of the green-room tell you
that there is no other world— as the author of " Black-Eyed Susan," &c.
To say that it met with a more triumphant success than even the author
hoped for— and that is saying muck— is, however, saying little. As
if a plot of intense interest, combined with striking incidents, and
sustained throughout by language of the most powerful description,
were not sufficient to cast into the shade, nay, to entirely smother the
translations and adaptations of the present day, Mr. Jerrold has in-
troduced tableaux vivants, from Wilkie's most celebrated pictures, " The
Rent-Day/' and "Distraining for Rent." The effect was acknow-
ledged from all parts of the house — a clear proof that the " gods" are not
insensible to the beauties of the fine arts. Of the drama, they, in con-
junction with the Duke of Devonshire and Lord Mulgrave, have always
been the leading and most vociferous patrons. The talent exhibited in
Mr. Jerrold's piece entitles him to rank among the very first dramatists
of the day.

A theatrical reviewer in a Saturday journal, of the exquisite class,
is mightily enraged against Mr. Jerrold for the intense interest he
has contrived to throw into his new piece. His nerves were so shocked
at the representation, his scent-box and cambric handkerchief were
in such requisition, that as soon as his health permitted him to pen
an article, he inflicted in his turn on the author a most dandy dress-
ing. Verily we should think this gentleman was a gentleman of " rose-
buds and sweet-scented waters" — that lisps when he prattles, and dips
gently into his " pouncet-box" his delicate finger, wearing a ring

thereon.

,

We have given the novelties of the month at the majors — the minors
have been more prolific, and perhaps more successful ; the stream of
public favour runs certainly that way. The Olympic has produced a
little piece, called " He is not a-miss" — which the papers, with their
usual discrimination, say is an original production, by Mr. C. Dance.
We don't intend to contradict them, but we feel rather indignant at the
impertinence of Messrs. Duvert and Paulin, who produced last sum-
mer, at the Theatre de Varietes of Paris, a piece called " Monsieur
Chapolarde," which was evidently translated from Mr. C. Dance's
recent burletta. It is extremely unhandsome of Messrs. Duvert and
Paulin to palm this piece on the public as their own ; and we are
surprised that Mr. C. Dance, who is so ingenious in pointing out the
'translations of others, does not assert his right.

He comes ! he comes ! — the great " Robert-le-Diable" — such is at
present the engrossing topic of the green-room. The two patent
houses are actively at work, both eager to have the start — but alas !
the Adelphi is, after all, the first in the field. Buckstone, the purveyor-
general of the establishment, has raised the devil first, and accordingly
an entirely original drama, taken from the French, was produced on
Monday the 23d with complete success.

,

"The Demon Duke" at Drury Lane has, we understand, been con-
cocted by Mr. Beazley — Mr. Lacy is the arranger of the diablerie at the
other house.

tijd ; 311&J V/fJJl<J Jty.

232 The Drama. [FEB.

Mr. Planche is au desespoir that he is out of work. His scissors
"hang idly in his hall." In the present busy scene of botchery, or
rather butchery, of poor " Robert-le-Diable," his talents ought to have
entitled him to the rank of head slaughterman. But alas ! managers
are imbecile ; merit lies at Bromptori unregarded.

Miss Sheriff has performed her rotation in an incredibly short period,
to the amazement of the dramatic world. Mercury is a sluggard in
comparison with her. The glorious sun himself has been nearly ex-
tinguished by her short-lived blaze. That great luminary, however,
has the advantage of rising again, while his formidable rival, alas ! seems
set for ever ! Miss Sheriff's career has been more like a sky-rocket-
blazing and brief; so much for puffing.

A new subscription theatre has been opened in the Strand by Mr.
Rayner. One of the public journals praises the manager, because his
company is composed of Yorkshire people. The " Yorkshire-Pudding/'
or, the " Horse and the Halter," by an unknown writer, is one of the
forthcoming novelties.

There has been a tremendous clatter about M. Laporte taking
Covent Garden theatre ; it was all, however, " vox et prceterea nihil."
This Laporte is a terrible fellow. He took, takes, and will take every
theatre in London. He takes the French theatre, he took the Opera,
and, they say, he will take the Pantheon. He took another Italian
Opera — he will take Drury Lane. — He takes a small theatre for English
vaudeville — he will take a provincial tour — and is now about to take,
Heaven only knows what. One thing, however, is certain, that he
takes too much room in the paragraph department.

The march of theatres begins to be alarming — every day brings a
new undertaking of the kind into notice. There is one now building
in Portman Market. Should the minors carry their point, we shall
have as many theatres as streets. But the multiplying evil will soon
correct itself; or at all events, some of them will make good hospitals.

The English dramatists are looking rather melancholy — some sup-
pose it is the approach of cholera. It is not so. The real cause arises
from the clear intimation of dullness in the French vaudeville-makers.
Nothing of any note has been brought out at Paris of late ; for the
recent list of novelties exhibits nothing but failures, or successes which
are pretty nearly the same.

1838.] [.238 3

•••••••

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

EUGENE ARAM. BY THE AUTHOR OF PELHAM.

THE high estimation which Mr. Bulwer enjoys among what are denominated
" the Reading Public," renders every new publication of his a most desirable
acquisition. As a novelist he ranks with the highest. If there is a writer of
fiction at the present day, when that kind of writing has arrived at an extra-
ordinary degree of perfection, worthy of pre-eminence where so many are excel-
lent, we should consider the author of Pelham as possessing a fair claim to that
distinction. Sir Walter Scott may have produced fictions of a more romantic
beauty, Mr. Cooper may have described scenes of more intense interest, and Mr.
Godwin may have rivetted our attention to his stirring narratives, with a stronger
and more commanding power ; but the volumes of Mr. Bulwer are imbued with
a deeper tone of philosophy, and possess more pretensions to thought and reflec-
tion than those of his great contemporaries (if we except Mr. Godwin). Hiai
fame rests more upon the merit of his works, than upon their number. Of his
first novel, which we believe was " Falkland," we have but little recollection ;
the publication of " Pelham," immediately produced for him that elevated
degree of celebrity, which more recent productions of his pen have continued
and increased. " The Disowned," and " Devereux," if they have not obtained
an equal share of popularity, possess merits which alone would have entitled
their author to a durable and honourable fame. " Paul Clifford," though of a
very different character from his former volumes, is marked by a strong power
of satire and humour. The author has shewn himself as much at home with
the habits and peculiarities of the lower orders, as he had previously done in his
delineations of character in a more exalted society. His notions of men and
things are marked by originality and truth ; his development of the good and
evil of human nature, the " mingled yarn," of which stuff our lives are spun, is
drawn with a spirit of wise and just observance ; the gentle feelings of humanity,
and the darker passions of the heart, are thrown over the picture, like the
chiaro-scuro of the most skilful artist, and blended into one grand and harmo-
nious whole ; and beneath the surface lies an under-current of reflection and
philosophy scattering golden meanings, and treasures of thought and poetry as
sparkling as the sands of Pactolus.

The rank which the author holds in society, has given him many opportunities
of becoming familiar with its construction and character ; with the invisible links
which connect the foundation-stone buried in the soil, with the magnificent
sculpture placed upon the top of the column ; and his insight into the hidden
principles which govern men's actions, he has proved to us to be as great as the
advantages he possessed of its study. He lays bare the human heart to all men's
eyes, not by a sudden withdrawal of those innumerable coverings which conceal
it from the world ; but its many motives arid feelings, and passions, and desires,
and aspirations, are, like the fabrics and cloths that envelope an Egyptian
mummy, gradually unfolded, and the nakedness of its nature lies exposed before
us. He weaves upon the ground- work of fact, a fiction of glorious colouring,
and splendid texture, which, like the famed productions of oriental magnificence,
is woven in with precious things, the treasures of other men's gathering. The
great charm of Sir Walter Scott's writings lies in their romance : it is so mixed
up and blended with its characters that we see it, are dazzled by it, and acknow-
ledge the glamoury of the " Wizard of the North ;" but Mr. Bulwer relies not
so much upon the romance of fiction, as the romance of truth. Imagination
colours the one, and knowledge of human nature produces the other. With the
Author of Pelham, truth is the quarry out of which, like the great sculptors of
old, he chisels forms rivalling the perfection of nature : with the Author of
Waverley Romance is the Philosopher's stone which turns all it touches into
gold.

Joined to these powers the author possesses a spirit imbued with profound

234 Monthly Review of Literature. £FfiB.

scholarship, a mind which has drank deeply of those precious waters, which the
intellect of the mighty dead has poured out with such abundance, and their
refreshing influence is liberally diffused over his pages. These powers, and more
than these, has he brought to the production of a new work, which rivals,
perhaps surpasses, all his others. Eugene Aram, who is known to all by the
beautiful and impressive poem of that name written by Thomas Hood, comes
before us ushered in with a Dedication to Sir Walter Scott, written with great
good taste, and full of liberal and modest sentiments. The story is of one who
made much stir in the world about the middle of the last century. The author
has made him here a character of extraordinary power and wonderful effect ; a
being of superior mould to those of common humanity, and who does not, even
in his fall from virtue, seem " less than Archangel ruined." He is a scholar,
left at an early age poor and friendless ; books become to him friends, knowledge
his wealth, and the world his home. But with his limited means he soon
exhausted the learning within his reach, and his soul panted with the most
restless and daring aspirations for an increase. Though his yearnings were
ambitious, they pointed to a noble and a glorious end — the enlightenment of his
race. How his proud but generous heart, was clogged and bowed down by the
bitterness of his lot — how he was tempted by a villain, to wrest from a meaner
and more despicable villain, who had taunted him with his poverty, and whom
his soul hated as a wretch " aged with vice — forestalling time — tottering on to a
dishonoured grave — soiling all that he touched on his way — with grey hairs, and
filthy lewdness, the rottenness of the heart, not its passion, a nuisance and a
curse to the world," — the means by which he might accomplish a more general
philanthropy ; all this is as finely described as any delineation of the progress and
result of human passions in the language. The three volumes are full of poetry, and
profound thought. The characters are strongly marked, and skilfully drawn ;
though not numerous, they are various. The worthy Corporal, " a man of the
world," whose notions on many subjects we particularly admire, is a good set-off
to the kind and benevolent 'Squire ; the fiery and impetuous Walter is in strong
contrast with the deep villainy of Houghton ; and the gentle and affectionate
Ellinor, forms a sweet relief to the high poetical enthusiasm of her sister. But
the intense object of the reader's interest is Eugene Aram ; for him it never flags
from his first appearance, to the closing chapter. The plot is arranged with
much skill, and the effect its developement produces is strong and lasting. We
had marked many passages for quotation, but our space is so limited that we
regret being obliged to leave them out ; but probably it would be needless, for
before this Review comes before our readers, the work to which we have but
feebly endeavoured to render the justice which its merits deserve, will be in the
hands of all those who wish to be amused, or desire to be instructed.

THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON, WITH HIS LETTERS AND JOURNALS, AND HIS
LIFE. BY THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. IN FOURTEEN VOLS. VOL. I. 12mo.

How little did we expect to see the day, some few seasons gone by, when, in
the spring-glow of life, of lavish fame, and Don Juan quartos, he had just fleshed
his maiden sword in the reputation of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, to
see the lordly Byron himself — the facile princeps of his tribe, and the most
aristocratic of peers or poets — reduced, by the levelling and radical conversion of
Mr. Murray, to bow his laurelled head before the prolific age of cheap editions,
cloth covers, and curtailed five shilling volumes : alas, for the aristocracy of
letters :—

" The mighty Caesar dead, and turned to clay,
May stop some hole to keep the wind away."

But whether " Lords of the Lyre," or of the earth, and to whatever " vile uses
they may come at last," one common fate seems to be prepared for them, and
the greatest of their age and order are doomed to appear by the side of the most
plebeian — the minors or the minnows, who could scarce produce a ripple on the
surface of the deep streams of time, to be fathomed only by the sacred few. But

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 235

though even the Byron of his age can lay no claim to steer clear of the now-
universal law proclaiming the reign of 12mos. and sixty-penny books, yet we
think he might fairly appeal to his peers for a rescinding of the sentence, on the
ground of its being inflicted by a friend ; et tu, Brute ? and with much the same
shew of justice as Caesar himself, had his friend Marc Antony, after weeping and
preaching over his remains, gone and given his commentaries to the Roman
world, on the most villainously old pieces of parchment or papyrus he could get,
and copied them with a stylus like a skewer ! Had he but dreamed of future
fate, like this, well might the lordly poet have exclaimed, (with slight alteration,)
with Hassan the camel driver : —

" Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from England's coast I bent my way."

But more seriously, what the poet may here suffer, from decreased size and
splendour of appearance, will doubtless be amply compensated by wide-spread
circulation and popularity ; and if the publisher also can contrive to compete
with French cheapness in this case, he will deserve the success he meets with.
In the cheap, portable shape it has assumed, Mr. Moore's Life of Lord Byron
cannot but be esteemed a signal benefit for the people at large, and the reading
public in particular ; and for the manner in which he has executed the delicate
and important task, we believe we may refer the more curious to a more copious
account, on its appearance in the first quarto edition.

FAMILY CLASSICAL LIBRARY. PLUTARCH. TRANSLATED BY JOHN LANG-
HORN, D.D., AND WILLIAM LANGHORN, M.A. Vol. III.

WE perceive, not without pleasure, as a proof that some affection for sound
and useful reading still survives the evanescent and worthless taste engendered
by the soi-disant fashionable literature of the day, that this excellent and long
desirable re-publication has at length reached its twenty-fifth Number, in the
third volume of the admirable and entertaining Lives of Plutarch. We have
before had occasion to speak of the plan and object of the work in the manner
it deserved ; and the judgment shewn in the selection, as the series advances,
fully justifies our expectations, increasing, as we think it has done, in interest
and entertainment in almost every volume from the commencement. The
ground it now occupies is the most rich and valuable that could have been
chosen ; and to have, instead of the old lumbering editions, the sight of which
was enough to deter a young reader, a few light, portable volumes, at the sum
of 5s., embracing all that is most valuable in ancient literature, forms an im-
provement in publication deserving every praise and encouragement.

ANTHOLOGIA SACRA : OR SELECT THEOLOGICAL EXTRACTS ON SUBJECTS, DOC-
TRINAL, PRACTICAL, AND EXPERIMENTAL, SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY
THE REV. BERNARD GILPIN, M.A., AND W. H. VALPY, ESQ.

THE practice of superficial reading is one of the literary delinquences of these
times, and we are often ready to condemn all the manufacturers of " Extracts" —
" Abridgments" — " Spirits" — " Abstracts" and " Epitomes," as the patrons
and founders of the vice. For if a student wishes to distinguish himself in any
department of letters, he must converse with the fathers of our literature through
their pondrous tomes, and exercise his own judgment, taste, and industry, in
compiling a common-place book for himself, in which shall be found " Extracts,"
that have first passed through the alembick of his own mind.

Theology however, in all its branches, " Doctrinal, Practical, and Experimen-
tal," has, in different ages and countries, called forth such a multitude of master
minds, that no man who has not devoted his whole life to the study of their pori-
drous folios, can expect to become familiar even with the titles, much less the
contents of their multifarious works. To those, therefore, who are not divines
by profession, and yet feel a commendable anxiety to know the opinions of the
most eminent theologians, upon all the peculiarities of Christian doctrine and
practice, we can cordially recommend this handsome volume. Here they will

236 Monthly Review of Literature. [FEB.

find the opinions of Fathers and Martyrs, of Confessors and Reformers, of Catho-
lics and Protestants, of Churchmen and Dissenters, of British and Foreign
divines, classed under distinct sections with much perspicuity, and will find
throughout the book many eloquent appeals and accurate definitions.

POETICAL EPHEMERAS. BY JAMES P. BROWN.

WE have perused this unpretending little volume of poems with feelings of
real surprise and delight. We had no idea, on opening its pages, that so much
genuine poetry lay concealed under the humble guise, and yet more modest
announcement, with which it has been ushered into this ungenial world. There
is a chasteness as well as power and beauty in many of the little pieces with
which it is enriched, that forcibly call to mind some of those sweet original pas-
sages scattered over the works of many of our minor elder poets, and in the
smaller poems of our great dramatic bard himself. This is both rare and pleasing
in times of poetic dearth like these ; and we can convey no happier idea of the
feeling excited by Mr. B.'s poetry, than by contrasting it with the common-
place productions of the annuals of the age.

LARDNER'S CABINET CYCLOPAEDIA. EMINENT BRITISH MILITARY COM-
MANDERS. VOL. I.

THE name of the Rev. Mr. Gleig, the author of the present work, is already,
we believe, sufficiently familiar to the public. His literary efforts, if we rightly
remember, commenced with a military novel, if we may use the term, which
discovered marks of considerable talent and became popular. Indeed, we much
prefer the Rev. Gentleman's style and character of composition, when employed
in stirring warlike incidents and details, than in giving a history of the Bible ;
and with all his readiness and versatility, he will always be found to appear to
greater advantage in works like his first, and now his last, than in any other of
his multiplied productions we can call to mind. In the present instance, he
seems to have entered on his task with peculiar zeal and vigour, like a man who
finds himself suddenly restored to a more natural and congenial element. He
has consequently, we think, acquitted himself with due skill and ability, in
compressing, and throwing interest into the narrative of men's lives, within the
compass of a 12mo. volume, which might easily be made, each of them, to fill a
4to. In this there consists no slight difficulty ; and it has been met by the hand
of a practised master, in this department. There is much curious and entertain-
ing matter in the introduction, describing the military systems which have been
practised in England, to the present time. Sir Walter Manny as a specimen of
chivalry, is made peculiarly interesting ; and his name is followed by those of
Sir Francis de Vere, who shed lustre on the Elizabethan age ; by Oliver Crom-
well ; and John, Duke of Marlborough : the last two, perhaps, too little in
unison with the previous spirit of the book. We cannot, however, praise the
style adopted by the writer, as we can the arrangement and materials of his
work.

PROBATION, AND OTHER TALES. BY THE AUTHORS OF " SELWYN IN
SEARCH OF A DAUGHTER ;" " TALES OF THE MOORS," &c.

IN a pithy introduction to this bulky volume, rivalling two or three of the
modern slim race of novels (pressing hard on 500 closely printed pages), there
is some mention of the motives which led to publication, and which, if not
directed as a dead hit at the critics, ought to boast the effect of disarming us in
some degree of the sword and scales of just criticism. The plea of amiable and
charitable feeling, engaged in alleviating suffering humanity or sorrow in any
shape, is of a nature not to be heard by Justice herself without some twinge or
relenting tear which falls like the blessed dew of heaven — the tear of the accus-
ing angel which would blot out as it records the offence. There is so much kind
and warmly sentiment, so much excellent principle, and unpretending, frank

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 237

sympathy, with all that is good and generous, that had the author been far less
talented than he assuredly is, one could hardly have found in all the critical
dictionary, terms mild enough to convey our opinion that the title of " Probation"
was so aptly chosen, as to apply in many parts as much to the situation of the
reader as to the character and incidents of the story. But however we feel in-
clined to temper the law of critical justice with more than usual mercy, we
must not conceal from the writer that with all its simplicity, its frequent touches
of pathos, and its quiet, unassuming knowledge of life and character, he has
very much to learn and reduce to practice before he can lay claim to the qualities
of a really useful and engaging teacher of moral truth, through the medium of
a well wrought fiction. Thus with considerable knowledge of, and experience in
the world, and not a little derived from travel and reflection, the stories of this
volume display a writer too careless of sustaining the interest of the narrative,
unambitious of vigour and effect, and whose progress in the reader's estimation,
for want of point and terseness, lags and halts, like a villanous Alexandrine, too
frequently and too far in the rear. Yet these Tales are no way destitute of a
merit of a peculiar kind : — natural pictures of middle life and manners ; traits of
alternate, quiet humour, and of pathos, giving one a distant view of the shade of
Sterne ; the simplest materials made palatable by a playful, frank, and genuine
mind ; and a style which only tires when divested of all incident, and losing
itself in passages which lead to nothing.

LARDNER'S CYCLOPAEDIA. VOL. XXVI. TREATISE ON THE ORIGIN, PRO-
GRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT, &c. OF THE MANUFACTURE OF PORCELAIN
AND GLASS.

THIS is an interesting volume of an interesting series of the Cyclopaedia, and
one with which we are as much or more pleased than the generality of the
numbers. To all inquiring minds which have not made themselves acquainted
with the process, history, &c. of the manufacture here described, every meal
must present silent reproaches ; and besides, the arts of pottery and glass-blow-
ing, are in themselves highly curious and amusing. We have not space* for ex-
tract, but cannot refrain from giving additional publicity to a discovery men-
tioned in the book, which we trust will be generally adopted in potteries, and
save a great expense of human life in the manufactories. It is well known that
the glazing used for earthenware contains a preparation of lead, and is highly
prejudicial to the health of the workman ; but one of the Lambeth potters we
are told has recently announced the discovery of a glazing compound which is
sufficiently fusible without containing a particle of lead, and is preferable on
many other accounts.

THE DUAGHTER OF THE AlR, A MYTHIC TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY DR.

E. RANPACH. — Translated from the German.

THE author of this play is most probably known to most of cur readers by his
tragedy of " The Serf, or Isidor and Olga," which has been familiarised by
translation to English lovers of the Drama, within the last two or three years.
Ranpach ranks high among German tragedians, which is not faint praise, while
the names of Schiller and Goethe are comprehended in the list. The plot of this
play is perhaps almost the very last the title would suggest, as the foundation a
German would select for a superstructure of five acts and their due compliment
of scenes and dramatis personae ; still less should we have imagined that on
such a foundation such an architect would have raised such a superstructure.
" The Daughter of the Air," is one whom censorious persons have generally
deemed of lower birth, Semiramis, the far-defamed queen of Babylon, who is
mothered on " Derceto,"

" The queen of air, who in clandestine love

Linked with a mortal brought this child to light."

After being protected by a priest who keeps the enfant trouve, " twice-nine"
years, she is carried to Nineveh by Menon, the commander-in-chief of Ninus

238 Monthly Review of Literature. [FEB.

the Assyrian king. Nlnus, struck by the matchless valour she exhibits in an
ensuing war against the Bactrians, deprives Menon of his anticipated bride, and
Semiramis is raised to the throne. The rest of the story differs little from the
current version excepting the first catastrophe (we use the word literally not
technically) of the death of Ninus, who is made & felo-de-se. The alterations in
the history would sadly disappoint an audience who would go to see a German
version of Semiramide, with a gole's appetite to " sup on horrors." To our eyes
the character of Ranpach's Semiramis seems to be as little " of a piece," as
Nebuchadnezzars's image.

" She is a monster : like the storm her rage,
And stubborn, as the senseless rock, her breast.'*

She can fight, even when a child, with the " bloody tiger,"
" And any thing else of the sort beside"

as the author comprehensively expresses it. She can talk in the following strain,
and " a pretty considerable quantity of nonsense as well." (Vid. p. vii.)

" I long with ardour now life's joys to share,
Yes, let me hear again those sounds extatic !

They are to me the enchanted horse that bears
The Sorcerer on his dreadful tour erratic.

To heavens high thrones beyond the golden spheres.
Come, come on this impetuous rushing sea,
I feel myself upborne and rapt away."

Some of the ideas of love she expresses to Menon, remind us of the beautiful
na'ivete and devotion of Mignon in Wilheim Meister ; and then in a few seconds
she is again transformed into a foaming tigress. But in spite of these and a few
minor specks which offend our (perhaps too fastidious) taste we would gladly
hail " The Daughter of the Air/' or any other daughter who would come to
Albion even in a foreign dress, to drive from our prostituted stage the mummers,
monsters, and monkeys, which have made the temple of the muse a den of fools.
To cool our anger, we will take a draught of Ranpach's beautiful poetry.

SEMIRAMIS.

And if I were your wife then, as you call it,
What must I do, and what will be my duties ?

MENON.

Love knows no duties : all it wishes is
To find its image in another's breast :
And when love thus meets love reciprocal,
It so entwines their mutual hearts in one,
That all the lover does, what e'er it be,
Is the fulfilling of his loved one's wish.
• * » # *

SEMIRAMIS.

Is't not enough that every pain we feel,
That hunger, thirst, tried nature, frost and heat
Weighs down the noble spirit to the worm ?
Is't not enough that I must daily die,
And many golden hours wherein the stars
Move bright and wakeful through the solemn heaven,
Lie blind and idle in a mighty death ?
Is't not enough that I have not got wings,
That I must let the stream, the clouds, the birds,
Pass on their course and cannot follow them ?
Is't not enough, must duty bind me too,
Invented thraldom ? have I then but left
One prison there to find another here ?
n For whether verdant field or dungeon dark

Keeps me from life, 'tis one alike to me.
labJenoO

ia°>2.] Monthly Review of Literature. 239

THE ANNUAL BIOGRAPHY AND OBITUARY. 1832. VOL. XVI.
IT has seldom fallen to our lot to record a series of more distinguished names,
comprehending equal loftiness and diversity of talents, than in the course of the
past year have ceased to reflect lustre upon the respective pursuits, of which,
while living, they formed the chief ornament — were the leading authorities — pur-
suits to which they were so devotedly and passionately attached. Among the
more intellectual and highly gifted of these, the public has to regret the depar-
ture of genius that may not speedily reappear, of genius that appealed to its
deepest and warmest sympathies, penetrated the sources of the human passions,
and called forth joy or woe with irresistible power like that of a magician's
wand. A Siddons herself has gone to the world of spirits, with the awful
shadows and mysteries of which, depicted in word, and look, and action, she
could so often startle the house from its propriety, and make the terrors and
sympathies of nature triumphant in the glory of her wondrous art. Elliston,
too, the most elegant and refined comedian of his day has left us ; and in another
sphere, and no less a powerful master over our human sympathies, Mackenzie,
the accomplished author of " The Man of Feeling," " Julia de Roubigne," and
so many other excellent works, he too has departed ; while in other walks of
knowledge we meet the names of the great, original, eccentric Abernethy, of the
eloquent and widely popular Robert Hall ; the celebrated academician Jackson,
Thomas Hope, William Roscoe, and the highly talented and eccentric Northcote.
The memoirs of these and other personages of high rank and character are in
general respectably executed, without, however, having much claim to superior
novelty, successful inquiry or sound remark, as compared with the Obituary of
other years. A few of the lives are hardly of sufficient extent, according to their
public importance ; while others appear, at least to judge by relative value, to
be carried beyond due length. This inequality may have arisen from their being
treated by minds of less congenial stamp than is desirable, when we know how
few writers we have, capable of doing justice to merit like that of Siddons,

Abernethy, or Mackenzie.

.

FACTS RELATING TO THE PUNISHMENT OF DEATH IN THE METROPOLIS. BY

EDWARD GIBBON WAKEFIELD, ESQ. SECOND EDITION ; WITH AN AP-
PENDIX, CONCERNING MURDER FOR THE SALE OF THE DEAD BODY.

THIS work of Mr. Wakefield, has already been acknowledged by the public
press to contain many valuable remarks and suggestions, the more entitled to
attention as being derived from long personal observation and experience. Its
utility indeed seems wholly to consist in its practical aim and tendency ; its
object being to afford hints for carrying still farther the late improvement in the
executive system of metropolitan law. In performing this public duty, some of
the arguments brought forward by Mr. W. must strike every man of sense and
reflection as entitled to the early and most serious consideration of a British
legislature. That portion in particular, the mere title of which is so startling
and appalling to the human ear, announcing a new crime, exceeding in strange
enormity every thing recorded in the penal annals of any country, and against
which, like that of parricide amongst the Romans, there long existed no written
law, so terrible a stigma on the human character being wholly improbable and
almost inconceivable ; that portion, we repeat, is become of too vital and para-
mount importance, whether as regards the safety or the character of a civilized
community, not to meet with the instant and most strenuous exertions from
every branch of the legislature to remove so terrific an evil by more wise and
efficient measures than punishment after commission of the offence. Among
other ingenious methods for this purpose, not the least just and rational pro-
posed by Mr. W. is that the bodies of all who receive above a certain amount of
public money, shall be liable to be claimed for the public good; and, which
would clash less with our system of government, by excusing from payment of
legacy duty the representatives of those persons who had bequeathed their bodies
for dissection, and whose bodies had actually been dissected. Considering the

Monthly Review of Literature. [[FEB.

immense value which is in this country attached to money, even by the dying,
the adoption of this last suggestion might soon diminish the revenue. But by
then the object in view would have been accomplished ; and the law might be
repealed without any risk that the prejudice would revive, if meanwhile every
law were repealed, which causes dissection to be considered the most ignomi-
nious of punishments. The work reflects credit on the writer's judgment, and
powers of discrimination.

SELECTIONS FROM THE POEMS OF ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ., L.L.D. POET
LAUREATE, &c. &c. CHIEFLY FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS AND YOUNG
PERSONS.

IN this additional volume of selections, we are happy to perceive that the same
taste and judgment have been employed, as have already led to the favourable
reception of its predecessor, containing those from the more philosophical if not
more poetical pen of William Wordsworth. As heads of what has been termed
the lake school, as lake residents, and lovers, and as no distant neighbours, the
names of Wordsworth arid Southey are here not unaptly linked together ; as
they have indeed been in political principle, and in their entire career, whether
for evil or for good.

As poets however, the more we read, the more we find in them to admire and
love ; and when wearied with some half dozen of the mightier names of English
growth, who wrote for all times, there is no more agreeable occupation than
taking up a volume of the greatest of living poets, containing the essence of such
spirits as those of Southey, Wordsworth, and Wilson. Let us advise Mr. Moxon
to let his next specimens consist of the poetry of John Wilson.

THE PRODUCING MAN'S COMPANION, OR THE RIGHTS OF MORALITY, AN
ESSAY ON THE PRESENT STATE OF SOCIETY, MORAL, POLITICAL, AND
PHYSICAL IN ENGLAND. BY JUNIUS REDIVIVUS.

THE " Tale of Tucuman," it appears, has served the office of harbinger to the
little volume now in our hands. Junius Redivivus exhibits we think a great
portion of good sense and good feeling in these pages, but as few, if any, good
things are unalloyed in this world,

" Where right and wrong so close resemble

That what we take for virtues' thrill,
Is often the first downward tremble
Of the heart's balance into ill — "

in the earnestness of pleading the cause of liberal sentiments, he forgets that
bigotry and intolerance in unguarded moments will sometimes, alas ! intrude
even into the lines of virtue, and fight under her banners. In one of these
moments the author must have penned the following passage : " It is agreed by
all really disinterested persons, that the government of England, not any indivi-
dual government, but the general system — is one mass of immorality in prac-
tice." (p. 72.) We trust, however, that notwithstanding the present state of the
country (concerning which by the by we see no cause to despond and pen
Jeremiads) the author will still let his " rifle" "hang idly on the wall," (p. 94) ;
that instead of seeing him " back a horse, and wield a blade," in defence of Mr.
Effingham Wilson's window-shutters, we shall find another tale of Tucuman on
the shelves the next time we pass by the Exchange ; that instead of staining Cheap-
side with the " crimson current of life," he will pour forth his soul only on
Bath post, or Whatman's vellum.

BRITAIN'S HISTORICAL DRAMA ; A SERIES OF NATIONAL TRAGEDIES,
BY J. F. PENNIE.

THE object of the present work, as stated in a lengthy preface, is to furnish a
series of dramatic illustrations of the early history, manners, &c. of Britain.
This volume contains four Tragedies, Arixina, Edwin and Elgiva, the Imperial
Pirate, and the Dragon King. "Almost all the dramas," says Mr. Pennie, " of

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 241

which I possess any knowledge, have, in their characters — no matter when their
era, or where their scenes of action are laid — the manners, feelings, institutions,
and usages, which belong to the age and country of their respective authors."
In support of this sweeping and paradoxical assertion, the author adduces a
passage from the Revue Encyclopedique, in which the demand for these pro-
prieties in dramas is styled " an extra condition now imposed upon dramatic
poets." — " Local verity," to use the reviewer's phrase, we presume has been
acknowledged both by critics and poets, as a sine qua non in dramatic poetry
ever since the time when Melpomene was worshipped in a waggon.

" Si dicentis erunt fortunis absona dicta
llomani tollent equites peditesque Cachinnum.
Intererit multum Davasne loquatur an heros —
Colchus, an Assyrius ; Thebis nutritus, an Argis."

When Mr. Pennie too says, that in Shakspeare's plays " there is little or no
due keeping, no vivid colouring of manners and national customs," he is unad-
visedly, we think, setting up a high standard indeed of merit in the walk of
literature he now adventures in ; and it seems like a hectoring challenge to
critics to put his plays to the most rigid test in this particular. It appears to
us, that the present dramas have as little pretension to the credit of " due
keeping" in " national customs and local verity" as any we ever read ; and we
would be bound to point out in them nearly as gross anachronisms as the quo-
tation of Aristotle in Troilus and Cressida, or the tricks of Robin Good- Fellow
at Athens. In the very preface, and almost in the same page in which he
inveighs against ignorance of national custom, &c., we are told that senatus
consultum is "assemblies of wise men and elders!" p. xiii. In the first play,
Arixina, the marriage between Claudia, a Roman patrician lady, with Cymbaline,
a foreign barbarian, and King of Britain, is celebrated in the Roman camp — a
custom not in very " good keeping" with the national forms of the Romans,
who had a law non erat cum externo connubium without permission from the
senate. It was not till the time of Caracalla that freedom of intermarriage came
in vogue. Again, marriage was not a religious ceremony at Rome, except by the
obsolete form called Confarreatio. Neither can we imagine Britons in the time
of the Roman invasion talking of tigers (p. 29), the "dark centre" of the
earth (88), or "chivalry" (116); or little drummer-boys beating their reveille
and "go to bed, Tom," in the camp of Csesar. (Vid. p. 25).

THE PHENOMENA OF DREAMS AND OTHER TRANSIENT ILLUSIONS, BY
WALTER C. DENDY.

THE "visions of the night" are a subject of interest to most individuals, from
the venerable maiden, who duly recounts every morning over her bohea, the
shadowy visitants that have enlivened the sad solitude of her slumbers, to the
profound psychologist who burns to break through the veil with which sleep
partially conceals the nightly revels of the mind. We conceive that all such
persons will feel indebted to Mr. Dendy for his ingenious explanation of " the
phenomena of dreams." Many of the remarks are highly amusing, and, we con-
fess, novel to us ; for instance, that on the influence of " posture " on the mind.
" The posture of supination will unavoidably induce an increased flow of blood
to the brain, which, under certain states of this fluid, is so essential to the pro-
duction of brilliant thoughts ; an end, indeed, attained so often by another mode,
the use of opium. Some persons always retire to bed when they wish to think"
— (Pope is instanced). — " I must also allow that some few individuals compose
best whilst they are walking, but this peripatetic exertion also is calculated to
produce what we term determination of blood to the head. The most remark-
able instance of the power of position in influencing mental energy is that of a
German student, who was accustomed to study and compose, with his head rest-
ing on the ground, and his feet elevated and supported against a wall." p. 53.
En passant what a profound thinker must Grimaldi have been who walked so

M. M. Series.— VOL. XIII, No. 74. R

242 Monthly Review of Literature. [FEB.

frequently on his head ! How devoutly should we pray for the time when the
world will be turned upside down!

" Then shall the reign of mind commence on earth."

We must object, however, and strongly too, against most of the metaphysics
of the first few pages of this little work, and particularly some unjust censures
on Dr. Priestley, — a man who, great as his errors may have been, has deserved
:oo well of society by his scientific research and unflinching spirit of inquiry, to
be made the butt of the ignorant. " The opinions of Priestley," says the author,
" can only escape the stigma of being supposed to favour the doctrine of annihi-
lation, by believing that he adopted the system of the ancients who recognised in
man three great principles, O-W^M, ^x^ and vouj, &c." p. 7. No person who has
ever read the singular " Essay on Matter and Spirit" can suppose that the
opinions of Priestley favoured the doctrine of annihilation ; and we are the more
surprised at this statement, since the author alludes immediately below to the
arguments of Paley on the resurrection of the body, which are almost the same
as those employed by Priestley in the Essay. We can inform the author also
that Dr. Priestley makes no sophistical distinction between the soul and mind.
We may also hint to our readers in an aside, that the commonly received con-
tradistinctive explanations of -^vyn and vov; are not so well grounded as many
suppose.* The distinction of mind and soul, by which the soul is described as a
mere existing substance, devoid of perception or reason, is one which involves
more absurdities than we should feel comfortable in being bound to defend.
Waiving these reservations, we recommend the work to all dreamers, whether of
night- dreams or day-dreams, excepting, however, all young ladies who have not
yet passed the ordeal of the wedding-cake and ring mystery.

THEOLOGICAL LIBRARY. VOL. I. THE LIFE OF WICLIF, BY C. WEBB LE
BAS, M.A., PROFESSOR IN THE E. I. COLL. HERTS, AND LATE FELLOW
OF TRIN. COLL., CAMBRIDGE.

AT the rate that the secular " Libraries" and " Miscellanies" have lately been
lading our book-shelves, scarcely a niche would soon remain for clerical authors
to figure in, and clerical booksellers to fill ; the pastoral advice of the clergy would
not be heard beyond their parish-churches, and Messrs. Rivington might strike
their church-militant colours in Waterloo Place and Paternoster Row. To prevent
this, a strong clerical corps have lately taken the field under Archdeacon Lyall and
the Rev. Hugh James Rose, and the first symptom of their activity is seen in the
present volume. Wiclif must be venerated not only by those who prize the
blessings of a reformed religion, but by all who glory in mental emancipation
and freedom of inquiry ; and they will, no doubt, be glad to read his history by
as good a writer as Le Bas, or perhaps a better. We have perused the present
life with great interest, and recommend all our friends who are not well ac-
quainted with the noble old reformer to seize the present opportunity of increas-
ing their intimacy with him. The work is prefaced with a long introduction on
the corruption and subsequent reform of Christianity : of the style of this we
cannot find it in our consciences to speak so favourably. We are afraid for the
sake of Mr. Le Bas that the ears of the present generation are too " Ciceronian,"
and that in these days "the graces of a classical style are too much cultivated"
for language with which Mr. Irving's readily amalgamates (vid. p. 23), to be

* The nice distinctions (if so they can be called) between those apparent syno-
nymes, dv^o;, <j>p>iv, ^VW) V0l/?i &Ct were not invented till the sophists began to in-
fuse their subtleties into the verv elements of learning — language. In attempting
to explain away the tautology or Homer, Hesiod, &c. in these words, great igno-
rance of the customs of those authors is exhibited. A striking instance of this tau-
tology may be seen in the Theogony of Hesiod, lin. 549—554, and the sophistical
explanation, in Plutarch's Tract, on the " Face of the Moon." See also xpaoi» and
»jrop, lin. 764, " mentem animumque" Virgil. " Mens cm regnum totius animi a natura
tributum est." Cicero.

1 832.] Monthly Review of Literature.

much admired, at least in its present place. We beg leave to ask Mr. Le Bas
if the following is a specimen of his " classical style. " Speaking of the papacy
he says : " The elective conclave was a scene of eternal rivalry, intrigue, and
conflict. And yet did this rope of sand, as it must have appeared to ordinary
eyes, coalesce into such a union of strength and flexibility, that it was able to
twine itself round the mightiest of mankind, to bind kings as it were with chains,
and nobles with fetters of iron."

The following remark, among others, appears to us not only a puerile contra-
diction but false philosophy : — " In the proportion as the race of man improves,
in the same proportion, frequently, are his passions brought out in bolder relief.
The tale of his absurdities and his atrocities becomes more fearfully and more
distinctly legible." We could not help stumbling over a sophism or two in the
life. In page 323 we find the author stating, that the sentiments of the soundest
thinker of our own times, on necessity, may be summed up in the language of
Dr. Key : " Disputes on liberty and necessity are vain and idle ; as much so as
if you were placed within a spherical surface and I without it, and we were to
enter into abstruse arguments on the question whether the surface between us
were concave or convex. In my situation it is convex, in yours it is concave."
We should be sorry to be ranked in Mr. Le Bas's list of "soundest thinkers."
In taking leave of this volume, we would assure the author that all our censures
are inflicted in the spirit of the text — " Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth,"
and recommend the clergy of the present day to emulate the disinterestedness
and other virtues of the illustrious Wiclif.

NlCOTIANA, OR THE SMOKER'S AND SNUFF-TAKBR*B COMPANION, BY

H. J. MELLER, ESQ.

THE devotee to the immortal weed may peruse this little but elaborate treatise,
and be prepared in future to give " an account of the faith that is in him."
Mr. Meller is neither a lukewarm nor superficial advocate ; he has armed him-
self before entering the arena, and hanging up his glove in defiance of all the
enemies of the

"Joy of the palate,
Delight of the nose,0

by a laborious investigation into its history " from the earliest period to the
present time." Raleigh, Bacon, Locke, and hundreds more of the great and
good are summoned from their graves to give evidence in the good cause. We
trust, therefore, our sensitiveness will no longer be so grievously wounded by
gross blunders about the divine weed, but that every student of the noble arts
of smoking and snuff-taking will duly qualify himself with a course of Meller ;
he will then be enabled " to keep his acts" against all opponents, and descant
on the various characteristics of the Nicotiana Fructuosa, the Alba, or Auguste-
folia with unerring fluency. In fine, we recommend every possessor of a meer-
chaum to place Nicotiana in the most favoured nook of his book-shelves ; every
owner of a tabaticu, to study the amusing anecdote of the far-famed Lundy Foot
and his man Larry ; and above all we enjoin every neophyte in the mysteries of
the cigar to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest the mems. and maxims of
Mr. Meller, and he will then no longer commit the heretical crime of decapi-
tating his " brown-vested darling," and still less would he think of polluting with
sugar his cup of mocha, " that inseparable associate of the weed of strange
power."

WAVERLEY NOVELS. VOL. XXXI. QUENTIN DURWARD,

THE chief feature of this reprint, like that of its predecessors, is the introduc-
tion and notes by the author. The introduction speaks of the times, on the
principal events of which the novel is founded ; but dwells more particularly on
the character of Louis XL, who figures so conspicuously in the work. Among
the notes we find an interesting history of the Gypsies or Egyptians, Bohemians
as they were then termed. We had marked a passage for extracting, but are

244 Monthly Review of Literature. [FEB.

compelled to omit it. The embellishments are of a more tasteful character, in
this instance, than in many of the preceding volumes of this series.

TWELVE SELECT ORATIONS OF M. TULLIUS CICERO, WITH ENGLISH NOTES.

WE have here a new edition of the principal orations of Cicero that are gene-
rally read ; the text of the Zurich edition is selected, and the whole accompanied
with brief English commentations that cannot fail to be useful to the young
student.

DAVID. A POEM.

MUCH more time, we fear, is lost in versifying the Bible than reading it ; and
the story of David is much better in prose than as a poem, without making any
exceptions in favour of Cowley's Davideis, or the volume before us.

FINE ARTS.

THE celebrated exclamation of a lover in one of Dryden's dramas —

" Ye Gods, annihilate both time and space,
And make two lovers happy,"

is reiterated every now and then by several of our friends, artists and amateurs,
in wishes that we should exclude all mention of several very important topics,
and devote our space and attention to the arts. We have made arrangements,
however, that will enable us to attend to their suggestions, without incurring
any sacrifice at all. In the meantime, we have a considerable accumulation of
subjects of interest, scattered through several portfolios, that we shall notice as
rapidly as possible. One, that has just caught our eye, has been long a popular
favourite ; but at this moment we may be excused, however late, for referring to
it. It is Bromley's splendid engraving, from Lawrence's equestrian portrait of the
Duke of Wellington. The recent illness of the modern Alexander, and unrivalled
anti-reformer, induces us to look at it with feelings of unusual interest ; for the
Duke is a person that we cannot after all be indifferent about — he is one of those
whom we must either reverence or execrate. Without declaring our own ten-
dencies, we may honestly confess to an admiration of the engraving. It is just
the position in which the great Captain should be seen, and the plate has been
executed by Mr. Bromley, with a corresponding magnificence of effect.

The next is, The Enthusiast — engraved by Robert Graves, from a picture of
Theodore Lane's. There is a little extravagance and affectation in the design ;
yet it is full of comic effect ; and the force and fidelity of the engraving have
done entire justice to it. The picture is well-known, so that it requires no
description beyond that which is conveyed, by a mere testimony as to the truth
and skilfulness of the engraver.

By way of contrast, we turn to The Bride, by Mr. Leslie — a most tasteful,
elegant, and touching composition. The face presents a loveliness of sentiment
and of feature, and the soft shadow thrown over it, gives a peculiar effect to the
expression. We have again to commend the engraver (Mr. Thomson), who
has treated his subject with exceeding grace and delicacy. While Brides are to
be had, even half as seducing as this picture, Mr. Malthus must be contented to
theorize in vain.

Frame Tablets — Vizetelly and Branston. — We have seen some extremely pretty
specimens of the above. They are for the purpose of mounting drawings, &c.,
and the objects aimed at are ; to give them the effect of projection, without a
raised surface, and that the tablet should so blend with the drawing, that it
should seem to form a part of it. Compared with what has usually been applied
to the same purpose, they have the extra advantage of lying flat in the port-
folio or album, and are not so liable to soil.

1832.] [ 245 ]

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PRESS.

Legends and Traditions of the Castles
of England — A work with this title is in
course of preparation by Roscoe and
Leitch Ritchie, Authors of the " Land-
scape," and of Heath's " Picturesque"
Annuals ; and is to be published by sub-
scription, in 12 Monthly Parts, with
Engravings, price 3s. 6d. each Part. It
will comprise not only a genuine narra-
tive of the fortunes of the English Cas-
tles, but in a more particular manner the
events of what may be termed their pri-
vate history, founded upon Legends and
Traditions. It will contain also Pic-
turesque Sketches of the more celebrated
of the Castles, from materials collected
on the spot by Ritchie, in the manner
adopted in the Picturesque Annual ; and
the antiquarian, historical, and tradi-
tional Notices, by Mr. Roscoe, will be
throughout relieved and illustrated by
Romantic Tales.

A Second Edition of " The Horse," by
Mr. John Lawrence, with considerable
additions, and a Portrait of the Author,
by Wivill, engraved by B. Hall.

Select Specimens of the Edifices of
Palladio, consisting of Plans, Sections,
and Elevations, with Details of four of
his most admired Buildings at Vicenza,
from Drawings and Measurements taken
by F. Arundale.

The Waverley Anecdotes, illustrative
of Sir Walter Scott's Novels. In two
volumes, uniform with the " Waverley
Novels," and embellished with Plates.

Geology and Zoology of Captain T.
W. Beechey's Voyage, in quarto, with
coloured Plates.

Selections from the Prose Works of
Robert Southey : consisting of Extracts
from his " History of Brazil," " Life of
Nelson," " Espriella's Letters," " Book
of the Church," &c.

Living Poets and Poetesses : a Bio-
grapkical and Satirical Poem, in three
Parts.

An Account of the Beulah Saline Spa,
at Norwood ; by Dr. Weatherhead.

By William Burge, Esq., of Lincoln's-
Inn (the late Attorney-General of Ja-
maica): A Practical Treatise on the
Laws of the British Colonies.

The Testimony of History to the Doc-
trine of the Holy Trinity ; by the Rev.
George Stanley Faber.

The Sessions Circuit Companion ; by
J. B. Brown, Esq., LL.D., of the Inner
Temple.

Pen and Ink Sketches, or, Outlines of
Truth and Romance ; by J. Augustine
Wade, Esq.

The Mythology of the Hindus ; by
Charles Coleinan, Esq.

The two concluding Volumes of the
Tour of a German Prince, with a Por-
trait, containing his route through Ger-
many and Holland, his Descriptions of
the external aspect of England, and his
Observations on the Society and Man-
ners of the Metropolis, &c.

Illustrations of Political Economy;
by Harriet Martineau, to be published
monthly, No. 1 , " Life in the Wilds."

A Sermon on the Transitory Charac-
ter of God's Temporal Blessings : bv the
Rev. W. Jay.

The first volume of the Georgian Era,
comprising Memoirs of Persons who have
flourished in Great Britain from the Ac-
cession of George I. to the demise of
George IV.

A Comparative Account of the Popu-
lation of Great Britain, in the Years
1801, 1811, 1821, and 1831 ; by J. Rick-
man, Esq.

Attila, a Tragedy, and other Poems.

A Clinical Report of the Royal Dis-
pensary for Diseases of the Ear, with
Observations on the Deaf and Dumb ;
by J. H. Curtis.

A Dictionary of Practical Medicine j
by J. Copland.

The Four Series of the Romance of
History, in a cheap edition, uniform with
the Waverley Novels.

Illustrations of the Lepidopterous In-
sects of Great Britain ; by Mr. Wood.

The Classical Student's Manual ; by
William Thomas Lowndes.

The Domestic Manners of the Ame-
ricans ; by Frances Trollope. With
several Plates.

A Manual of the History of Philo-
sophy, translated from the 'German of
Tennemann ; by the Rev. Arthur John-
son.

By Lady Charlotte Bury : A Poem,
entitled, Some Account of the three
Great Sanctuaries of Tuscany : Valom-
brosa, Camaldoli, and Laverna.

A New Novel, by Mr. Horace Smith,
entitled, Romance of the Early Ages.

A New Novel, to be called Stanley
Buxton, or the Schoolfellows ; by Mr.
Gait.

By Mr. Charles Macfarlane : A De-
scription of the Present State of the
Seven Churches of Asia Minor, to be
illustrated by seven etchings, by Mr.
Thomas Knox, from Views taken on
the spot.

The Journal of a Tour in the Years
1828-9, through Styria, Carniola, and
Italy ; by J. j: Tobbin.

246

List of Ncn, Works.

[FEB.

A Dictionary of Foreign Bibliogra-
phv ; by William Thomas Lowndes.

The Carding and Spinning Master's
Assistant ; or the Theory and Practice
of Cotton Spinning : shewing the use of
every Machine employed in the whole
process ; by James Montgomery.

Keightley's Mythology of Greece and
Italy, abridged for the use of the Junior
Classes in Schools. 18mo, with wood
cuts ; by W. H. Brooke.

Hints to a Clergyman's Wife ; or
Female Parochial Duties practically
illustrated.

Tax on Realized Capital.

Life; a Tale from the German of
Tieck.

LIST OF NEW WORKS.

BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

Annual Biography and Obituary for
1832. Vol 16. 15s.

The Life of Wiclif. By Charles
Webb le Bas. 12mo. 6s.

Memoir and Remains of Lady Jane
Grey. By Sir N. H. Nicholas. 8vo.
15s.

Narrative of the Plague, edited by
the Rev. J. Scott. 3s. 6d.

History of the Civil Wars in Ireland.
By W. C. Taylor, Esq. Vol. 2. 3s. 6d.

History of the Representation of Eng-
land, drawn from Records ; and of the
Jurisdiction of the House of Commons
to reform Abuses in the Representation,
without the aid of Statute Law. By
Robert Hannay, Esq. 8s.

Trials before the High Court of Jus-
ticiary in Scotland. By Robert Pitcairn.
Part IX. 15s.

Ancient Coins of Greek Cities and
Kings, from various Collections. By
James Millingen, Esq. 4to.

Garrick's Private Correspondence.
Vol. 2. 4to. £2. 12s. 6d.

JUVENILE BOOKS.

American Stories, for Young People
above ten years of age. Selected by
Mary Russell Mitford, Author of " Our
Village." 3 vols. 10s. 6d.

Home for the Holidays, a Present for
Youth. Consisting of Dialogues on vari-
ous Subjects, illustrated with several
Engravings. 3s. 6d.

Nights of the Round Table, or the
Stories of Aunt Jane and her Friends.
By the Author of Clan Albin. 6s.

Stories of Travels in Turkey. 15mo.
5s.

Landscape Illustrations to the Wa-
verley Novels. 2 vols. £4. 4s.

Rudiments of Latin Grammar for the
use of Schools. By the Rev. Peter
Hall. 3s.

Elizabeth and her Beggar Boys. By
Mrs. Holland. 18mo. 2s. 6d.

The Youth's Memoriter, and English
Exercise Book, containing a National
English Grammar, Exercises, &c., on a
plan entirely new. For the use of Schools.
By Henry Young. 2s. 6d.

Stories from Natural History. 18mo.
2s. 6d.

British and Foreign State Papers, for
1828 and 1829. 8vo. 30s.

MEDICAL.

The Morbid Anatomy of the Human
Uterus and its Appendages ; illustrated
by coloured Engravings. By Robert
Hooper, M.D. Royal 4to. £3. 3s.

Elements of Practical Pharmacy. By
Robert John Kane. 8s. 6d.

A Treatise on Poisons, in relation to
Medical Jurisprudence, Physiology, and
the Practice of Physic. By Robert
Christison, M.D. Second Edition. 8vo.
18s.

The Anatomy of the Brain ; with some
Observations on its Functions. By
Alexander Monro, M.D. 8vo. 10s.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Companion to the Endless Amuse-
ments. 18mo. 2s. 6d.

Memoirs of the Wernerian Natural
History Society. Vol.6. 18s.

Williams's Abstracts of the Acts for
1831. 8vo. 7s.

The Botanic Annual for 1832. By
the Author of the British Naturalist.
15s.

Females of the present Day consi-
dered as to their Influence on 'Society.
By a country Lady.

"Mechanism of the Heavens. By Mrs.
Somerville.

Observations on the Mussulmauns of
India, Description of their Manners,
Customs, and Habits. By Mrs. Meer
Hassan Ali. 2 vols. 8vo. 21s.

Stewart's Visit to the South Seas;
comprising Scenes in Brazil, Peru, Ma-
nilla, St. Helena, Cape of Good Hope,
&c. Edited and abridged by the Rev.
Wm. Ellis ; being the 5th volume of the
Select Library. 6s.

Progress of the Gospel in Polynesia,
(Southern Group), Georgian, Society,
and Harvey Islands. 3s. 6d.

Mental Recreation ; or, Select Max-
ims, Sayings, and Observations of Philo-
sophers, Statesmen, Divines, and other
great Men, Ancient and Modern, upon
most Subjects. 6s. 6d.

Tables for Planting and Valuing Un-
derwood and Woodland. By Richard
Horton. 5s. 6d.

Lardner's Cyclopsedia, Vol. XXVI.
(Treatise on the Manufacture of Porce-
lain and China.) 6s.

1832.] List of New Books. 247

On the Phenomena of Dreams and By the Author of Mothers and Daugh-

other Transient Illusions. By W. C. ters.

Denby, Member of the Royal College of Probation ; by the Author of Selwyn.

Surgeons. 4s. 10s. 6d.

Address to the Farmers of the United The Republic of Letters, a Selection

Kingdom on the Low Rates of Profit in of Poetry and Prose. Vol. 1. 12mo.

Agriculture and in Trade. By R. Tor- 6s. 6d.
rens, Esq., M.P. 3d. Chambers's Scottish Jests and Anec-

Arithemetic and Algebra. Designed dotes. 12mo. 6s. 6d.
for the use of those who are not Candi- Le Talisman, with the Plates, from

dates for Honours at the Examination the Literary Souvenir for 1832. 12s.
for B.A. Degrees ; to which are added , POETRY.

the University Examination Papers, The Summer Fdte, a Poem, with

with the Answers. By a Graduate. 5s. Songs. By Thomas Moore, Esq.

Elements of the Calculus of Finite The Phantom City, and other Poems.

Differences, with the Application of its By Edward Peele.
Principles to the Summation and Inter- David ; a Poem. 8vx>. 4s.
polation of Series. By Henry Kuhff, The Disembodied : with other Poemsi

B.A., Fellow of Catherine Hall. 4s. 6d. By the Rev. James Wills. 8s. 6d.

NOVELS AND TALES. Pictures of the Past. By Thomas

Norman Abbey, a Tale of Sherwood Brydson. 18mo. 3s. 6d.
Forest. 3 vols. 24s. The Bouquet, a collection of original

The Opera, a Novel. 3 vols. 11. 1 1 s. 6d. Songs for the Guitar, by Signer Verini.

MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

THE old year took its leave and the new one commenced with N. E. winds and
white frosts, by no means distinguished for their severity. These continued to the
5th instant, when the wind veered to the southward of the E., reproducing the
former mild and moist temperature, which was fully confirmed on the 10th by
another change of the wind to the W., where it has been fixed to the present day,
excepting occasional northern variations, but those more generally to the southern
quarter, with almost constant fogs, and a degree of mildness both uncommon and
unseasonable at this time of the year. On the strength of this atmospheric sketch,
our weather wise-acres determine that so much moisture has been expended in fog,
as to leave little for the production of much snow or rain, during the present winter ;
and should this mildness continue, gloomy apprehensions are entertained of a cold
ungenial spring.

The country business of the season is universally reported in a state of great for-
wardness, notwithstanding the general complaints of poverty. The few days, or
week of mild frost, were taken advantage of, for carting manure upon the land,
which succeeded upon light and dry soils ; but certainly tne damage done thereby
to wet and poachy lands, far outweighed the expected benefit, taking into the ac-
count the extra and severe labour of the teams, and the cutting up, both public and
private roads. The mild weather continuing, all possible expedition has been used
in finishing wheat seed, but little of which remained to be done over year, except-
ing in the warm south-western districts, and on some parts of the northern border.
The scarcity of English wheat, and that choak-pear to the farming interest, the
immense import, have stimulated our farmers to the greatest exertions, and there
surely never before was so great a breadth of land sown with wheat in England,
Scotland, and Wales, as in tne present season. We heartily wish their patriotic
exertions may be rewarded by a productive crop ; a blessing unfortunately unknown
in this country, during several past years. Its early appearance was never more
universally promising ; but the great desideratum, at present, is a few weeks' frost
and dry weather, to check a too great luxuriance, which, unchecked, may detract
from the solid production of grain. The young seeds, like the wheats, are so for-
ward in the grass, as to excite a similar apprehension. Trefoil excepted, the seeds
of last year proved a general failure. We cannot help again noticing the prayers
of our friends for frost, to check the WEEDS, couch, charlock, et id genus omne, and
beg to remind them of the carter, whose load being set, fell down on his knees to
Hercules, instead of himself lifting at the wheel. Be it remembered, however, we
address only farmers of property. As to the corn farming on poor lands, that has
long since ceased to be a money-making, or even a living concern. Turnips,

248 Agricultural Report. [FEB.

potatoes, carrots, all the root crops, with some exceptions against mangold, have
proved abundant, almost beyond precedent. Of hops, nothing new ; the dull state
of the markets and absence of speculation, are sufficiently indicative of ample
stocks.

Letters from that fine and rich corn county, Suffolk, are the best commentary on
the state of the last year's wheat and barley crops. On some soils, the produce not
exceeding five bushels per acre ; on many, not above twelve, the quantity and
quality much upon a level. The cost of thrashing, six and seven shillings per
quarter ; yet few persons, from the late intimidation, daring to use a thrashing-
machine, however great their want might be of pecuniary assistance from market,
where, in fact, the corn was scarcely saleable except at a very low price, as from its
damp state, it could not be ground unless mixed with dry foreign. The barley
crop, also, has not equalled early expectation ; but a small part of it being of fine
malting quality, and the difference of price most extraordinary. The pulse crops
much in the same state, and of those which have succeeded, the grain are uncom-
monly small. We formerly noticed Herts, as a favourable exception, yet we have
since heard of want of money in that quarter ; and we now announce RUTLAND as
perhaps having been blessed with the most abundant of last year's crops of all
Icinds in this country. "Wheat a full average, with little drawback as to quality.
The farmers are all amusing themselves with the horrors of the currency bill, and
the great import of foreign corn : with respect to the latter, in what a situation
would this country have been, without an ample foreign supply !

There is little novelty in the state or price of the cattle and sheep markets, none
in that of horses, the export of which has become a great and flourishing trade, in-
finitely to the credit of this as a breeding country. Markets and fairs generally
well stocked, and the Christmas beef was of a high figure, as well in quality as
price. The mild season and the immense turnip crops have wonderfully economized
the fodder of the home stall, and both sheep and cattle are even yet abroad. The
constant moisture however, both of the air and the food, have not been favourable
to the flocks, the fleeces of which have long remained soaked through with wet and
soiled with mud, even on lands not usually deemed unfavourable to sheep. The
early season of lambing in the west, is said to be propitious, with the drawback of
a premature yeaning, in rather a considerable number of the ewes.

We have had lately a new edition of the Scotch wheat-fly, which, in its opera-
tions, appears to have little analogy with ours in England. The Scotts are equally
forward with ourselves in their husbandry ; barley of last year their best crop, as
oats with us; their labourers industrious and contented, and their lands well
stocked with cattle and sheep. The straw crops of wheat and barley have proved
more bulky in South Wales than elsewhere ; even yet a cheap country to live in.
Labourers' wages ten shillings per week, whilst in employ, which is too uncertain,
and many are then partly supported by their parishes, in order to keep them out
of mischief. Numbers of able-bodied men in nearly all our southern counties, are
anxious to emigrate to Canada, but are destitute of the means, — a subject well en-
titled to the consideration of parliament. We were much gratified by the late
Circular on Emigration of the Colonial Office, for forwarding the passage of unmar-
ried females between fifteen and thirty, government bearing one half the expense.

We have lately seen, with much regret, letters of the following tendency, from
several parts of the west : — " Instead of advanced wages diminishing poor rates,
they are almost universally increasing here, by which it seems too probable that,
in a very short time, the whole produce of the land will be swallowed up by idle
vagabonds, most falsely and improperly characterized as industrious and merito-
rious poor. An advance of poor rates has been cotemporaneous with the advance
of wages, and a decline in the price of bread. In the mean time, discontent and
complaints are not abated, less work is done, with grumbling, for more wages, and
the really industrious labourer discouraged, and justly offended at seeing a profli-
gate and lazy rabble paid as much as himself."

Smithfield.—~Beef, 3s. 4d. to 4s. 4d Mutton, 4s. Od. to 5s. Od.— Veal, 4s. 4d. to

5s. 8d.— Pork, 4s. 8d. to 5s. 8d. (dairy-fed) .—Rough fat, 2s. lid.

Corn Exchange. — Wheat, 46s. to 80s. — Barley, 25s. to 42s — Oats, 16s. to 30s. —
The London, 41b. loaf, 10£d — Hay, 55s. to 84s.— Clover ditto, 75s. to 120s.— Straw,
28s. to 38s.

Coal Exchange — Coals, in the Pool, per ton, 17s. Od. to 23s 6d.
Middlesex, January 23rd.

MARCH, 1832.
CONTENTS.

Page

I. Parliamentary Movements of the Month 251

II. Reform in China 254

III. The Shortest Road to Distinction 260

IV. Brevities 264

V. The Portrait: a Sketch. By James Sheridan Knowles... 265

VI. A Lyrical Letter, from William Cobbett, Esq., with a Graphic

Sketch of the Author of the "Political Register" 2/2

VII. The Petticoat Parliament 275

VIII. A Story of the Plague of Gibraltar 281

IX. A Mystery — for the Byron-Critics 291

X. A Merry Tale witha Merry Moral , 298

XI. Marcus Tullius Cicero in the Dungeons of the Inquisition of
Rome, in 1818. Extracted from the English MS. of an Italian

Exile 303

XIL Parliamentary Pastorals. No. III. A Sibthorpian Song — No. IV.
Chloe's Offering to the Colin of Boroughbridge — No. V. The
Lamentation of a late Law-reate 310

XIII. Russia in 1832 313

XIV. Specimens of Latin Comedy — No. II. The Amphitryon, of

Plautus 323

XV. Nature and Books : a Reflection, written after looking on a beau-
tiful Landscape 331

XVI. A History of the " Humbug'* Family. Discovered among the

Papers of a deceased Antiquary 332

XVII. Mont-Blanc 337

XVIII. Jean Jacques Tardee 338

XIX. NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL : — The Plea-
sures of " Providence" — Potatoes in Parliament — Book-worms
and Bibliopoles — Lords at the Life Office — The Ex- Secretary at
War and the Whipper-in — Leigh Hunt — Favouritism at the
British Gallery — Juvenile Royalty — No Chalk — A Curious Cal-
culation— The Garrick Club — A Sign of the Times — The Majors
and the Minors — Mortality in the Reign of William IV. — The

Gallery of the Opera — Deaths in February 1832 341

XX. REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS 350

XXI. THE DRAMA 357

XXII. REVIEW OF Music 360

XXIII. FINE ARTS' EXHIBITION — British Institution 361

XXIV. FINE ARTS' PUBLICATION 363

XXV. WORKS IN THE PRESS, AND NEW PUBLICATIONS 364

XXVI. AGRICULTURAL REPORT, &c , , 367

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

THE Editor is apprehensive that, by an accident over which he had no control,
some of his Correspondents were put to the inconvenience last month of sending
to the publishers' before their communications were prepared for them. He
has taken care to guard against any recurrence of the circumstance that gave
rise to this disappointment.

Communications for the writers of the undermentioned papers are in the
hands of the publishers : —

The Sacred Conscience.

The Recorder of Ballyporeen.

Events in the Life of a late Barrister.

Political Unions.

Random Sketches.

A Fragment.

The Victor of Laussen.

Recollections of a Valetudinarian.

Metropolitan Improvements.

The Downfall of an Irish Patriot.

Society in the Provinces.

The Press.

State of Ireland.

Irish Volunteers.

Senator of Venice.

The Brother's Revenge.

My First Invention.

Anecdote of 1641.

A Tale of the Sea.

Articles intended for insertion in the ensuing number must be forwarded by
the 10th of the month.

It is requested that all communications may be addressed " To the Editor"
only, and forwarded to Messrs. Whittaker, Ave-Maria-Lane. It is scarcely
necessary to say that no unpaid letter can be received.

The writers of poems, and other short pieces, are requested to keep copies of
them.

H, BAYLIS, JOHNSOX'S-COURT, FLEET-STREET.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.
VOL. XIII.] MARCH, 1832. [No. 75.

PARLIAMENTARY MOVEMENTS OF THE MONTH.

THE principle upon which the great measure of Reform is still drag-
ging its slow length through the Commons, continues to be one of the
most accommodating and convenient character to its antagonists. The
ministry perseveres in its adoption of the most mild and persuasive mea-
sures, to preserve to his Majesty's Whigs the blessings of peace. It now
and then breaks the leg of some impudent Tory frog, that hops about in
defence of the corruption in which it was bred ; but there is evinced, in
the mode of breaking it, a most scrupulous adherence to the rule laid
down by Izaak Walton — " Do it as if you loved it." We regard the
cavilling of the Opposition, and the calm resignation of the members of
Government, as emanations of the two grand principles that prevail in
parliamentary philosophy : that, by which the conduct of the ministry
is regulated, may be pronounced the Greatest Politeness Principle ;
while that on which the Anti-reformers so unflinchingly proceed, may
be recognised as the Greatest Perversity Principle.

But without intending to undervalue the claims of a considerable
body of his Majesty's Reformers in both Houses of Parliament, we are
bound to admit that the Anti-Reformers (or, as they may be better termed,
the Anti-Reasonists) far surpass them in the grand parliamentary art of
exciting popular contempt. It is only a pity that the antics and evolutions
which they exhibit in argument, cannot conveniently be accompanied
by those outward and visible signs of pantomimic genius, which so
delighted us in the days of the elder Grimaldi. The reporters would
not then excite our incredulity, by stating that " Sir Henry Hardinge
was on his legs ;" but the sentence would run thus — " On our re-ad-
mission to the gallery, we found Sir Henry Hardinge on his head" —
and then the moral summersets, and military flip-flaps, would follow in
a very credible course. There is another reason why the term "on
his legs" is objectionable, particularly to persons of Sir Henry's profes-
sion ; we need only instance the Marquis of Anglesey. It would be
very ridiculous to say, i( we found the Noble Marquis on his leg."

S 2

252 Parliamentary Movements of the Month. [MARCH,

Meanwhile the Bill passes forward at a rate which indicates such an
extreme aversion to hurry, that if ministers were accused of endeavour-
ing to create the " re-action" with which they are threatened, they could
scarcely have a right to complain. The Chairman nightly reports pro-
gress with as much solemnity as if any had been made. And how is
all this to be helped, ask the moderators, when the enemy is every
instant in attack ? The question is answered in three words — " Create
fifty Peers now, and keep them at hand ready for use." The very
appearance of the gazette will cause them to be wanted in a month !
The Opposition will, of course, fight as long as they have anything to
gain, and no longer. The Peers must be made at last ; and yet it is a
peer himself who is hesitating upon this simple question— whether the
peerage shall be suddenly increased, or run the chance of being as sud-
denly abolished !

On other subjects they have shewn more alacrity — in the dismissal of
Sir Henry Parnell, and in preparing legislative antidotes to Cholera.
We have no fault to find with the conduct of the ministry with respect
to their coadjutor, except that the dismissal-system should have been
put in force before, and not have commenced with one of the ablest
men amongst them ; while on a subject of so very questionable a charac-
ter as cholera, they were sure to meet with perplexities. If they had
taken precautionary measures three months ago, a very large party
would have laughed at them ; and as they did not, they are accused of
waiting until the pestilence had fixed its furious talons on unhappy
Lambeth, and threatened to land at Westminster- stairs — at the sacred
gate of Parliament itself. In the House, indeed, the feeling respecting
the dreaded visitor, assumed an appearance — for we do not imagine
that it was so in reality — much more personal than patriotic. Mr. Hunt,
among others, made an observation in the proper parliamentary style ;
to the effect that " while they were endeavouring to prevent contagion
in others, it became them to take care of themselves." This is an axiom
that has always been acted upon by both Houses of Parliament, and
does not appear more liable to neglect because Mr. Hunt has found his
way into one of them. The Board of Health, and most of the boards
appointed to arrest the march of cholera, are, if we are to trust report,
keeping the axiom very commendably in view. But the " cholera" is
not worth another word. The non-contagion principle has taken root,
and will guard us from the effects of a panic that would be much more
fatal than the disease. The public understand the matter better than
their physicians ; and will, we are sure, prefer those advisers who say
least about it.

The subject of Military Flogging, that most detestable and demo-
ralizing of all species of punishment, has been brought under discus-
sion, on a motion by Mr. Hunt, simply for a return of the number of
persons flogged, and the extent of punishment inflicted, in the year
1831 — and this, which was pledging the House to nothing, was refused
by a large majority ; Lord Althorp, who some time ago supported a
specific motion of Sir John Hobhouse's on the subject, voting against
the return. His lordship said, that many of the commanding officers of
the army wished for some other mode of punishment, and were willing
to give up flogging, when they could do so with safety. We suspect
that they would rather give up their commissions, than this darling
relic of military barbarism. However, we have confidence in Sir John

1832.] Parliamentary Movements of the Month. 253

Hobhouse's declaration, that his feelings are, as yet, unchanged by
office ; and that this foul and revolting stain upon the armies of en-
lightened England will be of no lengthened existence.

Col. Trench has introduced a very important motion, relative to the
improvement of the House, which, it seems, requires Reform as much
as its occupants. Much was said about a new building, and more
about enlarging the old one ; but the general feeling seemed to har-
monize with that of Sir Robert Peel, who confessed that he was
" attached to the present building, from the associations with which it
was connected." Barrington, who used to practise his art in the lob-
bies of the theatres, might say the same of Covent Garden — he was
" attached to the theatre, from the associations with which it was con-
nected." The narrowness of the benches was made a subject of com-
plaint, and many honourable members for close boroughs thought that
they ought to enjoy their seats upon a broader basis. The narrowness
of the policy which had been for so many years inculcated upon these
very benches, was a subject of slight consideration, compared with the
narrowness of the seats themselves ; and the scarcity of conscience in
the sitters, was lost sight of in the scarcity of cushion.

While this laudable anxiety for the comfort and dignity of Members
of Parliament was going on, Mr. Baring was more usefully employed in
obtaining leave to bring in a bill for limiting their privileges ; or, in
other words, a bill to prevent Members of Parliament from cheating
their coach -makers and wine-merchants. Among the minor points of
reform, this is an item of some importance ; the public have long looked
with disgust upon the abuses to which the present rate of privilege has
led. But we are indebted to Mr. E. L. Bulwer for the promise of a
motion of far higher importance — the Repeal of all Taxes upon Know-
ledge ! This is a question to which we look forward with high hope —
not unmingled with fear for the consistency of ministers. We are glad
that Mr. Bulwer has been the first to introduce the subject, in a specific
shape ; and we hail this instance of public spirit as an omen, that his
political ambition will be no less elevated than his literary genius.

But we have another source of high congratulation to the country,
in the announcement made by Lord Althorp, relative to the meditated
extinction of tithes in Ireland — a promise that will materially tend to
soften the rigour of Lord Grey's threat, to force submission to the exist-
ing laws at all hazards. Yet even here, in what an absurd, yet per-
fectly statesmanlike dilemma, have they gratuitously placed themselves.
They admit the law to be improper, and pledge themselves to repeal it ;
but first they must exact from its victims an acknowledgment of its
justice : they promise to abolish the rack, but in the meantime they must
insist upon placing unhappy Ireland upon it — not to dislocate her limbs
exactly, but to prepare her, by a few wrenches, for the delights that
are in store for her.

[ 254 ] [MARCH,

REFORM IN CHINA.

«« De tea fabula narratur"— HORACE, Improved.

THE politics of the celestial empire possess, at the present moment, a
distinction beyond those of any other clime or country, since they are
interesting to the ladies ; not only because their existing entanglement
too probably involves our future supply of the pure materiel of that be-
verage, which is so proverbially under their own exclusive patronage,
but also because the prohibited residence, or even visits, of all foreign
females at Canton, has been one of the recent subjects of complaint and
of discussion. A concise detail of, and argument upon, the present state
of affairs in China, as connected with our tea trade there, will then, we
very confidently natter ourselves, be not less acceptable to our numerous
fair readers, than to those to whom they are more particularly addressed ;
and though we are quite unable to promise them any wit, we will cer-
tainly not disappoint them of that brevity which is the soul of it. As it
is, therefore, very far from our intention to imitate the conduct of that
celebrated French savant, who, the first time he saw a Chinese, ran
home to write a book about him, we shall be considerate enough not to
inflict the whole of our knowledge on our friends all at once, but coming
to the " point, matter, and business of debate," without farther preface,
for the present confine ourselves to recent occurrences only.

It is, we believe, universally agreed, that the points of dispute now at
issue between the East India Company's select committee, and the local
authorities at Canton are the fruits of a long course of gradual encroach-
ment on the part of the Chinese, which, most unfortunately, not having
been firmly checked in the first instance, has at length become so serious
and alarming, as to demand the most prompt and decisive measures to
ensure its effectual suppression. Emboldened by the issue of their for-
mer dispute in 1829-30, the Chinese seem confidently to expect that the
result will be the same now ; and relying on the presumed impossibility
of England risking the interruption of her tea trade, appear to feel as-
sured that we shall infinitely rather sacrifice our national honour and
commercial privileges, than put that trade in jeopardy. That they have
had but too conclusive reasons to adopt such a line of argument, must,
we fear, be generally admitted; but that it will be ultimately falsified
now, we believe, as fervently as we hope. On the present occasion, the
first direct attack on the company took place early in the morning of the
12th of May last, when Choo, the foo-yuen, or deputy-governor, accom-
panied by the hoppo, or imperial commissioner of foreign revenue, and
some other officers and armed attendants, forciby entered the British
factory at Canton. The alleged object of this visit was to examine some
splendid mirrors commissioned from England by the Hong merchants,
but the real one, to ascertain the fact of some pretended encroachments,
said to have been made on the channel of the river by the company's
garden. This inspection so exasperated his excellency, that on the ar-
rival of the Hong merchants and senior linguist, he abused both them and
the hoppo in the most unmeasured terms, and compelling them to remain
on their knees before him for nearly an hour, also exacted other most de-
grading tokens of submission. A-tam, the linguist, having ventured to
suggest a reference to the select committee respecting the disputed gar-
den, was immediately put in chains and ordered for execution, which

1832.] Reform in China. 255

sentence being averted only at the very earnest intercession of the other
parties present, he was instantly sent to prison. His excellency's rage
having now become nearly ungovernable, the senior Hong merchant was
similarly threatened with confinement and death ; and the covering being
torn down from the portrait of the King of England in the factory hall,
the foo-yuen seated himself with his back towards it, with every mark of
indignity and insult. The Chinese being accustomed to consider every
emblem, and even the supposed seat of their own sovereign as sacred
and inviolable, and never to be even approached without the most abject
obeisances, this outrage thus assumes a character of importance which it
would want under almost any other circumstances, and be perhaps suffi-
ciently resented by indifference and contempt.

The gate and walls of the factory garden were then wholly broken
down, and the quay, made under the express sanction of the governor,
after the fire of 1822, wantonly and entirely destroyed, several hundred
labourers being employed to throw the earth into the very channel which it
was previously pretended had been obstructed and encroached upon,
though the premises thus laid waste, being rented from the Hong mer-
chants by the company, were in every respect their private property.
This most unprovoked aggression, it is also to be remembered, took
place when the commercial business of the season had recently ter-
minated in the most perfect good feeling ; and while the president and
gentlemen of the factory were residing one hundred miles distant, at
Macao, anxiously endeavouring to preserve and to secure this friendly
intercourse. Though the Hong merchants were expressly forbidden to
forward any particulars of this violence to the English, yet the news,
of course, very speedily reached them, when an official notice was imme-
diately issued, stating, that as under such circumstances, business could
not be conducted with either credit or security whilst thus exposed, un-
less the evils complained of were immediately redressed and security ob-
tained against their recurrence, all commercial intercourse between Great
Britain and China would be suspended on the ensuing 1st of August.
This proclamation, accompanied by a brief detail of the outrages we have
described, was then suspended at the factory gates, copies of which were
also extensively circulated amongst all the English residents, andforwarded
to Bombay, America, and England. To endeavour to obtain the redress
now so peremptorily required, two members of the select committee also
proceeded to Canton, where however, their complaints were so entirely
unattended to, that not only did the demolition of the company's pro-
perty continue during the whole of their stay, but additional workmen
were even employed throughout the night. An official remonstrance,
accompanied by the keys of the factory in a sealed cover, addressed to
the foo-yuen, were then delivered to the Hong merchants in full meeting,
who, being however, too much intimidated to present them, they were
subsequently transmitted through the kwang-heep, a military officer, by
whom they were again returned unopened.

For the information of the natives on these important subjects, a pro-
clamation in the Chinese language was likewise posted in various parts
of the city, which it was understood created a considerable sensation in
favour of the English, though the hope which had been still entertained
of obtaining some redress on the return of Governor Le, was now des-
troyed by the arrival of a new code of regulations for the future trade,
enforcing such restrictions as made submission not only utterly degrading,

250 Reform in China.

but nearly impossible. The emperor's imperial ratification of this code
also immediately followed, framed in the customary verbiage of Chinese
magniloquence, and concluding with this threat : " Decidedly there will
not be the least clemency or forbearance shewn. Tremble at this ! In-
tensely are these commands given!"

The lady of a Danish captain having some time previously accompa-
nied her husband to Canton, some new regulations on this subject were
also issued at the same time, expressly forbidding "all barbarian females"
and particularly including the English, from approaching that city,
whence, if they again dared to appear there, the offending party intro-
ducing them, was ordered " to be driven out with severity and for ever ! "

In evidence that the whole of these proceedings were but parts of one
regular system of predetermined persecution, we may also mention, that
so long since as November 1830, Woo-Yay, the uncle of one of the chief
Hong merchants, was tried for his life, and ultimately threatened with
the torture, and sentenced to perpetual banishment, on a charge of
traitorous correspondence with the English, the sole proof of which con-
sisted in his having procured for one of them a sedan chair ! In May
last this aged and innocent man died in prison, of a broken heart, when
the ignominy heaped on him in life, was extended even to his remains,
which were delivered to his relatives for burial through a hole in the
wall, which has ever been considered the most indelible token of Chinese
disgrace.

Aggravated as were all these circumstances of repeated insult on the
part of the local authorities, and supported as the select committee were
by the resolutions and remonstrances of the principal British merchants
resident at Canton, it created no slight surprise, that so early as the 10th
of June following, those gentlemen wholly rescinded their former order
for the suspension of the trade on the 1st of August, and thus destroyed
the last hope of obtaining redress from their decision and firmness.
Their reasons for adopting this course of proceeding, we must candidly
acknowledge, we cannot perfectly understand. Their own statement
admits, that they " have received no explanation for the acts of aggres-
sion committed, nor any security against their recurrence ;" and also,
" that until redress of grievances be granted, they see no prospect of
commerce being conducted with credit or security ; " and yet they
voluntarily yield up the Vantage ground which it was so manifest their
previous announcement had unquestionably obtained for them. What
private explanations, or what ulterior proceedings are to atone for this,
we know not, but the generally expressed dissatisfaction and astonish-
ment of the residents in China, at the select committee's apparently inex-
plicable conduct, we can most confidently vouch for.

In exoneration of these seemingly vacillating proceedings, we are,
however, bound in justice to state, that if, as it very probably may prove,
they were inconsiderate in making their first declaration, they might be
unable to act otherwise than they subsequently did, without a confident
reliance, which they could not feel, on support from home. To proceed
with the business of the season, then became their first duty ; and when
they found that the foo-yuen could shelter himself under the emperor's
sanction, it then became a matter of infinitely greater importance, and at
once a national concern. The abilities and firmness of the present pre-
sident and committee, have certainly been proved under various former
difficulties, and we ought therefore not to censure too severely, what

1832.] Reform in China. 257

has, perhaps,, been perfectly unavoidable. It should be clearly under-
stood also, that the imperial sanction may have been obtained from the
gross misrepresentations of the local government only, and will therefore
be recalled, and the offenders punished, immediately the real facts are
known : whilst even the outrage itself should, but too probably, be con-
sidered the personal act of the foo-yuen, whose enmity to the English is
universally known, and who thus availed himself of the absence of his
superior, the viceroy Le, to inflict the recent insult. He has frequently
stood alone in the council in his proposal of measures of extreme severity
against foreigners ; and the imperious necessity of immediate vigorous
and energetic measures to destroy his influence, became therefore still
more palpably apparent.

Such is an outline of the very unpleasant state of affairs at the date of
the most recent letters, in August last ; and for the next intelligence on
the arrival of the regular ships in March, we are unaffectedly anxious.
On the subject of the East India Company's monopoly of the China
trade, we do not at present enter, and allude to it, therefore, to make the
single remark, that whatever future arrangement may take place, it
would seem, that however we may exculpate the select committee, yet
so far as the Directors at home are concerned, the interests of British
commerce cannot be less protected, or worse managed, than at present.
Arguing upon the data before us, we can feel no difficulty in stating,
that the conduct of the select committee, in first issuing and then recal-
ling their notice of the threatened suspension of commercial intercourse,
was an error in judgment, the very mischievous effects of which are not
likely to be speedily remedied, since it is the unanimous opinion of all those
who are best acquainted with the temper and habits of the Chinese, that
to display any want of firmness, or on any occasion to temporize with
them, is the very worst policy that can be adopted. Every forbearance
to notice an insult on our part, has invariably led to fresh aggressions on
theirs ; and if, as now seems no longer doubtful, since it is so confidently
asserted by those who ought to know, the Company's Directors have sent
out instructions to their servants at Macao, to conciliate the Chinese, by
quietly submitting to, instead of resenting, the late unprovoked and
most unjustifiable outrages, we cannot but think that they have thus
afforded a stronger argument against the renewal of their charter, than
could have been advanced by the most violent of their opponents.

The complete failure, as well as the causes of failure, of Lord Am-
herst's celebrated embassy of conciliation in 1816, are equally notorious,
and incontrovertible evidence in support of our argument, which a less
known anecdote, connected with that ill-starred expedition, will still
farther enforce. When his excellency had been left at Teen King, in
the Yellow Sea, on his route to the emperor, Captain (afterwards Sir
Murray) Maxwell was naturally anxious to avail himself of the oppor-
tunity to refit the Alceste frigate writh the stores and provisions requisite
after so long a voyage. These supplies were so repeatedly delayed, and
his renewed applications for them treated with such indifference and
contempt, that at length the gallant captain's patience being completely
exhausted, he informed the Chinese authorities, that unless the provi-
sions, &c. were delivered by a certain day, he would proceed up the
river and take what they refused to give. The day arrived, and as the
supplies did not, preparations were accordingly made for weighing an-
chor, when a Chinaman came on board and informed Captain Maxwell,

Reform in China. [MARCH,

that if he dared to move, he would be blown out of the water by the first
battery that he passed. " Put that fellow in irons," was the only reply
to this disinterested adviser, and ironed on the quarter-deck accordingly,
he had the gratification of seeing a British ship of war get under weigh.
The first fort they came to, was the Bogue, on the starboard side, when
the Chinese, who had previously had the pleasure of hearing orders
given to prepare for action, next enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing it
completely silenced by one broadside. At his own very particular en-
treaty, he was then accommodated with a berth below j though profit-
ing by the previous example, Tiger Island and the remaining fortifica-
tions offered not the slightest obstruction, and were consequently not
fired at.

On the receipt of this news in England, the honourable company's
directors were in no little consternation at the idea of what might be the
issue of these warlike proceedings, and it was with undisguised anxiety
that one of the court inquired of a gentleman who had been many years
resident in China, his opinion as to the probable result. The answer
was one, which not only most fully bears out our view of the subject,
but its entire accuracy, more than fourteen years additional experience
of Chinese policy, has since most thoroughly confirmed. " If Captain
Maxwell has fired a shot or two only, it may be a troublesome business,
but if he have given them a broadside, depend on it you will hear nothing
further on the subject." The complete correctness of this remark was
very speedily verified, for on the anchoring of the Alceste at Whampoa,
a deputation of the principal official dignitaries came on board, to con-
gratulate Captain Maxwell on his safe and happy arrival, and every des-
cription of stores was both immediately and liberally supplied !

One reason, amongst many others, given for this apparently unac-
countable and inconsistent conduct on the part of the warriors of the
celestial empire, was, that the ministers dared not inform the emperor
of what had happened, since he would most assuredly have rewarded
their undeceiving him as to the invincibility of his fortresses, by decapi-
tation, and they had wit enough to recollect, that

" Though the hair grows again, yet the head never will."

The batteries on the banks of the Tigris, are indeed, almost literally
worthless as places either of offence, or of defence, their guns being
fixed on carriages that will not traverse, and raised but a few inches
from the ground : whilst the forts themselves are so situated under the
hills behind them, that their garrisons might be pelted out with stones,
without the slightest difficulty ; and the crews of the tea ships might
land and capture every battery on the coast, without firing a musquet.

Under these circumstances, it is indeed humiliating to be compelled
to own, that the British flag, which is respected in every other quarter
of the globe, is openly disgraced in China ; and that this arises solely
from so many former insults having been committed with impunity, is
notorious from the well known fact, that, of all foreigners visiting the
Chinese seas, the Lintin smugglers are perhaps the only parties who are
treated respectfully, which arises solely from the knowledge, that their
boats'-crews are almost always armed, and that every affront is at once
punished on the spot. One explanation of all this, may be their de-
plorable and utter ignorance : the " march of mind," having confessedly
made less progress in China, than in any other place that could be men-

1832.] Reform in China. 259

tioned. Foreigners of all descriptions are so rigorously and so jealous-
ly excluded, that every measure of national improvement is studiously
shut out j and since the expulsion of the Jesuits, about eighty years
since, they have remained as they were then left, perfectly unable to
advance a single step, after their instructors were withdrawn. A very
remarkable proof of which is, that in some scientific works recently
published in China, the astronomical and other instruments therein de-
picted, are exactly those which were used in France, and introduced by
the missionaries, at the period alluded to.

From these premises, then, it appears incontrovertibly evident, that
every reasonable hope of comfort, or even safety for our countrymen
now settled there, depends on our immediate energy and firmness in
teaching these arrogant barbarians, that England will no longer consent
to purchase their tea, at the high price of national dishonour. Expe-
rience has repeatedly shewn us that forbearance and concession are with
them literally worse than useless ; for they but embolden them to be
still more insolent and overbearing. Let our next negociation be at the
sword's point ; and if we cannot obtain our just demand of indemnity
for the past, let us at least insist on security for the future. When
really forcible arguments are adopted, it will be speedily seen with what
facility they will be convinced ; and as, like Sir Lucius 0' Trigger's
duel, tf the quarrel is a very pretty quarrel just as it stands," the pre-
sent crisis then should at once be seized upon, to teach them that we
will no longer be insulted with impunity. Remonstrance, conciliation,
and forbearance, have each been tried in turn, for upwards of thirty
years ; and their results are before us. Let the East India Company
now reverse the system, and while they thus vindicate the national
honour and their own, let them no longer prostrate the dignity of Great
Britain at the feet of savages, or suffer the " meteor flag of England"
to stoop from its high " pride of place," at the haughty bidding of a
Chinese edict. It must be constantly borne in mind, that the mere
stoppage of commercial intercourse will be of no avail, since that would
punish the innocent only, without reaching the really guilty ; and the
loss would fall almost exclusively on the Hong merchants, who advance
money, and the tea manufacturers who borrow it ; and who would in all
probability, thus be, as their predecessors have been, reduced to beg-
gary. We hope, however, and we also believe, nearly as confidently as
we hope, that the Bombay government has already interfered, in the
only way in which interference can be effectual. Should our anticipa-
tions be unfortunately disappointed, that duty will then devolve on the
government at home ; for unless the chancellor of the exchequer be
prepared to sacrifice four millions of revenue, and the country and the
company to lose the tea- trade,— as they most assuredly will, if this last
insult be passed over,— it must become a national question. The only
ambassadors the Chinese will either listen to, or respect, are four-and-
twenty pounders ! T.

[ 260 ] [MARCH,

THE SHORTEST ROAD TO DISTINCTION.

Sheridan, Sen. What in the name of nonsense, Tom, can induce you to take the trouble to go down
into a coal-pit ?

Sheridan, Jtm. Why, I want to go, merely for the sake of saying that I've been in one.

Shivid&H, Sen. Oh ! there can be no objection to your saying you have been in a coal-pit — but why
not say so at once ?

Sheridan's Domestic Dialogues.

ONE is really tired of being asked sixty times an hour, " What's in a
name ?" and of answering, as every body but Romeo would, " every
thing." It is time that the interrogatory be forbidden and abolished,
or the conversazione of life will become little more than a monotonous
cross-examination. One thing I have ever observed, that those who
are most ready to put the question, and to insinuate that a tiger would
be just as terrible if he were called a tortoise, a fool as contemptible if
he were pronounced a philosopher, or a houri as poetical if designated a
hippopotamus, are invariably the very first to be influenced by a name ;
and to regard things as black or white, not according to their respective
complexions, but according as they happen to have been christened by
those sage godfathers and godmothers, the lexicographers of old.

Now I do not pretend to be wiser than these people, except that I
feel and confess the influence, which they feel and deny. 1 acknow-
ledge the pomp and circumstance of a name, and admit its acquisition to
be the 'be-all and the end-all of the art and mystery of walking triumph-
antly through the world. The art itself, as commonly practised in
society, may be a black art — but it is not called so ; and I, therefore,
consider it to be of the purest and most spotless description. Whatever
the world calls proper,, I regard as perfection ; whatever it styles base,
I denounce as despicable. Well, says the reader, and so does every-
body. Yes, but everybody does not make confession of the faith that
is in him. On the contrary, everybody pretends to differ with the
world in each particular, while in his heart and his actions he agrees
with it to the last item of its creed ; and everybody affects to dissent
from everybody else, at the very instant that he acts upon their argu-
ments, and plunges into the path where, in the sight of all men, he had
just written up, " No thoroughfare."

I lay claim, then, to no other merit than that of acknowledging my
reverence for the rules of society, my devotion to its decrees, and the
servile submission so universally offered, though, as I have said, so sel-
dom owned, at its shrine. Whenever I see a " treatise" upon some-
thing, or an "inquiry" concerning nothing, announced by an F.R.S., an
M.R.I.A., or any other great alphabetarian in the world of knowledge,
I immediately set it down as a production of vast genius and erudition.
When I see an astronomer, like Sir James South, created a knight, I
instantly perceive that the " stars" of the various orders to which he
may aspire, must have quickened his calculations regarding the heavenly
bodies surprisingly ; and I place him at once on a footing with Newton
(Sir James sounding as well as Sir Isaac), and far, very far above Tyco
Braye (who was never called Sir Tyco Braye). When I look at a pic-
ture by the President of a Royal Academy, I pronounce it, of course,
to be the best picture in the exhibition ; and when I go to the theatre,
and see an inferior singer playing the best part in the opera, I consider
myself to be mistaken — and that, simply from sustaining the leading

1832.] The Shortest Road to Distinction. 2t>l

character, the bad singer must in fact be far superior to the rest, who
only seem to sing better. If I were to be introduced, as (such odd
things happen) I may be, to my Lord Barclay and my Lord Perkins, or
my Lord Day and my Lord Martin, I should instantly recognize nobi-
lity in the very aspects of those noble persons — I should see that they
were predestined to the peerage, and that there was something inex-
pressibly dignified in their tastes, dispositions, and demeanour. It is a
standing law with me, that a colonel must be much taller than a corpo-
ral, that an editor must be wiser than his contributors, that a king must
be more majestic than his lord in waiting, and, by consequence, that a
lord-mayor must be more stupid than the aldermen. When I observe a
man et getting on" in the world, I make up my mind instantly that he
deserves all he gets, or Heaven would not permit him to prosper ; and,
on the other hand, when I see his neighbour sinking step by step into
penury and perdition, I regard him as a dangerous person, destitute of
all principle, and, of course, I cannot think of offering assistance where
Providence disdains to interfere. If the waggon were worth lifting out
of the slough, Jupiter would lift it out — that is my view of the fable.

The all-sufficiency of " a name" is too susceptible of proof, and is too
constantly proved in all we say and do, to require me to refer to instances.
Examples might be multiplied to an extent, that would make the figures
of the national debt seem few. Look at one or two only. The word
Caesar (if my memory serves me) means elephant. Now if the " great
Julius," who bled for justice' sake, had been simply called an elephant,
instead of Caesar, would Cassius ever have had occasion to exclaim —
" And this man is now become a god !" No, the name would have
acted as an index to his fortunes ; the wise Romans would never have
worshipped him ; he would have been looked upon as the most ungrace-
ful but gigantic of animals, an unwieldy but illustrious brute, as tame
and tractable as Cassius or any of his keepers could have wished — a
sort of Chuny in a toga, and Brutus would have been his Mr. Cross
— as indeed he was, in the circumstance of presiding at his immolation.
Take another instance : in the Hindostanee, or some other unpronounce-
able tongue, that sweetest of essences, honey, is dishonoured, of all
words in the world, by the name of mud. Now, had Dr. Johnson
adopted the phrase of these barbarians, and introduced it in that sense
into our English vocabulary, who would ever after have polluted their
lips with the produce of the hive ! Who would have luxuriated in the
sweet treasures stored in the " laden thigh" of the bee ! Think of the
alteration that would be required in one of the sweetest of our native
nursery ballads, and of the associations called up by such a line as
this—

" The queen was in the parlour eating bread and mud/'

Words are things, says Lord Byron; and I defy the ghost of the
aforesaid Doctor himself to produce a more convincing proof of the truth
of the assertion.

But without these palpable proofs, we might be justified in taking
the importance of words, and the insignificance of things, for granted.
Titles, both in legislature and literature, are of infinitely more conse-
quence than the peers and books that bear them. The profession of the
law supplies us with abundance of examples of wigs without heads, and
we might possibly find here and there a mitre or two, nay even a few

The Shortest Road to Distinction. [MARCH,

coronets or so, in the same predicament. At all events, we have plenty
of physicians with nothing but their diplomas to quality them for prac-
tising, and as many great authors, whose only claim to rank as novel-
writers, consists in their producing three volumes at a time. All that is
wanted, then, is to shorten the road to renown, and to shew how dis-
tinction may be attained with the least possible quantity of trouble.

For instance, whenever a new ministry is formed desirous of con-
ciliating the people, and acquiring unbounded popularity, care should
be immediately taken to disseminate the idea, that they have accepted
office solely with a view of carrying all the great " popular questions,"
and that they are determined to retain their appointments as long as a
chance of accomplishing this patriotic object exists. Their aim will
thus be, not to accomplish the object — that must never be done, if it can
be helped — but to keep alive the " chance" of being enabled to do so.
In short, having announced their resolution to effect the most magni-
ficent reforms, and the most indispensable changes, they need not give
themselves any farther trouble, but take their own time and let the
nation talk on.

Again : — it is most unreasonable that any set of constituents should
expect their representatives to make actual motions for the removal of
any abuse, or the introduction of any desirable measure. A young
member, who has conceived the idea of becoming a patriot, should
simply, in his maiden speech, set forth his intention to move, " on a
future occasion," for a repeal of the corn-laws, to bring in bills for the
abolition of slavery abroad and sinecures at home, and to introduce an
effectual measure for preventing lords from putting their aristocratic
hands into the dirty pockets of labourers. Of course he will take good
care never to commit himself so far as to act upon any of his patriotic,
or rather parliamentary pledges j all he has to do is, to state his inten-
tions emphatically, and to leave them to work out his reputation. He
cannot fail of obtaining immediate popularity ; and, simply by promising
much and doing nothing at all, will, in fact, be just as good a patriot as
any privy-councillor in Christendom.

In morals, again : — It must not be supposed that, because an oppor-
tunity offers of making an oration in honour of temperance, and of
establishing a Society for the Suppression of Wine, that it is in the
slightest degree necessary to act upon the doctrines propounded. The
speaker may say, indeed, with glorious old Jack " I am a rogue if I've
drank to-day" — which will be simply saying nothing, for he may pos-
sibly be a rogue whether or not — but to deprive himself of those liquid
luxuries (or, if he happen to be a clergyman, those natural necessaries),
which he would deny to others, would, indeed, be a ridiculous excess.
He should shew his hearers the " the steep and thorny way" to morality,
and tread himself the " primrose-path of dalliance ;" meaning, of course,
the path that lies through the London-tavern. He need never descend
in practice into the dreary depths of abstinence — but follow Sheridan's
prescription, and say that he does.

The same instructions apply to literature. A writer, now-a-days, is
required to possess some little knowledge of the subject he writes upon
— -if he desires to be original, and to differ from the practice of the great
bulk of his contemporaries. Now to get this knowledge, would involve
a great deal of fatigue and inquiry ; all which may be avoided in this
way — by not writing the books at all, but by simply inventing titles, and

1832.] The Shortest Road to Distinction. 2G3

announcing a certain number of volumes as forthcoming. I do not
mean to say that this is a perfectly new plan, as several of our most
illustrious authors have occasionally adopted it, by promising from time
to time some profound essay, or brilliant biography, that never has, and
most probably never will see the light. But of its efficacy there cannot
be a doubt. Were I, the perpetrator of these humble paragraphs, an
" author," I should immediately announce as among the " works in
preparation," a translation of the " Chinese Mirror of Parliament" — an
account of some " Egyptian Hieroglyphics, as they appear on a brick
thrown up by the last eruption of Vesuvius" — or " Papers discovered
in a Lion's Den, supposed to be the Auto-biography of Daniel" — or
some other equally original and out-of-the-way order of production;
and I feel confident that my reputation would at once be fixed on a
basis, too solid to be shaken by any non-performance of such splendid
undertakings. Next month, and indeed every succeeding month for a
quarter of a century, should see a similar, or rather a still more startling
list of meditated productions, in every branch of literature, and every
walk of science ; and thus, long before the expiration of the period I
have stated, my fame should eclipse the united reputations of all the
Gogs of genius, and the Magogs of talent, that have hitherto injured
their characters by absurdly attempting to accomplish what they ought
simply to have announced. The wisdom of this plan must at once be
apparent ; every day's observation confirms it. Insinuate at first, and
then openly declare, that you are employed night and day upon some
prodigious, and hitherto unattempted, project in literature, and your
name will be at once associated with that of the most daring and un-
daunted genius — the world will give you full credit for ability to com-
plete what you have conceived — and fame and admiration will follow
your footsteps into every club and coterie in the kingdom. But once
admit the public behind the curtain, shew them that you are utterly
unqualified for the task you have undertaken, and be foolish enough to
publish books v/ith your titles, and your renown is at an end. Critics
will lose sight of the magnificence of your conception in the meanness
of your execution, and you will reduce yourself to the vulgar level of
literary humanity. Do not imagine that any living being will ever ask
whether you have really performed one single promise of the thousand
on which your reputation is built ; no, the world will be contented with
the titles, and will soon forget that they are voces et prceterce nihiL The
scarcity of your works will seem the consequence of an unprecedented
sale, and an unlimited popularity. This mystery will also serve you
with posterity, who will be struck with the incredible range which your
genius has taken, and will be naturally curious about obtaining your
works, when they find that there is not a copy to be had. You will be
the only Great Unknown of all future ages — the Sphynx of science, and
the Gordian-knot of genius.

Reader, if you wish for literary renown, let your productions be
always announced under the head of " works in preparation," and never
under " works published." Project volumes, but do not risk your
reputation by attempting to write them ; you must (if you read modern
works) perceive how materially it tends to shew an author's insufficiency.
Never trouble yourself with endeavours to bring about the Millenium
— content yourself with predicting it, and with constantly crying out
that " it comes."

B.

[ 2ti4 ] [MARCH,

BREVITIES.

IN every country there is a sort of trade- wind morality and religion,
and there are few who have sufficient energy to stretch beyond its in-
fluence. Mirabeau said that every man makes his own conscience ;
and this, perhaps, is true of the few who are able and willing to think
for themselves ; but it may be safely asserted, that the great majority
have their consciences made for them, and believe or disbelieve, rejoice
or tremble, according to the parallel of latitude in which they happen
to reside : so that a man may be pining with remorse in London for a
matter which, had he been born in Constantinople, he would have con-
sidered indifferent, or, perhaps, even praiseworthy. This would not be
the case had the most eminent men of all countries explicitly stated
their religious belief; but from fear of various kinds, they have mostly
hidden their lights in dark lanthorns, and only thrown a flash now and
then, which has merely bewildered, rather than guided, the great mass
who have looked to them for direction.

It is a favourite paradox of some, that the greatest dandies make the
brayest soldiers ; as many take pleasure in repeating, that great men
have usually had small persons. These opinions spring from that love
of finding or making a wonder, which is one of the most tenacious
principles in human nature, and is the cause of half the error that
exists in the world. The fact seems to be, that brave men have been
in general neither dandies nor slovens, but simply neat and cleanly,
though, of course, there are exceptions of both kinds. Great men, also,
have been in general neither little nor big, though there have been
many of both classes. Size has nothing to do with the matter ; and the
middle class has produced the greatest number of geniuses, simply
because it is the most numerous ; just as those who purchase ten tickets
in a lottery have a greater chance of winning than those who possess only
one. * ,

The poor laws may be considered as a national benefit club, differing
from other clubs of a like description in this only, that all, in propor-
tion to their means, are compelled to subscribe to it, instead of being
left to their own discretion. To this fund the poor pay indirectly, as
well as the rich, since the general subscription to it forms part of the
price of the humblest lodging, and of every thing that every individual
eats and wears. It is clearly, then, no disgrace, but simply the exer-
cise of a purchased right, to declare on the common fund when really
pressed by want or sickness ; and if minute inquiry were made, it
would be perfectly astonishing to find what numbers once, not merely
well off, but affluent — and others of the best families in the country —
have been compelled to have recourse to it. The poor laws are usually
spoken of as established only for the benefit of the existing poor, as
though there were a low, distinct class or caste so distinguished, inca-
pable of rising itself, or of receiving falling members from the higher
ranks into its body. But the wheel of fortune is perpetually mocking
this definition. The poor laws are really instituted for the benefit of
those who may be poor, as well as for those who are so ; and there are
few indeed, compared with the great bulk of the community, who can
be considered entirely beyond the reach of the great drag-net of cala-
mity.

Jb.

1832.] t 265 ]

THE PORTRAIT : A SKETCH.

YES ; at last I was fairly in love ! and with what ? A portrait ! —
but such a one !

The Exhibition had only just opened ; I had gone to see it on the
third day, and scarcely had I advanced a dozen paces into the grand
room, when I felt myself riveted to the spot. " What's the matter ?"
inquired Armstrong. I heard him, but felt as if the faculty of speech
were suspended. He repeated the question, but to no purpose. " Are
you dreaming ?" at length he exclaimed — " What is the matter with
you ?"

<e Do you know the original of that portrait ?" inquired I.

" No."

" Look at the number in the book. Well, what says it ?"

" Portrait of a young lady, by E. F."

« And who is E. F. ?"

te I know not."

" A plague upon all initials," exclaimed I ; " I would give the world
to know the name of the artist."

<e I'll try and find him out for you, my boy/' rejoined the kindest-
hearted fellow in Dublin.

" O, there are tones and looks that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart ;
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought ;
As if the very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before us then \"

repeated I to myself, as I stood gazing upon the voiceless, sightless
picture !

'Twas a full-length — a front view, in the attitude of advancing — a
maid of auburn tresses ; the complexion fair ; the eyes, a deep blue ; the
lips — carnations — slightly apart, as though the sweet breath were issuing
through them ; the bosom delicately full- veiled by a kerchief of gauze,
all but one spot of dazzling whiteness ; the waist, tapering to the critical
point, beyond which firmness and grace take leave of tenuity, and from
the zone of which the lines of the lower part of the figure flowed out-
wards and downwards in a curve of noble richness ; an ankle and an
instep, like the rest— symmetry ! The arms — which were bare from
something more than half way above the elbows — were beautiful ; her
right hand was covered with a glove, and held another, leaving her left
one the voucher of a virgin palm ! No ring was on the finger.

" 'Tis time to go," said Armstrong, slapping me on the shoulder;
" the Exhibition closes at four."

Three hours had I been poring upon it ! " Four !" exclaimed I.

" It wants but ten minutes of it."

" And have you found out the artist?"

" No."

*******

Not a day did I miss the Exhibition. As soon as I entered the room
I took my seat before the portrait, and there I remained till every one
else was gone. No doubt I was the object of frequent remark. I often

M.M. New Series VOL. XIII. No. 75. T

The Portrait: a Sketch. [MARCH,

heard a whispering near me. Sometimes I caught a glimpse of a smile,
suddenly suppressed. On one occasion I seemed to give no small um-
brage to a gentleman who stood in front of me. A lady was leaning
on his arm. I had heard a sigh so deep, that, in spite of my absorption,
it attracted my notice. I withdrew my eyes from the portrait, and they
fell upon the lady, who was in the act of turning away ; but I encoun-
tered the gaze of her companion, whose countenance betrayed an expres-
sion of mingled impatience and resentment, so strong, that my own
began to lour, and I was on the point of starting from my chair, when
he looked another way, and conducted his companion to the opposite
side of the room. . She wore a cloak, and was veiled. I was surprised
at the incident. I never after entered the Exhibition without looking
about for the gentleman and his fair friend, but I never met them there

again.

*******

" Hang the Exhibition !" exclaimed Armstrong ; te you shall take a
lounge with me this morning." I was on the point of walking in, when
he thrust his arm through mine, and took me by main force along with
him.

" That woman has a figure !" cried he. I listened, but noted not the
object of remark. My eyes were in the Exhibition.

(C Her waist," continued he, " is as natural as her neck — which she
carries so well. She doesn't squeeze it. There is too much pliancy
there for much constraint." We were walking in Sackville Street;
which, from noon till dinner-time, may be called the Mall of Dublin.
" The fall of her shoulders," added he, " is the most graceful thing
imaginable ! Do you mark it ?"

" Yes," replied I, poring upon the figure in the Exhibition-room.

" So much for her back/' resumed Armstrong. " We have not seen
her face yet ; but the pleasure is at hand. She'll be sure to turn at the
end of the street. Depend upon it she and her fair friend have not put
on their bonnets and shawls for nothing but a walk to the Rotunda and
back again. Slacken your pace," continued he. " Now for it ! Has a
well-turned ankle never played you a trick ? For once that I have
been obliged to one for a handsome face, I may reckon fifty introduc-
tions to a homely one. Now for it, my lad ! Right about, wheel. By
Jupiter, she is an angel !"

I mechanically raised my eyes. There was the portrait, in living flesh
and blood before me ! Our eyes met — I stopped short — she hesitated
too — coloured — and the next moment she and her companion passed on.
We followed.

How my heart beat ! Its agitation became almost insupportable as
we drew near the other end of the street, where I hoped they would
turn again. They were within three or four yards of it — they slackened
their pace. Kind fortune ! — " Are you ready ?" exclaimed a voice. —
They stopped — a gentleman had accosted them out of a barouche, that
had drawn up to the side of the flags. 'Twas the identical individual,
the peculiarity of whose deportment had struck me in the Exhibition-
room. He sprung out of the carriage, handed the fair partners in, and
stepping in after them, they drove off.

" Whither are you going .like a madman?" exclaimed Armstrong.

" To follow them !" replied I, scarce conscious of what to do.

" Follow your dinner !" rejoined he ; " or rather wait upon it. You

1832.] The Portrait : a Sketch. 267

are engaged at six o'clock, and have to go home, dress, and be at Kings-
town in that ample space of time." It was five. " Come," continued
he; " is it tumbling into love you are about ? And do you think there
is but one beautiful woman in Dublin ?"

" But one in the world I" exclaimed I.

" Then, by my conscience/' rejoined he, " there is no such place in
the world as Dublin !"

I went home, dressed, and drove in a car to Kingstown. A joyous
party — but nothing could get me out of Sackville Street. I was ab-
stracted, restless, impatient of the restraint of company ; anxious to be
gone, without knowing whither to go. The evening had scarcely com-
menced when I stole away. I hastened home, and flung myself into
bed ; and, in bed, I was still in Sackville Street.

Sackville Street — Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday — every day in the
following week ; but not a glimpse of the living portrait. " Hang you !"
exclaimed Armstrong, planting himself right before me, about half an hour
after I had commenced another week's promenade. " I never saw such
a fool, when you take a fancy into your head ! I want a pair of gloves
— step with me to Grafton Street." And to Grafton Street the incorri-
gible Armstrong literally dragged me. " This is the shop/7 cried he,
entering one upon the right hand ; " and, by the powers ! there stands
your Venus herself, fitting her fair hand ! Up to her, my Mars !" whis-
pered he. There stood, indeed, the incomparable original of the por-
trait—her female companion along with her. She had been choosing
some gloves from several parcels, which lay open upon the counter.
She had just taken up a pair — one of which she was about to try on.
It fitted her. " This will do," remarked she to the mistress of the shop.
" I shall take half a dozen pair, and send three dozen of different sizes
after me." The gloves were white. Just then our eyes encountered.
Her face in a moment became crimson, and then all at once turned to a
deadly pale ; she seemed gasping, as it were, for breath. I saw she was
ill, and sprang forward, and caught her as, I thought, she was about to
drop. She looked in my face as her colour slowly returned ; gently,
and without any expression of displeasure, disengaged herself, and
snatching the arm of her friend — " Come/' said she, heaving a sigh,
which reminded me of the one which I had heard in the Exhibition-
room.

My heart was in a tumult. The look of her male companion — the
sigh — the blush — the blush again — the strangeness of its sudden vanish-
ing— and then the sigh again ! What was I to conclude ? They had
scarcely got into the street when I followed them.

They proceeded up Grafton Street into Stephen's Green. I kept
about half a dozen yards behind them. They took the right hand side
of the square, and in crossing the end of Cuffe Street, passed one of
those semi-gentlemen, whose only occupation is idleness, and who
instantly followed them, keeping between them and me. He drew
nearer — I saw what he was about — and scarcely had he touched the
arm of the fair creature when I collared him. I had caught a Tartar !
He was accomplished in an art, in which I had never felt any ambition
to excel. I let him go, thinking I had a gentleman to deal with, and
scarcely was he at liberty, when I was stretched, in a state of insensi-
bility, upon the street.

When I came to myself, the first thing of which I was sensible was

T 2

268 The Portrait : a Sketch. [MARCH,

the pressure of a hand upon my temples. I looked up. It was her's—
she was chafing them. The sight of her recalled at once the full pos-
session of my faculties. I looked around, and saw we were alone. I
sprung from a couch upon which I had been stretched, and throwing
myself at the fair creature's feet, poured forth the passion of my soul in
a strain of vehement eloquence, of which before that moment I had
never been the master. She listened to me without lifting her eyes,
till I was silent. Then slowly raising them, she fixed them upon me
with an expression that pierced me to the soul, and gave me indescrib-
able anguish. " The designs of Providence are inscrutable," said she,
with another deep-drawn sigh. " I know not to what it has destined
me ! Forget me, Sir ! — Forget me ! Would to Heaven — !

" I can wait no longer !" said her friend, looking into the parlour.

She started upon her feet— for she had been sitting — and hastily
moved a step or two towards the door. I as hastily followed her,
catching her by the hand to detain her — " Would to Heaven what?"
I exclaimed.

" That I had never seen you/' was her reply ; and by a sudden effort
she withdrew the hand which I was holding.

" Follow me not !" added she. " Attempt not to detain me !" Her
hand was upon the lock of the door. She paused — looked at me till
her eyes seemed to strain again — raised her right hand to her lips. I
waited not to allow her to complete the action which I anticipated — I
sprang towards her — she vanished, closing the door after her ; in the
act of re-opening which, I heard the hall-door shut ; I followed, and
tried to open it. In my trepidation I could not find the way. It was
presently opened from without, and the servant entered, followed by a
person whom I concluded to be her master, and who opposed my egress.
An explanation ensued. It was a medical gentleman, whom the servant
had gone to fetch. She had been alone in the house, immediately oppo-
site which I had been knocked down — had witnessed the transaction —
and readily suffered me to be brought in, attended by the lovely being
in whose cause I had suffered. I hastily recompensed each, and sallied
forth, but all trace of the dear unknown one was lost. It totally escaped
my recollection at the time, that, by applying at the glove-shop, I could
have got a clue to her.

I rose the next morning in a state of bodily, as well as mental fever,
and wandered through the streets as chance directed me. In turning a
corner, I came right against somebody.

" Hallo !" cried Armstrong. " Are you walking in your sleep ?
Rouse you, my merry man ! Heavens !" he exclaimed, when I looked
at him, " what the mischief is the matter with you ?" I unburthened
my heart to him as we walked together. As we were passing St.
Thomas's, a friend of his issued from the church, and apparently in a
state of considerable excitation. " What's the matter with you ?'' ex-
claimed Armstrong.

" A murder is doing in that church !"

" A murder !"

" Yes ; they are sacrificing a young heart to Plutus. I know the
parties. The story is told in three words. It is the daughter of an
English gentleman of reduced circumstances. She has taken the fancy
of a young man of fortune, who has just returned from his travels.
Her heart was disengaged, and her parents prevailed upon her to accept

1832.] The Portrait : a Sketch. 269

him. She rues the consent which has been wrung from her. They
have brought her to the church. For this half hour have they been try-
ing to prevail upon her to allow the ceremony to proceed. I never saw
such a scene ! How they can stand it, I know not ; but, for my part,
it was too much for me, and I was obliged to come away."

The truth flashed across me. I broke from Armstrong, and rushed
into the church. It was she ! I met them bearing her fainting from
the altar, supported by the man whose scowl I had encountered in the
Exhibition-room. The knot had been tied ! As they passed by me, I
stood like an idiot — I spoke not — moved not — they went out of the
church — all power of reflection or action seemed to have deserted me.
I mechanically submitted to the guidance of Armstrong, who, with his
friend, conducted me home.

" Come," said I, suddenly starting up, after I had sat, as Armstrong
has assured me, for upwards of two hours without speaking—" Come,
I shall embark to-night for England \"

He did not attempt to dissuade me. " I shall accompany you, my
lad," said he.

We had but few arrangements to make; nevertheless, when we
arrived at Kingstown, we were too late for the packet; she had sailed
half an hour before.

" What shall we do ?" asked Armstrong.

<{ Take up our quarters here till to-morrow evening," replied I. "I
shall not set foot in Dublin again."

" Content !" rejoined Armstrong.

It came on a dreadful night — wind, rain, and thunder. 'Twas a relief
to the chaos of my heart — the tempest was in unison with it. I watched
an opportunity, and stealing out, went down to the beach. The night
was terrifically grand. As far as the eye could reach, there was nothing
but one undulating, heaving sheet of foam. You could scarcely hear the
thunder for the breakers. I discerned a party at a distance busy about
something. I approached them. A vessel was in the offing on the bar,
and they were about to launch the life-boat ; they had almost accom-
plished their purpose, when one of the crew was struck down and stun-
ned— they could not tell with what. Obeying an impulse, for which I
could not account, but which probably owed its origin to an utter reck-
lessness of life, I made a rush, and sprung into the boat — " I can pull
an oar, my lads \" I exclaimed — " Lay to, and tug away !"

We slowly approached the ship. As we neared her, we saw that the
crew had taken to the boat, which was pulling from her. We hailed it.
Our cry was answered. It disappeared ; we hailed it again — again.
No reply. It had gone down ! We looked at one another and shud-
dered, but spoke not. We were now alongside of the wreck. Upon the
poop, the only part above the water, stood two individuals, who watched
us, without speaking. We rowed to leeward of the vessel, took them
off, and after ascertaining that there was not another soul on board,
made back, and reached the shore.

It was a man and a woman whom we had rescued. We conveyed
them to the inn — the female was consigned to the charge of the land-
lady. Armstrong and I undertook the task of attending to her com-
panion, whom we soon equipped with dry apparel from our own trunks,
and easily prevailed upon to take a seat at our board, which was spread
for supper.

270 The Portrait : a Sketch. [MARCH,

He spoke little at first, except to thank us — especially me, who had
been instrumental in preserving him. He was a Portuguese, but spoke
English with considerable fluency.

" Many a time, Sir," said he, " have I cursed your country, but now
I bless it."

" Cursed it !" echoed Armstrong.

" Yes, Sir ; I'll not deny it — nor need I. That girl whom you have
saved from a watery grave is my sister ; death perhaps would have been
a blessing to her — and to me. Yet is it an appalling thing when it
comes."

We wished for an explanation of this, but from delicacy were silent.
It came, however, of its own accord. A foreigner had fallen in love
with her — married her — and deserted her a few months after their nup-
tials. Her brother and she were in pursuit of him, and after tracing
through Spain, France, Italy, and Germany, had at length got a clue to
him to this country. The story was an exceedingly affecting one, and
proved the darkest obliquity of principle upon the part of the offender.

Scarcely was it finished, when the landlady abruptly entered the
room —

" Gentlemen," said she, " what is to be done ?"

" My sister !" exclaimed the young man, starting up in an agony of
apprehension.

" Your sister is safe and well, Sir, and sound asleep, for what I
know, but there is another in the house who, if I mistake not, would
give all she is mistress of to be the occupant of her bed."

At this moment we heard a shriek. It came from the room below.
Armstrong and I rushed down stairs, followed by the stranger and the
landlady. The cry was repeated.

" He will use force !" exclaimed the landlady. I heard no more. I

was foremost — I burst open the door of the apartment. What were

my emotions at beholding the mistress of my heart — the fainting bride
of the morning — on her knees before the man who had espoused her. He
was holding her. At sight of me she sprung upon her feet, and rushed
into my arms.

" I will not be his wife !" she exclaimed. <f I have been forced to
the altar, — I knew not what I did. — It was mockery. — I will not be his
wife.— They deceived me into accompanying him. — Deserted me, and
left me in his power. — I will not be his wife !"

He stood pale and trembling with rage. We all remained motion-
less, looking now at him, and now at one another. He cast his eyes
about the room, as if in search of something ; they rested upon a trunk
which lay upon one of the chairs — he approached it — opened it — took
out a pair of pistols — cocked them, and approached me. At this moment
the Portuguese rushed past me, and caught him by the throat.

<f Villain !" exclaimed the Portuguese. The pistols fell on the ground.
They knew each other. Imagine the conclusion of the scene. Imagine
the scene that followed it in a month after, when I saw the Portrait in
my own room — and the Original at my side — my willing wife !

J. S. K.

.•ttff on
•./fogs '

;.»

'

-mooi «w«

THE AUTHOR OF

THE POLITICAL REGISTER."

1832.] [ 273 ]

A LYRICAL LETTER, FROM WILLIAM COBBETT, ESQ.

[Extracted from Cobbett's POETICAL REGISTER, of the Thirty-first of February.]

FRIENDS AND DISCIPLES,

Readers of the page —
The only one, observe, that paints this age
In honest black and white ! — you here may see
(Woe to the Whig that would of praises rob it)
A good old English portrait, meant for me,
Your friend and fellow-labourer, WM. COBBETT.
Yes, good old English ; not the gew-gaw things
Sent forth as likenesses of lords and kings,
Scrawled upon plates of copper — which, my friends,
We'd rather have in pence, those metal charmers,
Or scratched on steel — which might serve other ends,
If turned to knives and forks for famished farmers.
Why not use proper metals? Why not lead?
'Twou'd suit the Aberdeens, and all that class ;
Then Londonderry might behold his head
Engraved on triple-cased, congenial brass.
And yet, had this same rule held always good,
I think you'd ne'er have seen my head on wood !
No ; all the wood, now wasted upon brigs,
Would then be wanted for those heartless, cold,
Disgraced, undone, and despicable Whigs —
While COBBETT'S honest front should gleam on GOLD !

But I despise such things, so let them shine

In stipple, line, or mezzotint for me ;

And let them now just scan this face of mine,

Carved on a bit of genuine British tree !

Here let them come, and tremble too, to see

An eye that shoots dismay through all their line,

And lips whose scorn still" stings the stupid set ;

White hairs, that never knew a touch of shame,

Because they never lined a coronet,

Or skulked beneath a wig — I hate the name !

Yes, let them see the man who still his pen holds

Firm, as at first — and then declare to you

If any artist of the courtly crew —

Sir Joshua Lawrence, or Sir Thomas Reynolds,

Or Claude, or Cruikshank — whether sot or saint —

Ever had such a head as mine to paint !

I'm not conceited — no, I hate conceit —

But don't you think, as Englishmen must do,

That this bold face of mine bids fair to beat

The best that Thomas Landseer ever drew ?

I know he hit the Monkeys off in style,

And Satan sat to him the other day ;

But these are far behind me, many a mile,

In all that brings the passions into play.

As for the Monkeys, they might pass for peers —

Or other animals, with longer ears.

And then that Satan — him I always hated,

Since first I read a poem which they call —

But I forget the name — one highly rated,

By Milton, stuffed with balderdash and brawl.

274 A Lyrical Letter, from William Cobbett, Esq. [MABCH,

There's a young bard who writes of Satan better,
His name's Montgomery ; as for Milton, pooh !
There is more rhyme in tkis my single letter,
Tlum all his blank-verse book ! — I've read it through.

But let me to this portrait travel back.
The style, it seems, enchants all Art's connections ;
Thousands of noblemen are on the rack
To get the thing into their own collections.
The Staffords, Bedfords, Westminsters by dozens,
All want the gem — for what ? to grace thrir walls ;
They offer to take down their prigs of cousins,
And hang my picture in their hated halls.
They'll give up Pitts, and Peels, and silly lords —
Fellows that ought to have been hung elsewhere ;
Eldons in wigs, and Wellingtons with swords —
And all to get one honest portrait there.
But now mark this, my friends ; I will not curse ;
Yet if I should consent, then call me Tory —
A Scotchman — or a Lord — , or, what is worse,
Choose me for Westminster, with great Sir Glory !

Again, the governors of old St. Luke's
Think that it would in their asylum shine ;
But I've referred these folks to several Dukes,
With heads (if heads they are) more fit than mine.
No — let the contest thus be set at rest :
When Manchester shall make her name immortal,
By sending through the House of Commons' portal,
The man who, singly, got her wrongs redressed—
'Tis my intention then and there to move,
That, at the public cost, a hall be reared
Worthy to hold a relic so revered,
For public exhibition — and I'll prove
That in six months, in shillings from the poor,
The famished poor, the show alone will nett
A marvellous sum, a fund that shall ensure
The nation's freedom from that THING, the Debt !
This I shall prove — I hate your mere assertions,
And into fiction's realms make no excursions.
Now shew me which, of all your Whigs and wits —
The Greys, Broughams, Russells, of that wretched race,
With all their phrenzy, flummery and fits —
Can save his country, when he shews his face !

This measure passed, with other glorious motions —

Taxation over, and the Whigs turned out,

The labourers rich, arid landlords in a rout,

I mean to cross that paragon of oceans,

The bold Atlantic ; I accepting there

An invitation, made a thousand times,

To fill the President's perpetual chair,

And reign the new Columbus of those climes.

Yet will I not desert my people — pshaw !

I mean my readers, and the labourers, here ;

Let good America my service draw,

And Europe have me likewise — each a year.

Thus, my Disciples, I shall ever be

Your faithful benefactor,

WM. C

1832.] [ 275 ]

THE PETTICOAT PARLIAMENT.

WE are resolved to have our political dreams as well as our neigh-
bours in these visionary times. Every body has his favourite specula-
tion on the future fortunes of the constitution ; some there be who see
in their mind's eye Cobbett at the helm of affairs, and the chapel of St.
Stephen's filled with a rabble of democratic tailors and republican
haberdashers : these are persons who take the most melancholic view of
the consequences of reform. There be others again of more sanguine
fancies, who figure to themselves Justice carrying the Seals, Economy
Chancellor of the Exchequer, Wisdom at the head of the Treasury, and
Religion in the see of Canterbury : these are the poets of politics ; and
sometimes their fren-zy is so fine, that they imagine parliaments, consist-
ing exclusively of honest men — chimeras that will be realized, what time
the house of Brunswick shall be supplanted by the old line of Oberon,
and the gryphons and winged horses of the Herald's College exhibited
alive in the Zoological Gardens. Others — but it is vain to think of
enumerating all the dreams and fantasies that flit through the public
mind —

" As thick as idle motes in sunny ray ;"

besides our fair readers are impatient; the title tells them that their
bright forms have been hovering before our fancy, and they burn to
know by what freak of imagination we came to associate such apparently
remote ideas as parliaments and petticoats.

As we dropped asleep the other evening, while in the act of perusing
a speech of the Right Hon. Henry Goulburn upon finance, we dropped
at the same time into the strangers' gallery of the House of Commons,
where, instead of the bearded and booted senators of the present regime,
we saw (to our no small surprise, for we knew the old standing order
against the admission of females) a remarkably full house, composed
entirely of ladies. They seemed to be of all ages, from three-score and
ten to one and twenty ; and a blind man might have fancied himself in
the French Chamber of Deputies or the Caledonian Chapel, for all the
members were speaking together, and the most loquacious of all seemed
to be the speaker herself. This struck us as so bold an innovation, that
we expressed our astonishment to a smart young girl behind us (who
was reporting for a morning paper called the Moon), and were informed
that it had been found impossible to prevail upon any lady to accept the
office, even with an increased salary, upon the ancient " lucus-a-non-
lucendo" condition of seldom or never opening her lips. It was a long
time before any tolerable order was restored, so that there was leisure
to get some additional information from the reporter to the Moon res-
pecting the great revolution which had evidently taken place. After
expressing herself somewhat surprised at our ignorance, she told us that
very soon after the accession of the Princess Vittoria, an article appeared
in " La Belle Assemblee," in which the incongruity of a monarch in
petticoats, and a legislator in breeches, was so ably exposed, that public
meetings of the women of England began to be held every-where upon
the subject. At first they contented themselves with petitioning parlia-
ment, and only claimed an equal right with the other sex to seats in
both houses ; but finding their petitions generally neglected, and often
treated with the very reverse of gallantry, they began to form Political
Unions ; and, animated by the success of the O'Connells and Attwoods,

276 The Petticoat Parliament. [MARCH,

set on foot an organized plan of agitation, extending from the Orkneys
to Land's End. No argument or topic was omitted that could influence
or inflame the public mind ; it was urged that as long as parliaments
were of the masculine gender, they could never be expected to look
upon the people with a maternal eye ; it was confidently argued that
as the petticoat government was the best for a family, so it must also be
the best for a nation ; and the country was assured that until the House
of Commons was exclusively a female assembly, it had no chance what-
ever of a, fair representation. Our informant, however, had the candour
to admit, that it was not by the force of these arguments, or indeed of
any arguments at all, that the revolution was eventually accomplished ;
but by continually teasing and worrying the legislature, until (in a way
precisely analogous to that by which in domestic affairs husbands are
wont to be overpowered by wives) they were glad to compound for
peace and a quiet life at the expense of a total surrender of their politi-
cal power. — Here the conversation broke off; the house became a little
more orderly ; the reporters began to mend their pens ; and I was left
to observe the proceedings in silence, not, however, without a hint from
the ladies about me that the presence of a gentleman there was a breach
of privilege, and that my proper place was the lantern. This, indeed,
said I to myself, is turning the tables with a vengeance !

The first thing I heard was, a new writ ordered for the borough of
Tavistock in the room of Lady Bellona Battlebridge, who had accepted
the office of Paymistress to the Forces. Lady Morgan took the oaths
and her seat as member for the University of Dublin j her ladyship rose
immediately on being sworn, and said that she felt it her duty to give
the house the earliest opportunity of witnessing her parliamentary
talents ; hitherto she was known to the ladies of England only as the
most distinguished literary character of the day ; but she trusted before
she sat down to convince them that her tongue was equal to her pen ;
" c'est a dire," continued her ladyship, " that she was as well calculated
to shine in the chapel of St. Etienne as in her own house in Kildare-
street, Dublin ; she did not, in mentioning Kildare-street, mean to go
into the subject of the institution with which that name was so inti-
mately connected, or, if she might be allowed the expression, associated
by a sort of vernacular liaison — to borrow the language of an Italian
poet/' Here there was a shrill and general cry of order from all parts
of the house, which was followed by " chair, chair, chair :" the speaker
accordingly rose, and in a speech of nearly a quarter of an hour long
informed the learned lady, the member for the University of Dublin,
that there was no question before the house, begging her at the same
time to remember in future that English was the language of that
assembly, and that to speak in any foreign or unknown tongue, Italian
or Irish, was worthy only of the followers of Mr. Irving, with whom
she was sure the honourable and learned lady had no connection. Lady
Morgan assured the house the speaker did her no more than justice in
her last remark; although an unrivalled linguist, she had nothing to do
with the Caledonian matins ; she was too much of a philosopher and a Pa-
risian to trouble her head about Scotch apostles, or any apostles whatever.

Mrs. Harriet Homily and Miss Angelica Pentateuch rose at the
same instant ; the latter, however, caught the speaker's eye : she said
that she could pardon the infidelity of the honourable and learned
lady who had sat down, but her attack upon " the tongues" was not to

1832.] The Petticoat Parliament. 277

be tolerated in a Christian country ; she had held forth herself that very
morning, at six o'clock, in a most miraculous manner, and she trusted
the day was not far oft' when the religion of the Caledonian chapel would
be the religion of the state; it was remarkably suited to the genius of a
female constitution. — (Loud cheering from all parts of the house.)

A member now rose, and said she had a petition to present which
she was sure would receive the attention it deserved ; it was signed by
several hundred individuals of the weaker sex, who, previous to the late
happy revolution, had enjoyed seats in that house ; they stated that in
the whole course of their public lives they had never done any thing to
disqualify them to be members of a petticoat parliament ; they had never
voted for any measure of manly policy ; they had never delivered a
manly speech, or uttered, to the best of their memory, a single manly
sentiment ; upon these grounds they prayed the house to restore them
their former privileges ; and, as proof that such a concession might be
made with perfect safety, they begged to refer to what had taken place
in the other branch of the legislature, where many noble lords had been
permitted to resume their seats, without the slightest injury to the femi-
nine tone of the debates ; in fact the peers were not to be distinguished
from the peeresses except by their breeches and top-boots.

A young lady in a scarlet riding-dress (who, my fair friend the
reporter informed me, was Miss Diana Vernon, the member for Hunt-
ingdonshire) begged to corroborate what had fallen from the last speaker.
She had lately met with an extract from a speech delivered in another
place, which she attributed to her noble relative the venerable Countess
of Cackletown ; but she afterwards found that it had been made by her
gallant friend the Marquis of Londonderry.

A member here desired to have the names of the petitioners read ;
amongst others, my ears caught those of Inglis, Wetherell, Herries,
Goulburn, Bankes, Gordon, Croker, Vyvyan, Sadler, Praed, and almost
all the representatives of the boroughs in the notorious schedules
A and B.

As soon as the list was gone through, an aristocratic-looking old
dowager rose and said, that there was certainly nothing in the spirit of
the constitution against the admission into that House of many gentle-
men whose names had been read ; the political opinions of most of them
had ever been in unison with their own ; she yielded to no one in
admiration of Mr. Croker's statistics, or Mr. Goulburn's financial policy ;
she discovered in all their speeches and measures a sound stateswoman-
like wisdom, of which she herself would not be ashamed ; but still she
must say, that she "was not prepared to take so bold a step as some
honourable ladies recommended ; she disliked speculative improve-
ments ; no one was a firmer friend of reform than she was, but she
would never, she hoped and trusted, consent to innovation ; the ques-
tion with her was, and she thought it ought to be the question with the
House, whether to grant the prayer of the petitioners was reconcileable
with the wisdom of their grandmothers. In her conscience she believed
it was not, and she would therefore oppose it to the last moment of her
life, and with the last drop of her blood. — {Hear, hear, hear, hear I)

Lady Auricula Bulbus observed, that she would not enter into the
merits of the question, but would content herself with remarking, that
the present was certainly not the time for discussing it ; it was not, when
the commercial affairs of the country were in such confusion — when the

278 The Petticoat Parliament. [MARCH,

tulip-trade with Holland, and the mignionette-trade with France, were
in such a state of depression ; it was not at such a time honourable
ladies should come down with revolutionary propositions, affecting the
first principles of the constitution. — (Cries of hear, hear! no, no ! order,
order, from all parts of the House.}

Here the conversation grew so hot and shrill, and so many voices
took part in it, that I was quite stunned ; and the reporters laid down
their pens, through inability to catch the purport of what was uttered.
Such expressions, however, as (t unparliamentary," " unladylike/' " if
the hon. lady meant," " does the noble lady insinuate ?" were audible at
intervals ; and there was one voice which extremely resembled that of
Sir Henry Hardinge. When the storm had subsided, a petition, similar
to the last, was presented from the dandies, exquisites, and fine gentle-
men of the West End ; they stated that they yielded to no lady in
England in the effeminacy either of their minds or persons ; their studies
had been exclusively confined to novels and romances ; many boarding-
school misses had received a more manly education ; their moustachios
were generally false ; and they appealed to their shawl-waistcoats and
boas to shew how well feminine habits sat upon them.

A bill to <f repeal the laws against Scandal and Defamation" was read
a third time, and passed, amidst loud acclamations.

A bill to " disfranchise the Isle of Man, and transfer the franchise to
Billingsgate," was read a second time, and committed. Some 'discussion
took place, but not at considerable length, the general feeling of the
House being in favour of the measure. One lady, however, objected
to it on the ground that Billingsgate was already virtually represented.
Lady Chattel-ton Chatterton " hoped the honourable member did not
allude to her."

The honourable member disclaimed any personal allusion.

The " Man-Trap legalization bill" was read the first time. An honour-
able member hoped that this bill would be suffered to go through all
the stages as rapidly as possible ; it was a bill of such unspeakable
importance, that she did not hesitate to call it a second Bill of Rights.
— (hear, hear /) It was the Bill of Rights of the new female constitu-
tion.— (Hear, hear, hear !) It was worthy of a Petticoat Parliament. —
(Hear, hear, hear, hear /) The ascendancy of the sex was incomplete
without it, and she therefore conjured the House to pass it without
delay. She never would sleep on her pillow until it was the law of the
land. — (Immense cheering /)

A remarkably plain-looking member (whose name 1 could not learn)
said, that she rose to call the attention of the House to a breach of privi-
lege connected with the measure which had been so justly eulogized by
the honourable lady who had just sat down. She adverted to an article
which had appeared that morning in the ( ' Times" newspaper, in which this
very measure was designated " a tyrannical and wanton piece of legisla-
tion, contrived by a certain class of members, who, having outlived
their personal attractions, or having never had any, wished to secure,
by acts of parliament, those conquests they were unable to gain by
the legitimate means of youth and beauty. The article went on in the
same audacious strain, and concluded by advising the people to call this
parliament in future " the Man-trap Parliament." Now a grosser attack
upon the privileges and dignity of this House it had never fallen to her
lot to notice ; she respected the freedom of the press — at had been truly

1832.] The Petticoat Parliament. 279

called the palladium of British liberty — but it was not to be endured
that reflections should be made upon the faces and figures of members
of that house : this was license, not liberty ; she therefore moved that the
printer and publisher of the " Times" newspaper should be ordered to ap-
pear at the bar. The motion was carried without a division ; not, however,
without experiencing some smart opposition from the young and hand-
some members, who felt that they possessed better means of entrapping
men's hearts than the meshes of an act of parliament, and were little
inclined to visit with severity an infringement of their privileges, accom-
panied with a compliment to their persons.

Lady Barbara Boxwell gave notice, that when the " Inexpressibles
Prohibition Bill" was before the Committee, she would move the inser-
tion of a clause, reserving the privilege of that article of apparel to the
members of both Houses of Parliament. The member for Hunting-
donshire said, she should feel great pleasure in seconding that motion ;
her riding-dress was very inconvenient for field sports : it prevented
her from shewing her agility ; she did not see why a woman's leg
should not look as well in buckskin as a gentleman's."

Lady Morgan said, she could see no use in any dress whatsoever ;
nudity was the garb of nature. — (Oh ! oh /) She hoped the day was
not far off — (Question, question /) — when every lady in the land would
be as superior to prejudice as she was herself, and when womanhood,
like truth — (Oh ! oh /) — Here the learned member became inaudible.

The First Lady of the Admiralty moved for leave to bring in a bill
for the prevention of shipwrecks. She anticipated no oppossion to so
humane a measure. The plan she proposed was to impose heavy penal-
ties on the captains of vessels leaving port in windy weather, or not
returning thereto within one hour after receiving orders to that effect
froni the Admiralty. Hon. ladies, who had never left shore, could
form no idea of the perils and hardships encountered by mariners.
Since she had accepted office, she had made it her business to undertake
a voyage from Dover to Calais, and she was, therefore, entitled to speak
upon the subject. She could say with the poet :—

" Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco."

Here the right hon. lady was called to order by the Speaker, who con-
cluded a long harangue by saying she had interrupted the hon. member
for the University of Dublin, when about to quote Italian, and she could
not consistently suffer another hon. lady to quote Greek. Lady Morgan
could not believe the Speaker was serious ; she had thought the .ZEneid
was as familiar to honourable ladies as her own " Book of the Bou-
doir." Mrs. Somerville hoped honourable ladies had some better em-
ployment than reading the literary trash of the last speaker ; if they
wanted relaxation, they had her late work on Celestial Mechanics.
Lady Morgan disliked alliteration, but she could not help telling the
hon. and learned member for the London University, that she con-
siderered her a miserable mathematician. She begged to ask her e( what
was an asymptote ?" Mrs. Somerville said, that the less the hon.
and learned member said upon that subject the better for her character.
Would the house believe that an asymptote was defined in one of her

silly novels to be . Here there was a general cry of order, and

question ; all was confusion for several minutes ; and I could perceive,
by the violent agitation of their bonnets and feathers, that the fair repre-
sentatives of the two Universities were settling their differences in a way
which savoured more of fancy than philosophy.

280 The Petticoat Parliament. [MARCH,

After calm was restored, a member whose cheeks resembled those of
a bust in a perfumer's shop, rose, and observing the president of the
board of trade in her place, wished to be informed whether it was the
intention of government to persist in the proposed duties upon rouge ;
if such was their intention, she had come to the determination of with-
drawing her support from ministers ; and many other hon. friends of
her's were ready to pursue the same course. The president of the
Board of Trade tauntingly replied, " that the hon. member and her
friends who were ranged under the same colours, would of course act
as their discretion directed ; it would be for the house and the country
to judge whether they were disinterested or not ; she would say no-
thing of primd Jade evidence of political tergiversation, but she could
not help lamenting, that the blushes of certain hon. ladies should have
survived their sense of shame." This speech exasperated the artificial
beauties beyond measure ; there were several angry rejoinders ; and it
was curious to observe that the acrimony with which the several
speakers repelled the charge of self-interest, was in direct proportion to
the thickness of the varnish upon their cheeks.

The secretary for Ireland then rose, and said, that the clock had
struck three, and it" was therefore time for the house to go into
Irish affairs ; she had a bazaar bill to propose, which she hoped and
trusted would prove a panacea for all the ills of that unhappy country.
She was of opinon, that bazaars should be held monthly at Exeter Hall,
and the proceeds dedicated to the relief of the starving people of Mun-
ster and Connaught ; this was the only radical remedy she knew of;
every other measure had been tried, emancipation and education, sub-
letting acts, and insurrection acts, Catholic associations, and Protestant
associations ; — but all to no purpose ; it was time therefore to try a new
policy ; she had given the subject her most anxious attention ; she was
intimately acquainted with the wants and feelings of the country, for
she had passed nearly three days in Dublin ; and as to the state of par-
ties, she had had peculiar facilities for forming an impartial opinion
npon that subject, having dined with the celebrated Sir Harcourt Lees,
the very day before she sailed for England. She anticipated no oppo-
sition to the bill she proposed j no English member, she was sure,
would resist a measure which was so truly benevolent and lady-like ; the
Irish ladies might resist it if they liked ; their conduct in that house
was always factious ; but her majesty's ministers were prepared for
their hostility ; they took their stand upon the bazaar bill, and defied
the world. (Immense cheeriiig.}

The moment the hon. secretary sat down, at least twenty Irish ladies
were upon their legs. The point of precedency was difficult of adjust-
ment ; at length, however, the speaker decided, that the hon. member
for Kerry should have the first fling at the government. I asked my
fair acquaintance, the reporter, who the member for Kerry was, and
she told me that her name was the Hon. Miss O'Connell, a daughter or
niece (she was uncertain which) of the liberator. This excited my cu-
riosity to hear her speech ; but she had scarcely got to —

" Great, glorious, and free/'

when a lady on the ministerial bench (whether it was the first lady of
the treasury, or one of the mistresses in chancery, I could not learn)
coughed so loud that I awoke ; and found, that revolutionary as the
times were, no change had yet taken place in the balance of power,
between the masculine and feminine genders.

1832.] [ 281 ]

' A STORY OF TIIK PLAGUE OF GIBRALTAR.

•

THE spots that are canopied by the serenest skies, where the air is the
purest to the vision, and the most genial to the feelings, where nature,
too, has been most lavish of her charms, are those where the visitations
of pestilence are the most frequent, and the most destructive ; coming,
as if in mockery of the judgment of man, to shew him, that spots which
seem to him the Edens of the world, are, like the Eden of old, gardens
where Death lies in ambush. This observation may well be applied to
Gibraltar : for where else shall we find a fairer sky, or more cloudless
atmosphere ; where, a spot of earth upon which nature has so outpoured
her riches, decorating the gigantic rocks with a thousand odoriferous
flowers; thus strangely mingling beauty and sublimity, and strewing
every acclivity with the broad-leaved and venerable fig-tree, the yellow-
tufted and fragrant acacia, the golden-speckled orange, and the bright-
blossomed geranium, that in its infinite varieties trails over the ground,
and hangs in every fissure. Yet plague and pestilence, in their most
horrid forms, have been visitors here ; and the elements of disease and
death have been borne on the same breeze that wafted the odours of a
thousand flowers. The disastrous story that I am about to narrate, is
connected with the memorable visitation of 18—, and its details will
not, I think, possess less interest, because they belong not to the domi-
nion of fiction.

I received a commission on the medical staff of Gibraltar the winter
before the plague broke out; and in the month of March, I arrived at
that celebrated station. The 2 — regiment of infantry accompanied me
from England, and the officers were my messmates in the Thetis frigate,
during the voyage. Among their number was Edward Courtenay, with
whom — singularly enough — I had been on habits of the closest intimacy
ever since childhood, and who was, indeed, to me, as a younger brother.
He was a fine noble-minded fellow : his like I have never seen before or
since, and often as we sat on deck during the glorious evenings that set
over us as we sailed southward, we talked of the pranks of our youth ;
and imagined scenes of manifold enjoyment, during the four years that
it was. supposed we might be stationed at Gibraltar. " The brightest of
my anticipations," said Courtenay, " is the renewal of my acquaintance
with Caroline Lorn." Now this was the only anticipation that gave me
uneasiness ; I knew of the predeliction of my young friend for this fasci-
nating girl, before her father obtained a civil appointment in Gibraltar ;
and well aware of his enthusiastic turn of mind, I could not but fear the
influence which I foresaw a despotic passion might exert over his intel-
lect and his actions.

We were soon domesticated in Gibraltar, and began to realize the
pleasant fancies we had pictured on our voyage ; and the bright antici-
pation of Courtenay was fully answered. Mr. Lorn, we found inhabit-
ing one of the sweetest of those little villas that dot the neighbourhood
of the town : it stood upon one of the south-western slopes which are
terminated by the mole, and was embowered in a thicket of sweet-
smelling and flowering shrubs. This was the daily resort of my friend,
and truly the household goddess was well worthy to receive his adora-
tions. Let me say a few words of Caroline Lorn. — She was four years
younger than Courtenay ; he was twenty-two, Caroline was only

M.M. New Scries*— VOL. XIII. No. 75. U

202 A Story of the Plague of Gibraltar. [MARCH,

eighteen; but her figure, as well as her mind, had somewhat out-
stripped her age : the former, cast in the most perfect mould, added to
an almost infantine lightness, those gracious contours which belong to
maturer years ; and with the artlessness of childhood, her mind was
already rich in those indescribable and nameless elegances and percep-
tions, which are rarely the accompaniment of even a riper age. I wish
I could describe her countenance ; but this is impossible. I can only
say that it was radiant with beauty, youth, and gladness, and that the
expression of contemplative thought that sometimes shadowed it, but
increased its charm ; as the thin cloud, veiling but not obscuring the
sunbeams, throws upon the earth a softer and more mellowed light. I
often saw Courtenay and Caroline Lorn together ; it was evident that
they were bound by no common attachment ; and if, from present pro-
mise, human reason ever dare predict future felicity, it might there have
indulged its augury ; for happiness had already unfolded her fairest
blossoms, and they had outlived the hour when frost might have blighted
them. Is there not a season in love, when the beatings of the heart are
but the chroniclers of happiness ?

There are some who may perhaps say, contemptuously, "this is a
love-tale!" Reader, I wish it were; I wish I had only to record the
triumphs, or the difficulties of love : but he is a poor philosopher, and
but indifferently skilled in the history of the human mind — which is the
history of the world — who speaks contemptuously of a love-tale. If such
be deficient in interest, the fault may lie with the narrator, but surely
not with the passion, which has led to wilder, ay ! and to greater and
nobler deeds, and which has brought with it more happiness, and more
misery, and has been the hinge of greater events, than have ever arisen
from all the other passions of mankind.

Four months passed away ; four months, I may say, of perfect felicity.
It was now the beginning of July ; and it was settled, that the following
month, Courtenay and Caroline were to be united. I was equally the
friend and confidant of both ; I was the depository of all their little
plans ; scarcely was their conversation interrupted by my presence ; and
when in the midst of that domestic circle, I raised my eyes to the coun-
tenances of the manly youth and the lovely girl, who sat near to each
other, and saw the beautiful blending of present deep-felt happiness,
with the anticipations of still fuller joy, I wondered at my own foolish
fears, that a passion, such as theirs, could ever be prolific in aught else
but happiness.

The memorable 17th of July arrived; on that day the Plague first
made its appearance in the town of Gibraltar. I passed that evening
at the cottage, and notwithstanding the fearful forebodings that were
abroad, we contrived to be gay ; for youth is slow to believe in the pre-
diction of evil ; and although my knowledge of the facts might have
enabled me to throw a chill over the anticipations of my friends, I for-
bore— for " sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

Next morning, doubt could no longer rest upon the minds of the
medical officers, that the plague was amongst us ; and the same day,
about noon, orders were issued from head-quarters, that the regiments
stationed in Gibraltar should be in readiness in three hours, to evacuate
the place, and form an encampment upon the neutral ground ; and the
staff (with the exception of the governor) having resolved to accompany
the military, the order of course comprehended me. Courtenay was with

J832.] A Story of Ike Plague of Gibraltar. 283

me when the order was communicated ; and as I expected, he immedi-
ately proposed to go to the cottage.

" This is, indeed, a blow," said he, as we crossed the Alameda.

" From which," said I, " I trust we shall all recover : there is every
reason for hope ; Caroline lives in one of the healthiest spots in Gibral-
tar ; and it is thought that on the neutral ground, the military, and
therefore you, will be safe."

te Ah !" said he, "you have never known what it is to love; absence
is of itself a sufficient evil/*

Caroline met us at the entrance of the garden ; and in place of leading
the way as usual into the cottage, she conducted us to the summer-house.
She already knew of the order that had been issued ; " I trust, Edward,"
said she, " I may live to see it recalled."

<( May live !" said Courtenay ; " Caroline, do not speak doubtingly
to me."

" How else should I speak, dear Edward ?'' returned she, " are not
our lives, yours and mine, and all our lives, in the hands of God ; and
how can I say better, than that I trust in him ?"

But the tone in which Caroline spoke, and the strange, though
strangely-sweet smile with which she turned to Courtenay, raised some
indistinct suspicion in his mind ; and suddenly taking both her hands,
and looking in her face, " Caroline," he said, " you never deceived
me ; something is amiss, tell me, for God's sake tell me," and before she
could reply, he had relinquished her hands and rushed towards the
house.

" He will know all, he will know all," said she, " 'twas for his sake
I would have concealed from him — "

" What is it that you conceal, Caroline? May I follow him? Is it
any evil that I can prevent or alleviate ?"

" You cannot cure THE PLAGUE," said she.

This was, indeed, a thunderbolt ; this was the evil she would have
concealed. Courtenay returned; for with woman's apprehension, and
the instinct that told her she could conceal nothing from her betrothed,
she had locked the doors. But concealment any longer was impossible.
The symptoms of disease had manifested themselves in a servant of the
family.

When the disclosure had been made, we remained for many moments
silent. Courtenay hid his face in his hands; but his agitation was
extreme.

" Caroline," said he, at length, in a composed earnest manner ; " there
is one remedy for this evil, the evil — the danger, I mean, that threatens
you ; you have consented, within one little month, to be my wife ;
anticipate the time, accompany me now to the altar ; your father, I
know, will consent, and in three hours we may both be safe from pes-
tilence."

" Edward, my dear Edward," said Caroline, " I will be ingenuous,
even at the risk of being thought bold. It is true that I have consented
to be your wife, and I not only do not recal that consent, but I even
avow that I wish it had been already ratified at the altar : but I would
be unworthy of you if I could timidly, meanly prefer the chance of my
own safety, to that of thousands. No, Edward, my heart pleads for
what you desire, because it is misery to be separated from you ; but I
dare not sport -with the lives of others ; I dare not risk the remorse that

U2

284 A Story of the Plague of Gibraltar. [MARCH,

.would pursue me, if I carried into your camp the seeds of disease that
perhaps now lurk in myself."

Courtenay argued with her ; implored her, kneeled to her ; but Caro-
line, though strongly moved, was resolute. " Do not/' said she, " do
not try to make me unworthy of you ; take with you my love, but leave
my life in the keeping of God."

Caroline's father entered the garden, and Courtenay flew to him to
plead his wishes. " It is impossible," said he ; " my child is right ; I
dare not advise her otherwise ; go, my young friend, assured of her
affection, and my esteem ; we will take every possible precaution, and
let us hope that all will go well."

Courtenay had exhausted every argument and every entreaty ; he
stood gazing upon Caroline, the image of misery and despair. At length
he burst into tears.

Reader, forgive him ; the lion-hearted may be moved to tears. Re-
member how he loved— remember his enthusiastic nature; he knew
that he was about to be separated from her whom perhaps pestilence
had already marked as his prey : he saw her before him, young, and
beautiful, and sorrowful — for the large drops silently ran down her
cheeks ; and perhaps he fancied her on her death-bed. I do not know
what were his thoughts, but they must have been bitter and sad; for, I
say, he burst into tears.

Caroline could withstand his eloquence, his prayers, even his kneel-
ing ; but where is the woman who ever yet resisted the tears of the
man she loves ? Caroline threw herself upon his neck, unmindful of
witnesses of her tenderness. " I am your's," said she, " I am your's;
lead me where you will." But Courtenay felt that his triumph was
ungenerous. — " No," said he ; " that which judgment and virtue, reli-
gion and affection have withheld, ought not to be yielded to tears."
And they parted in deep sorrow indeed, but with somewhat more calm-
ness than from the former part of the interview might perhaps have been
expected.

An hour after, the troops mustered at the different barracks, and
marched out of Gibraltar; and before sunset, the encampment was
formed upon the neutral ground. The neutral ground of Gibraltar is a
strip about half a mile wide, across the neck of land that connects
Gibraltar with the mainland, lying, of course, between the British and
the Spanish lines. Upon every occasion, when disease has visited Gib-
raltar, it has been the custom for the soldiery to encamp upon the
neutral ground. This precautionary measure has evidently proceeded
upon the supposition that plague is contagious, for its purpose is to cut
off all communication between the military and the inhabitants, which
would be difficult, if not impossible, unless by placing between them
impassable moats and bulwarks. This purpose has also been always
made doubly secure, by the most rigorous exaction of military dis-
cipline, and obedience to orders ; and any violation of these has been
visited by prompt and effectual . punishment. The separation would,
indeed, be entirely nugatory, unless it were accompanied by the most
rigorous discipline. Accordingly, the same evening upon which the
encampment was formed, the troops were called out, and a general order
read at the head of each company, forbidding, under any pretence, all
communication between the camp and the town, under the high penalty
affixed by the articles of war to disobedience of orders. But even this

1832.] A Story of the Plague of Gibraltar. 285

was insufficient to enforce obedience. A private, in the 8th regiment,
who had been accustomed to resort every night to a small public-house
near the north-western point, took advantage of low water soon after
dusk, to cross the long reach of sands, and wading as far as the depth
would allow, swam under the mole, and reached his favourite resort.
But he paid the penalty. He was seen from the signal-house crossing
the sands ; and being apprehended and sent to the encampment, he was
tried, condemned, and shot the same afternoon. Let me now return to
my story.

The same evening, while sitting in my tent, just as dusk was fading
into darkness, the curtain was pushed aside, and Courtenay entered.

4f Good evening," said I; "but how is it that you are here? They
have beaten the retreat, and you ought to be in your own tent, unless,
indeed, you are on guard."

" I am," replied Courtenay ; " I am on the western piquet — the most
fortunate station I could have had/'

" How fortunate ?" said I. " Why more fortunate than any other ?"

te Cannot you guess ?" said Courtenay.

ee No, indeed I cannot, unless it be that it is the point nearest to
Caroline."

" I see," said Courtenay, " you do not understand me ?"

A suspicion of the truth flashed upon my mind. 4f You cannot mean,
Courtenay," said I, "to . Impossible !"

" To disobey orders, you would say. Ah ! my friend, you never
loved as I do."

" Courtenay," said I, in a graver tone, " sit down and listen to me.
This is madness — not love. Have you already forgotten the example of
this afternoon ?"

" I am sure," said he, interrupting me, " you do not believe me a
coward."

" No, Courtenay," said I ; " but cowardice and prudence are not the
same. Your duty as a soldier commands you to stay — your duty as a
man also ; for you are about to incur the very risk, to avoid which
Caroline sacrificed her inclination. Will you allow her to out-do you in
resolution ?"

" Duties," replied he, " are of different obligation : although our vows
have not been exchanged at the altar, they have been registered else-
where ; and I know of no duty so sacred as that of cherishing her who
is all but my wife ! It is possible, oh, Seymour ! — Oh, God ! it is pos-
sible that she is at this moment ill — dying ; and shall I sacrifice the
duty of watching over her, to any obligations that human law may have
imposed ?"

I tried to argue the matter with Courtenay ; I implored him by the
affection he felt for his mother and sisters in England — by his friend-
ship for me — by his love for Caroline, to desist from his project.

" I am not afraid of discovery," said he ,- " the piquet are men of my
own company, and will not betray me. I have agreed with a Spanish
boat from Algesiras to be in readiness at ten ; it will carry me close to
the mole ; and I shall have returned long before daylight. I am utterly
miserable, Seymour ; if the risk were a thousand times greater than it
is, I could not live over such another day as this/'

I saw that it was in vain to offer farther opposition. I held aside the
canvass, and shook hands with him as he walked out ; and his figure

286 A Story of the Plague of Gibraltar. [MARCH,

soon disappeared among the tents ; but I frequently returned to look
out ; and once I thought I heard the stroke of oars — which was not im-
possible, as the night was quite calm, and my tent was on the western
side of the encampment.

I was awoke at five o'clock by the morning gun. This was the hour
at which the piquets are broken up ; and in a few minutes I saw
Courtenay enter. He seated himself near me, without speaking ; and
the dawn was yet too imperfect to permit me to augur any thing from
his countenance. His silence, however, was ominous of evil, and I
waited patiently until he should break it.

" Seymour," said he at length, " my story is brief; but I cannot
utter it. — Caroline — "

" Is well, I trust," said I.

Courtenay half rose, and bending over me, whispered in my ear, in
an articulate whisper, that will never pass from my memory — " THE
PLAGUE ;" and with a deep-smothered groan of intense agony he fell
to the ground.

I knew the meaning of these words — Caroline was about to be a
victim. I raised Courtenay from the ground, but I had no consolation
to offer him. I could only say, " It is not always mortal ; you may yet
both live to be happy."

" You do not yet know all," said he; "my hours, as well as her's,
are numbered, and for that mercy I thank God. I believe, Seymour,
my absence is known."

" Then, indeed," said I, " all is lost." And as the dreadful and
inevitable consequence of Courtenay' s indiscretion rose fully before me,
I almost prayed that the plague might spare Caroline the far greater
misery that awaited a deliverance from it.

At this moment the curtain of my tent was drawn aside, and a ser-
geant appeared with an order to conduct Courtenay to the colonel. I
accompanied him. The colonel was a well-known disciplinarian, and a
blunt man. " I am sorry to hear it is true," said he ; " we must go
through the forms of a court ; but I cannot give you any hope. Pri-
vate Donovan was shot yesterday for the same offence, and distinctions
won't do in the service/'

Early in the forenoon a court-martial met. I was a member of it ;

and Brigadier-General L , of the Artillery, presided. Courtenay

had been mistaken in his estimate of the men who composed the piquet ;
one of the men, upon whose good feeling he had calculated, owed him
a grudge. Upon a former occasion this man had been tried, for what
offence I am unable to recollect ; and Courtenay, from the best motives,
exerted himself in his behalf, and having stated some palliating circum-
stances that had come to his knowledge, obtained a mitigation of the
sentence, which was changed, from death, to that other punishment that
still so deeply disgraces the code of our martial law. This man, while
in confinement, had levelled the bitterest curses against Courtenay, and
swore he would never forgive him ; and, like most other men who have
once suffered a disgraceful punishment, his heart hardened under its
infliction ; and though the scars of his body were healed, the laceration
of his mind grew into a sore, that festered, and at length cankered every
thought, and poisoned all the sources of feeling. This man gave infor-
mation against Courtenay the moment the piquet was dismissed.

Courtenay said nothing in his defence upon his trial ; he admitted

1832.J A Story of the Plague of Gibraltar. 287

the act of disobedience, and neither palliated nor vaunted it. For form's
sake, the soldiers who composed the piquet were summoned ; but one of
their number — the man who had been the informer — was nowhere to
be found ; and soon after, information was brought that he had hung
himself upon one of the tent-poles. One only palliating circumstance I
was able to bring into view. The Spanish sailor, in whose boat Courte-
nay had been carried to and from Gibraltar, said, that in crossing the
bay, he had warned him of his danger. He told him he knew the cha-
racter of one of the piquet, and that he was his enemy ; and he advised
Courtenay to take advantage of a boat just then getting under weigh for
Tangiers ; but that he refused. This was, of course, insufficient to alter
the complexion of the crime, or to change its penalty. " Unless we can

bring private Donovan to life," said General L , " it is impossible

to extend pardon to Lieutenant Courtenay." Arid Courtenay was ac-
cordingly adjudged worthy of death.

" Gentlemen," said Courtenay, addressing himself to the court, " I
have one favour to beg : defer until to-morrow morning the execution of
the sentence, and, in the meantime, remove the arrest from my person."

The first part of the petition the court immediately granted ; but the
second occasioned some demur — it was unusual, and old officers are
averse to innovation.

" I pass my honour," said Courtenay, " as a British officer, and an
English gentleman, that I will be present at the appointed hour to meet
the penalty. Surely you do not distrust me !"

A few words were whispered among the members of the court ; and

General L then said — "The desertion of your post was not only a

military crime, but also some stigma on your honour ; and your request
is granted, that you may have an opportunity — the only one you can
ever have — of wiping it out !"

To have looked upon Courtenay at the moment that his petition was
granted, one might have thought that he had suddenly reached the
summit of human felicity, or that he had just awoke from a disturbed
sleep, and found that he had been but dreaming of horrors that were
unreal. It can scarcely be supposed that the court, in granting Courte-
nay's petition, ever contemplated the possibility of a second visit to
Gibraltar, for this would have been granting a license to break through
the command of non-intercourse. There was, indeed, no proof, upon
trial, that Courtenay had visited Gibraltar ; he was tried for deserting
his post ; but that he had visited Gibraltar was undoubtedly suspected —
the spot appointed for carrying the sentence into execution being the
same as that selected in the case of private Donovan, who, it was sup-
posed, might possibly communicate infection : this was the sands, at low
water, far within water-mark, so that the waves might wash away the
infected person.

" Mr. Courtenay," said General L , " you are now at liberty ; to-
morrow morning, two hours after gun-fire, the troops will muster."

The moment the court broke up, I walked slowly towards my tent,
and Courtenay walked by my side — both in silence. Courtenay reached
the tent first, and he held aside the canvass for me to enter.

" I will follow," I said.

" I do not enter," said he. " Pass by, but do not touch me."

I raised my eyes to his countenance, and saw the unfailing «gns,
which, owing to the excitement he was under during the trial, had then
escaped me.

288 A Story of the Plague of Gibraltar. [MARCH,

" Yes, Seymour/' said he, "the hand of the plague is upon me. I
feel it here — and here," pressing his forehead and his chest ; " and God
be thanked for it ; for now I know that death was awaiting us both,
and would have baffled precautions. But I trust it may give me time to
redeem my promise to the court — to live till two hours after gun-fire —
and once more to see her — are all I now desire." And before I could
reply he had dropped the curtain, and disappeared.

I remained many hours within my tent, sunk in deep and most oppres-
sive thought. Alas, what a revolution had three days accomplished !
I recalled the evening of the sixteenth, when I had looked on happy
countenances, and listened to projects of enjoyment that stretched into
far years. Now, they were all annihilated, and those who had projected
them, had done with the world and its concerns.

I was roused from my meditation by a messenger, who came to in-
form me, that a signal had been made from Gibraltar for one of the
medical officers. It had been agreed upon, before the troops evacuated
the town, that if the medical assistance there should be found insufficient,
and if disease had not made its appearance in the camp, the medical
officers should be recalled by certain signals. I, accordingly, immedi-
ately left the encampment ; and having bribed the services of a boat, I
was soon landed upon the mole.

It was now about seven in the evening; and it will be readily be-
lieved, that the instant it was in my power, I hastened to Mr. Lorn's
cottage. Ah ! with how different sensations from those to which I had
been accustomed, did I push open the garden-gate ! The sky was as
blue, and the sun as bright as ever, and yet an air of gloom seemed to
be there ; the flowers were all as beautiful, and smelled as sweet as
before, but their brightness and beauty were offensive. The door was
open, and I entered ; all the lower rooms were empty ; no one was
visible ; perhaps, said I within myself, — all, all are victims, and the
house is tenantless, or tenanted only by the dead. I ascended to
Caroline's chamber, and as I approached the door, I was startled by the
sound of laughter ; but there was in it so unearthly a sound, and it was
in such jarring discord with the silence of death around, and the reign
of pestilence, that the deepest moan of suffering would have been more
grateful to my ears. I entered the chamber, prepared for horror, and
I found it ; — there lay the dead, locked in the arms of the living, —
there lay the victim of the plague, in the embrace of madness.

" Ah !" said Courtenay, looking at me without shewing any surprise,
"you are come to see us then — that's kind in you. I was just laughing
at the excellent trick we played ; he came for us, but I said we were
not at home, and he went away, and so we cheated the Plague/' and
Courtenay again broke into a peal of dreadful laughter. It was a hor-
rible scene. Caroline — ah ! how changed — lay, an insensible corpse,
upon the bed where she had died. Courtenay's one arm supported her
head ; he had raised himself upon his other elbow to look at me when
I entered, and now lay in convulsions of laughter. Yet, who could have
desired to see the fit of madness pass from him ? who could have de-
sired to see that maniac joy exchanged for the wailings of misery, — the
horrors of reality, — hopelessness, and despair ? I inwardly prayed that
reason might never return.

Suddenly he checked his laughter, and turning towards me with a
grave countenance, " I will tell you/' said he, " a curious dream I had :

1832.] A Story of the Plague of Gibraltar. 289

do you know I dreamed that Caroline was dead, and that I was sen-
tenced to be shot — for what crime think you ?"

" I cannot tell," said I.

"Why then, I will tell you," said he ; and he sprung up, and stood on
the middle of the floor ; " it was for killing THE PLAGUE. I wrestled
with him, and then I trampled upon him, and threw him out to the
dogs ; but they slunk away, and so I left him lying. Come," said he,
" and see where he lies," taking me by the hand, and leading me to the
bed-side. " There." He bent over, and for a moment looked with a
steadfast gaze upon the dead. He then pressed his hand to his fore-
head, and with a terrific cry, in which the fit of insanity passed away —
a cry that will ring for ever in my ears — he fell senseless upon the
couch.

When he returned to consciousness and misery, he extended his hand
to me, and said, " Seymour, I was in time to receive her last sigh, and
her blessing ; but since then I remember nothing. Is it near gun-
fire ?"

" 'Tis only evening," I replied, " the sun has but newly set."

" I trust," said he, " I may live to redeem my pledge."

I gently led my friend from the dead-chamber to the garden, and
seated him in the summer-house. It was such an evening as that upon
which three short days ago we had parted from Caroline. At first,
Courtenay was overpowered by the reminiscences which it awakened,
but he gradually recovered his composure.

" I fear," said he, " honour is less dear to me than it ought to be, and
that if she had lived it would have been a hard struggle to tear myself
from her, to meet death : there is the coast of Spain, and there are the
mountains of Barbary, — I would not have answered for my honour,
Seymour."

" You are spared that struggle, at least," said I.

" 'Tis better as it is ; better for me, perhaps even for her."

Just at this moment, a man's head appeared above the mole ; it was
the face of the Spanish sailor, who had been examined upon the trial.
He climbed up, and walked towards us. I could not guess his errand,
but he soon made it known. " I have here," said he, addressing Cour-
tenay, " a good boat ; I'll undertake to land you either at Tangiers, or
Tarifa, before day-break, or, if the wind continue fair, I'll put you
aboard an American in the bay of Cadiz in twenty-four hours."

" Friend," said Courtenay, " I thank you for your offer, but if you
will look closer into my face, you will see that I have no temptation to
accept it."

The man advanced a few steps, looked on Courtenay's face, shuddered,
and returned to his boat.

My professional duties now called me to the town : I returned to the
house, brought writing materials, and laying them before Courtenay,
told him, if he wished to address a few lines to England, I would be the
bearer of his memorials. He was able to write; the disease advanced
slowly, and I believe that Courtenay might have been cured : but this
thought was painful ; I neither indulged it myself, nor breathed it to
him. I told him to remain in the summer-house until I should return,
and walked towards the town.

How was the face of every thing changed ! No drums or trumpets
were heard from the deserted barracks ; no gay parties were sauntering

290 A Story of the Plague of Gibraltar. [[MARCH,

in the Alameda, nor bearded Jews lying under the trees, talking and
smoking. As I raised my eyes to the face of the single sentinel at the
gate, I saw that he was smitten ; and when I entered the town, all was
like a sepulchre. It was at this hour, when the heats had subsided, that
the streets and the walks used to be crowded ; but all was deserted —
there was no sound of pleasure or of business : one or two starving
African porters sat on the steps of the Exchange ; their services were
no longer needed : surfeited dogs lay in the streets, or were seen walk-
ing in and out of the open doors ; they looked smitten, and I avoided
them ; and as I passed along the rampart, I heard the occasional plash
of the bodies that were dropped into the sea.

The greater part of the night was occupied with the duties I had to
perform, and it was the dawn before I returned to seek the friend who
was soon to be added to the number of the dead. I found him on the
spot where I had left him. I saw that disease was making rapid pro-
gress ; two letters lay before him, which he put into my hand, and at
the same moment the morning gun boomed over the sea.

" "Tis nearly time, Seymour," said he, " yet I think I can spare a little
while j" and he was about to enter the house, when I held him back.
" No, Courtenay," I said, " if you wish to preserve your reason, and to
redeem your promise, do not risk it." — " Well, well," said he, " we
shall meet soon," and I led him to the mole.

The boat had slipped from its mooring, and, after some time had been
lost in ineffectual efforts to recover it, I was forced to swim, and bring it
under the wall. It was nearly six when we pushed off, and a strong east
wind had risen, and blew directly out of the bay. Courtenay seemed
fast sinking; he heaved deep sighs, and all the symptoms were fearfully
aggravated ; and, with no assistance from him, it was with difficulty I
could make way. We had proceeded but a very little distance, when
we heard the trumpet from the camp, calling the soldiers to muster, and
then the roll of the drum was heard as they fell into rank. We saw
them march down to the sands, and form ; and as we drew nearer, we
could even see the file of musqueteers take their places, ready to carry
the sentence into execution. It was now close upon seven o'clock.
The Exchange-clock is distinctly seen from the neutral ground and the
bay. Courtenay, although visibly approaching his last moments, yet
preserved his intellect, and gazed intently upon it. The hand trembled
upon the hour ; the boat was already surrounded by the surf j and the
sand was scarcely distant three hundred yards. Courtenay, with that
almost superhuman energy that sometimes accompanies the last stage of
disease, sprung from the boat, and dashing through the breakers, reached
the dry sand. With extended arm, and his finger pointed to the clock,
he rushed staggering forward, and fell upon the spot destined for the
scene of his execution, as the first chime told that the hour had arrived.

There had been dead silence among the soldiery from the moment
that Courtenay was seen to leap from the boat ; but when he fell upon
the spot, and redeemed his word, a hum of mingled pity and approba-
tion ran through the ranks, and swelled into a faint huzza.

The soldiers filed off the ground in silence, for Courtenay was dead.
I returned to the mole, as I had no permission to land ; and the next
tide, doubtless, swept the body of the unhappy youth to mingle with
the unburied victims of THE PLAGUE. I.

1832.] £ 291 3

Vl JWYSTERY— FOR THE BYRON CRITIC'£'mlA 9lij «'
<'»"' .ffHyforms

To Me Editor of the Monthly Magazine.

Sin, — The receipt of the following note, from my friend Mr. Gait,
has occasioned my going, with some pains, into the subject referred to ;
and the following paper, as the result, may perhaps interest the admirers
of Byron's [genius. I give you the whole as it stands, for obvious
reasons.

" Barn Cottage, Saturday.

" DEAR P. — The other night Mrs. Thomas Sheridan told me, at Lady
Cork's, that if I would look into an old romance called ' The Three
Brothers/ written by one Pickersgill, I should be surprised at the use
Lord Byron had made of it, especially in his ' Deformed Transformed/
I have since had the book, and really the coincidences are very wonder-
ful ; for he seems also to have borrowed the idea of ' Manfred' — even to the
name — from it, a drama which I have ever regarded as the most original
of his works. But I have only skimmed the romance ; — look at it, and
tell me what you think of it with reference to Byron, who seems to
have derived the singular hue of the gloom for which he is so distin-
guished, from this atrocious, but curious novel. Your's truly,

" J. G."

" P.S. — Who can this Pickersgill be ? Is it possible that our friend
the Academician was the intellectual father of Byron ? You know how
much of late he has been addicted to Greek girls, and other piratical
gentry of his lordship's acquaintance."

Every thing regarding Byron and his productions is interesting, so as
soon as possible I sat down to the book. Nothing but the curiosity
with which the above communication had impressed me, and the request
of my respected friend, could have induced me to wade through four
volumes of high romance — wild, though powerful in conception, and
often extravagant in language — as this production is, and belonging
altogether to a school now most properly extinct. But a reader, at all
conversant with Byron's poetry, who should undertake the same labour,
would hardly fail to be surprised by the similarity in the mode of think-
ing, and the taste as to subjects and sentiments, between this obscure
author and the noble bard. So apparent is this in reading the romance,,
and so little merit is there in the discovery, either on the part of Mrs.
Sheridan, Mr. Gait, or myself, that on turning to the title-page of the
fourth volume, I was much amused to find it confirmed by some anony-
mous reader, with whose name I regret that I am unable to favour the
world. In short, one of those circulating-library literati, who display
their critical talents by making pencil annotations on all works honoured
by their perusal, has, besides other notes through the course of the copy
that I obtained from the library, under-written the words, "Joshua
Pickersgill, Esq.," on the title-page, as follows : — " No such name ever
heard of — Quere ? can this be a boyish production of Lord Byron !"
I have ascertained that the romance was written by a Joshua Pickersgill.
Of the other part of the note my reader may make what he pleases.

As the discovering of plagiarisms, real or supposed, however, is a
labour little accordant with either my taste or feelings, I prefer, at least
in the first instance, referring to those passages in the romance, which,

292 A Mystery— for the Byron-Critics. [MARCH,

having a remarkable application to his own case and dispositions, were
calculated to make a strong impression upon the ardent mind of the
noble poet. The principal character in " The Three Brothers/' is a way-
ward and high-spirited youth, the son of a man of bad passions and most
questionable morals (vide Byron's father), and born under circumstances
of melancholy and mystic presage as to his fate in life. The boy is
beautiful both in face and person, and " his constitution was so instinct
with love, that he almost was insensible to an inferior feeling for woman-
kind ; and when his eighth year was yet incomplete, he affected and
amazed his auditors with the inimitable tenderness of his reply to a
young lady who, amusing herself with him, inquired of him what it was
to love, answered, ' It is to die in yourself to live in another.' " (vol. iv.
p. 254.) By an accident, when with his parents previous to this, the
boy's spine is broken, and he is at the same time wounded in the shoulder
by a ball from a pistol, which causes a deformity in the back. This
misfortune, by destroying the beauty of his form and making him re-
markable, and often an object of ridicule to companions otherwise his
inferiors, sours his disposition as well as disappoints his romantic fancies,
until becoming the mental slave of his unsightly hump, he begins to
regard it as the grand cause of all the miseries which he is destined to
suffer, and the bitter occasion of incessant self- contempt. The power with
which the author of the romance unfolds and illustrates the consequences
of this deformity, need not be here dwelt upon ; but when we know
how excessively sensitive Byron was all his life upon the subject of his
mis-shapen foot — how bitterly, and probably unforgivingly, he brooded
over the unreasonable and unfeeling taunt of his motner upon the
dreaded subject — and how this personal deformity, slight as it was, made
him remarkable among his companions, and became connected after-
wards with the one great disappointment of his life — we may have some
idea of the impression that every thing in these volumes would make
upon a mind like his, narrating as it does so many circumstances, and
evolving so many feelings, which spoke so home to his own experience.
When we further reflect, that he regarded his early disappointment con-
cerning Miss Chaworth, as the great event which had not only shaped
his after life to misfortune and suffering, but which had, in some sense,
disturbed his faculties (Moore, vol. ii. p. 790, notes), we shall see of what
importance the impressions given by this congenial romance may have
been, in forming the tone, if not the conceptions of his maturer mind.
The manner in which Byron afterwards speaks of Miss Chaworth's refusal
of him, and marriage with another, is most affecting. " A marriage,"
he says, " for which she sacrificed the prospects of two very ancient
families, and a heart which was her's from ten years old, and a head
which has never been quite right since." (ib.) And to what does he in
his own " Memoranda" ascribe this irremediable disappointment ? It
will be recollected that, in his delightful intercourse with this young
lady, there were constant dances in the evening at Matlock, in which,
being unable to join on account of his lame foot, he had the pain of
being obliged to sit looking on, " solitary and mortified," while his idol
was handed round caressingly by another. He afterwards had the
further pain to understand fully that he had no share in her heart.
" One of the inost painful of those humiliations/' says Mr. Moore, " to
which the defect in his foot had exposed him, must have let the truth
in, with dreadful certainty, upon his heart. He either was told of, or

1832.] A Mystery— for the Byron-Critics. 293

overheard Miss Chaworth saying to her maid, ' Do you think I could
care anything for that lame boy ?' This speech, as he himself described
it, was like a shot through his heart. Though late at night when he
heard it, he instantly darted out of the house, and scarcely knowing
whither he ran, never stopped till he found himself at Newstead."
(vol. i. p. 56.)

It is not for persons of ordinary sensibility to conceive what a mind
like Byron's must have suffered during all this, or how he must have
been impressed at that age with every thought and sentiment in a story,
in so many respects similar to his own. For Arnaud, in this novel,
with the " constitutional instincts" already alluded to, had also, for-
getting his hump, become intensely enamoured of the pretty Camilla ;
but to his deep mortification she rejected his admiration in favour of
his half-brother Lewis. Circumstances call the latter away, and thus
proceeds the tale : — " On the morning of their departure, Arnaud secretly
followed Lewis to a knoll pleasantly shaded by tall pines, where Ca-
milla usually could be found at her diversions. The tears the two latter
shed at separation, fell like oil on Arnaud' s passions, which were fer-
mented to the crisis of outrage., when to some jealous remark from
Lewis, Camilla earnestly replied, ' Indeed ! indeed ! I can't fancy him,
he has so ugly a shoulder !' These words burnt to Arnaud's heart worse
than a venomed javelin," &c. (vol. iv. p. 256.)

This poignantly-felt circumstance, together with the gradual dislike
to him of his own parents, and the avoidance and ridicule of his youth-
ful companions, rankled in the sensitive mind of the boy, and is repre-
sented to have stirred up the deepest feelings connected with his strong
and wayward passions. Speaking of the parents of Arnaud, it is said —
" The bitterest consciousness of his deformity was derived from their
indelicate, though, perhaps, insensible alteration of conduct ; and those
culpabilities which before they had nourished in him as the eccentri-
cities of a bold spirit, they now censured and condemned." (p. 250.)
All this, together with tantalizing jealousy of his brother, who had won
the love of Camilla, and his constantly being reminded of his misfor-
tune, not only by the ill-concealed sneers of his own comrades and his
father's servants, but by his very shadow on the wall, or his image
reflected in the clear bosom of the pool, wrought upon his mind until
he cursed the voice of the people, who in general derided him, not as
" the voice of God," but rather as the croaking of a demon ; — spoke of
his own person as " his abhorrent enemy," adding that " his shoulder
depended like a millstone on him to sink him down to hell." " Yet would
he decry the slightest allusion to it in another, and so sickly was his
sensibility in that particular, that he wished the terms hunch and
crookedness could be abolished from language and memory," £c. (ib»
p. 261.)

Though a lame or club-foot is a much less staring deformity than a
hump on the shoulder, yet the impression that this narrative and all its
adjuncts made on the mind of the youthful poet, painting as it did in
exaggerated colours and strong language, what he must himself have
felt so deeply, and at a period of life when they were appreciated with
all their poignancy (the " Brothers" was published in 1803, when
Byron was fifteen), is evident not only from his attempting to dramatize
the incident many years after under the title of " The Deformed Trans-
formed," but from, many other circumstances, both in his own life and

294 A Mystery—for the Byron-Critics. Q

writings, which can only be perceived by a study as well of these as of
the strange production now referred to. The novel goes on to narrate,
that the deformed, under the influence of bitter feelings and impious
sentiments occasioned by his misfortune, utters curses against Heaven
and maledictions on himself, so appalling, that, together with a species
of mystic knowledge of which he had become master, the Evil One rises
at his call, and, amidst an awful, yet sublime phantasmagoria conjured
up in a cave, succeeds in transforming the deformed into a noble shape
of his own choosing, in which he many years walks the earth ; and, not
happier than he was before, although feared and respected wherever he
goes, he works out that guilt, and consummates that vengeance upon his
own father, which gratifies his indomitable pride, and illustrates the dread
misanthropic grandeur of his nature. I should not have dwelt so long
upon this point, did it not in my mind afford so many suggestions to the
tracing of Byron's early impressions, and also as clearing the way for
whatever observations respecting the originality of " Manfred," the
perusal of the <e Brothers " enables me to make. Before we have done
with the " Deformed," however, it may be observed, that the author of
the romance having given the most natural, and consequently most
powerful circumstances and reflections incident to the situation, and
thus in some sort exhausted the subject, nothing could have induced
Byron after this to attempt it, but his own deep impressions and feelings
of its interest — knowing as he must have done, that he could add little to
it without such plagiarism as it was not likely a irind like his would
submit to. Accordingly his drama, though somewhat more rationalized
in its execution (if one can use such a term), from the conception of the
romance, is, with all its vigour of expression, much inferior to the sub-
lime mysticism of the original, as well as losing, as before observed, the
best part of the adjuncts.

As to the story of cc Manfred" in this romance, it is incidentally intro-
duced in the fourth volume, under the title of " The Guilt of Friend-
ship," to illustrate a case of hypothetical guilt ; or rather by an inverted
case, and a sophistical argument about friendship and love, to attempt
an excuse for a vile commerce under both of these appellations, consist-
ing of an imaginary mixture of fratricide and friendship, and a real one
of incest and adultery, too abominable to be here detailed. Whether
Byron is indebted to this romance in general, or to the tale of " Manfred"
in particular, for the original conception which induced the construction
of his remarkable dramatic poem of that name, must be gathered rather
from the general characteristics of the story, and such incidents as
we shall mention, than from the short tale of te The Guilt of Friendship'*
itself.

The great point, both of interest in the character of " Manfred," as
well as of that originality in the conception for which Mr. Gait, in com-
mon with the world, gives the poet credit, is his being invested with a
mysterious guilt, which by some dread act he has incurred, but which
has also given him power over the spirits of the invisible world, while
it causes him such misery as to make him eagerly seek the waters of
Lethe, or to desire anxiously a deliverance from existence. What this
guilt consists of, is the question ; and that Byron had discovered any
novel species of it, may well be doubted. If the attention of the inquirer
is led to the present romance, with a view to any known species of guilt,
there is certainly no lack of it in these volumes, and the reader or the

1832.] A Mystery— for tlte Byron-Critics. 295

poet has only to take his choice from among its wild and revolting pic-
tures. If, however, as Mr. Gait with much ingenuity argues, the " deed
without a name/' is meant to consist of the immolation of a human sacri-
fice to the infernal powers, and that of a person beloved by the horrid
fratricide, — such as might be Manfred's sister, Astarte, — as is said to be
done by the students of the black art — the performance we are speaking
of will be found to supply the hint as to this also ; for in a mysterious
vault-scene (vol. iii. p. 240), we have an intruder into the dark spot,
where he finds the body of a man coiled up in a corner, transfixed " in
the eminence of horror, as the recollection started in him, that a human
carcase is an ingredient essential to some magical compositions.0

Considering the amazing beauty and power of Byron's drama, any
mention of these coincidences is only meant for further illustration of
the impression which the romance before us seems to have made on his
youthful mind. Another or two are perhaps yet more remarkable.
The burden of Manfred's regret is his impious and self-destructive thirst
after knowledge, which has led him, in the prosecution of his inquiries,
to intrude too far into the hidden mysteries of things. His opening
speech accordingly contains these sentiments : —

" Sorrow is knowledge ; they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth —
The tree of knowledge is not that of life."

And further on —

" Knowledge is not happiness/' &c.

In short the sentiment, in various forms, runs through the whole drama.
So also here, in " The Three Brothers" (vol. iv. p. 349-50), we find the
restless and discontented Arnaud, who has, as well as Manfred, been
dealing with the powers of the invisible world, lamenting thus — " Wis-
dom,, unjoyous, broke the wholesome current of my blood/' &c. " Perdi-
tion lay before me," he adds, almost in the words put into the mouth of
Manfred, — " unavoidable by retrogation, for truly I felt that never
would the fiend have gratified my desire of such wisdom, could it be
used to aid my deliverance from him. So conditioned, I lamented the
exchange of folly for wisdom/' &c. But further — e( Now do I perceive
that much of wisdom is much of woe, and that to pass through this
world, certain emotions are necessary to the heart as certain languages
are to the tongue. Wisely hast thou resolved in declining complete wis-
dom— to me 'tis torturous," &c.

But there are more of these coincidences in this romance, both re-
minding the reader of other incidents in " Manfred," and of many parts
of the poet's after productions. Manfred is seated among the sublime
solitudes of the Alps ; Arnaud, otherwise Julian (for Manfred in this
romance is merely suppositions), is also among the precipices of the
Swiss mountains. Manfred, in his eagerness to rid himself of existence,
is about to leap into an abyss beneath him, when his bound is prevented
by the accidental presence of a chamois-hunter. Arnaud is also arrested
when about to make a similar leap (vol. iv. p. 336), by the sudden interfe-
rence of his faithful dog, who, unseen until the moment, pulls the unhappy
meditator of suicide by the skirts. Manfred, however, does not exceed
Arnaud in eager desire for death ; for the latter, in the wildness of his
disappoiutment, in being prevented from his aim, tosses the faithful

A Kfy&ery—ftr the Byron-Critics. [MARCH,

animal high in air, until it is clashed to fragments among the rocks ; and
when the creature is immolated to his fury, he moralizes over its
reeking entrails, on organization, " life, sense, and sentiment," in a style
that irresistibly collates in the reader's mind, with Byron's well-known
reflections on a human skull in his great poem of " Childe Harold."

Whether the indescribable figure that appears to Manfred (but to his
sense alone), while the Abbot is present with him in the last scene of the
drama, may have been suggested by the " tremendous apparition" of
the murdered Gervase in this romance, which more than once (vol. iii.
pp. 216, 223, and vol. iv. p. 201, £c.), comes in the shape of " an indis-
tinct something/' — a figure so horrible that he who saw it, stood with
" cheeks pallid with terror, and eyes half unsocketed by intenseness of
gaze," — it is probably not worth while to inquire. But when we read
the unhappy Arnaud's apostrophe to the manes of his faithful dog, and
hear him saying after his rash act — et By my soul we are fellows of the
game nature, nor can any distinction of exterior shape justify the caprice
or cruelty that slayeth thee : nay, there is a vice of ingratitude in it, for
thou art knit to me by an attachment that doth me daily service ; thou
humourest my humours, adoptest my instructions, and exchangest thine
own nature for mine," &c. — the whole tone as well as the thoughts are
irresistibly compared in the reader's mind with Byron's beautiful epitaph
on his Newfoundland canine companion, and with the affecting allusions
he at various times makes to that true and tried friend.

To pursue these coincidences much farther would be tedious, and
might become fanciful and unjust. In them all, we see the great poet,
the discriminating and the intense mind, at least refining and rationaliz-
ing the crude though grand conceptions, of another poetical but ill-
trained intellect, which seems not to have understood its own power-i-
and which though remarkably similar to Byron's, certainly had ribtva
tithe of his chastened good taste. Hence the sentiments and conceptions
in these volumes, may have strongly commended themselves to the poet's
mental constitution ; but they are in general ill brought out, and often
so wild that they can only have their effect on minds more or less like
his own. Many examples might be given of this, but one may suffice.
I have already quoted the answer of the deformed hero to the young
lady who had asked him what it was to love ; namely, that " it is to die
in yourself to live in another." Now mark how Byron in " The Dream,"
expresses and amplifies this beautiful sentiment, in reference to the
breathing light of his youth, and the dark cloud of his manhood — Miss
Chaworth : —

" He had no breath, no being but in her's ;
She was his voice ; he did not speak to her,
But trembled on her words ; she was his sight,
For his eye followed her's, and saw with her's,
Which coloured all his objects : — he had ceased
To live within himself; she was his life,
The ocean to the river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all."

I might further pursue this subject by referring to this romance (vol.
iv. p. 11), for those well-known sentiments of Byron upon that dubious
matter, a woman's age ; to the beginning of the tale of Manfred
already alluded to (ib. p. 145, &c.), for many of those original senti-
ments regarding friendship, scattered through the writings of the npble

1832.] A Mystery—for the Byron-Critics. 297

poet. I might also add, that if Byron has given us a vigorous picture
of a Venetian conspiracy in " Marino Faliero"— of a siege (Corinth) — of
a guilty and sad being giving a long history of himself in confession to
a priest (the Giaour), we have similar incidents, and much more, in the
wild production before me ; but I prefer closing this paper with an
extract in regard to character, of which the reader, meditating on that of
the noble poet, will of course form his own judgment. Before going
further, however, it may be necessary to say, that no man of correct
feeling would put this romance into the hands of those for whose
morals they had any solicitude. But to the illustration.

Mr. Gait inquires whether the tone and sentiments in this romance
may not have furnished the ideas of that gloom which pervades all
Byron's writings, and is the chief feature which distinguishes his senti-
ments from those of most former poets. If it be true, as Moore inti-
mates, that " wrongs and sufferings" (real or fancied) " were through
life the main sources of Byron's inspiration" — and if "to this one great
object of displaying power, every other duty was but too likely to be
sacrificed" (vol. ii. p. 784), — and if, as both his biographers seem to in-
timate, Byron, in reference to the public, bore somewhat of a double
character, nothing appears more likely — considering his early impres-
sions from this romance, of which we have already spoken. The long
description of Arnaud's character here, it is impossible to read without
thinking of the character of Byron, or at least of that one which he has
drawn to the view of the world-^-so strange a mixture of tenderness and
something not so amiable, that it is little wonder his biographers should
not have fully understood it, when he understood it not himself. But
attend to the romance (vol. iv. pp. 252, 273, 275). In Arnaud's early
life, te when his mother observed to him how long his eyelashes latterly
were grown, he replied in tones that melted the words — ' Alas ! no
wonder ! for I have watered them much of late/ The looks and ges-
tures that accompanied these kinds of speech, denoted their origin in a
heart that would not suffer others to think it contented with the case in
which it was ; that likewise was too proud to permit their pity, which
it prevented by shewing that it would not pity itself. Of follies he was
not more abundant (than other men), for his brain was stronger in wis-
dom than his heart in virtue. Some follies he cultivated, because he
esteemed them accessary to human happiness ; but he failed in his de-
sign, for his mode of bringing them into play raised them to the detest-
able eminence of vices. Yet one folly, egotism, was virtuous, insomuch
that it revealed his vices. He was a delightful and sublime instrument,
wherefrom the instinctive note converses musically or dissonantly,
according as it is struck. When skill and tenderness might have
sounded him through the ravishing compass of harmony, ignorance and
rudeness provoked from him a din of discord ; and what so harsh as
music in despair ?"

Your's, with respect,

A. P.

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIIL No. 75.

. C 298 ] [MARCH,

A MERRY TALE WITH A MERRY MORAL.

LET not the reader, male or female, be alarmed when I say that the
subject of this paper is from Casti — the anathematised and interdicted
Giambatista Casti ! My object is to tell a good story, and at the same
time to shew that the Italian poet from whom it is derived, has a vast
deal to recommend him, independent of the want of " due decorum,''
with which, in some of his eight and forty novelie he is justly chargeable.
In a late proceeding in Chancery it was seriously urged, as a ground for not
appointing a particular (or not particular) clergyman, tutor to some young
men of fortune, that the novels of Casti had been seen among his books.
The objection could only have arisen out of ignorance, both of Casti and
his predecessors ; for I will defy any man to produce a single collection
of Italian tales, from the Cento Novdle Antiche, clown to the Novelle Gal-
lanti, of Giuseppe Ferroni (an imitator of Casti), in which indelicacies
may not be discovered. Unless, therefore, these sources of pure Italian,
though not of Italian purity, were to be entirely closed, it was absurd to
urge that they ought not to be read by a tutor whose business it would
properly be to select such portions as his pupils might read, with benefit
to their studies, and without injury to their morals. Some of the
most indecent Italian, novelists have been looked upon in all ages as the
best models of Italian style, both in prose and verse. Such is unques-
tionably the case with Casti, who has been libelled as if he were the
inventor of a mode of writing more coarse and licentious than any of his
precursors. No opinion can be more unjust and erroneous : Casti is
refinement and delicacy itself, compared even with Ariosto, whose deli-
cious poem some ladies are not afraid of exposing upon their shelves.

To a certain class of readers, I am aware that I shall not be recom-
mending what follows, when I say, that nothing like what goes by the
moderate name of impropriety will be found in it : it is not necessary to
the interest or humour of the narrative, and although Casti, addressing
himself to those who were accustomed to expect something of the kind,
now and then deviates from the strict line, it is not requisite that I should
follow him. Ariosto here and there advises his more squeamish readers
to omit certain parts which may not suit their tastes —

Lasciate questo canto, che seuz' esso
Pus' star I'istoria. — (Lib. xxvii. st. 1.)

ai>d Casti introduces his Camicia dell' Uomofelice (the first part of which,
by the way, is called // Beretto Magico, although it belongs to the same
series of incidents) by two prefatory stanzas of a similar character. I
have translated them thus : —

I seek not, rigid matrons, to divert you ;

Old maids, with you I can have nought to do ;
Austere pretenders, I don't mean to hurt you ;

I sing to young men, arid young maidens too,
Who strive to couple reason with their virtue ;

Or in a word, fair dames, I speak to you,
Who spend, without hypocrisy, your leisure
In innocent amusements — harmless pleasure.

If y°u should meet with what appears too warm,
A shade of something ill, though well intended,

But just enough your conscience to alarm,
Why read it not, and you are not offended

1832.] A Merry Tale with a Merry Moral.

To leave 't unread is certainly no harm :
9ffo jterf* If you will read or hear it, when 'tis ended
To make wry faces you have no pretence.
This compact clear, my story I commence.

Before I begin, however, I have a few words to say upon the subject,
and upon the origin of it. In consists, as I have mentioned, of two parts,
the first being called The Magic Turban, and the second The happy
Man's Shirt. Every body knows the property of the drinking-cup in
Ariosto, which spilt the liquor upon the breast of every unfaithful
knight : this test of matrimonial fidelity, Ariosto had from the romances
of Tristan and Perceval, and La Fontaine borrowed it from Ariosto.
Spencer's Girdle of Florimel was of the same kind, and a similar virtue
was inherent in the worfderful mantle, the story of which is in Percy's
Relics of Ancient Poetry, being derived from Le Court Mantel of the old
French Fablian. The Magic Turban of Casti is only another variety of
the same species, but whether he was indebted for it to any old novel, or
romance, I am not aware. It will be seen that he makes quite as good
use of it as any of his precursors of their corresponding inventions.
That part of his novel which relates to the shirt of a happy man, he
seems to have adopted, with a different application, from Giorn. II.
Nov. 1, of // Pecorone, attributed to Giovanni Fiorentino, who was one
of the earliest authors of Italian Novelle after Boccacio. There, a widow
entreats a lady, apparently the happiest in Naples, to make a shirt, the
preternatural effect of which would be to cure the widow's only son of a
fatal disorder : she, whom the world thought to have no care, shews the
widow the skeleton of her lover behind a curtain, before which, night
and morning, she renewed her concealed sorrow. It is a proverb in
English, that " there is a skeleton in every man's closet/' no doubt
derived from some version or variation of this Italian tale, which has
escaped my researches. I will now proceed with Casti's novella, insert-
ing prose or verse in English or Italian, and abridging and omitting,
as I think may best suit my purpose. The moral of the whole, it will
be found, is excellent.

Arsaces, the young Sultan of Ormus, had married a beautiful princess,
named Irene, and Casti informs us that —

They liv'd in perfect harmony some time,

As married people should, but oft do not :
Suspicion never hinted at a crime

That could the fame of either party blot.
Arsaces had a soul which soar'd sublime

Above the wisdom of this earthly spot,
And to augment his stock of wondrous knowledge, he
Studied the depths of magic and astrology.

He therefore invited to his court the ablest professors of those sciences,
in order that he might be made perfect in prediction. One day a magi-
cian offered him a cap or turban, with the miraculous attribute, that
whoever put it on was compelled to speak truth, and that too, without
being aware that he or she had uttered it. Before he parted with this
treasure, the magician required the sultan to take a solemn oath, that
with whatever facts the cap might make him acquainted, he would
betray no surprise, and inflict no punishment : Casti adds, that Arsaces
was remarkable for the sanctity with which he kept all his engagements,
which was saying a great deal more

X 2

300 A Merry Tale with a Merry Moral.

Than can be said of any other prince : w>* a#w jf

Who reign'd on earth before him — aye, or since. » bib

,, , , , ,. ,, , . ,. .,, ,, . IIH

How happy he believ d himself with this

Most wonderous cap ! by which he could avoid
Fraud, treachery, and anything amiss,

And lead a life of pleasure unalloy'd.
How ignorant is man of what is bliss,

Or how it may be kept, or how destroy'd !
Each heavy ill that on our joy encroaches
Seems lighter, if we see not its approaches.

Arsaces resolved, in the first instance, to try the experiment upon a
young male attendant, named Marzucco, of fine person, and unexcep-
tionable deportment, who was always about the sultaness. The moment
the cap was on his head, Marzucco broke out in a rapturous eulogium
of Irene, declared his love for her, and lamented that the frequent pre-
sence of her husband deprived him of the opportunities be wished to
enjoy. Arsaces snatching off tbe cap, put bis hand to bis scymetar, but
instantly remembered his oath to tbe magician. Stultus qui qucerit quod
nocet inventum : Arsaces retired from his court in doubt and dismay,
and all wondered at the sudden and extraordinary change. At last he
began to comfort himself with tbe hope that tbe passion of Marzucco
might be for some other Irene —

One whom Marzucco idly thought more fair. —
While he indulg'd this hope, however faint,

Irene enter'd, dress'd with careless care,
In purest white, and looking like a saint.

He never saw her look more lovely, ne'er
Had seen a face more free from vice's taint.

He felt convinced it was not she he meant,

She seem'd so beautiful and innocent.

A kiss confirmed the sultan's conviction : —

Man is at best a silly, doating thing,
Born to be fool'd, both cottager and king.

As ill-luck would have it, the magic cap was lying on a marble table
close at hand, and while Irene was sitting on Arsaces' knee (he intently
gazing on her beauty, and not suspecting wbat sbe was about to do),
she took it up and put it on. The dreadful secret instantly escaped
from her lips — she avowed ber love for Marzucco, and ber preference of
bim to the sultan, whose love she asserted was sickly and surfeiting.
Almost deprived of reason, Arsaces flung the cap from a window of the
palace into tbe sea, and then fell upon the floor in a trance: Irene,
unconscious of what she had said, and of the cause of the sultan's illness,
had him conveyed to his couch, and life presently returned, but he could
not recover the shock he had sustained —

His health decayed : the sultaness attended
Upon him, and display'd most anxious care,

Which with such lovely blandishments she blended,
She seem'd to all as innocent as fair —

All but the sultan, whom she but offended
By new hypocrisy : — as if for air

He often thrust her back with languid force,

And each succeeding day grew worse and worse.

1832.] A Merry Tale with a Merry Moral. 301

When it was found that change of air, change of scene, and change of
physic did no good, the great assembly of the magi of the kingdom was
convened, and all the passages to the hall were guarded by military :
here Casti takes the opportunity, and seems to rejoice in it (as Tassoni
had done before him, vide La Secchia Rapita, c. ii. st. 39), of abusing
the manner in which the soldiery usually conducted themselves on such
occasions : —

Di soldatesca a duri modi avezza

Son privilegi impertinenza c asprezza.

Then we are told of the various suggestions of these van di saper, the
convened magi, for the restoration of the sultan's health : some recom-
mended the building of a mosque, others a pilgrimage to Mecca ; but
the great Abumelec, who was looked up to as a very oracle of wisdom,
declared that the sultan never would be well again, until he was clothed
in the shirt of a man who was perfectly happy : —

To this most strange suggestion there was no man

(No Magus rather) dared to make reply :
Indeed, the more the scheme appear'd uncommon,

The greater its infallibility.
All wonder'd at the wisdom superhuman

The virtues of this shirt that could descry :
Sans more debate, for every one declined it,
The only question now was, where to find it ?

They soon discovered that there was no chance of obtaining the shirt
of a happy man in Ormus and the surrounding country ; and satraps and
bashaws were dispatched to search for it among people of all ranks in
Armenia, Arabia, Phoenicia, and India. In what I am now about to
insert, I have varied from my original very considerably, for Casti is a
vast deal too diffuse in his descriptions and remarks. Those who had
been sent out to find the shirt were disappointed in every quarter, and
in every station —

In monarchs they saw pride of high estate,

While fell ambition gnaw'd their inmost heart ;
Loaded full often with the public hate,

And daily dreading the assassin's dart,
Or still worse evils that on thrones await.

False spfendour and feign'd joy concealed the smart ;
But while uprais'd above the crowd below,
Wretched themselves, they made their subjects so.
In nobles they beheld an empty boast

Of mighty ancestors — a misty throng ;
Those who enjoy 'd the prince's favour most
Were victims soon of tyranny and wrong :
Envy against them rang'd a fearful host,
And bound by vanity in fetters strong,
It was quite clear, with all these ills begirt,
That such a class could never own the shirt.

'Mong meaner subjects they observed distress

In every shape that it could be presented :
Lean poverty aspirants would repress,

And even competence made discontented.
Diseases triumph'd o'er the happiness

Of hundreds, who the noblest works invented ;
While often prince's cruelty and whims
Depriv'd the virtuous of their lives or limbs.

302 A Merry Tale with a Merry Moral. [MARCH,

From the ^Egean to the Indian main,
Thro' cities, towns and country they proceeded,

To find one happy man, but sought in vain,

To furnish them with what so much they needed.

To Ormus, satraps and bashaws again

Return'd, and told that they had not succeeded ;

That for the shirt they search'd in every quarter,

But found it not on either land or water.

Thus we oft-times a water-dog have known

Rush for a stone into a rapid river,
Which by his master purposely was thrown,

And 'neath the water lies conceal'd for ever.
The dog looks on the surface for the stone,

Swimming about ; and after vain endeavour
Returns to shore, from which he went much faster,
And seems to say, " I cannot find it, master."

This last happy simile is only Casti's, and all that I have done, I am
afraid, is in a degree to spoil it. We have another, equally appropriate,
not long afterwards, where the poet is speaking of the brief intervals
from toil enjoyed by the lower orders, with my translation of which I
am better pleased : —

As we have sometimes seen a frisky ass

Break from his tether, when it was too frail :

With ears erect he gallops o'er the grass,
Free from restraint, and cocking up his tail.

He brays, kicks out behind ; but soon, alas !
His freedom's lost — his fancied pleasures fail t

His master comes with whip he often tasted,

And he's re-brought, re-burden'd, and re-basted.

We now approach the conclusion of the story. Two of the envoys
from Ormus arrive in that part of the east where iParadise is supposed
to have been situated : —

Ov' aura allor spiro nitida e pura,

Efur delizie d'amarezza prive,
Ed ove netto stato di natura

La prima madre e il primo genitore

Visser felici almen ventiquattr* ore,

Here they saw a shepherd dancing before two country girls, while a
second youth played on his pipe. They seemed so perfectly happy, that
the satraps at once felt convinced that they had found the shirt, or, at
least, those from whom they could procure it. They rejoiced, there-
fore, in the prospect of a speedy termination of their long toils, and
asking the shepherds if they were happy, received the following answer
from one of them : —

We are but shepherds, and tho' poor, are free ;

The little we possess is. really ours.
On sunny hills we tend our flocks with glee,

Or in the vallies, green with freshing showers ;
The while we dance beneath some shady tree,

And crown our heads with garlands of sweet flowers.
Our wants are few and those our flocks supply-
A life of ease, but still of industry. —

Without more ceremony, the two satraps seized upon one of the shep-
herds, declaring that they meant him no personal harm, but merely

1832.] A Merry Tale with a Merry Moral.

that they wanted his shirt. To their dismay they find that neither he nor
his companion had ever been rich enough to own one ! The novel
winds up as follows : —

The fact was so, altho' most unexpected —
He wore no shirt, and had none to his back !

The satraps, disappointed and dejected,
To Ormus recommenced their weary track.

It seemed impossible, when they reflected,
That such a man, who never cried " alack !"

At any chance — contented in his dirt—

Should be so happy, yet without a shirt.

Reaching the realm of Ormus at the end

Of their long journey, they with grief reported

Their search the adverse stars would not befriend ;
That those who shirts, and other linen sported,

Were not as blest as flatterers might pretend,
Who to the palaces of kings resorted.

Henceforth the vulgar only we must call

The really happy — they've no shirts at all !

It is in the Appendix to this novella., that Casti has been especially
blameable. It is sufficient for me to add that Arsaces died. Of Irene
and Marzucco I shall say nothing — what could they say for themselves ?

C. C.

MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO IN THE DUNGEONS OF THE INQUISITION
OF ROME, IN 1818.

(EXTRACTED FROM THE ENGLISH MS. OF AN ITALIAN EXILE.)

.ROME, the majestic queen of the universe, the terror and admiration
of the known world, under the dominion of the ancient Romans, became,
in the first centuries of Christianity, the cradle of religion, and the seat
of apostles and martyrs.

But when the successors of St. Peter, forgetting their divine institu-
tion, and the precepts and examples of their holy predecessors, began
to seek after worldly empire, Rome was soon changed into a new Baby-
lon ; and in the Vatican were collected ambition, hypocrisy, craftiness,
and all the concomitant vices of those base passions.

Who is not acquainted with the present miserable condition of the
capital of Catholicism ? An immense and beautiful city, the incom-
parable monument of ancient and modern wonders, thinly peopled by
inhabitants, rendered unworthy of the glorious name of Romans, by the
despotism, superstition, and tyranny of the thousands of monks and
priests that literally swarm in that splendid metropolis.

However, as the Italians have a naturally lively disposition, and think
but little about past and future sorrows, one may not be surprised to
see in all places of amusement the appearance at least of true enjoyment.
It is for this reason that the Carnival of Rome presents, within the short
space of twenty-four hours,* the length of its real duration, more inte-

* The Carnival of Home lasts eight days, but the masks are only permitted to
circulate during three hours of each day.

304 Marcus Tullius Cicero in the [MARCH,

resting scenes, and greater variety of masks, than the long and weari-
some Carnivals of Naples, Milan, and Venice. It may be said, that at
that epoch the poorest of the inhabitants will sacrifice any thing to dis-
play themselves and their finery in the renowned Strada del Corso, It
has been proved that, during that period, the pawnbrokers of Rome
lend more money than for the rest of the year. It was at this season of
merriment and rejoicing that the anecdote I am about to relate hap-
pened to me.

Amongst my many weaknesses, I am not ashamed to acknowledge
my confirmed inability to withstand the entreaties of the fair. Being,
therefore, solicited by a charming and beautiful lady to perform in
mask, and assume the character of Cicero, with the promise that she
would accompany me in the character and dress of Tulliola, I con-
sented ; and having had a mask taken from the bust of the Roman
orator, which is preserved in the capitol, and dressed in the style of a
Roman consul, I entered into the Corso, accompanied by my supposed
daughter. At first, I placed myself under the gate of the Palace Bolo-
gnetti, where a great crowd soon collected around me. Clever men were
not backward in questioning me about many ancient historical and politi-
cal events, and I answered in Latin to all their questions. The facility
with which I conversed in the language of the great Roman — a facility,
indeed, which it had been my early ambition to acquire — excited public
attention, and, in a short time, all the Corso spoke of nothing but of the
wonderful Cicero of the Palace Bolognetti, and I was almost besieged
by the multitude.

After having remained more than an hour in that situation, I went to
pay a visit to Prince Ghigi, in whose drawing-room a great number of
the Roman nobility, and many literary men, had assembled to witness
the races of the Barbari. Cicero, of course, was soon attacked on all
sides. Prince Ghigi accused me of having flattered Caesar, and changed
my principles on several occasions. These accusations I combated with
many historical arguments, and proved that Cicero's integrity and
patriotism had remained unstained during that dreadful period of Rome.
Every person present tried to guess who was the representative of the
Roman orator. Some said, and felt assured, that I was a Professor of
the Sapienza ; others, that I was one of the Scriptores of the Vatican ;
but the Cavalier Odescalchi said before the company, that he knew but
one man who could perform Cicero in a like manner, and that was the
Hungarian gentleman who had often delivered extemporaneous Latin
poetry before the Accademia Latina. Seeing that I was so nearly dis-
covered, I left the Palace Ghigi, but promised that, at night, I would go
to the Festino of the theatre Alibert.

From thence I walked up and down the Corso, and often spoke in
Latin to the numerous English who were seated before the Palace Rus-
poli, particularly to a lady who, in my opinion, was one of the finest
women I ever beheld. She could not understand me ; and as I would
not speak in any living language, her husband, a captain in the British
navy, was my interpreter ; I obtained their address, and had after-
wards the pleasure of becoming intimately acquainted with them.

According to my promise, I went to the Festino. There all that
Rome contained of talent and genius had assembled to attack, embarrass,
and overcome, if possible, the living Cicero. For four hours all the
most difficult parts of the works of the Roman orator were proposed for

1832.J Dungeons of the Inquisition of Homey in 1818. 305

my explanation ; several of his orations, in which either the beginning
or the conclusion are wanting, I was required to complete. Having for
many years had the works of this great master, I may say, at my
fingers' ends, I was enabled to afford so satisfactory an explanation of
them, that my auditors were truly astonished.

About one o'clock in the morning, the Prince of Canino (Lucien
Bonaparte), who was present, demanded my opinion relative to the pre-
sent state of Rome, and inquired what I thought of its civil and criminal
laws. Unfortunately for me, in the warmth of discussion, I forgot
where I was, and having been questioned how I could speak so precisely
on things that had occurred two thousand years after my death, I told
them that I had often the opportunity of meeting in the lower regions
some of the cleverest inhabitants of Rome, and that lately I had had a long
conversation with Cardinal Maury, on the very subject. This was a
thunderbolt to the ears of several of the auditors. Such a speech was
the greatest blasphemy against the holy order of cardinals ; and the
Arguses of the Roman Inquisition soon denounced me to Monsignor
Pacca, governor of Rome. Orders were immediately given for my
arrest as soon as I left the house, and, accordingly, about two o'clock,
while I was stepping into a carriage, I was seized by four sbirri. They
conducted me into a neighbouring house, where my eyes were bound,
and, without speaking a syllable, I was hurried into a coach and driven
off. When I alighted, I found myself in the Monastery of Santa Maria
in Minerva, where the Inquisitors of the Holy Office hold their infernal
sittings, and where the dungeons are situated in which the accused are
kept during the progress of their trial, and until their final sentence is
pronounced. The little subterraneous cave in which I was imprisoned
was scarcely of sufficient height to allow me to stand upright; it was
about six feet wide, and nearly as much in length. The only aperture
was a small hole, which looked into a dark corridor, and served to
admit the air. A wooden chair, and a pitcher of water, were all the
furniture.

It would be impossible to describe what were my feelings and my
anxiety during that long night. I had twice in my life been confined,
and also condemned to death for political offences, but I had never
tenanted a dungeon half so appalling as was that subterranean den.

In the morning, about ten o'clock, two robust friars made their
appearance, and informed me that I was to be conducted before the
inquisitor, but they wished to tie both my hands. I strongly opposed
this act of tyrannj', and said that I would not submit. They answered
that it was indispensable ; but I continued in my resolution. When the
friars saw that I was determined not to submit they retired ; and after
about a quarter of an hour returned, and ordered me to follow them.
We passed through several dark corridors, ascended by a gloomy stair-
case, and arrived at the cell of the Rev. Father Olivieri,* one of the four
inquisitors of the holy office of Rome. This inquisitorial attorney-gene-
ral was a man of about fifty years of age, of dark complexion and high
stature, and possessed all the exterior striking features of his tyrannical

* Father Olivieri is still living, and has lately been appointed, by Cardinal Bar-
netti, the present secretary of state of Gregory XIV., tne supreme inquisitor of
the arrested Carbonari of the Roman States* There is no appeal from tike deci-
sions of his tribunal ! ! !

306 Marcus Tullins Cictro in the [MARCH,

vocation. His black, fierce-looking eyes, his large mouth and thick
lips, inspired a sort of awe mingled with disgust. Next to him was
seated a younger monk, ready to transcribe his questions and my
answers. The reverend father stared at me for a minute or two, as if
wishing to read into my heart, and then sitting down, began as fol-
lows : —

" What is your name, country, profession, and religion ?"

" I am Arduel Tchocha, a native of Buda, in Hungary, by profession
a soldier, and a Catholic by birth."

" Why have you been arrested ?"

" I do not know."

" Have you not spoken in a public theatre against the holy order of
cardinals?"

" I do not remember having committed such an offence."

" Did you not say, last night, while speaking of the present laws of
Rome, that you had seen, in hell, Cardinal Maury ?"

" Yes, I did, but it was in the warmth of my argumentation ; and I
never thought that it would be deemed an offeree to the holy order of
cardinals, especially as I there represented Cicero, who was by no means
a good Catholic/'

" Can you assign any other motive which might mitigate the rigour
of the holy inquisition for your great crime ?"

" I do not know of any. Besides," added I, ( ' Cardinal Maury was,
during all his life, undoubtedly opposed to the Roman church's infal-
libility, and to the last moment of his existence he would not abjure
this erroneous opinon."

" 'Tis true," answered Father Olivieri ; " but you know that the
holy pontiff, having sent to the dying cardinal his in articulo mortis abso-
lution, it is almost an article of faith that Cardinal Maury has been saved
from the torments of hell."

" I did not know this," replied I ; " and I must confess that, had I
been informed of the circumstance, it would not have altered my sen-
timents."

" Are you the same person who has often delivered extemporaneous
Latin poetry in the Latin Academy ?"

" Yes, I am."

" Well," the Rev. Father Olivieri then observed, "how can a soldier
be so well acquainted with ancient literature and history as to deliver
extemporaneous Latin poetry, and to represent, as you have done, the
character of Cicero ?"

" Factum infectum Jleri nequit" answered I ; "and if I have done it,
it is the best proof of what a soldier can do."

" But," replied the inquisitor, taking a paper into his hand, " here is
a letter which I have just received from the most Rev. Monsignor Pacca,
governor of Rome ;* he informs me that strong suspicions are entertained
that you are not a Hungarian, but that under such a fictitious name is

* This famous personage, after having been for more than five years the greatest
hypocrite and tyrant of Rome, was at last denounced as being at the head of a party
who wished to overthrow the papal government ; and had not Cardinal Pacca, his
uncle, obtained his escape from the lloman states, he would have certainly expe-
rienced the rigours of the holy office. In his flight, however, he did not forget his
interest, and basely took away with him 100,000 lloman scudi from the coffers of
the poor, which were deposited in his hands !

1832.] Dungeons of the Inquisition of Rome, in 1818. J5U7

concealed an Italian nobleman, of very dangerous religious and political
principles. What can you reply to it ?"

" My answer will be very short/' said I. " You and Monsignor
Pacca have been deceived. I have a German passport, and am well
known to Prince Kounitz, our ambassador at Rome."

Father Olivieri, on hearing this, seemed much surprised, remained
silent for some moments, and then told me, " That I was to return
to my dungeon, that he might make his report, and obtain further infor-
mation/'

To this I replied, by saying, " That if I was to be retained as a pri-
soner, they should give me better accommodation, and that they should
send for my clothes, for I could not remain longer dressed as Cicero."
In the meanwhile, I told the inquisitor that I was intimately acquainted
with the Cardinals Fontana and Litta,* who were at that epoch the presi-
dents of the tribunal of the holy office of Rome, and that if my just
request was not granted, to them I would appeal for redress, and that I
was certain to obtain it.

This observation rendered the reverend inquisitor more reasonable ;
he ordered the two friars to conduct me into the hall, where generally the
offenders are kept in custody ; he also promised me that I should have
my clothes, if I would give a written order to my servant to deliver
them to the messenger : this I did directly, and withdrew.

The new prison, in which I was now confined, was a large subterra-
neous apartment, placed under the court of the Monastery of Santa
Maria in Minerva. It was not very dark, for at the top of the ceilings
there were several openings, guarded with iron bars ; a long, wooden
bedstead was at one side, upon which ten or twelve persons could have
lain ; a large black crucifix was suspended at one side of the wall, and
several old dirty pious books were fastened with small iron chains to the
wooden chairs of the apartment. On the walls were written, or rather
engraved with some pointed instrument, some thousand names of the
unfprtunate victims of inquisitorial despotism, who had been interred
alive before me in that dungeon, and, very probably, for no greater
offence ; among which, I distinguished Guido Reni, Salvator Rosa, the
Cavalier d'Arpino, Vincenzo Damiani, Cagliostro, and the celebrated
Dominican monk, Fontana Rosa ; under this was the following — Bene
est, quia Monachus Monachos odi. I read also the names of several Ger-
man, English, and Irish artists, and heretics, and not a few of the
French liberals. After having minutely examined my new habitation,
I threw myself on the bedstead, and, being extremely fatigued, went
to sleep.

About four o'clock I was roused by a friar, who came to bring me
some food, and my clothes. I thanked him, and requested that he
would give me a light, for it was already very dark. This was granted.
I ate something, and exchanged the dress of Cicero, which had proved
so fatal to me. About twelve o'clock in the night I heard a very dis-
tressing voice, and the cries of a man who certainly was suffering under
bodily torture, for now and then I plainly understood that he exclaimed,

* These two princes of the Roman church, so well known for their wisdom and
moderation, had been appointed to this appalling office by Pius VII , when, after
his return from exile, he re-established, almost by compulsion of the Dominican
monks, the Inquisition of Home, which the French had abolished. This appoint-
ment greatly displeased all the intolerant members of the Sacred College.

308 .81'-" Marcus Tullius Cicero in the [MARCH,

" Have mercy upon me. I cannot confess what I have not done. Have
mercy upon me ; I am dying !" This was a very dreadful omen ; and I
endured the most painful sensation in considering that perhaps a similar
treatment was prepared for me.

Next morning the two friars came very early, and conducted me again
to the inquisitor Olivieri. As soon as I entered his cell, he told me
' ' that further information had been taken, and that he was fully con-
vinced of my being not a Hungarian. Besides," added he, "Monsignor
Pacca has been informed by the Marquis of Fuscaldo, the Neapolitan
ambassador at the court of Rome, that you are a very bad subject of his
Sicilian Majesty. If it be so, he has demanded you as a prisoner, and
in a few days you will be confronted with persons who will identify
you."

I was truly alarmed on hearing this, but I did not manifest any exte-
rior apprehension, for I was convinced that before such an epoch my
friends would have certainly done all in their power to save me. In
this opinion I was not mistaken, for my Tulliola, who had left the
theatre a short time before my arrest, not having seen me the next day,
began to think that some misfortune had befallen me ; and having sent
to my lodgings, was informed of my absence, and of the suspicion of my
having fallen into the hands of the inquisition. Knowing that I was
acquainted with the Austrian ambassador, she therefore immediately
called on him, and related her apprehensions concerning me. Prince
Kounitz immediately ordered his carriage, and drove to Monsignor
Pacca, requesting to know where I was. The governor answered, that
he knew nothing at all about my de tiny, and that it was possible I had
gone out of town. Kounitz was not satisfied with this reply, and
remarked, that as I was one of the subjects of the Emperor of Austria, it
was his duty to see that I should not be ill-treated and unjustly con-
demned. Monsignor Pacca repeated that he was quite ignorant of what
might have happened to me.

The ambassador called, therefore, on the Cardinal of state, and finding
that his eminence had gone to spend the evening at the Palace Ghigi,
and there to play at cards with the amiable princess, his favourite lady,
the prince soon directed his course to that conversazione, and having
met Gonzalvi, called him out, and repeated to him the same questions
he had already made to Monsignor Pacca, but received, almost literally,
the same answers. To this Kounitz intimated his intention of address-
ing himself to the pope, if on the next morning I should not be found,
or if the cardinal would not let him know where I was detained. Gon-
zalvi persisted in his being ignorant of my fate, and the prince with-
drew.

Next morning, about eleven o'clock, Prince Kounitz, with all the
etiquette of an ambassador, waited on Pius VII., and after having kissed
his foot, explained the cause of his extraordinary visit. When the pope
heard all that the prince had to say, he suddenly exclaimed — " What ?
is the Hungarian gentleman arrested ? I know him. Poor Checchmo !*
and for why ?" — The prince answered, " That he did not know." —

• The Abbot Barnabas Chiaromonte, was accustomed to call the writer by this
name, which means little Francis ; and although the one had become a pope, and
the other a man of six feet stature, and thirty -five years of age, he still continued
the use oHhis affectionate appellation.

1832.] Dungeons of the Inquisition of Rome, in 1818.

" Well/' replied the pope, " I will soon know it/' and having rang,
ordered, to Monsignor Riario, who was his lord in waiting, that Cardi-
nal Gonzalvi should be immediately sent for, and, dispensing with the
papal etiquette, desired the prince to take a seat. During the time they
were waiting for the secretary of state, Pius VII. spoke very favourably
of me ; assured Prince Kounitz that he had found in me a true friend
while he was confined at Fontainebleau, and that I had often endangered
my own welfare to bring him some comfort ; the good pope added that
he knew me from my infancy, that I was intrinsically good, but that he
had always found that I often acted very imprudently.

In a short time Gonzalvi was announced, and when, on entering, the
cardinal saw Prince Kounitz sitting by the pope, he soon guessed why
he had been called. Pius VII. was a very excellent man, and truly
pious, he was also a profound divine, and extremely erudite. Of all the
successors of St. Peter, since they have obtained temporal power, he is
the only pontiff who has not enriched his family ; and although he
reigned more than twenty-four years, he died very poor, for his charity
knew no bounds. The only fault he had, was, that he cared very little
about worldly affairs ; and it may be said that, though Pius VII. was
the nominal pope, it was Cardinal Gonzalvi that reigned uncontrolled.

However, when Pius VII. was determined that any thing should be
done, or that any abuse should be abolished, he was the most firm, and
the most obstinate man in the world. In the present circumstance he
proved his authority, and, without any observation, demanded from his
secretary of state — " What has happened to the Hungarian gentleman,
who the other day performed the mask of Cicero, and since that period
is missing ?" Gonzalvi seeing that the pope knew that it was almost
certain that Cicero had been arrested, replied — " Your holiness is well
aware that those who sacrilegiously blaspheme against our holy religion
are immediately given into the hands of the holy inquisition, and that
their apprehension must be kept secret until they are examined and tried.
It is for this reason that I could not give a satisfactory answer to the
Austrian ambassador. But since your holiness commands me to dis-
close the secrets of the holy office, I will briefly relate what has been
done with the Hungarian gentleman, or rather with the Neapolitan
nobleman." Here the cardinal reported all that has already been
exposed, and particularly insisted on the instances of the Marquis of
Fuscaldo. As soon as Gonzalvi ended his information, the pope said —
" Cardinal, it is our will that the prisoner should be directly restored to
liberty ; and as the Austrian ambassador is so generous as to offer to go
to deliver his subject, you will accompany his excellency, and see that
my commands are fulfilled without further delay."

It was nearly three o'clock when I heard the footsteps of several per-
sons in the corridor of my prison. I felt a strange sensation, but soon
was relieved from my anxiety by my door being opened, and by the
appearance of my excellent friend, Prince Kounitz, who, with a smile
on his face, requested me to go with him.

To pass from the abode of tyranny, torture, and despair, to the mag-
nificent palace of a generous prince — to escape from the furious hands
of the inquisitors to be again restored to my best friends, was but an
instant. A few days after this, having taken my leave of all those who
had known and assisted me, I bade adieu to Rome and to Italy— pro-
bably for ever !

[ 310 ] [MARCH,

PARLIAMENTARY PASTORALS.
NO- III. A SlBTHORPJAN SoNG.

I'M an orator all the world knows,

If they do not 'tis right they should know ;
Great talents I've yet to disclose,

Which the house doesn't wish me to shew.
When a speech I begin to let off,

Scarce a sentence or word can be told ;
For they all (what a pun !) have a "Corfe,"

Like Bankes — though but few have a cold.
I have ever been ready to speak,

On each subject delightfully clear ;
Though speaking for week after week,

I cannot make any one hear.
As soon as they see that I rise,

They determine my thoughts not to learn ;
And join in a whirlwind of cries,

Of " question !" " hear, hear !" and " adjourn!"
Yet sometimes I've managed to bray

A speech that was worthy a prince ;
And I've fancied how freely next day,

The papers would publish my hints.
But when the next morning I see,

My hopes quickly meet with a fall ;
For they take no more notice of me,

Than if I'd not spoken at all.
I must say this is monstrously hard,

To be treated so every night ;
And to have all one's genius thus marred,

Like a bud which has suffered the blight.
I might become Premier — who knows !

If my worth were more publicly known,
But the members are jealous of those,

Whose wit is more bright than their own.
'Tis the fashion (the somnolent tribe !)

To snore when the House I address ;
And their interest also to bribe

The journals, my speech to suppress.
But this consolation is mine,

In the knowledge that such has been done ;
That merit, however divine,

Must be envied by those who have none.

IV. — CHLOE'S OFFERING TO THE COLIN OF BOROUGHBRIDGE !

I HAVE found out a gift for my dear,

I have found out a pair of brutelles,
But let me the present forbear,

And send him a smart cap and bells.
" For who can," said he, " in these days,

Attempt the buffoon with success,
Who is not rather strange in his ways,

Or has not something odd in his dress ?

1832.] Parliamentary Pastorals. 311

" And how could I double my fist,

And throw my arms gracefully round.
With grimaces, contortion, and twist,

If my clothes were thus uselessly bound !
If they dropped as debating grew warm,

They never were out of my reach,
But I still ' hitched them up' in due form,

As I filled up a gap in my speech.

" I soon should be doomed to sit down,

And listen to Croker and Peel,
If my hat didn't look rather brown,

Or my coat were a shade too genteel.
And my jokes they'd consider too stale,

If my shirt I neglected to shew ;
And all my orations would fail,

If my waist were not open below.

" They would say there was something afloat,

Which they thought was suspicious and strange ;
If I hadn't been turning my coat,

There was some ' inexpressible' change.
And then when I rose to reply,

With a speech of four hours in my head ;
Their cheers all my friends would deny,

And greet me with coughing instead.

" I know what the newspapers say.

But I care little what they may tell ;
Though I look, they affirm every day,

Like a crab that is casting its shell.
But their paragraphs never could stab,

And their wit is not free from a flaw ; —
If 'tis true I resemble a crab,

I can also come off with eclat.

" If in locks that fell loose to the wind,

The strength of a Sampson was placed ;
Who knows but that mine is enshrined,

In the garment that flows from my waist.
And if I went up to the House,

With my eloquence thus in restraint ;
I should have to sit mute as a mouse,

And to look as demure as a saint.

" Then Hunt would declare from my looks,

I had taken his ' roasted' at last ;
And Perceval write in his books,

I'd been keeping his ' General Fast/
Then the Radical rogues would go on,

To triumph with Hume and Burdett;
For the cause of the Tories is gone,

When the sun of their glory is set.

" Yes ! each Borough would quickly be lost.

And each Schedule as rapidly passed,
If my back with your braces were crossed.

And my clothes were made decent and fast."
He spoke no affectionate word,

But away from my presence he flung ;
And I loved him the more than I heard,

Such arguments fall from his tongue.

312 Parliamentary Pastorals. £MARCH,

NO. V. — THE LAMENTATION OF A LATE LAW-REATE.

OH ! my heart is weighed down with a grief,

That I scarcely know how to express ;
If my tears even gave me relief,

Still they never could give me redress :
To see that man sit in my place.

Whom with scorn I looked down on so long,
Makes me think very ill of my race,

For their judgment must surely be wrong.

When the Chancery / used to hear.

The trials I loved to delay ;
Ev'ry " suit" at least lasted a year,

But he wears them out in a day.
There his Lordship continues to sit,

Dispensing his jokes, and the laws ;
And he hesitates scarcely a bit,

As if there had ne'er been a " cause."

How delighted I felt ev'ry hour,

When my clerks were as busy as bees ;
How I loved to make use of my power,

With what rapture I handled my fees !
And, each sceptic whose notions I knew,

Were not quite so divine as my own ;
I condemned him, and punished him too,

Though my " doubts" were more publicly known.

But those bankruptcy cases I prized,

For the pickings I used to have there ;
Ev'ry act he has changed or revised,

And I'm almost inclined to despair.
For such changes he makes, and has made.

And the law has got so insecure ;
That lawyers I'm almost afraid,

Will soon be made honest, or poor.

Oh ! Wellington, you were unjust,

To proceed with that Catholic Bill ;
If you had not persisted, I trust

That I might have been Chancellor still.
Yet / may be somewhat to blame,

In so hastily quitting your corps ;
But should I my honours reclaim,

I will never " resign" any more.

There were those whom I tried to oppress.

That declared me as rich as a Jew ;
(They were not very far from their guess,

For " the law and the profits" I knew.)
But the seals, alas ! now are not mine,

And the woolsack's unhonour'd by me ;
John ! — open a bottle of wine, —

No, don't— for I hear Lady E.

1832.] [ 313 ]

^.w-WjLl p KUSSIA IN 1832'

ENGLAND and France have hurled their gauntlets at the powers of
the North; they have ratified the Belgian treaty with a straight-for-
ward, manly decision, that must command even .the admiration of their
political adversaries. The question of peace and war now depends upon
the fiat of the Russian Autocrat. Will he, flushed with the conquest of
unhappy Poland, brave the concentrated might of the two most power-
ful states in the world ? Will he, though backed by Prussia and Austria,
tempt the fearful chances of a general war ? Anticipating the march of
events, we answer these two questions with a decided negative.

Previous to the time of Peter the Great the influence of Russia upon
the political system of Europe was an absolute nullity ; by her more
civilized neighbours she was regarded solely as an Asiatic barbarian
power. But the genius of Peter awoke the giant from his slumber, and
aroused those energies, physical and moral, to which an uninterrupted
succession of great and warlike sovereigns have since given so fearful
and rapid a development. With the exception of the United States, the
march of empire of this northern power is unprecedented in the annals
of the world. Victorious in every war, Russia, from the reign of her
great regenerator to the present day, has never made peace without
acquiring a vast extension of territory and political influence. The
plans of Catharine were of the most gigantic and grasping character,
and form the basis of Russian policy. Her son, Paul, meditated the
conquest of British India ; the invading army was Already in motion on
the eastern frontier, when the untimely fate of that monarch arrested the
solution of this great military problem. The plan of campaign and the
line of operations of the invading army may be found in the Archives
of the Ecole de 1'Etat Major at St. Petersburg. The character of the
late emperor, and the extraordinary events of his reign, are too contem-
porary not to be generally known. It may be said, however, that under
the mask of moderation he concealed the grasping ambition, the deeply-
dyed political duplicity of his imperial grandame ; and the aim of his
whole political life was to realize her darling and gigantic designs.

So far back as the year 1793, the ambitious views of Russia were
watched with jealousy by the government of this country. In that year
Mr. Pitt moved an address to his Majesty, praying the sending of a
squadron to the Baltic to protect our ally the King of Sweden, a
measure which was at the time successfully opposed by our present
premier, Lord Grey. But it was the master-mind of Napoleon that
marked with a foreboding eye, the onward roll of the Russian tide that
gained ground with every breaker and threatened to submerge the
European continent. To roll back this torrent, to " refouler la Russie"
(his favourite expression) back on her ancient deserts, were the views of
Napoleon, when he undertook the memorable campaign of 1812, — a
campaign dictated by as sound policy as it was marked by a departure
from all sound military principle, and to which only its failure ought to
be ascribed. Victorious on every battle-field, the invading army fought
its way through every obstacle, and nobly gained the objective point of
their plan of campaign — Moscow. When the Russian people, with heroic
devotion, sacrificed their ancient capital at the shrine of patriotism, where
the forward position of the invading army was no longer tenable —
then it was that the original vice in the plan of campaign became evi-

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 75. Y

314 Russia in 1832. [MARCH,

dent. It was the deviation from the grand military principle of a base —
which alone can ensure the success of a military operation— and not to the
elements, which proved almost as fatal to the pursuing as to the retreating
army, that must be attributed the failure of an enterprise conceived by the
greatest military genius the world ever produced. Had Napoleon,
passing over his grand political fault, the non re-establishment of the
ancient kingdom of Poland, formed a second base of operations in Lithu-
ania, he might, as even the Russian military themselves allow, have
taken up good winter-quarters in Smolensko and its vicinity, and have
reorganised his army for another campaign, which would have decided
the fate of Russia. We have adverted to this " thrice-told tale" merely
to shew how fallacious is the opinion of Russian invincibility, founded on
the result of this memorable campaign.

Since that period, however, the influence exercised by the Autocrat
upon the European political system has been all preponderating. By
matrimonial alliances he has enchained the Prussian monarchy, Holland
and Wertemberg, to his political wake ; while over the councils of the
other powers he has exercised an influence which can only be attributed
to fear — to fear actively kept alive by the works of political and military
writers, who (and we could name several distinguished of our own
countrymen) have vied with each other in representing the rapid deve-
lopment of this northern power as fatal to the liberties of southern
Europe. Upon a superficial view of the subject, we frankly allow that
there existed but too well-founded grounds for the exaggerated fears
entertained of the power and designs of Russia. At the general peace,
her territory, embracing three quarters of the globe, surpassed in extent
the most colossal empires of antiquity, — the ephemeral monarchy of
Alexander, — the Roman republic, when at the summit of its grandeur,
and the immense regions swayed in more modern times by the dynasty
of the Caliphs. Her population forms the fifteenth part of that of the
whole earth ; her army, both in numbers, composition, and every mili-
tary requisite, stands unrivalled in the military annals of the world ;
while her government, enlightened, though despotic, combining the
suppleness, craft, and ductility of the lower empire, with the fiery
energy, vigour, and activity of the Scythian desert, avails itself with
consummate skill and ability of every event that can develop the re-
sources of the empire, and extend its political influence.

Yet, if undazzled by the boundless extent of her dominions, unawed
by the composition and numbers of her armies, and the ambitious and
vigorous character of her government, we calmly, with a statistical and
scientific eye, survey this mighty empire, geographically, politically, and
militarily, — if we penetrate to the sources of her revenue, and unfold the
various branches of her expenditure, — we shall arrive at the conclusion,
that the fears entertained by Europe of the power of Russia, are utterly
baseless, and the opinion of her invulnerability an absolute fallacy.

In approaching the question of Russian statistics, in calculating the
"materiel" force of this empire — in other words, her finances, her army,
and marine — we have imposed on ourselves a task of no ordinary diffi-
culty. In a state where little or no publicity is given to public affairs,
where the government has to render no account of its conduct, where
the elements which constitute the national riches are as varied as multi-
plied, where every thing in fact is in a state of constant fluctuation,
owing to jts continual development, these branches of interior economy

Russia in 1832. :H5

are enveloped in obscurity : still we are not without land-marks to guide
us on our onward course. On Russian statistics there exist the excellent
works of Damage de Raymond, composed by order of Napoleon at the
period of the Russian invasion j the more recent labours of Hassel of
Weydemeyer, of Balbi, and of Schnitzler ; yet with the aid of these able
statisticians, and of data of our own, on the accuracy of which we can
rely, we fear that our estimates will be after all rather approximate than
accurate. The revenues of Russia may be enumerated under the follow-
ing heads : —

Francs.

Capitation tax , 60,000,000

The obrak, or tax paid by the Crown } ^ n

peasants f 70,000,00

Merchants' property tax 5,600,000

Custom House duties 49,597,000

Brandy monopoly 90,000,000

Salt 8,000,000

Mines 10,000,000

Mint 8,000,000

Stamp duty 7,000,000

Miscellaneous taxes 6,000,000

314,197,000, or. £12,568,000 sterling.

We have rather under-rated here, than otherwise, the revenue of the
Russian empire. Several branches of the revenue, as we said before,
are unknown, and it is difficult to calculate the value of certain contri-
butions that are made in kind : we therefore, -without the fear of exag-
geration, may venture to estimate the annual nett revenue of Russia,
at £16,000,000 sterling. To the philosopher what a melancholy spec-
tacle does this statement present ; while a smile of derision will curl the
lip of the political economist, when he hears that the largest items of the
Russian budget of income of that empire, represented so formidable to
the liberties of the civilized world, is derived from the most demoralis-
ing source — a monopoly of ardent spirits. In the year 1825 this tax,
according to the relation published by the minister of finance, General
Cancrin, amounted to 99,329,006 roubles ; and when we take into con-
sideration that the monopoly applies to only twenty-nine governments
of the empire, that moreover the nobles have the privilege of distilling
brandy for their own use, we come to the conclusion that were this tax
general in its operation, it would exceed in amount the aggregate sum
of any two other branches of the revenue.

From the impossibility of gaining access in Russia to documents and
details that exist in the department of the treasury, and from there exist-
ing no state paper published by order of the government to assist us in
our researches, the various branches of the expenditure are involved in
still greater obscurity than even the sources of her revenue. In 1811
the expenditure of the year was estimated at 274 millions, a sum nearly
equal to the national revenue. The army alone, notwithstanding the
modicity of the pay, and the low price of provisions and forage, absorbs
more than half the revenue ; the navy, consisting of thirty-three ships
of the line, twenty-six frigates, and thirty sloops and brigs, twenty-four
millions ; the interest of the consolidated debt amounts to nearly fifty
millions ; the administration of the fifty-five governments, into which
the empire is divided, may be estimated at thirty millions ; the expense

Y 2

316 Russia in 18*2. [MARCH,

of her corps diplomatique, by which Russia shines not less than by her
armies in the field, are enormous ; and, although the expenses of the
imperial court are reduced to the "juste necessaire," they make a large
figure in the budget ; independent of these fixed and unavoidable items
of expenditure, there must be added the enormous sums annually laid
out by the government in the construction of roads, canals, and other
public works. The national debt of this vast empire has been variously
estimated by different writers, who have treated the subject of Russian
finance. Hassel rates it 500 millions of florins ; Balbi at 1,300,000,000
francs : in these two estimates, that scarcely differ, the Polish debt is in-
cluded ; still, on deducting the amount of this last, we are rather in-
clined to consider the estimates of these two authors as over-rated. In
the reign of Catharine the national debt of Russia amounted to about
one million sterling ; but, like the debts of other states, it has gone on
progressively advancing. The principal elements which now compose
it are as follow : —

1st. The debt to Holland 47,600,000 in paper.

A temporary debt of 3,026,000 in silver.

And of 31,162,466 in assignats.

A perpetual debt bearing 6 per cent, interest 20,620 roubles in gold.

Of 8,831,112 in silver.

And of * 229,465,611 in assignats.

A temporary debt bearing 5 percent, of.... 79*677*200 roubles in silver.

To these must be added the foreign loans of the years 1817, 1818, and
1822, the exact sum of which, as they figure on the public books, we
cannot ascertain ; but on the 1st of January, 1824, by the report of the
minister of finance, we find the amount of the national debt of Rus-
sia, bearing interest, to be 874,341,010 roubles; to this must be
added again the loans since contracted, to meet the exigencies of the
Turkish and Polish campaigns, amounting to nearly twelve millions
sterling !

If our readers have the courage and the patience to follow us through
these dry and uninteresting statistical details, they will arrive at the
graSfying conclusion, that the financial means of Russia in no way cor-
responds with her gigantic military resources; and that, although in
times of peace, by dint of the strictest economy, the annual expenditure
may be fully met by the revenue, still, the slightest extraordinary
expense would produce a deficit, and that, consequently, Russia is
utterly incapable of engaging in any protracted enterprize without the
foreign aid of loans, and the most extraordinary sacrifices — thus far
proving how utterly baseless are the fears entertained of Russian power
and aggression.

Nothing has contributed more to the exaggerated fears of Russian
aggression than the numbers and composition of her armies. Every
faculty of the government has been brought into play to bring it to the
highest degree of perfection of which it is susceptible ; and if they have
not yet succeeded in imparting to it the science of the Prussian, and
that superior intelligence of mind so eminently diffused through the
French armies, yet, for organization and discipline, numbers and com-
position, docility and hardihood, both as to courage, and the faculty
of supporting hardship and privation to an astonishing degree, it must
be confessed that the Russian army is superior to all others.

It would be foreign to our subject to enter into details on the origin

1832.]

Russia in 1832.

317

of the Russian army, and to trace its various formations from the un-
disciplined Strelitz to the grenadier of the guard ; our intention is to
consider it simply as a machine of aggression, to be weilded at the will
and pleasure of the imperial autocrat. In the year 1827, previous to
the Turkish war, we find, by the official returns of the minister of war,
that the army was composed as follows : —

IMPERIAL GUARD —

Eight Regiments of Infantry — each of three battalions of

800 each 19,200

Two Battalions of Sappers and Miners, and Fort Artil-
lery 2,000

Eight Regiments of Cavalry— 800 strong 6,400

Cossack and Tartar Guard 800

Pioneers and Horse Artillery 800

29,200

LINE —

One hundred and twenty-seven Regiments of Infantry, of

three battalions— 800 strong 304,800

Thirty-six Battalions of Interior Guard 77,000

381,800

CAVALRY, REGULAR —

Sixteen Regiments of Cuirassiers, of five squadrons — 1010
strong 16,000

Fifty-two Regiments of Dragoons, Hussars, Lancers, and

Chasseurs — 1000 strong 52,000

68,000

IRREGULAR CAVALRY —

Seventy-nine Regiments of Cossacks, of the Don, the

Oural, the Volga, and the Black Sea 60,000

Siberian Cossacks, Kalmucs, Tartars, Baskirs, and the

Circassian Tribes 40,000

100,000

Artillery and Engineers 44,000

Extra Corps 27,000

650,000

Add Officers 20,000

And Military Colonies 60,000

Grand Total.... 730,000

which does not include the army of Poland.

On the outbreak of the Turkish war, this force was farther augmented
by a levy of 200,000 conscripts, which gives a grand total of 930,000
men under arms — an immense force, but in no degree exaggerated,
since by some writers it has been rated so high as 1,039,000. This
imposing force was divided into eight armies, each composed of three
or more corps ; the imperial guard under the command of the Grand
Duke Michael ; the army of the south, by Wittgenstein, afterwards
superseded by the celebrated Diebitch ; the army of the west, can-
tooned in the vicinity of Mohilef, by Field Marshal Count Sacken ; the
corps of Caucasus, by Marshal Paskie witch-Erevan ski ; the corps of
Finland, by the minister of the interior, General Zakufski ; the military
colonies, by Count Tolstoi ; the corps of Siberia and Orenburg, and,
lastly, the army of Lithuania and Poland, by the Grand Duke Constan-
tine. Such was the distribution of the armies of Russia when the tuf--

1832. [MARCH,

bulent spirit of these troops and their love of war, precipitated, against his
will, the Emperor Nicholas into a Avar with Turkey. The Russian sol-
dier of 1828 was no longer the brute barbarian of the days of Suworrof.
Contact with the armies of Germany and France had taught him a salu-
tary lesson j his reasoning powers were developed ; masonic lodges,
organized for political purposes, were disseminated through the army ;
discontent was spreading through its ranks : more than one revolt had
broken out, when the aggressions of Turkey, and her projects of military
reform, afforded the Russian government a happy opportunity of em-
ploying this formidable machine which threatened the stability of the
existing order of things beyond the frontier.

Immense as was the military force of Russia at this period, she was,
for the invasion of Turkey, unable to bring into the field more than
200,000 men. The number, small as it may appear relatively to the aggre-
gate strength, will not surprise those acquainted with the constitution of
the Russian armies, and the frightful system of abuse and embezzlement
that pervades every department of its interior economy, which always
renders its effective strength considerably below its official returns.*
One hundred thousand men of this force were posted as a corps of
observation along the Austrian frontier — the Russian government had
some misgivings of the policy of the Austrian cabinet, who, if hostile
inclined, might have operated directly on the flank and rear of the
Russian line of operation. It became therefore an imperative necessity
to make this detachment, which reduced the active army in the field to
100,000 men, a number certainly inadequate to the nature and objects
of the campaign. It is true that, during the course of the war, it was
reinforced, at different times, by 200,000 men, a number, however,
scarcely sufficient to supply the ravages made in its ranks by disease
and the sword. The first campaign, by its unimportant results, asto-
nished all Europe. The Russian standards floated, certainly, on the
shattered walls of Brailow and of Varna, but they cost the invaders
100,000 men, and an immense loss of the ee materiel" of the army. The
second commenced under different auspices. The cautious prudence of
Wittgenstein was succeeded by the desperate en avant system of the
German Diebitch ; the Balkan, the hitherto deemed palladium of the
Turkish empire, was passed ; Adrianople fell, and a Cossack hurrah
was for the first time heard under the walls of Old Stambol itself. But
one opinion prevailed from Moscow to Paris — the ambitious projects of
Catherine were on the eve of their completion — the Turkish dominion in
Europe was at an end. Yet the Russians did not advance ; neither was
their march on the capital arrested by the combinations of European
diplomacy, nor by the magnanimity of the Emperor, as it has been so
confidently asserted. The real cause of their inaction, is the fact that
their position at Adrianople was becoming daily more critical — the Pacha
of Scutari already threatened their communications — peace was indispen-

* A Russian regiment, it is well known, is never numerically complete, from the
circumstance that the colonel receives the funds for the full complement, but
is always obliged to have some hundred men short, for the sake of economy, and
in order to meet the extraordinary expenses of the corps, for which the government
make no allowances. Again, every general officer has for his service from ten to
twenty servants, and every other officer the same in proportion to his rank, which
diminishes considerably the number of men in the ranks.

1832.] Russia in 1832. 319

sable for the safety of the army, and, by shewing an imposing front, a
peace they obtained — on what terms all the world knows.

If we critically examine this celebrated campaign, which cost the
Russians 250,000 men, disorganized their army, exhausted their finances,
and spread discontent through every province of the empire, we shall
discover that never in the annals of war was temerity crowned with
greater success, never was an army so exposed to inevitable destruction
by the blind imprudence of its chief than the Russians throughout this
campaign. In advancing from their base of operations on the Danube
towards the Balkan, they left behind them the chain of fortified places
still in possession of the enemy, garrisoned by upwards of 80,000 men^
from Widin to Mangalia. To have advanced with safety, those places
should have been blockaded — an operation, which the numerical strength
of the invaders was inadequate to ; Diebitch thus left in his rear upwards
of 80,000 men, who, if the Turkish generals had possessed but the
simplest principles of the science of war, might have concentrated, have
cut him off from his base, driven him on the sea, and destroyed his
army. Throughout the entire march from the Danube to Adrianople,
the right flank of the army was constantly exposed and threatened by
the enemy. Had the Turks have turned this flank — and they might
easily have effected it — entangled in the defiles of the Balkan, their left
flank resting on the sea — unable, from the nature of the ground, to make
use of their numerous cavalry — cut off from their base, the destruction
of the Russian army was certain. We readily allow that, in a campaign
against the undisciplined valour of the Turks, a Russian general, com-
manding the most powerfully constituted troops in Europe, need not
altogether act as if he had a Napoleon in his front. Still Diebitch's
plan of the campaign was a gross violation of the fundamental principles
of war, and but for the blind fatuity of the Turkish commanders, the
Balkan, which afterwards became the proud title of his glory, would
have been the grave of him and his army.

Again, it must be recollected, that the Turkish empire was unpre-
pared for the contest, that the " clan" of her ancient military institutions
was gone ere the reforming projects of the Sultan had fully developed
themselves. Yet, notwithstanding this, and the total want of military
skill displayed by the Turkish commanders, had the Turks possessed a
few well constructed forts in the defiles of the Balkan, and a strong for-
tified place towards Faki, the Russian army would never have reached
Adrianople.

The extravagant notions entertained of the military power of Russia,
are thus not only fallacious, but the result of this campaign proves that
under a proper military system, Turkey is fully competent to resist the
aggressions of her northern neighbour.

At this moment, when Europe awaits with deep anxiety the decision
of the northern sovereigns, about to meet at Torgau, it is a subject of
deep gratification to reflect, how studiously magnified have been
the military resources of Russia. The present state of Europe becomes
every day more complicated, and the chances of peace and war are con-
sidered by many, accustomed to watch the varying phases of the poli-
tical horison, as equally balanced. The nobles of Prussia, with the
prince royal at their head, are burning to rush into a crusade against
the principles of the French Revolution. The feelings of the Russian
and Austrian cabinets cannot be mistaken, while the king of Holland

320 Russia in 1832. [MARCH,

continues to shew an imposing and resolute front. The number and
composition of their armies may awe the timorous, unacquainted with
the exhausted state of their finances, which renders these formidable
military machines utterly powerless — still the unsettled state of France,
the intrigues of the Carlist party — the financial distress and commercial
stagnation of England — the possible defeat of the ministry on the
question of Reform — the alarming state of Ireland — all these may pow-
erfully contribute to bring them to a warlike decision. But if allur-
ed by the equivocal state of France, and the difficulties of England,
they insensibly kindle that fearful war of principles foretold by Napo-
leon, on the ocean rock of St. Helena, they will raise up a storm that
will not cease its fury, till it has swept away the tottering thrones of
every antient dynasty that has so long polluted the fair face of Eu-
rope. The principle of freedom is rising in every soil, and though
they cannot but feel that sooner or later it must sap the foundations
of the worn-out institutions over which they preside, still will they
dare not openly rush into a crusade against the cause of freedom — the
peace of Europe will not for the present be disturbed ; but their ma-
chinations will not slumber, intrigue will be resorted to, till some
event in the chapter of accidents may favour the open manifestation
of their dark designs.

In the event of a war betAveen Russia and this country, the only
point of contact for the belligerents would be India. The conquest of
our East India possessions has long been one of the favourite projects
of Russian Ambition — and we are led to the consideration of this in-
teresting question, by the arrogant boast that so recently appeared in
the Moscow Gazette, " of signing a treaty with the English in Cal-
cutta," and which, if we consider the servile state of the press in
Russia, we may consider to have emanated from the government itself.
There are only two routes by which an European army could invade
India ; the first by following the beaten track of Alexander, and Nadir
Shah — the second by crossing the Caspian and sailing up the Oxus to
Bochara — the last is by far the most eligible, and the one the invading
army of Russia would follow, since by their late treaty with Persia,
they have acquired the entire navigation of the Caspian. At Orenburg,
a strong fortified post, ninety miles north of the Caspian, they have a
corps of 10,000 men. This corps reinforced by others, might descend
the Oural to the Caspian, and sail across to the Bay of Mertvoi ; while
the corps marching from the centre of Russia, would advance by the
plain of the Wolga to Astraccan, from whence they would be trans-
ported across the sea to the Bay of Balkan. To Khiva, a large town
on the Oxus, and which would be the first place of rendezvous for the
invading columns, the distance from these two points of disembarkation
is twenty-five to thirty marches ; the nature of the country, from the
sea to the river, is one continued desert ; the army would have, there-
fore, to transport with it every necessary for its subsistence, even to
water. From Khiva to Bochara the distance is five hundred and twenty
miles ; the Oxus is navigable to within two days march of the latter
place — but the current is rapid, and should the Russian general ascend
the stream, the boats for the transport of the army must be equally con-
veyed from the Caspian, for there exist no materials for their construc-
tion on its banks. The banks of this river are further inhabited by a
fierce and warlike people, skilled in predatory warfare : these must be

1832.] Russia in 1832. 321

subdued, and military possession obtained of the whole line of march
in order to secure the army's communications. At Bochara, a populous
city situated in the midst of a fertile country, supplies would be abun-
dant, and here the Russian army would form their second base, and
establish depots and magazines. From Bochara to Attock, on the
Indus, the distance does not exceed six hundred miles. The country
through the whole line of march is fertile, so that the Russian com-
missariat would without much difficulty be able to collect the necessary
supplies of provisions and forage for the troops. Facility of trans-
port is another feature remarkable in this country, and one of the
highest importance in military operations. At Attock, the breadth
of the Indus is inconsiderable, but the stream is both deep and
extremely rapid. Should the Russians be able to push across this river,
they would doubtless look for the co-operation of Run jet Sing and his
army. The rapid rise of this formidable power on our northern fron-
tier has already caused considerable uneasiness to our Indian Govern-
ment ; his troops are numerous, well composed, and disciplined by
Russian and French officers ; moreover, he has for some time past
carried on an active correspondence with the cabinet of St. Petersburg.
The junction of the invaders with this sheic prince might prove fatal
to our power in India. Their object would be, either to march upon
Delhi, and proclaim the deposed dynasty of the house of Timor, which
might excite a general rising against us ; or advance to the southward,
through the Punjab, upon our Bombay Presidency. Now it cost Alex-
ander a year to reach the Hydaspes. Nadir Shah's expedition occupied
nearly eleven months, although his force consisted chiefly in cavalry.
But the march of a Russian army from the Caspian to the Indus, en-
cumbered as it would be with artillery, and all the atterail of modern
armies, would require at least two campaigns. Long ere the Russian
columns could therefore reach the banks of the Indus, Runjet Sing
would be crushed, and an Anglo-Indian army in position on the eastern
bank ready to give the invaders a warm reception. We have seen that
in the war with Turkey, a limitrophe power, Russia was unable to bring
more than 200,000 men into the field. For the invasion of India, from
the difficulty of subsisting them, not more than 100,000 could be well
employed. At least a third of this force would be requisite to line the
country in their rear as they advanced ; and when we consider that the
march of the army would lie across deserts, in a burning climate, so fatal
to the northern constitutions of the troops, when we further reflect on
the casualties to which, even in Europe, an army is exposed in campaign,
where by the establishment of hospitals every care is taken of the sick
and wounded ; we are confident that on reaching the Indus, the Rus-
sian army would barely muster 30,000 combatants, a force totally
inadequate for the object of the campaign. On the other hand, when
on glancing at the map we survey the vast extent of our Indian Empire,
and reflect on the immense rayon on which our military operations
would be carried on — when we reflect on the tenure by which we hold
these possessions, we are fully sensible of the delicacy of our position,
and of the numerous chances that might operate against us. From
Calcutta to Delhi, our first base of operations, the distance is eight. hun-
dred miles — from the Madras Presidency, about eleven hundred— from
Bombay, six hundred — thence to the Indus, our front of operations, the
distance is again five hundred. Our line of operation would therefore

322 Russia in 1832. [MARCH,

exceed the length of that of the Russians from their first base on the
Caspian to the Indus. Numerous as is our Indian army, it must not
be concealed that it would require a large force to hold this immense
line of country in subjection : a measure of imperative necessity, for
the moral effect on an army of 30,000 Russians, on the native popula-
tion, is at best problematical. The great danger to be apprehended is,
that the fidelity of the native troops might be tampered with ; such a
contingency does not pass the bounds of probability, especially as the
late reductions in the pensions and allowances of our Indian army has
spread disaffection through its ranks. Still, on carefully weighing the
chances for and against such an enterprise, we confidently assert that
India can'never be wrested from us by a Russian invasion. It is an
undertaking beyond her means, though we cannot conceal from ourselves,
that such an undertaking would prove ruinous to the company, and ulti-
mately fatal to their power. Besides, our government at home would
not be idle — as a circle is weak in ratio to the area of its circumference,
so is Russia in like manner weakest at her extremities, and here it is
that England might strike a fatal blow at her power. We might stir
up the slumbering hatred of Persia and Turkey, excite the Caucasian
tribes, and assail her flanks in the Baltic and Black Seas. Not a Russian
flag would dare shew itself on the ocean, and every outlet of her com-
merce would be closed — ruin, discontent, nay, open revolt, would shew
themselves in every province of the empire. The numerous nations
held together by the iron hand of Muscovite despotism, would seize the
favourable moment for re-asserting their ancient independence ; and
the dismemberment of this gigantic empire of the Czars, the favourite
theory of politicians, might be practically realized.

In the course of this paper we flatter ourselves that we have proved
to the satisfaction of our readers — 1st. That the financial means of Rus-
sia, are inadequate, to any great and protracted enterprise. 2d. That
from this cause, and the immense extent of her dominions, and the dif-
ficulty and expense of moving troops from one quarter to another, the
apprehensions entertained of her military power, at least offensively,
notwithstanding the number and composition of her armies, are baseless.
3d. That her successes in the Turkish campaigns arose from the total
want of military skill, and the absence of all military organization on
the part of her adversary — while the heroic defence of the gallant but
ill-fated Poles, has proved what may be achieved by valour and disci-
pline. 4th. That the idea of the conquest of our East India possessions
by this power, is visionary ; though we are willing to allow, that the
expense of such a contest might ultimately entail ruin on the East
India Company. 5th. That Russia contains within herself the seeds of
her own destruction — that sooner or later this mighty empire must
collapse under its own weight, and fall into pieces ; thus proving, that
the extravagant notions of her overwhelming military power, which
since the campaign of 1812 have been the terror of Europe, and have
exercised so decided an influence on the political system of our con-
tinent, are like the gigantic figures of a phantasmagoria — the optical
delusions of which, a near inspection reduces to their proper dimen-
sions.

1832.] [ 323 ]

SPECIMENS OF LATIN COMEDY — N0 II,

o.

THE AMPHITRYON, OF PLAUTUS.

THE great English lexicographer once meditated a treatise, in which
he designed to shew how exceedingly rare is originality of thought and
novelty of conceit ; and how the same topics have presented themselves
to the moralist and the poet in every age ; and the same incidents and
train of circumstances have afforded a subject for the satirical raillery
of the comedian, and the serious representations of the " tragicus
cothurnus." Had not the multiplicity of his other literary enterprizes
interfered with the prosecution of his design, it is probable that he
would have drawn some of the most powerful arguments in support of
his theory from the striking similarity of the plots and scenes of the
writers of comedy and tragedy ; for that facts and circumstances, simi-
lar in their nature, and essentially the same, have always furnished
employment to the comic and the tragic poet, is a truth that needs no
elaborate proof. This remark is peculiarly applicable to the subject of
the play before us. Plautus is supposed to be indebted for the idea of
the plot to a Greek comedy bearing the same title mentioned by Athe-
naeus, or, perhaps, with more plausibility, to a play of Epicharmus, the
Syracusan. It is far from probable that the tragic parts were written
quite independently of the Alcmena of Euripides. We say the tragic
parts, because (not coming up to the mark of comic orthodoxy) he dis-
regarded the imaginary, and yet unsystematised rules of the critics, and,
like our own Shakspeare, united the comic and the tragic — the ludi-
crous and the sorrowful — and has not scrupled even in the prologue
to call the play a tragico-comcedia, or tragi-comedy. This explanation
of the term tragico-comcedia has been disputed by some, though better
defended by others.

The Amphitryon has been imitated in almost every language of
modern Europe, and in some more than once. It was first imitated in
Italy by Ludovico Dolce, in his play entitled Marito — next in France
by Rotron, who was succeeded by Moliere — and, last of all, was deemed
worthy of imitation, and even sometimes of translation, by Dryden,
" crowning rose of the whole wreath." Such are the men by whom
Plautus has been followed, not always passibus cequis, and by
whom the Amphitryon has been naturalized in England, Italy, and
France.

But though the advantages which Plautus possessed were both fewer
and smaller than those of his more favoured successors, the illustrious
editor and biographer of "glorious John," is constrained to confess
(in his prefatory notice of this play) that they " have made but few
and inconsiderable improvements." Though in another place he speaks
of the Amphitryon as one of the best of all Dryden's comedies ; and the
very learned Mad. Dacier has spoken of the Amphitryon of Moliere as
the most perfect of all his plays. And as the English and French imi-
tations of this play are considered among the best productions of their
respective authors, so the original was considered among the ancient
Romans ; and indeed so high was the estimation in which it was held,
that, in the reign of Diocletian, it was acted by royal authority, in order

324 Specimens of Latin Comedy — [MARCH,

to appease the anger of Jupiter in a time of public calamity and dis-
tress.*

The real subject of the play is the birth of Hercules ; and the plot is
founded on the mythological story of Jupiter assuming the figure of
Amphitryon, the general of the Thebans, while he was engaged in war
against king Pterelas, and thus imposing on the fond credulity of his
wife Alcmena. The first scene opens with Sosia, the servant of Amphi-
tryon, arriving from the port (his master had sent him on before), to
inform Alcmena of the success of the campaign. No sooner had he
come in front of the house than he was met by Mercury, who had
assumed his form, and who, by arguments of every kind, ad baculinum
as well as ad hommem, succeeded in repulsing him, and driving him
back to the port. Jupiter takes advantage of this interval to indulge
his love with Alcmena. The account which Sosia gave his master of
the fisticuff reception, and immediate repulse he had met with from
Mercury, was too improbable to be believed at once. He, however,
walked from the port with considerable speed, accelerated probably by
his anxiety to understand this singular affair, and soon arrived before
his house, from which Alcmena comes forth bewailing the departure of
her supposed husband (the real Jupiter) ; but immediately upon seeing
Amphitryon, expresses her surprise at his speedy return. Amphitryon is
as much confused at her account, as he had been before by that of Sosia ;
he cannot, however, avoid suspecting some collusion in the matter ; and
jealousy succeeds suspicion. Pie quits the stage, in order to bring evi-
dence to convince the credulous, yet incredulous Alcmena, that he had
never left his army till that time. Jupiter then returns, and Amphi-
tryon is refused access to his own house by Mercury, who gives him the
dead cut, and pretends not to know him. At length he gains admit-
tance, and the true and the false Amphitryon, Jupiter and the real
owner of the name, are confronted; and are alternately questioned
respecting the occurrences of the late war against king Pterelas, by the
pilot of the ship in which Amphitryon had returned. Jupiter comes
out unscathed from this (as they thought) infallible ordeal ; and his iden-
tity with the husband of Alcmena seems far from doubtful. This, as
may be supposed, only works up Amphitryon to a greater pitch of fury
and despair. He knows not what to do ; he cannot get rid himself of
the consciousness of his own identity, and yet he cannot convince others ;
and in this confusion and bewilderment he resolves to wreak vengeance
on his whole family, and even defies Jove, and the whole synod of
heaven, to stop him in his work of wild revenge. Immediately after
this he is supposed to have been struck down by lightning, as, in the
next scene, Bromia, Alcmena' s waiting-maid, rushes out of the house,
alarmed at the tempest, and sees Amphitryon lying prostrate on the
earth. When he recovers, she informs him that Alcmena has given
birth to twins ; he is astonished ; but he has no sooner begun to reason
upon it than Jupiter appears in person, and unravels the whole mystery ;
and Amphitryon is rather pleased with the high honour conferred on
him than angered at the perplexity and confusion which the amorous
Jove had caused him. Meanwhile the " father and king of gods and
men" returns to heaven.

* Arnobius, vii. Tract, adv. gent.

1832.] The Amphitryon, of Plautus. 325

The scene of Sosia's repulse by Mercury is too humorous to be
omitted. Sosia is coming from the port, according to his master's direc-
tions, and while uttering execrations on the unusual length and darkness
of the night, is met by the false Sosia, whose attitude of defiance and
general appearance alarms the timorous servant of Amphitryon.*

Sos. What do I see? a man before the house,
So late at night ? I like him not.

MERC. The rogue
Has not his equal for rank cowardice.

Sos. What is he ? — By his motions he should seem
A weaver, and would fain now trim my jacket.

MERC. He's frightened : I'll have sport with him.

Sos. I'm ruin'd :

How my teeth chatter ! sure he's posted here
To give me a reception with his fists.
Troth he takes pity on me : and because
My master has now made me keep awake,
He'll lull me with his fists to sleep. Look, look —
I'm lost for ever — what a swinging rogue !
How brawny !

Mercury now perceives Sosia' s great alarm, and proceeds in triumph,
by still greater menaces, to work upon his cowardly fears : —

I'll draw nearer, raise my voice,
That he may hear me, and from thence conceive
More terrible fears within me. — (Lowrf) Come my fists,
To action ; — stir ye ; — 'tis a long while
Since ye have made provision for my belly.
Methinks it is an age since yesterday
Ye stript four men, and laid them dead asleep.

Sos. I'm sore afraid that I shall change my name ;
No longer simple Sosia, but be styled
Sosia the Fifth.— Hz says he laid asleep
Four men : I fear I shall increase his number.

MERC. (Throwing about his arms.) There I could have him ; Sa !

— this is the way,
This does the business.

Sos. He's prepared for action :
He puts himself in posture.

MERC. He sha'n't 'scape
Without a drubbing.

Sos. Who?

MERC. Whoever comes
This way, shall eat my fists.

Sos. Psha! I don't like
To eat so late at night. — Away with them. —
I supt just now. — Then pray bestow your supper
On them that have more appetite.

MERC. This fist
Is not of trifling weight.

Sos. I'm a dead man :

He s weighing of his fists. //oi
—

* We forgot to mention in our article on The Captives, that we have used
Thornton's translation of Plautus wherever it could be made available. We regret
that two typographical errors escaped us — at page 151, line 41, for Aristophanes,
read Aristophmtes ; and at page 156, line 17, for after, read former.

Specimens of Latin Comedy — [MARCH,

MERC. What if I stroke him
Gently to sleep ?

Sos. You'll do me a great service ;
For I've watched these three whole nights together.
MERC. That's but a paltry action. No> my fist,
Thou hast not learnt to smite a cheek so poorly.
One glance of thine would make a man put on
Another form.

Sos. He'll vamp me up anew,
New mould my face.

MERC. O how my fists
Itch to be at it !

Sos. If you mean on me
To exercise them, prithee cool them first
Against the wall.

Mercury now hears a voice from somewhere, and after listening a
moment or two, he says :• —

Certainly 'tis some one speaks.

Sos. I'm safe ; he sees me not.
He says, 'tis someone speaks : now, verily,
My name is Sosia.

This pun of Sosia's on the word nescioquis is, of course, copied from
Homer and Euripides, though certainly is not the most appropriate in this
place. Sosia's pretended pleasure at hearing him say that he heard
some one speaking, is soon turned into grief and consternation, when he
perceives him making towards him.

I'm sore afraid :

I'm numbed all over. — Now could I not tell,
If any one should ask me, where I am :
Nor can I budge a foot, I am so frightened. —
All's over ; I have lost my master's orders,
And Sosia with them. — Yet —

Sosia now bethinks himself of Amphitryon's behests, and of the
severity with which he will treat him, if he submits thus to be repulsed
by a villain stranger, from his home, and from the performance of his
master's commissions ; he therefore determines to persist, and ft muster-
ing all his might of mind," he says : —

I am resolved

To face this fellow, and bespeak him boldly ;
I'll seem as valiant as I can, that he
May keep hands off me. — (Advances towards the door.)
MERC. Sir, whither go you ?

Mercury, by persisting in knowing where he is going, makes him say
that he is going home, and adds —

Look to't — you'll have a drubbing, if you don't
Be gone this instant.

Sos. Would you then desire
To drive me from my home, when I am just
Arrived here from abroad ?

MERC. Is this your home ?

Sosia replies in the affirmative ; and Mercury proceeds to ask who is
his master ; he replies, Amphitryon. Mercury makes no answer, but
proceeds : —

1 832.] The Amphitryon, of Plautus. 327

What is your name ?

Sos. Our Thebans call me Sosia.

Mercury now reaches the maximum of his impudence. He has the
audacity to claim the name of Sosia for himself, and positively almost
to unsociate Sosia — for the poor slave is brought at last to entertain
serious doubts of his own personal identity, and is quite struck with the
whole affair.

MERC. To thy sore mishap
Art thou arrived, thou master of effrontery !
With made up lies, and patched up knaveries.

Sos. With patched up clothes I'm come 'tis true, not knaveries.
MERC. You lie. "Tis with your feet you come, not clothes.
Sos. Ay, verily.

MERC. Ay, verily, then take
This drubbing for your lie. — (Striking him.}

Sos. Indeed, forsooth,
I don't desire it, I —

MERC. Indeed, forsooth,

But you shall have it, though you don't. Indeed
'Tis resolved, and 'tis not your choice. — (Striking him.)
Sos. I cry you mercy!

MERC. Dost thou dare affirm

That thou art Sosia, when myself am he ? — (Stitt striking him.)
Sos. Murder!

MERC. This is but little in respect
Of what you'll have in future. Now, whose are you ?

Sos. Your's : for your fists have marked me for your own.

(Merc, continues to strike him.)
Help, help, good citizens !

MERC. Still bawling, sirrah ?
Speak, wherefore came you here ?

Sos. That you might have
Somebody to belabour with your fists.
MESC. Whose are you, then ?

Sos. I say, Amphitryon's Sosia.
MERC. You shall be drubbed more heartily for this,
You talk so idly. — I myself am Sosia,
Not you.

Sos. I would to heaven you were indeed,
That I were beating you ! — (Aside.)

MERC. What! muttering?

Thus they continue their interview for a considerable time, Sosia quietly
submitting to the insults and indignities of Mercury, and Mercury
triumphing in the confusion and stupidity of the poor slave. At last
Mercury says : —

The fellow's mad.

Sos. 'Tis you that are distempered.
Why, what a plague ! Am I not Sosia,
Amphitryon's slave ? Did not the ship, that brought me,
Arrive here this night from the Persian port ?
Did not my master send me ? Do not I
Stand here before our house now ? Have I not
A lanthorn in my hand ? Do not I speak ?
Am I not broad awake ? Did not this man
Bethump me with his fists ? In troth he did ;
Why then do I doubt ? Why don't I go directly
Into our house?

328 Specimens of Latin Comedy — [MARCH,

He then makes up to the house, but is again repulsed by Mercury ; he
can make no progress by any of his manoeuvres ; resistance is useless,
submission is no less ineffectual ; at last he is obliged to go away to
inform his master of all that had happened, and to get him to inquire
into the mysterious affair. Nothing can be more amusing than the
interview between Amphitryon and Sosia, when the latter tells his
master the whole account of his rencontre and repulse, and Amphitryon
will not believe him, but declares him to be intoxicated.

AM PH. The fellow's drunk, I think.

Sos. I would I were!
AMPH. You have your wish already.

Sos. I?

AMPH. Yes, you.
Say, where have you been drinking ?

Sos. Nowhere, truly.

AMPH. What sort of fellow is it ?

Sos. I have told you
Ten times already. — I'm at home, I say ;
And / — d'ye mark me? /, that self-same Sosia,
Am here with you. — What think you now ?

AMPH. Hence, avaunt — go, get thee from me.

Sos. What's the matter ?

AMPH. The plague has seized you.

Sos. Why d'ye say so ? — Faith, I feel, Sir, very well.

AMPH. But I shall make you feel very ill,
And 'very miserable, as you deserve, when I get home.
Come, you who abuse your master's easy nature
With vain and frantic stories ; who, because
You have neglected to perform his orders, come
To deride him. — You relate such gross
Impossibilities, such as before
Were never heard of — knave ! — but every lie
Your back shall answer.

Sos. Of all grievances

This is the most grievous to a trusty servant ;
That, though he tell his master truth, the truth
He is beat out of by authority.

AMPH. How can this be, convince me, thou vile plague,
With arguments. — I fain would have explained,
How you can be at home and yet be here.

Sos. Troth I am both here and there.— Well may one wonder!
Nor can it seem more strange to you than me.

AMPH. How?

Sos. I say, it cannot seem more strange
To you than me ; nor, as I hope for mercy,
Did I at first believe me — myself, Sosia,
Till Sosia, t'other I — myself, convinced me.
He told distinctly every thing that past
During our sojourn with the enemy : —
Then he has robbed me of my very figure,
Together with my name. — One drop of milk
Is not more like another than that I
Is like to me : for when you sent me home,
Before 'twas daybreak, from the port —

AMPH. What then?

Sos. I at the door was standing long before
I came there.

1832 /}! The Amphitryon, of Plautus, 329

AM'PH. Plague! what trifling stuff is this?
Have you your senses ?
Sos. I am as you see me.

AMPH. Sure, since he left me, he has been bewitched,
And worked on by ill hands.

Sos. Ill hands, I own ;

For he has mauled me with his fists most sadly.
AMPH. Who beat you ?

Sos. I-myself beat me-myself,
I that am now at home.

Amphitryon can gather no farther information from any of Sosia's
answers ; but he now proceeds to ask him in regular order who that
Sosia was, and who he is, and all about them ; but it is all useless, and
at last he tries to account for the singular vision of a duplicate Sosia :• —

AMPH. Haply you saw, if any such you saw,
That Sosia in a dream.

Sos. I am not wont

To dream o'er your commands. — Awake I saw him ;
Awake I see you now ; awake I'm talking ;
And with his fists just now did he awake
Maul me awake.

AMPH. What he ?

Sos. I tell you, Sosia,
That I-he. — Prithee, don't you understand ?

AMPH. How is it possible that any one
Should understand such jargon as you jabber ?

They now march on with all expedition to sift the matter thoroughly.
They soon meet Alcmena, and a very interesting interview takes place
between them ; Amphitryon is inclined to think that she is mad, and
Alcmena is certain that her husband is demented, to discredit her
story, and to deny having returned to his palace before, since his depar-
ture ; and Sosia of course supports his master ; but Alcmena is not to
be put down by their united force, and even baffles them both, and
makes Amphitryon himself, who had been laughing at Sosia for a simi-
lar deception, doubt of his identity — and after all confess that he " scarce
knows who he is, he's so bewildered."*

Amphitryon goes now to find Naucrates, the pilot of the ship in
which he had sailed, in order to make him a party in his cause ; and
by-and-by he re-enters on the stage, giving an account of his search : —

This Naucrates, whom I did wish to meet, ' —

Was not on board ; nor found I any one,

At home or in the city, that had seen him.

I've crawled through every street, been at the riding-house,

At the perfumers, the exchange, the market,

The wrestling ring, the forum, at the barbers',

The apothecaries' shops, at all the temples. —

I'm tired with searching ; — nowhere can ,1 find him. —

I'll now go home, and of my wife proceed

To make inquiry.

He then proceeds home, and when he arrives at the door finds it shut,
upon which the following scene ensues : —

« II. 2, 212.
M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 75. Z

330 Specimens of Latin Comedy— [MARCH,

-JAi-Wv/ _ , . They've barred the door! ^imsM

Tis very fine ! — just like their other doings 1
But I'll make bold to knock, and soundly too.— (Knocks.')
Open the door.— Hallo, there ! Who's within ?
Open the door, I say, — Will no one open ?

Mercury, under the form of Sosia, Amphitryon's servant, appears now
on the top of the house, with a chaplet on his head, pretending to be
drunk—

MERC. Who's at the door ?

AMPH. Tis I.

MERC. I? Who's I?
AMPH. 'Tis I, I tell you.

MERC. Jove and all the gods
Owe you a spite, you bang so at the door.
AMPH. How ?

MERC. How ? — that you may live a wretch for ever.
AMPH. Sosia.

MERC. Ay, I am Sosia : — you don't think
That I've forgot my name ? — What is't you want ?
AMPH. Ask what I want, you villain ?

MERC. Yes, you fool !

You've almost torn our door here off its hinges :
Think you we're furnished at the public charge
With doors ? You numbskull ! why do you stare so at me?
What would you have ? Who are you ?

AMPH. You whipt knave !
D'ye ask me who I am ? — You hell of elm-rods !
I'll make you burn with smart beneath the scourge
For these affronts.

Mercury then offers Amphitryon some insult, which, from its wholly
depending on a pun, is untranslateable. Amphitryon says in reply : —
Slave ! I will have you tortured for this language.
MERC. I sacrifice to you.

AMPH. How ? — What d'ye mean ?
MERC. I offer a libation of ill luck.

(Throws a pail of water on him.)
AMPH. Is this your offering, rascal ? If the gods
Preserve me what I am, your back shall bend
With many a leathern thong, laid heavy on it ;
Victim of Saturn ! — Yes — I'll sacrifice you —
With torture on the gallows. Come you out,
You hang-dog.

MERC. Apparition ! — What, you think
To fright me with your threats ? — But if you don't
Take to your heels, if you dare knock, or touch
Our door here, even with your little finger,
I'll beat about your pate so with this tile,
You'll sputter tongue and teeth out altogether.

AMPH. You rascal ! won't you suffer me to come
Into my own house ? — Knock at my own door ? —
I'll pluck it off the hinges. — (Beating vehemently.)

MERC. You persist ?
AMPH. I do.

MERC. Take this, then. — (Throwing a tile.)

AMPH. Villain! at your master ?
If I but catch you, to such misery
I will reduce you, you shall live a wretch
For evermore.

v

1832.] The Amphitryon, ofPlaulus. 331

Mercury now tells Amphitryon that Amphitryon is in doors with Alc-
mena. The baffled general cannot understand the matter at all, and at
last grows quite wild and frantic, and exclaims —

Ye gods ! what madness has possessed our house !

Jupiter and Amphitryon are at last confronted, and the result is such
as we have detailed in the account of the plot.

The original play of Plautus would, we think, suffer little, if at all,
from a comparison with its more famous antitypes. Those scenes, on
which it would have been indecorous to enlarge, Plautus has managed
with considerable delicacy and grace, while his English imitator has been
far from scrupulous as to the extent to which he has carried the subject.
Moliere is much more polished and refined than Dryden in those parts
where polish and refinement are most difficult to attain. These are
qualities that would hardly be expected from the rugged Plautus ; who,
however, notwithstanding his antiquity, has been called " the glory
of the Latin language ;" and has obtained, by the simplicity of
his style, and the pointedness of his wit, the name of " a tenth muse,
a sort of law in the Roman language ; the garden of the muses and of
the graces ; the most excellent master of elocution; the most ingenious
and most polished of poets ; the Latin syren ; the author of elegance ;
and the father of jests, of sports, and of fine pleasantry."

These four plays — the Latin of Plautus ; the Italian of Lodovico
Dolce ; the English of Dryden ; and the French of Moliere, may be
considered as a sort of barometer of the character of the different ages
and nations in which they were written. In Plautus, we see the early
rudeness and warlike zeal of the ancient Romans — in Dolce, the dark
intrigues of the Italians, and the perpetual intermeddling of priests and
sacerdotal functionaries in private affairs — in Dryden, the lasciviousness
and libertinism which disgraced the reign of the second Charles — and
in Moliere, the polish and finesse of the luxurious court of Louis le
Grand.

NATURE AND BOOKS.
A REFLECTION, WRITTEN AFTER LOOKING ON A BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE.

FROM spots like these the mind at length returns,
Laden with truth and images serene,
Into itself ; and the quick spirit learns
To hive the honied pleasure of the scene,
Turning its own sad waste to pathways green,
With varying visions chequered and o'erhung —
Bright Memories of some immortal Mien,
Where earlier Art her richest hues had flung,
Or by the Minstrel's lyre in purest praises sung.

The Beings of our Books ! to these we turn,
The bright magicians of our mortal years ;
Stars of the soul, when clouds its light inurn —
Glimpses of joy amid o'ershadowing fears ;
Ethereal exorcists of earthly tears —
That gush not from our clay, but spring like dew
Forth from the spirit's fount — whose water clears
The sullied Life and strengens it anew,
Tinging the proudest heart with Pity's heavenly hue.

B.

Z2

[ 332 ] [MARCH,

A HISTORY OF THE " HUMBUG" FAMILY.

DISCOVERED AMONG THE PAPERS OF A DECEASED ANTIQUARY.

IT is extraordinary that, although both the continental and English
press groan with the immense number of " Memoirs" they have put
forth, mostly relating to some individual member of my family, none of
them have thought proper to give the public an authentic account of its
progress. Perhaps the gigantic nature of the subject prevented them.
Perhaps they had not materials. It is left to me, then, to perform this
arduous task, and I take it upon me with the full consciousness of that
great responsibility which rests with so important an undertaking.

The antiquity of my family may be ascertained at the Herald's
College ; not a name there, which boasts of its purity and high descent,
but springs from that illustrious race, from which I have the honour to
be descended. We have become a mighty people, and increase far be-
yond the bounds of Mr. Malthus's powers of calculation, while a bond
of social brotherhood binds us, like the Freemasons, into one society.

Our first chroniclers were the Egyptian priests, the worshippers of
Isis and Osiris, and the other branches of that respectable family. To
them we are indebted for the pyramids, formed with incredible labour
by many millions of people, for the laudable purpose of keeping our
name in remembrance by posterity. In them are preserved the mum-
mies of those immortal kings, who conferred so much honour on our
race. To them also are we indebted for the language of hieroglyphics,
which long remained one of the unknown tongues, and for the science
of astrology, — that noble study which told, by the unerring record in
the heavens, the destiny of man.

The next who immortalized our name were the Greek " Rhapsodists."
Jupiter was the supreme " Humbug" of his day, and through him we
claim relationship with the whole of the dramatis personse of the Grecian
mythology, the Dryads and the Oceanides, the Cyclops and the Giants,
the Satyrs, et hoc genus omne. That was a glorious time for our reign.
We had temples erected to our honour ; we had oracles, whose res-
ponses were considered sacred ; we had offerings, and sacrifice and
oblations : we thrived well. But the historians have recorded the
greatness of our house. e< The great kings" were decidedly great
Humbugs from Nimrod to Xerxes, and those of Assyria and Persia are
scarcely less so than those of Greece. Philip of Macedon did honour to
the name (Demosthenes himself is our authority for the relationship),
and his celebrated son, Alexander the Great, we have reason to boast of
for the beneficial effects which followed from the millions he sacrificed.
Those splendid orators, archons, and philosophers, whose " talents"
proceeded from a foreign treasury, swell the list of great names to
whom we bear kindred.

With the Romans we also flourished ; from Romulus and Remus to
the twelve Caesars ; and from them to the Palaeologi of the Lower Em-
pire ; the Augurs, the Haruspices, and the Vestal Virgins, were our
relations. We lay claim to Titus Livius, of Padua, for chronicling pro-
digies, and to Ovid for writing metamorphoses.

With the barbarians we have always been highly esteemed. Our
ancestors, Alaric, Nadir Shah, Zenghis Khan, and Attila, are of honour-
able and respected memory, and yet nothing to compare with that
exalted Humbug Mahomet.

1832-] A History of the n Humbug" Family. 333

. With the introduction of Christianity our name fell into some disre-
pute, but it soon afterwards acquired favour again. The fathers of the
church have mentioned some of our race -with great respect, indeed they
have always been eminent for their piety. An immortal inhabitant of
the Thebaid, whose name unfortunately has escaped me, acquired fame
in this world, and beatitude in the next, by living all his life upon the
perpendicular — standing upright upon a column ; and another sainted
individual walked, after decapitation, with his head under his arm.

In all religions the name of my family has been conspicuous ;
whether of Juggernaut or of Woden, of Vishnu or of Belus, or of either
of the thousand and one different forms of worship which are, or have
been in practice; Druids, Brahmins, Dervishes, Popes, and the rest.
Those who were most honoured for their voluntary sufferings, whether
the devotee, who measured with the length of his body the way to his
idol ; or the worshipper of the Koran, who walked barefooted to the
sacred minarets of Mecca ; or the Catholic monk, who disciplines him-
self with a rope's end, have ever been my nearest and dearest rela-
tives.

I claim the highest alliances. Almost every king, from Nebuchad-
nezzar, who was the first royal botanist that found out the qualities of
grass, to Louis Philippe, who has been equally successful in discovering
the properties of birch ; but the French throne has been the most con-
stantly honoured by my kinsmen. The whole race of Bourbons are my
cousins, consequently our beloved Ferdinand of Spain is especially dear
to us. Miguel of Portugal, the Autocrat of all the Russias, the King
of Holland, and the Pope of Rome, have frequently acknowledged the
relationship. But the most celebrated of the name remains unmen-
tioned. Napoleon was the greatest " Humbug " that ever existed.
Instance his projected invasion of England, his attempt to destroy our
commerce, his bulletins ; the glorious emanations of his extraordinary
genius. lam justly proud of my connection by blood with so distin-
guished an individual.

Although, in empires and in kingdoms, my family has obtained the
greatest honour and reputation, in free states it has been frequently in
as high estimation. Those great men who governed the free cities of
Italy during the middle ages, by their mild paternal sway, and the
gentle spirit of their government, made the citizens boast of their free-
dom. It is impossible to give the names of all that great family who
existed in those times of liberty and equality ; we will only mention the
Doges of Venice and the Popes of Rome. The Venetian government
inculcated that spirit of patriotism for which the members of my family
have always been distinguished. The public operations of the Council
of Three ; the liberality of opinion allowed by the officers of St. Mark ;
the political importance possessed by the people, even by the poorest
fisherman of the Lagunes ; and the uncontrolled authority of the chief
of the state, even in his marriage with the Adriatic, prove incontestably
the power which my relations had in the government. The sway of the
Roman pontiffs was at one time more partaking of the nature of the
family name, than it does at present. It was they who instituted the
Crusades, the most important warfare that was ever undertaken, and
attended, of course, with all the beneficial results that were expected.
It was they who found out the value of relics — the true cross has
through them been miraculously divided into as many chips as would

334 A History of the " Humbug" Family. [MARCH,

set the Tiber on fire. It was to them we are indebted for plenary in-
dulgences;— fortunate discovery, that for the sacrifice of a little loose
coin we might sin ad libitum, with pardon on earth, and paradise in
heaven ! Those were comfortable times to live in. It is much to be
regretted that we cannot get rid of an unfortunate creditor, or a trouble-
some acquaintance, with those methods of dispatch which were then in
practice. We have changed the name of sinner for that of prisoner,
and the office of the confessor for that of Jack Ketch. " What a falling
off is here, my countrymen." A man cannot take possession of his
neighbour's wife, or his tenant's property, without subjecting himself to
many disagreeable inconveniences. Liberty and the march of intellect
were better understood in the times of my ancestors ; a man might then
not only do what he liked with his own, which is not allowed to my
cousin of Newcastle, but might also do what he pleased with what did
not belong to him.

The mode in which my family have been treated in this country, I
find to be exceedingly flattering. We have given many kings to the
British throne. I need but mention a few, John — (though he lias done
our name some injury, by signing Magna Charta,) Richard the Second
and Third, Henry the Eighth, Charles the Second, and— but I shall
say nothing of the George's. It is to be remarked that crowned heads
distinguished by epithets, are almost always of our family. Frederic of
Prussia, and Peter of Russia we have much reason to boast of. Louis
le Grand, and Louis le Desirt ; — their most sacred and most catholic
majesties ; — he of the celestial empire, and he of the sublime porte, the
king of the seven white elephants, and the pacha of three tails ; with
numerous other potentates, whose titles are equally distinguished, and
equally deserved ; I am proud to say are all of the blood of the " Hum-
bugs." It is with great respect that I mention the name of Oliver
Cromwell. During his supremacy ours was unquestioned. We lived
honoured and respected, and were mostly known then by the name
of puritans. It was one of my ancestors that Butler has immortalized —

" Who hanged his cat upon a Monday
For killing of a mouse on Sunday."

But it is to our character for literature and science that our fame will
endure for ever. Who were the professors of the Eleusinian mysteries,
and those of Bacchus, and the Aphrodite ? Who were the philosophers ?
The Epicureans, the Stoics, the Cynics, and the other sects which
sprung up at Athens ? Who was Diogenes ? and who was Epicurus ?
Gentle reader, with due deference to classical authority, with few ex-
ceptions, they are all of the glorious race of " Humbugs." Who dis-
covered the atomic theory, the philosopher's stone, the universal panacea,
and the transmigration of souls ? Who were the alchy mists, the astro-
logers, and the magicians ? To whom are we indebted for the me-
tallic tractors, the vital air, and the universal rubber ? Who were Van
Helmont, Friar Bacon, the prophet Nixon, and Johanna Southcote, and
last, not least, who is the illustrious St. John Long ? The same, the
same ! Has not my family discovered a remedy for every disease under the
sun ? Have they not formed joint-stock companies which would enrich
all who joined them ? Did they not fish up chests of plate at Vigo Bay,
and sacks of pearls at the Ladrones? and did they not send home
cargoes of the precious metals from the watery mines of South America?

1832. J A History of the " Humbug". Family, 335

Did they not lend loans at an excellent interest to every independent
state as large as a potatoe-garden ? Who can forget the immense profits
which were realized by the Tlalpuaxhua, the Real del Monte, and the
Rio de la Plata shares ? by the loans to Guatemala, Buenos Ayres,
Peru, Chili, Columbia, and Mexico ? Who formed the washing-com-
pany, the milk-company ? Who made the Thames tunnel ? The same,
the same ! Have I not reason to be proud of my family ?

Literary eminence has been in their hands for many generations, from the
author of the " Koran," to that of " Satan, a poem." Indeed, my talented
relations seem very frequently to monopolize the favour of the public.
They have even gone so far as to create royal societies, and to institute
clubs. Biographers are of my kith and kin. Boswell and Croker are
my cousins german. Political economists are generally bound to me
by nearer ties : Maculloch and DIalthus are almost brothers. The ma-
nagers of theatres, if you will ask the actors ; the editors, if you will
ask their contributors ; and the critics, if you will ask the authors, are,
nearly or distantly, related to me. You may judge of the first by the
bill of performance j if it speaks of " overflows," a sure sign ; the next,
by the frequent mention of their " principles ;" the third, by an appearance
of honest indignation for the degraded state of literature ; if they have
these signs, they have a right to quarter the family arms. The poets
of the day to whom I claim kindred, are numerous and select, but it is
impossible to name them all ; and the rest would quarrel with me if I
were only to mention a few. On the church my family has conferred
many shining ornaments ; from Thomas a Becket and Wolsey, to Spen-
cer Percival and Edward Irving. The lords spiritual, I am proud to
say, have done much honour to the name from whence they sprung.

As statesmen they have been equally illustrious. There is scarcely
one who has had the direction of affairs, or who has been in the enjoy-
ment of office, with whom I cannot claim relationship. To my ances-
tors are we indebted for the blessings of the national debt, tithes, sine-
cures, pensions, rotten boroughs, and taxes, and for the glory we
achieved in the war with America. Their descendants opposed the
repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts — they opposed Catholic Eman-
cipation, and they are now laudably engaged in opposing Reform. I
have lost many great men, but there are many remaining to keep up
the honour of the family name. While we can boast of such statesmen
as. Londonderry and Wharncliffe, such legislators as Hardinge and Peel,
and such orators as Hunt and Wetherell, let us not despair. The mem-
bers of my family may always be known in parliament by a superior
patriotism, and a more frequent announcement of disinterestedness.
They are above petty motives^ they are superior to low desires. They
undertake office for the good of their country, and dislike leaving their
places, for fear the country might be a loser by the change. Indeed
they are always patriots, always virtuous, and always disinterested.

But there are others of my relations whom it would seem invidious
to pass over. These begin life as the oracles of Select Vestries, are
particularly partial to parish money, and patronize periodical feasting,
as long as it continues at the expense of other people. They become
members of corporations, and, as they have lately done at Bristol, shew
themselves in a time of danger, with the same alacrity as at the time of
dinner. To Sir Claudius Hunter and Sir Peter Laurie I am proud to
claim relationship.

336 A History of the " Humbug" Family. [MARCH,

Few are aware how many of our public architects are of that distin-
guished race from which I am descended. Our ancestors lived in their
dwellings of wood till they caught fire ; but we, in this age of improve-
ment, are enabled to live in our neat fabrics of lath and plaster till they
fall down. Look at the villas of the Regent's Park ! — are the mansions
of Inigo Jones to be compared to them ? View the modern churches —
are not these pretty buildings far superior to the heathenish structures of
Sir Christopher Wren ? And why are these so — but because Mr. Nash
and Sir Geoffrey Wyatville are my first cousins.

The medical practitioners have acknowledged the relationship by
the extreme avidity with which they have undertaken to relieve the
public from all fear of the Cholera. They have instituted Boards of
Health, and introduced many other plans which sufficiently shew
their anxiety to do honour to the , race from which they sprung.
Another very imaginative race of men, more familiarly known as
auctioneers, I feel flattered in being related to. Many members of
this respectable community have the happy art of transforming things
apparently worthless to articles of extraordinary value. They seem to
possess the philosopher's stone, and turn all that's brass, except their own
countenances, into gold. Give them a ruinous building, of which the
rats and the winds are the only inmates, and it will rise in a night,
like the palace of Aladdin, into a splendid family mansion, replete with
every convenience. But we have understood that the new properties
vanish immediately they come into the possession of the purchaser, and
are no more heard of. The art of painting things in their brightest
colours was first discovered by one of my ancestors. The lawyers,
again, from time immemorial, have been known as an illustrious branch
of the " Humbugs." They are the same now as they ever were. They
shew the same happy facility of defending either side of a cause, the
same dexterity in leading their clients through the mazes of the law,
till they have completely incapacitated them for any further arbitration.
They possess the same love of justice, and the same ideas of its value.

I am happy to say that my family is now in a very flourishing state.
I never read an advertisement, or a speech in parliament, but I am con-
fident as to the source in which it originated. Every declaration of a
member at the hustings is full of the family sentiments. All prospec-
tuses, designs, proposals, manifestoes, proceed from the same source.
Those interesting pieces of information in our public prints, commonly
called " Puffs," are manufactured on the same principles ; and Row-
land's Macassar claims its full share of public notice, as well as the last
fashionable novel. When the Russian talks of freedom, the Italian of
patriotism, the Frenchman of sentiment, the Portuguese of glory, the
Dutchman of taste, the German of religion, the Scotsman of modesty,
and the Irishman of metaphysics ; and when an Englishman prefers
French politesse, and a coutelette d la Maintenon, to British hospitality
and roast beef, there cannot be a doubt in the world that they belong to
my ancient and respectable family — they are all " Humbugs."

1832.] C 337 ]

I} JWlt '

MOTCT BT ANC
.fl£ MONT-BLANC.

The monarch of mountains."

I'VE stood beneath thy pinnacles, I've gazed upon thy brow,

But thou art far more glorious beholding thee as now ;

As now, within this little vale, on which thou lov'st to brood. i affi

Where I have stood for hours and gazed, as growing where I stood.

What art thou now ? — a mountain king, on mountains looking down ;
Enthroned amidst the solitude, an avalanche thy crown.
Here pedestal'd on earth, like one who spurned the ground he trod,
Lifting thy majesty of pride, high, heavenward, like a god !

In vain the dun-plumed tyrant, Time, hath touched thee with his wing ;
In vain the whirlwind and the flame around thee rave and spring.
Thou fling'st the foam of ages back as strong winds toss the cloud —
To nought beneath the scorching skies has thy dark forehead bowed.

I look on thee, and many thoughts come welling from my heart —
Thoughts of the years that thou hast seen, and still wilt see depart.
Dark dial of the dead ! the sun looks fiercely on thee now ;
How many seasons has he flung his glories on thy brow?

Where are the thousand lives, whose fame was poized upon a breath !
These lords of triumph, sceptred ones — slaves of a realm of death.
Where are the flashing eyes, that slept their life away, in dreams- —
Claiming the homage of earth's hills, her forests, and her streams ?

Where are they all, these rulers stern, lords o'er the rills and glades,
These unit monarchs of the world, these animated shades ?
They are — the Past ; yet thou art still what thou hast ever been,
A temple, where old Memory broods in mockery of the scene !

O 'tis an humbling thing to turn on the red track of Time,
To trace his .way through folly, tears, pride, ignorance, and crime;
And then, like rivers driven back to springs that gave them birth,
To bend our inmost thoughts upon this bulwark of the earth.

It stands unaltered ! man has passed — the conqueror, despot, slave !
With all his passions and his pride — to gloom and to the grave !
Yet this — the temple of dead Time, a cemetry of hours —
Still seems a throne, whence Death surveys the victims he devours.

A record — blotted by the tears of mourning ages fled !
A tablet — whereon Time may count the numbers of his dead !
Whate'er it be, strong blast and storm, sharp ice, and flashing flame,
Have war'd with it by turns — and, lo ! this rock is still the same !

The same ! ay, still the same it lifts its lonely, glorious brow,
In solemn, silent majesty, ever the same as now !
The has-been, is, and is to be — a mountain-cradle, whence
The infant morn has daily sprung in mute magnificence !

The index of the evening star ! pale citizen of night,
Looking upon all lovely things, unearthly, and most bright ;
Thou art a land of dreams, Mont-Blanc, a fountain of deep thought,
Of feelings wild as are the clouds whereof thy crown is wrought.

Shrine of the Past ! Yes, thou dost seem a Titan, still unmarr'd,
Whose locks are white with antique snow, whose brow is thunder-charr'd :
Who, in his ancient solitude, and loneliness of mind,
Doth look as if he held in scorn the power of human-kind.

H. C. D.

[ 338 ] [MARCH,

3 nfed ,oflw

JEAN JACQUES TAHDEE. , no9r

OF the many diversities of men, who compose the great stream of
emigration annually setting towards the western world, few compara-
tively are natives of France. Whether the love of home be stronger in
him than in the men of other lands, or that the land of labour has no
charms for the man accustomed to the lighter employments of the vine-
yard, the toyshop, and the camp, it is certain that the roadside inquiries
of the traveller in the western world are seldom answered by the voice
of a Frenchman. Of the few natives of that country, none are in cir-
cumstances of laborious poverty ; and, whilst nationality is traced in the
crowds from Ireland, toiling as at home in the most degrading employ-
ments of human life, the wealthy and intelligent Frenchman is usually
encountered at the wharf, the gaming-house, or tavern.

Of the latter description of men was Jean Jacques Tardee, of whom,
during a recent sojourn in the United States of America, I learned the
following dark history. He was a native of Paris, and emigrated to
America about the year 1816, a dentist by profession, and though pos-
sessed of many fine accomplishments of person, manners, and knowledge
of languages, he yet preferred, to the steady exercise of a lucrative and
useful profession, to grasp at fortune by the most iniquitous means.
His first exploit was at Charleston in South Carolina. In that port was
a newly-built, fast-sailing, and valuable pilot-boat, the most superb of
that class of vessels, the grace of the harbours of America. Jean
Jacques there formed the design of carrying off this vessel from the
wharf, and having corrupted the negroes employed in the navigation of
the boat, a night was appointed when this villain rightly judged, that
once unmoored and under way, pursuit was in vain after the fastest
sailing vessel in the port, and that the circumstance of a pilot-boat pass-
ing out at night, would excite no suspicions from the fortifications at the
mouth of the harbour. But slight circumstances often frustrate the
most skilful projects of human villany. A mercantile gentleman of
Charleston had observed Tardee in conversation with the negroes at-
tached to the vessel, and with that watchful spirit which pervades all
residents in slave countries, he communicated his suspicions to the
master of the boat, when, by a separate examination of the negroes, it
was discovered that the Frenchman had prevailed upon them, by pro-
mises of liberty, a large sum of money, and a share in his future adven-
tures, to carry off the vessel to the island of Cuba. Being resolved to
secure the Frenchman in his own toils, the negroes were enjoined, upon
promise of forgiveness for the past, to continue apparently to carry on
the plot ; and accordingly on a certain night the master was informed
that Tardee would arrive at midnight in a wherry from a neighbouring
wharf, to which his baggage was already conveyed, for the purpose of
eluding the vigilance of the police by night. True to the appointed
time, a boat with muffled oars crept stealthily at midnight to the side of
the vessel ; its only tenant was Tardee, who handed up a trunk and
mounted upon deck. The pilot first met him. Tardee instantly dis-
charged a pistol at his breast, but without effect, and was soon over-
powered, secured, and conveyed to the guard-house. When taken be-
fore the magistrates on the following morning, his fine address did not
forsake him, and in answer to the charge, he described himself as a

Jean Jacques Tardee. 339

dentist, who, being engaged to go down to Sullivan's Island, to perform
an operation upon the teeth of a lady resident there, the negroes at-
tached to the pilot-boat had offered to convey him to the island for a
small remuneration, and upon coming accordingly to the vessel, he had
been met and assaulted by the owner, and was compelled, in his own
defence, to fire the pistol. The plausibility of this account, and his
manner, assumed as that of an injured and much-outraged man, added
to the inadmissibility of the evidence of the negroes in support of the
charge, had almost ensured his dismissal, when search was previously
made in the trunk, from which was produced a deed of transfer of the
pilot-boat, with her tackle, furniture, and negroes, to Jean Jacques
Tardee, bearing the forged signature of the complainant himself, and a
large and most imposing seal. At sight of this the confidence of the
Frenchman deserted him ; he attempted no explanation of the docu-
ment, and was immediately committed to prison. It being subsequently
thought that the charge of piracy could not be suported, owing to the
incompleteness of any overt act, the vessel not having been unmoored,
the indictment was accordingly founded upon a conspiracy to have
stolen and feloniously carried away the vessel ; upon which charge
Tardee was arraigned, convicted, and sentenced to imprisonment for a
term of two years.

These occurrences brought to the remembrance of the citizens of
Charleston the melancholy circumstances of an affair of recent occur-
rence, in which the captain and several of the passengers and crew of a
packet-ship, trading thence to the port of New York, had been carried
off by poison. This tragic occurrence had happened at sea, and a negro
cook being suspected under circumstances of extreme probability, upon
the arrival of the vessel at Charleston, the unfortunate man was tried,
condemned, and executed. It now, however, was remembered that
Tardee had been a passenger in the vessel at the time, that he and two
fellow-passengers, having the appearance of Spaniards of fortune, had
not partaken, upon pretences of religious scruples, of the food which
had contained the deadly adulteration ; and it was moreover known,
that Tardee had been a witness of a quarrel which had occurred be-
tween the captain and the cook upon the morning in question, when
the latter had declared his intention to be revenged in consequence, — a
circumstance which, upon his trial, had sealed his condemnation.
There now remained little doubt that Tardee and his accomplices were
the perpretators of the murderous deed, that an artful advantage had
been taken of the occurrence of the quarrel and declarations of revenge,
to ensure the success of the plot for which they had embarked as pas-
sengers, and none doubted now that the unfortunate negro had died an
innocent man. This is the case related by Captain Hall, of the fifteenth
dragoons, in his " Travels in North America in the year 1817'" He
was present in Charleston at the time of the trial of the negro, and,
though his impressions of the innocence of the man were not founded
on any other than the favourable feeling, which humanity often raises in
the breast of an Englishman in a land of slavery, and, though human
judgment could not unravel a design laid with such diabolical cunning,
it is certain that our amiable officer was too correct in his narrative of an
affair which he has treated with such power and pathos. With all this
accumulation of crime upon his head, still Tardee was imprisoned but a

340 Jean Jacques Tardie. [MARCH,

short time, and he was added to those criminals too easily pardoned by
the executive, the list of whom does undoubtedly sully the administra-
tion of justice in America. After a confinement of a few months, a
remission of the remainder of his sentence was granted by the new
governor of South Carolina, and this dark demon was once again let
loose upon the world.

In a few weeks he was heard of again, and this fatal and final exercise
of his black art covered him with destruction. Being rejoined by
the two Spaniards, mentioned as his fellow-passengers in the former
voyage from New York, he had departed from Charleston for the port
of New Orleans on the Mississippi river ; thence they embarked again
as passengers in the brig Crawford, bound to the Chesapeak. Towards
the conclusion of the voyage, poison was again administered in the food,
and the captain, crew, and every human being excepting the three pas-
sengers and the mate of the vessel, lay dead upon the deck ! Tardee
then assumed the command ; the mate had been preserved for the pur-
pose of navigating the vessel, and as it was not expedient to enter any
of the harbours of America, and the cargo consisted of merchandize
suitable to a European market, it was determined upon to sail for
Hamburgh. It was found, however, that the remaining water and pro-
visions were insufficient for a voyage across the Atlantic, to procure a
supply of which, the vessel stood into the Chesapeak, and anchored in
Hampton Roads, opposite to a small fort and country town. Here the
two Spaniards were dispatched to the shore in a boat for the requisite
supplies, and Tardee and the mate were now alone in the vessel. His
dreadful situation flashed across the mind of the mate ; he was now for
the last time in sight of his native shores ; in a few hours he should
again be on the lonely waters of the ocean, his companions pirates, and
at any hour he might convey to his own lips the cup of death. The
vigilance and ready weapons of Tardee forbad the risk of an encounter,
the return of the Spaniards would be the signal for the departure of the
vessel, another boat containing only a single oar was alongside, the
Frenchman had retired for a moment to the cabin ; and the mate, descend-
ing to the boat, had sculled beyond the reach of the pistols of Tardee,
who was at last seen rushing frantic upon deck. In his boat, and with a
single oar, the mate soon reached the shore, and having communicated
the affair to the commander of the port, the Spaniards were secured in
the village, and a party of soldiers were soon dispatched to the brig.
Upon the floor of the cabin Tardee lay dead, his throat severed, in
despair, from ear to ear. The Spaniards were afterwards tried, con-
demned, and executed ; the vessel is now peacefully trading along
the coasts of America, and I recently was in that cabin where ended
the crimes and existence of Jean Jacques Tardee !

1832.] [ 341 ]

yd bsnoimq

;
NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL.

THE PLEASURES OF " PROVIDENCE." — The oddest notions seem to
exist in parliameht regarding Providence. If we are to have faith in
Sir R. Inglis and the other church champions, we must suppose it to be
the peculiar delight of the Divine Power to scatter the seeds of evil
among mankind, and to introduce the cholera into England. They are
as much at a loss as the College of Physicians to discover the source of
the pestilence ; and so they must devoutly trace it to the " pleasure of
Divine Providence." But we are not so profane as these pious persons ;
and would as soon believe that it " pleased" Divine Providence to send
Sir R» Inglis to parliament — when we know that he was sent there by a
portion of the clergy, who have probably as little to do with Providence
as the most sinful and selfish of constituents. Sir Robert, in his exulta-
tion at having obtained the introduction of the words " Divine Provi-
dence" into the Scotch Anti-Cholera Bill, poured a phial of pious wrath
on Mr. Hume's head, for using the word " humbug'' in connection with
the amendment, We give Mr. Hume's reply : he said—

" It was not usual for members to mention publicly words or expressions
which were not intended for their ears. However, as the honourable baronet
had thought proper to mention the words publicly which he had said to an
honourable member near him, he would state what he did say. He said it was
humbug to set forth such words in an act of parliament as, that ' it had pleased
God' to afflict the country with a pestilence — and the honourable baronet ought
also to have added these words, ' cant and hypocrisy/ He did not wish to
retract the words, but would repeat them ; and assure the honourable baronet,
that he looked with surprise on the religious professions of those who, like the
Pharisee in Scripture, were over ostentatious of their sanctity, and took every,
opportunity of displaying it in the market-place, and the House of Commons."

We have no fear that in an age like this our disapproval of the allu-
sion to Providence in such a document will be misunderstood. True
church policy may require its introduction, but true reverence for the
Deity may equally demand its omission. There are members of parlia-
ment who are as apprehensive on the score of their piety as Acres wag
on that of his honour ; they are always urging government to " edge in
something" about religion, because they feel it " oozing out at the palms
of their hands." We are not illiberal when we say that many of these
persons are influenced far more by church-feeling than by religion.
Sheridan wrote an epigram on the rise in the price of beer, consequent
on an increased duty upon malt, and concluded it with a very pertinent
question —

" But what has malt to do with beer ?"

In the same spirit we ask, what has piety to do with the props of the
church, or sanctity with sees and sinecures ?

POTATOES IN PARLIAMENT. — We read the other day, in some agri-
cultural corner of a newspaper, that somebody had planted " one potato
of the red kidney sort, the produce of which was sixty potatoes. This
seed next year produced three bushels, which being again planted pro-
duced eleven sacks. The produce of the last year from that seed was
no less than 168 sacks."

As Cobbett calls the potato a " soul-debasing root/' it naturally

342 Note* of the Month on [MARCH,

awakens parliamentary associations. This prolific specimen of the plant
forcibly reminds us of Mr. Croker. He is " a potato of the red kidney
sort." Somebody planted him in parliament — and how he has grown !
He immediately shot into a politician of a sixty-potato power ; came out
the next session as big as three bushels; and during his Admiralty-
secretaryship swelled at least into the size of 168 sacks. The chroni-
cler of the above in stating the quantity has forgotten to record the
quality of the potatoes thus marvellously propagated ; we suspect them
to be of a very inferior order. If so, here is more affinity. That the
parallel might still hold good, we should like to have a calculation,
according to Mr. Cobbett's theory, as to the extent of physical mischief
that has sprung from this one potato ; and a like estimate of the amount
of moral mischief, occasioned by the planting of a single Croker in the
field of politics.

BOOKWORMS AND BIBLIOPOLES. — We are continually scandalized by
the squabbles of authors and booksellers. The first accuse the others
of living luxuriously upon the produce of their wit ; while the book-
sellers retort, that the wit they speak of, is principally employed in pick-
ing their pockets. The two orders never think alike. They agree in
nothing but in robbing the public. The author calls the bookseller
grinding and selfish ; declaring the scanty pittance he receives, scarcely
pays the rent of his back room, 4th floor, and never allows him a full
meal. The Bibliopole triumphantly replies, " You rogue j are we not
the patrons, the Mecaenas's of literature ? Did we not bring your works
to light, would you not starve altogether ? As to full meals, we know
your interest better — slender fare makes a man thoughtful, and attics
are proverbial for sharpening the wit/' There is some reason in this ;
and after all, the booksellers must be the best judges. Their opinion on
diet we should recommend before that of Dr. Paris. An anecdote is
going the round of the literary circles, against one of these worthy
<c patrons and Mecaenas's of literature," who dwelt not long since in the
vicinity of Temple-bar — the city side of course. He had the proud dis-
tinction of introducing literary medical practitioners to the public by
vending their books. He would often say, in his own witty way, that,
(C he was drugged in more ways than one." It was so good a joke, that
it lasted him longer than his shop. One day, a physician alighted from
his carriage, and entering this emporium of physical learning, inquired
of its sleek-faced master, " whether he had a copy of Heberden's Com-
mentaries ?" — " No, Sir ;" replied the man of letters, " but we have
Caesar's Commentaries, and they are by far the best."

LORDS AT THE LIFE OFFICE. — A paragraph appeared a few weeks
ago in the Court Circular, which has escaped the observation of our
contemporaries. It is an important paragraph — though in the Court
Circular — and we here copy it.

" Mr. George Farren, director of the Asylum Life Office, had the honour of an
audience of the King to present to his Majesty a work entitled ' Observations on
the Expectation of Life and the average duration of the occupancy of title by the
Peers of Great Britain.' "

Next to knowing what his Majesty's reflections were on reading such
a work, we should enjoy a glance at it ourselves. " Expectation of
life/' and the " average duration of the occupancy of title/' as applied to

1832.] Affairs in General. 343

peers just now, are very significant terras. It is pretty plain, from the
" audience" which the Director has had with the King, that the Lords
have been already making inquiries as to the length of their legislative
lives, and flocking in alarm to the Asylum Life Office. Will Mr. George
Farren enlighten us as to the amount of premium requisite to insure the
political existence of a marquis, and whether he would rate a duke as
double hazardous ?

THE EX-SECRETARY AT WAR, AND THE WHIPPER-IN. — We did
not expect to have been so soon obliged to style Sir Henry Parnell the
Ex-Secretary. Ministers, however, have acted judiciously, and with a
promptitude that is a little at variance with the rest of their conduct.
We wish they would make up their minds to be as brisk with measures
as with men. The appointment of Sir John Hobhouse to the office of
War-Secretary, is calculated to strengthen them in the opinions of a
large number of persons, and will be accepted as another pledge of their
sincerity. But then we do not want more pledges — we want those that
are already given to be redeemed. In the meantime, the Court Journal
gives us an amusing specimen of nonchalance contained in a note to Sir
Henry Parnell, from

The Whipper-in. — "This useful (non-) official is said to have addressed a note
to the late Secretary at War (who, previously to being 'cashiered/ was on a
visit at Cobham, and desirous of a temporary absence from his parliamentary
duties), in which he laconically signified that he had found for him (Sir Henry)
a pair for ' Tuesday night' (when Lord Chandos' motion was expected to come
on) ; but, added Mr. H., ' if the report is true, that you are OUT, perhaps you

will pair with us/ "

i

LEIGH HUNT. — We have elsewhere expressed an opinion of Mr.
Hunt's last production, Sir Ralph Esher, a work which, we had hoped,
would have shed a brighter hue upon his fortunes than, we regret to
learn, they have lately enjoyed. The Taller, our constant and ever-
agreeable breakfast companion of the past twelvemonth, has proved, it
seems, more pleasant to us than profitable to him ; and he has at length
relinquished it, under circumstances which must render the appeal
contained in the subjoined paragraph, unaffectedly painful to all who
love literature, and can estimate the character of one of its most gifted
and generous-minded ornaments : —

" Several of the friends of literature having been made acquainted with the
pressing difficulties under which a man of genius is unhappily sinking, are
anxious to unite in one common purpose of justice and benevolence towards
him, that they may testify their respect for intellectual exertion, and rescue the
cause of letters from an unworthy reproach. They approve of the annexed
plan, proposed with a view to a general subscription. They invite every friend
of genius in the community to join with them in promoting its success ; so as
to secure, by their united exertions, a solid testimony to Mr. Leigh Hunt, of
their desire to see a man of letters, of his standing and reputation, not only
rescued from the immediate danger of necessity, but put in possession of such
a security of means, as would no longer leave him to the chance of repeated
illnesses, and all the anxieties they produce, in a man of sensibility and a
father."

The plan is to publish, in a handsome volume, price one guinea, a
collection of Mr. Hunt's poems, revised by himself, with notes and
other additions— including an unpublished poem, the first of any length

344 Notes of the Monlh on

written for some years. The names of all who are disposed to assist, in
what must be desired by hundreds of the lovers of poetry, (to say
nothing of those who may have gentle hearts, without having music in
their souls), will be received by Mr. Moxon, New Bond-street — Mr.
Tilt, Fleet-street — and Mr. Effingham Wilson, Royal Exchange.

It is with real delight that we see, in sanction of the undertaking,
such a brilliant list of names as the following : —

Dover — F. Leveson Gower — Vassall Holland — Mulgrave — John Russell —
John Edward Swinburne — Edward Lytton Bulwer— John H. Hawkins — Tho-
mas Babington Macaulay — Richard L. Sheil — Thomas Barnes — John Bowring
— Thomas Campbell — Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Walter Coulson — Allan Cun-
ningham— Charles Wentworth Dilke — William Godwin— Joseph Hine — James
Hogg, Thomas Hood — J. D'Israeli — Joseph Jekyll — William Jerdan — James
Sheridan Knowles — Charles Lamb — Walter Savage Landor — Henry Luttrell —
Frederick Marryat — Thomas Pringle — Bryan Waller Proctor — Leitch Ritchie —
Samuel Rogers — Thomas Roscoe — Horatio Smith — Robert Southey — Sharon
Turner — William Wordsworth.

If no more permanent good should arise to Mr. Hunt from the step
thus taken, than the pleasure of seeing so many illustrious persons,
political foes, as well as literary friends, combining to honour and aid
him, he may still congratulate himself, even on the ill-fortune that has
led to such an acknowledgment of his genius and worth. There are
few, even in this rich list, that are richer in any thing except health
and worldly advantages than Leigh Hunt ; and we may add, that there
are not many of them wealthier, even in this last particular, than Leigh
Hunt might have been, had he walked in a more worldly way. But
he has been the victim of more persecutions than one ; his talents have
been as much reviled as his love of truth. He wrote the most liberal
and elegant criticisms on other men, and was therefore written down
without mercy or meaning ; he called the most contemptible of all
court- coxcombs an elderly Adonis, and was condemned to a two years'
residence in a receptacle for felons, at the yearly rent of five hundred
pounds ! Is it wonderful that Mr. Hunt, with no prop but his pen,
never recovered the sacrifice of a thousand pounds, and the effects of
an incarceration, which it is difficult to contemplate, even at this dis-
tance of time, with feelings of patience. How deeply may we rejoice,
for his sake as well as for society's, that Castlereagh, in a fit of tem-
porary " sanity," (the preceding acts of his life may be charitably attri-
buted to " insanity"), put an end to himself and the system together.
Mr. Hunt has outlived his oppressors ; he has survived to see the prin-
ciples, for which he has sacrificed so much, triumphant to a degree,
that even his enduring spirit of hope could never have anticipated ;
and we trust that he will yet live, to see the tide of his fame and for-
tunes flow more pleasantly and smilingly on — that life may grow more
green and tranquil to him as he proceeds, and that his 'chequered day
may have a golden sunset.

FAVOURITISM AT THE BRITISH GALLERY. — The Athenceum has some
comments upon a system, so prejudicial to art, and so often complained
of, both with reference to this and other institutions, that we extract
them, in the hope that they may elicit inquiry. Varley's " Saul" is
the subject of criticism : —

" We cannot take leave of this subject without inquiring, at the request of
more than one artist, why it is that this fine original picture is placed, at the

Affairs in General. 345

British Gallery, in such a situation, that it is impossible to make out any of its
beautiful details ? The artist has thrown a funeral gloom over the picture, that
wonderfully heightens the effect; but which, from the position in which it is
placed, makes it serve as a dark mirror to reflect the tawdry works of more
favoured artists : and why is it that the name of the painter is altogether
omitted in the catalogue ? We direct the attention of the noble patrons of this
Institution to these facts : they are illustrative of the system of favouritism
which marks the whole management ; but if they desire a specific proof of that
favouritism, we are prepared to shew that a courtesy was refused to one person,
and granted on the same day to another, although the parties were known to
apply for the same purpose, and that the favour would be an unjust advantage
to one if refused to the other. When we drew attention to the treatment of
Mr. Hall, of Salisbury, more than one nobleman asked for proof; this, in a
question of taste, is rather difficult, but proof of favouritism we now offer to any
noble director who shall think it worth while to desire it.'*

JUVENILE ROYALTY. — Modern philosophers have divided knowledge
into various species, the useful, the entertaining, and so on ; but it
would puzzle them, perhaps, to find a term descriptive of the peculiar
kind of knowledge, which we sometimes see paragraphed in the papers.
Fifty years hence, when the world shall have shaken off that slavish
devotion to mere rank, that demoralizing appetite to know something
concerning the whereabout of its " betters," which is the source of so
much mischief even yet, and which has been the cause of one-half of
the mistakes that mankind have committed — the readers of the then
newspapers will wonder how it could possibly happen that, only half a
a century before, all classes of society felt so deep an interest in the
movements of a sullen-looking lad, about twelve years of age, as to
render it necessary to record his perambulations in public instructors,
that are usually considered to be devoted to the affairs of the nation.
What Ancient Britons must they think us, when they stumble on such
an announcement as this ! " Prince George of Cumberland, accompa-
nied by his tutor, honoured Drury Lane Theatre with his presence on
Friday evening."

Here are two interesting facts recorded : — First, that the son of a
duke, who is about as beloved as he is enlightened, is regarded as an
object of vast public curiosity ; and next, that he honours Drury Lane
Theatre, as often as he sets his little illustrious foot within the lobby.
Mr. Wordsworth and Mr. Bentham are common-place people — they
only " visit" Drury Lane ; Prince George of Cumberland " honours it
with his presence." It may be said, that we are cavilling about terms,
the mere frippery of court-phraseology ; but it must be remembered
that all customs are not harmless because they are contemptible. Of
course two-thirds of society laugh at the absurdity of the thing ; but
the remaining third is dazzled by its effrontery, and cheated into a fit
of admiration of the little Cumberland Colossus, under whose legs our
Brutuses are to peep about for their renown. If Ulysses were living
in 1832, he might well say,

" The world is still deceived by ornament."

There are people (we have seen them) who not only stand contemplat-
ing Prince George's spurs and pony with rapture and reverence, but,
who extend their idolatry to the laced jacket of his footboy. The only
thing that at all counteracts the debasing effects of this absurd curiosity
is that they invariably walk away with the conviction that the footboy,

M.M. New Series.-— VOL. XIII. No. 75. 2 A

346 Notes of the Month on [MARCH,

From the superior glitter and prodigality of his equipments, is the most

important personage of the two.

No CHALK. — It appears that the bill for the abolition of imprisonment
for debt in America " works well," as applied to New York ; and the
system is consequently to be put in general force all over the Union — a
fact, which, as a poet like Mr. Watts would say, adds another leaf to
America's laurel. But the paper which announced this gratifying in-
telligence, relates in a paragraph nearly subjoined to it, a circumstance
in natural history that seems to have some connection with the affairs
between debtor and creditor in the United States. It informs us, that
up to the present period of scientific investigation, " no chalk has been
discovered in North America." Now this is really a valuable bit of
discovery ; and we heartily wish that the Geological Society, instead of
wasting their resources on anniversary-dinners, as they have lately been
doing, would at once set about establishing the proof of a similar absence
of that article in this country. Surely, our brethren on the other side
of the Atlantic, will not fail to take the hint which nature herself has so
beneficently thrown out to them ; and instead of abolishing the power of
getting into prison, put an end at once to the power of getting into
debt. The scarcity of chalk ought certainly to be numbered among the
natural blessings of America. Had the soil on that side of the ocean
been as chalky as this, America might have been visited by a comet,
like Pitt, with a golden train of eight hundred millions.

THE MAJORS AND THE MINORS. — The anti-monopoly principle has
gained ground with a rapidity that bids fair to overwhelm the patentees
before they can get their eyes open to the peril in which they have
placed themselves. A meeting has been held (all meetings, we observe,
are numerous and respectable, but this really deserved the epithets) at
the City of London Tavern, to petition Parliament for the abolition of
the monopoly, Edward Lytton Bulwer, Esq. in the chair. Mr. Bulwer has
done himself no little honour by the courage and earnestness with which
he has come forward in opposition to the dramatic monopolists. His
name, which we may truly say must be honourably connected with our
literature as long as a novel shall exist in the land, gives a lustre and
consequence to the cause, which had previously nothing but its own
truth to recommend it ; while his arguments in favour of a free trade in
the drama were as convincing in reasoning, as they were elegant in
style. Most of the resolutions were proposed in very able addresses —
some of them by members of the profession, amongst whom were Mr.
Elton, Mr. Serle, and Mr. Macarthy. Dowton, too, who is excluded
from the great theatres, said a few words that at least had the merit of
coming from his heart ; and Mr. Moncrieff a few more, that one can
scarcely imagine came from his head, which, in a dramatic sense at
least, used to be a clever one of its kind. The resolutions were carried,
not simply with unanimity, but with enthusiasm ; and the petition, as
the prayer of the inhabitants of London, will be presented to the House
of Commons by Alderman Waithman — Mr. Bulwer and Col. Evans
pledging themselves to support it.

We are pleased with this meeting for several reasons ; and among
others, that it has given us an opportunity of seeing that Mr. Bulwer's
political and literary character is no less highly than justly appreciated
by the public.

1832.] Affairs in General. 347

THE GARRICK CLUB.— To the excitement which the establishment of
this new social society has produced, may fairly be attributed the in-
difference which marks the public mind on the subject of cholera.
People cannot be affected by such important matters as the cholera and
a club at the same time. The College of Physicians hides its diminished
chimneys before the temple of the drama in King Street. Yet little of
this was promised by the style of its commencement. The names of the
first-appointed committee are now before us ; we take a few of them
alphabetically —

BEDFORD, DUKE OF HERTFORD, MARQUIS OF

BARRYMORE, WM. HARTLAND, NICHOLAS

CROKER, JOHN WILSON MAHON, VISCOUNT

COVENEY, ZACHARIAH MARTIN, MONS.

DEVONSHIRE, DUKE OF PORCHESTER, LORD

DUCROW, MONS. PARSLOE, MATTHEW MUGGERIDGE

ELLAR, T. PEEL, SIR ROBERT

ELLENBOROUGH, LORD PAULO, SIGNOR

GYNGEL, E. B. F. SIBTHORPE, COL.

GOWER, LORD F. L. SLOMAN, ABRAHAM

GOUFFE, MONS. &c. &c.

These are names that undoubtedly shed lustre on one another ; and yet
we could not anticipate the brilliant results (in the shape of a dinner)
that have attended their labours. A club of rank and talent in King
Street was looked upon as a piece of affectation by one party ; while
another found some satisfaction in the reflection that the aristocracy were
obliged to come eastward for their associations and amusements. How-
ever the opening has been celebrated by a dinner, to which, although
the room was only large enough for forty, two hundred practical diners-
out sat delightedly down in the presence of the Duke of Sussex.

Of course nothing very particular was said or done upon the occasion,
but something rather particular was omitted ; — and this was, of all other
things in the world, in a club established for the promotion of the drama
— " the memory of Shakspeare/' No, it was never once thought of.

" Oh ! no they never mentioned him,
His name was never heard ! "

They went through the whole theatrical alphabet of names ; they drank
success to the next new pantomimes, and the healths of Messrs. Farley
and Barrymore — and forgot Shakspeare ; they proposed the memory,
or the long life, of every goose they could think of, and left out the
sweet swan. And this at the Garrick Dinner — to forget him, who has had
the honour of being called Garrick's " twin-star," in one of the most
impudent lines ever placed upon a monument in Westminster Abbey —

" Garrick and Shakspeare like twin-stars shall shine."

But perhaps they were fearful of offending Mr. Planche, and the other
dramatists, by mentioning a man who, in his day, was almost as dis-
tinguished as themselves ; or perhaps they saw that he has nothing to
do with the drama, as it is at present conducted ; — or, what is as near
the truth, that they should best pay him honour by omitting all mention
of his name in such an assembly.

It may not be generally known that a Cf Grimaldi Club" is to be im-
mediately formed in opposition to the " Garrick Club," of which the
Duke of Newcastle is to be chairman.

2A2

348 Notes of the Month on [MARCH,

A SIGN OP TUB TIMES,—- We find one of the most important " signs"
in a statement in the Examiner— that the sale of Mr. Bentham's works
during the last twelvemonth was three times greater than in any pre-
ceding year. When we consider the good that Mr. Bentham's views
cannot fail of disseminating, we hail this fact as a happy omen, and we
hope that the multiplying principle may go on as it has begun. It were
worth something to have been present at the dinner given by Mr. Ben-
thara to Talleyrand the other clay — the guest nearly eighty, and the host
almost ninety. What events must they not have talked over, and what
probabilities discussed ! How bright must appear the solid lustre hourly
gathering round the cause of freedom, compared with the false brilliancy
of the past ! How fast is the meteor of toryism fading, before the glowing
daybreak of moral hope, and political regeneration !

MORTALITY IN THE REIGN OF WILLIAM IV. — It appears that we
have small need of cholera to help us off with our surplus population.
A new rate of mortality seems to have come in with a new monarch ;
and people begin to die at the very moment that they might have seen
something worth living for. Since the accession of King William not
less, we are told, than twenty-four generals and twenty-six admirals, have
found their way into Westminster Abbey, or elsewhere. Considering that
his Majesty continues to receive the most friendly assurances from all
foreign powers, this attack upon the army and navy-list is rather pro-
digious. Napoleon himself could scarcely have made greater gaps in
the United Service Club in the time. To be sure they were not all
Nelsons and Marlboroughs, or we should have marked them as they
dropped off; whereas one can hardly name five, of the fifty great war-
riors. But a much wider destruction than this has been going on. We
could count up at least two hundred and fifty place-holders, and perhaps
four times that number of place-hunters, that have perished since the
death of the fourth George. The class of persons called tories drop off
like flies in the autumn ; the seeds of consumption are within them.
Tailors, architects, and gilders, die hourly of broken hearts ; and mor-
tality is spreading through every channel of heedless waste and pampered
luxury, from one end of the empire to the other. Such are a few of the
fatal events that follow the footsteps of a patriot king !

THE GALLERY OP THE OPERA. — We have just had occasion to notice
one sign of the times, and here comes another in the announcement that
it is in contemplation to reduce the price of admission to the gallery of
the Opera. The terms to the boxes and pit are to continue as they are ;
not a dowager will squeeze herself into a box at less than the usual price
for exhibiting her diamonds and daughters; not a viscount, however
beggared he may be at Crockford's, will have a chance of edging into
the pit upon a reduced scale of expense ; but your middle classes will
be allowed a discount of twenty per cent, at least — they are to have
elegant enjoyments upon their own terms ; and the pleasure in the
course of time, probably, of seeing the various illustrious scions of aris-
tocracy, walking one by one up the gallery stairs, from inability to pay
for the pit. What revolutions are in store for the rising generation !

DEATHS IN FEBRUARY 1832. — February, though the shortest of the
months, has this year been remarkable for the unusual number of deaths

1832.] Aff airs in General. 349

of eminent persons which it has brought in its train. At the head of the
list is the venerable poet CRABBE, almost the last link that connected us
with the Johnson days, and certainly the only living poet whose lines
had had the honour of being submitted to the judgment of the literary
giant. We believe Johnson spoke well of Crabbe's first effort ; but his
poetry has a vital principle in it that would have enabled it to survive
any knocking down which it might have received, even at the hands of
that Cribb of critics. He has left an unpublished poem in the hands of
Mr. Murray. It may have a chance of selling now.

The next on the list is hardly less venerable, or less dear to us. Poor
Joseph Shepherd Munden, as the newspapers call thee now — thou, who
wert never anything but plain, ungentlemanly Joe Munden, whilst
living ! Ah ! well-a-day — Mundens and monarchs walk the same path;
but how many, or rather how many hundred, of the kingly class would
it take, to make up the amount of thy value to the world — thou com-
pound of pleasantry and pathos, thou embodiment at once of Dozey and
Old Dornton !

The third is a benefactor of another class — the munificent Dr. Bell,
whose splendid endowments and bequests will keep his name green as
long as a recollection of public virtue and charity shall survive. He
was interred in Westminster Abbey, with a less pompous shew of honour,
than those who have little more than a funeral procession to entitle them
to interment there.

The fourth on the list is a person whom we cannot but regard as in-
teresting, from the circumstance of her being the object of Lord Byron's
boyish affection (the celebrated Miss Chaworth), and probably the first
grand source of all that flood of song — the little spring of the great Nile
of poetry — for which the world has such just reason to be grateful.

The fifth instance is, for particular reasons, to us, more affecting than
all. We have seldom been more shocked than by the intelligence of the
death of poor James Fletcher, the author of the History of Poland. Upon
this subject we will not trust ourselves to linger a moment, further than
to say that he appeared to us, as far as our knowledge of him went, to
be a person of no less moral feeling than of amiable manners. He pos-
sessed an elegant and accomplished mind, and held out as high a literary
promise as any young writer of the day. His last sentences were written
in this publication, to the January and February numbers of which he
had been an extensive contributor. Let us close the painful subject with
a recollection of the beautiful apostrophe of Campbell to the remains of a
suicide :—

" They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate,

Whose crime it was on life's unfinished road,

To feel the step-dame buffetings of fate,

And render back thy being's heavy load :

Yet once perhaps the social passions glowed

In that devoted bosom ; and the hand

That smote its kindred heart, might yet be prone

To deeds of mercy. Who may understand

Thy many woes, poor suicide, unknown ?

HE who thy being gave, shall judge of thee alone ! " :*sfl| «dbo*>i

[ 350 ] [MARCH,

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

SIR RALPH ESHER, OR ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN OF THE COURT OF
CHARLES THE SECOND.

IT was with considerable pleasure that the announcement of a work of fiction
from the pen of Mr. Leigh Hunt was made known to us. The peculiar charm
of by far the greater portion of his literary productions — his character as an
acute and liberal critic — the opportunities he possessed of acquiring a know-
ledge of men as well as books, while living at one time in an atmosphere of
poetry and genius, and at another in a " solitary cell" in the bosom of his own
family, still honoured and respected as the victim of a petty and malignant per-
secution— his claims upon our esteem as a scholar, an essayist, a politician, and
a poet, in whose writings we may always perceive the enlightened spirit of
universal charity : these considerations led us to look forward to a " novel"
from his pen, with a personal interest and expectation that we cannot be sup-
posed to feel frequently.

The period which the author has chosen is one in which we mingle our most
pleasurable, and some of our proudest recollections. The times of Milton and
Dryden, of Cromwell and Blake — of the Commonwealth and the Restoration.

Mr. Hunt has introduced to our notice a gentleman of ancient family, who
joins the court of Charles the Second in its brightest period, shortly gets into
high favour with all parties, is the depository of every body's secrets, while he
keeps his own, is made a baronet by the king, gets into all sorts of adventures,
and under the title of his memoirs, Sir Ralph Esher presents us with a journal
of all he has heard, seen, thought or done. The names which we read of in his-
tory, and which store our memories with pleasing reminiscences; we here see —
their persons and their characters ; we become acquainted with their manners
and their actions, and the secret motives which influenced them. Cromwell, by
a beautiful episode which is skilfully woven in with the narrative, is brought
before us in a more favourable light than that in which he is generally drawn.
His government appears wise and impartial, and his motives considerate and
just ; whatever means he employed for obtaining the ends he had in view, he
was directed by some noble impulses, and influenced by many liberal desires.
He endeavoured to make all parties contented with his government at home, and
took decisive measures that it should be respected abroad. While he lived he
was successful.

We are as much interested for Sir Philip Herne, the generous, sincere and
intellectual lover and friend — and the beautiful, repentant, and noble Lady Mar-
garet— as we are for the romantic Sir Ralph and his tender and affectionate
mistress. Sir Philip is the son of a fond mother, who is anxiously desirous that
her only child should possess the same religious opinions as herself, which are
those of the persecuted Roman Catholics, several of whose priests she secreted in
her own house. For one, the reader, like ourselves, we doubt not, will have
much respect. Though obliged to disguise her own religion, from the fanatics
with whom she was obliged to mingle, she had so much affection for it, that it
seemed to be the first wish of her heart, that her son, the inheritor of her family
honours, should be brought up in the like persuasion. The arguments which are
made use of by his mother's Jesuit counsellors to persuade the child — the
methods they use to work upon his feelings and his fears, by disclosing to him
skilful representations of the future felicity of the true church, and the horrible
punishment of heretics, and his state of mind during the trials to which he is
subjected, are described with great power and effect. He afterwards endures
trials of equal importance, and goes through them with equal success. He be-
comes the friend of Sir Ralph Esher, and their friendship is honourable and un-
broken ; bat after the sea-fight with the Dutch, in which they were both volun-
teers, and where he gives his friend the narrative of his past history, which is
full of beautiful reflections and poetic thoughts, Sir Philip unaccountably disap-
pears. His friend goes in search of him in London, at the time the plague was

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 351

raging with frightful mortality, and the author describes the extraordinary inci-
dents which took place during that awful calamity, but without giving us too
liberal a portion of its horrors. The search is continued for some time after-
wards, but without producing any result. While he is residing in Surry, he is
alarmed by the reports of a dreadful fire which is destroying London. He sets
off in the night on horseback to obtain more certain intelligence. His observa-
tions we must allow him to give in his own words. The latter part of the
description we think remarkably vivid.

" Not a soul seemed in bed in the villages, though it was ten o'clock. There
was a talk of the French, as if they had caused it. By degrees I began to meet
carts laden with goods ; and on entering the borders of Soutnwark, the expectation
of the scene was rendered truly awful ; there was such a number of people abroad,
yet such a gazing silence. Now and then one person called to another; but the
sound seemed as if in bravado, or brutish An old man, in a meeting of cross-roads,
was haranguing the people in the style of former years, telling them of God's
judgments, and asserting that this was the pouring out of that other vial of wrath,
which had been typified by the fiery sword — a spectacle supposed to have been seen
in the sky at the close of the year sixty -four. The plague was thought to have
been announced by a comet.

" Very different from this quieter scene, was the one that presented itself on
my getting through the last street, and reaching the water-side. The comet itself
seemed to have come to earth, and to be burning and waving in one's face, the
whole city being its countenance, and its hair flowing towards Whitehall in a
volume of fiery smoke. The river was of a bloodish colour, like the flame, and the
sky over head was like the top of a pandemonium. From the Tower to St. Paul's
there was one mass of fire and devastation, the heat striking in your eyes, and the
air being filled with burning sparkles, and with the cries of people flying, or remov-
ing goods on the river. Ever and anon distant houses fell in, with a sort of gigan-
tic shuffling noise, very terrible. I saw a steeple give way, like some ghastly idol,
its long white head toppling, and going sideways as if it were drunk. A poor girl
near me, who paced a few yards up and down, holding her sides as if with agony,
turned and hid her eyes at this spectacle, crying out, ' Oh, the poor people ! Oh,
the mothers and babies !' "

We are initiated into much of the intrigue and plotting going forward around
the king, where it seems as if people were born but for two objects, either to
cheat others, or be cheated themselves. But we can turn from the dazzling pro-
fligacy of the court, to the repose and innocence of the country, where if we do
not for a time find happiness, we shall find virtue, and the rest will surely
follow. All concludes pleasantly, by more than one extraordinary denouement*
Even the very villains have reason to be satisfied.

The Memoirs of Sir Ralph Esher disclose to us all parties, and bring before us
all descriptions of character, male and female, who were in the least distin-
guished during the eventful period of the Restoration. There is far more fact
than fiction in the narrative, and less romance than many of our readers would
imagine. In fact, it is a true picture of society as then constituted, written in a
clear and flowing style, occasionally sparkling with wit and humour, and always
liberal in wise reflections, gentle feelings, and poetic imagery.

CHANTILLY. IN 3 VOLS.

IN all fictitious narrative the test of literary merit lies in the nearness of its
approach to truth. Fictions, in fact, are but the shadows, or rather reflections
of substances of which they must exhibit a faithful representation, else they
become mere monstrous anomalies which can deserve neither " a local habita-
tion nor a name" in the sanctuary of literature. Nothing can atone for the
absence of verisimilitude ; it is the vital principle of pure fiction. Upon its pre-
sence or absence will depend the fiat of just criticism. Where the dignity of
truth is once sacrificed to the pruriency of a dreamy imagination, the judicious
reader will instantly detect the imposition ; the balance of interest, however in
other respects nicely adjusted, will be overthrown, and he will at once feel that

352 Monthly Review of Literature. [MABCH,

he has before him a mere phantasmagoria of unsubstantial monsters and not the
beautiful transcripts of nature.

As a violation of verisimilitude appears to us to be the besetting sin of modern
fictions, we are the more gratified in coming to the perusal of a work which is
altogether free from this prevailing defect, and this is the case with the work
before us. Its great merit lies in the aptitude with which it identifies natu-
ral objects and events, and in the easy skill with which those objects and events
are blended and harmonized. The extreme correctness of the delineations, the
picturesque combination of the incidents, which are all so ni«ely adjusted and
tpned down as always to graduate, as it were, into their most appropriate posi-
tion in the narrative, are excellencies which the author of " Chantilly" has
exhibited with no common power. Her characters are not mere clumsy sketches
from lifeless portraits, but vigorous originals, which live and breathe before us.
They are not the puppets of a fantoccini which are jerked into fantastic motion
by twitching a thread, but substantial and noble forms, into which the glorious
God of the universe has "breathed a living soul." We are carried back into
remote periods ; but we look down the long vista of the past upon scenes which
seem to start into vivid reality before us. The icteal merges, as it were, in the
real, and we appear to hold communion with generations long since numbered
with the things beyond the flood. There is, moreover, a compactness of com-
bination, and rapidity of transition in this author's narrative, which not only
quickens the reader's interest, but keeps it vigorously alive to the very close ;
an excellence rarely to be met with in those works of a similar class, with which
the craving ambition of literary distinction has absolutely gorged the press of the
nineteenth century. In addition to all this, there is a unity of design and ex-
ecution which strongly marks the nice discernment of the author's mind. Every
subordinate object is kept in such natural subserviency and union, as to amal-
gamate into one congruous whole ; which would be incomplete if any of the
minute accessories were removed, which constitute that totality so remarkable
in a perfect picture.

We have awarded high praise to the author of this work, which the dedica-
tion shews us to be a lady ; and she well deserves it. If this is her first pro-
duction, it is one of excellent promise. It exhibits the elements of vigorous
and fertile intellect ; while the absence of all pretension is not one of its least
agreeable features. The style of these volumes is simple, but correct, fervid
rather than ornate, though occasionally flowered by the subdued ebullitions of
a glowing fancy, and sunned by the charming development of those feelings,
which strike upon the chords of human sympathy, and awake an instant echo in
the heart.

THE OPERA. BY THE AUTHORESS OF " MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS."

FASHIONABLE novels, or works of fiction which pretend to pourtray the man-
ners of exclusive society, will always find readers, either among the class they
describe, or with a humbler race of mortals who are anxious to learn what is
going forward in those circles from which they are shut out ; but although some
of them may possess considerable merit, their greatest recommendation is their
novelty. A season is generally the period of their existence. Occasionally
some expose of the frivolities of high life, creates for a time what the advertise-
ments are pleased to call a " prodigious sensation ;" the next year it is forgotten
for something of a similar nature. A person of haut ton would as soon think of
committing the enormity of eating fish with his knife, or any thing else equally
odd and horrible, as of asking for a fashionable novel of last season. Among
the most distinguished of these writers, is the authoress of the work under re-
view. Her work is as good as any thing of the same kind that we have read.
No doubt it will have its run, and be as popular as the rest ; and doubtless it
will be as speedily forgotten. There are passages in it which disclose a talent of
no ordinary nature, and some clever sketches of character are scattered over it^
three volumes ; but it wants compression, and a more skilful arrangement of the

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 353

dramatis person*. There are at least six heroines, three of whom are in love
with the hero at the same time. Her delineations of female character are not
very flattering to the sex. Katherine Darley and La Sylvestra are two " devils
in garnet." The observations of the fair authoress are frequently more original
than just; she seems to wish to produce an effect, and is not very particular
about the means. Par example, her hero goes to Covent Garden Theatre, to hear
the opera of Figaro, where he finds " a detestable orchestra/' and " the worst
corps d'opera that ever blundered through the enchantments of Figaro — a
Barber who did not sing, a Countess who could not, a Susanna who should not,
and a little sulky Page who would not ; a bass who growled like a Polar bear,
and a tenor that squeaked like a broken-winded bag-pipe !"

The writer, if we may judge from her remarks, seems to hold our theatrical
representations in high contempt, and to consider that there is no comparison
between ourselves and our continental neighbours as to their way of " getting
up" their dramatic performances ; with all due humility, we beg to ask her if she
saw Masaniello when it came out in Paris, and the same opera when first repre-
aented here ? — it was the opinion of a Frenchman, who possessed a considerable
share of national pride, that the Drury Lane performance had much the advan-
tage, more particularly in the splendour of its decorations and costume.

We must in justice to the authoress assert, that independent of a few
blemishes, " The Opera" possesses many charms for the novel-reader, and we
have no doubt it will meet with a very general perusal.

^

HISTORY OP THE JEWS IN ALL AGES. BY THE AUTHOR OF " HISTORY

IN ALL AGES."

FEW subjects have of late years been more generally and extensively (though
not, perhaps, very learnedly and satisfactorily) investigated, than the history
and destination of the most remarkable people known either to the ancient or
to the modern world. Upon the comprehensive and indefatigable inquiries of
a few German writers, the French and English of the present day founded the
lighter and more popular works, which, whether written for political, histo-
rical, or wholly religious purposes, consist of materials, taken as they were
found, without farther question, or additional sources of information, and thus
applied to the particular objects which the writers had in view. Nearly the
sole novelty attaching to these modern compendiums, is the different lights in
which the actions and ordinances of the Jews, with their political and religious
destiny, have been viewed. It is owing to this want of original inquiry, in
fact, that while in all other matters there prevails so striking a coincidence and
monotony in our recent writers, in their opinion and interpretation of facts and
events, they differ widely from each other, offering the only ground, indeed, for
interest and invention. Thus, down to Mr. Millman and Mr. Gleig, the neces-
sity of throwing some new interest into the subject, has induced most writers to
take very singular, and not very orthodox views on religious points — theorizing,
and throwing out plausible doubts, and seeking to account by natural means>
wherever possible, for events generally admitted to have been brought about by
some miraculous interposition. The same love of novelty and complacent
paradox, leads them too frequently to hazard assertions, not only at variance
with the tenor and received belief of the Scriptures, but more directly so with
each other. On this dangerous ground, presenting so many a " stumbling-
block, and stone of offence," and which ought to be very warily trodden, we are
glad to perceive that the author of the " History of the Jews in all Ages," has
not cared to intrude ; and in so far, we think, has shewn a correct judgment*
and good taste, not evinced by the many reverend writers who have preceded
him. Although, in point of style, and in general character, therefore, the pre-
sent work cannot be brought into comparison with the studied and classical
compositions on a similar subject, yet the principles upon which it is founded,
its well condensed materials, its clear arrangement, and its freedom from unau-
thorized assumption and new interpretation, render it far better calculated U>

354 Monthly Review of Literature. [[MARCH,

answer the intended object — to afford popular information, without exciting
doubts — to give the views and inferences entertained by older and greater
writers — and though in a less polished garb, to furnish the leading incidents
and events of the Jewish History, with the interpretation given to it, as they
are found in the Bible itself. The principles, in short, upon which this work is
founded, are, that the statements of the Scriptures, however irreconcileable
with human maxims in parts, are to be received with all the submission
which their divine authority demands. Agreeably to this plan the work
is throughout conducted, and in a way that reflects credit no less on the prin-
ciples than the talent of the author.

THE RECORDS OF A GOOD MAN'S LIFE, &c. BY THE REV. CHARLES B. TAYLER,

M. A.

UNDER this pleasant, and too rarely merited title, the author, already favor-
ably received by the public, has here given us a series of simple and instructive
stories in the same quiet, unobtrusive style ; a style which well recommends the
truth and purity of the sentiment, and which speaks " from the heart to the heart."
There is surely something in the manner of relating a story, as we know from
Sterne, which may boast half the merit, and bears out the caustic, homely cou-
plet of Dean Swift :

" What is a story, good or bad,
If a man tell it like a lad?"

Undoubtedly a felicity of style and expression is no common quality, and it is
possessed by the author of these "Records" in an eminent degree. 'Ihe charm of
his little narratives steals upon us imperceptibly as we proceed ; and without
any effort either at fine writing, startling incidents, or high-wrought effect, he
fully succeeds in what he aims at, — in winning a willing ear to the truth and
excellence of those models of morality and virtue he holds up to our view.

THE MEMBER: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE AYRSHIRE

LEGATEES," &c.

WE are here presented by the ingenious author of so many pleasant works of
fiction, with a little work, anything but a piece of fiction, and greatly differing
from those which have preceded it, inasmuch as under an assumed character,
it contains a number of curious facts and details but too glaringly true. As a
political jeu d' esprit, however, it is not always so caustic and happy as we
could wish, though applicable enough to the times in which we have lived,
and for which the Reform Bill seems the grand panacea, yet held in reserve.

But if seldom or never witty, there is a sly and quiet humour in the manner of
"The Member," which, with a tone of perfect seriousness and downright busi-
ness-like proceeding, tend admirably to expound the system " that has worked
so well," exhibiting it with all the force of satire by simply preserving the cool,
calculating, and quaint style of the new member, and his direct mode of coming
to an understanding with those in power. In this respect he is perfectly con-
sistent throughout ; the effect of his gravity is such as to keep us constantly on
the smile, and forms the author's best substitute for want of humorous incidents
and strokes of wit. Thus having purchased his borough, the member's next ob-
ject is to remunerate himself by selling his vote, and on a division of the house,
he at first takes side with neither party. That same evening he observes, like
a true man of business, "more than two of my friends inquired of me what I
thought of the question. By this I could guess that my conduct was a matter
of speculation, so I said to them, that ' really much was to be said on both
sides, but I had really made up my mind not to vote the one way or the other
until I got a convincing reason.' This was thought a good joke, and so it was
circulated through the house, inasmuch as when we broke up at seven o'clock
on the Saturday morning, one of the ministers, a young soft-headed lad, took

J832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 355

hold of me by the arm in the lobby, and inquired in a jocund manner, * if I had
yet got a convincing reason.' I gave him, thereupon, a nod and a wink^
and said, ' Not yet, but I expected one soon, when I would do myself the plea-
sure of calling on him/ which he was very well pleased to hear, and shook me
by the hand with a cordiality by no means common, when he wished me good
night, trusting, as he said, ' that we should be better acquainted.' — ' It will
not be my fault/ quoth I, ' if we are not/

" With that we parted, and I could see by the eye in my neck that he thought,
with the light head of youth, that he had made a capital conquest by his con-
descension. Now this small matter requires an explanation for the benefit of
other new members. If a man has all his eyes about him, he will soon discern
that a ministry, if it has three or four decent auld-farrent men, is for the most
part composed of juveniles — state 'prentices — the sprouts and off-shoots of the
powerful families. With them lies the means of conciliating members, for the
weightier metal of the ministers is employed in public affairs, and to the youn-
kers is confided the distribution of patronage, — for a good reason, it enables
them to make friends and a party by the time that they come, in the course of
nature, to inherit the upper offices."

This, we think, will give the reader a pretty fair sample of the spirit and sort
of humour he may expect to find in Mr. Gait's new book.

THE GEORGIAN ERA. IN FOUR VOLUMES. VOLUME I.

THE value of this new compilation, both in a political and literary point of
view, would seem to consist, as far as we may form an opinion from one volume of
the intended series, in its extensive, yet cautious use of authorities, the consequent
correctness of its details, and the impartial tone which has been observed
throughout. It appears free from all undue bias ; speaks fearlessly out ; and
awards the just measure of applause or censure wherever it would seem to have
been merited. We are presented with the truth without invective or palliation ;
and, while strenuous in maintaining its candour and impartiality, it is not with-
out the recommendation of interesting detail, and amusing anecdote or adven-
ture. In these last, the court annals of our Georges will be found sufficiently
abundant, as we shall shew in a few instances, which will serve at the same time
to confirm our previous observation, and give some idea of the style and cha-
racter of the entire volume. It is not, however, the object of the work to give
only an historical summary, with biographical sketches of the reigning family ;
it embraces the lives of the Pretenders and their adherents, and of the most dis-
tinguished Churchmen, Dissenters, and Statesmen, who have flourished during
the era referred to. The chief part of these are written in a manner creditable
as well to the author's judgment as to his good feeling, and they are liberally in-
terspersed with anecdote, so as to render them not less entertaining than edify-
ing. We are amused, for instance, with the retort of a radical political econo-
mist, in the time of the first George, in reply to one of that monarch's fat Ger-
man mistresses. They were severally designated by the people as the May-pole
and the Elephant and Castle. It is related of one of these ladies, that being
abused by the mob, she put her head out of the coach and cried, in bad English,
"- Good people, why you abuse us ? we come for all your goods." — " Yes, d — n
you/' answered a fellow in the crowd, " and for our chattels too." There is
another respecting the famous Duke of Cumberland, who shewed more clever-
ness as a boy, than he ever did as a general. Having displeased his mother one
day, she sent him to his chamber, and when he appeared again, she asked him what
he had been doing. " Reading," replied the boy. — " Reading what?" — " The
Scriptures." — " What part of the Scriptures ?" — " That part where it is written,
' Woman I what hast thou to do with me ?' " After the loss of a battle, an
English prisoner observing to a French officer, that they might have taken the
Duke himself prisoner ; " Yes," replied the Frenchman, " but we took care not
to do that — he is of far more use to us at the head of your army."

In the biographical sketch of the Duke of Sussex, speaking of his Royal High-

35(5 Monthly Review of Literature. [MARCH,

ness's marriage with Lady Augusta Murray, the author informs us, that it had
been ludicrously observed by a contemporary writer, that "soon afterwards
Lady Augusta became pregnant and returned to England ; his Royal ttighness
did the same."

As a pleasant abridgement of historical and biographical information, we may
safely refer the reader to this work when he has neither time nor inclination to
consult more ample authorities.

AN INTRODUCTION TO PERSPECTIVE, PRACTICAL GEOMETRY, DRAWING AND
PAINTING, &c. &c. BY CHARLES HAYTER.

As a work of scientific rules, and of great utility in facilitating the acquisition
of an accomplishment now very generallypursued, not only by the higher ranks,
this very full and accurate treatise will be found deserving the attention both of
students and of proficients in the art. Besides unfolding the principles on a
regulated scale, illustrated with numerous plates, it contains a new and complete
explanation of the mixture of colours, with full and practical directions for their
use in miniature, crayons, and oil painting. These directions, moreover, are
given in a series of pleasing and familiar dialogues between the author's chil-
dren, and in instruction by letters to his pupils ; while the whole is as properly
adapted for the instruction of mere professional students, and of ladies.

The many advantages which are thus held out in a single volume, must in-
deed have been sought for at considerable sacrifice of time and expence, in a
variety of scattered treatises, published without the object which the author of
this work seems to have had in view. That he has executed his varied and
arduous task in a manner creditable to an artist, entitles him to the thanks and
encouragement of every student and lover of the art ; and more particularly of
those who are without enlarged means, and find it difficult in the outset to mas-
ter elementary difficulties, and to become acquainted with the true principles of
design.

LARDNER'S CABINET CYCLOPEDIA. A HISTORY OF "THE ITALIAN REPUB-
LICS." BY J. C. L. DE SISMONDI.

THE celebrity already obtained by the author of the present work, no less on
the continent than in this country, by his extensive and laborious researches
into the histories of various nations, presents of itself a sufficient guarantee for
the style in which it was likely to be conducted. It would have been difficult
to fix upon any one writer, every way so adequately prepared to treat the sub-
ject in a masterly and comprehensive manner, whose previous studies had
brought him acquainted with its minutest details, and whose enlarged and phi-
losophic views rendered him equal to the severest duty of luminous order and
compression. The author of the " Italian Republics," in sixteen volumes, a
work abounding in lengthy detail and interesting episode, has shewn that it is
also possible for a talented and enterprising mind to comprize the same subject
in a single volume. If compared with some of the best works in the present
series, the productions of some of the most popular and distinguished writers of
our times, that of M. Sismondi will be found to rank in the very first class.
Nor is it only as an able historian and sound reasoner that he here appears to
advantage ; as the enlightened advocate of a great and fallen people, he appeals
to the free nations around him in their own language, reminding them of what
Italy was the first to achieve in the career of national independence, — how she
stemmed the might of the Ottoman, desolating the west, — of the grand impulse
and example she gave the world in its march towards civilization, — and of the
crimes, both of her native and foreign oppressors, which despoiled her of the
honourable name, independence — and the advantages which she was the means of
conferring upon the nations around.

In the rapid recital of her revival, — her struggles, and her misfortunes, — the
writer preserves the interest arising out of the splendid actions and vicissitudes

1832.]

Monthly Review of Literature. 357

of the leading republics entire and unbroken ; insomuch as to induce the reader
at last to lay down this excellent volume with a feeling of regret.

ON THE LIFE, WRITINGS, AND GENIUS OF AKENSIDE. BY CHARLES

BUCKE.

A LIFE of Akenside has long been felt as a desideratum in our poetical litera-
ture ; considered as the author of such a poem as the " Pleasures of the
Imagination," it is not a little singular it should not have been earlier undertaken,
while the biography of many inferior writers has been amply descanted upon.
The new materials now brought forward by Mr. Bucke, have confirmed us in our
favourable opinion of the subject ; they are thrown into a very interesting nar-
rative, and he seems to have spared neither zeal nor judgment in the uses to
•which he has adapted them. Not confining his researches to the beaten track,
he has opened many new lights upon the poet's early life, his genius and writ-
ings, besides illustrating his subject with a rich fund of anecdote and informa-
tion, relating to the friends and connections he formed, both in his professional
and poetical capacity. As a didactic poet, Mr. Bucke very justly places Aken-
side on the highest ground ; but for most of his early poems, and his lyrical
effusions, he claims, we are sure, a higher meed of praise than the poetry of all
his odes and lighter pieces will at all warrant. The specimens of this kind with
which he has interspersed his narrative, do not always bear out the high opinion
he gives of them ; and the lines he has quoted, as bearing a comparison with
any of Horace, or of Collins, seem to us not the happiest that might have been
selected. Upon the whole, however, we think the public owes not a little to Mr.
Bucke, for the interesting and entertaining memoir so long wanted, and which
must furnish much genuine pleasure to the admirers of the poetry of Akenside ;
nor do we consider that there could easily have been found one better formed to
treat of the poet's life and works in a more congenial sphere, than the author
of the " Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of Nature."

AN ESSAY ON PROPORTION, WITH ITS APPLICATION TO THE SOLUTION or
PROBLEMS. BY JOHN GARRETT, Teacher of Mathematics in the Carlow
Academy.

THE doctrine of proportion has always been the subject of scientific contro-
versy among mathematicians. The difficulties of this perplexing subject have too
frequently been the cause of impeding the progress of the youthful student, till he
has despaired of emancipating himself from the embarrassments by which he was
surrounded, and gave up the study as too abstruse for his investigation. Mr.
Garrett has, in this ingenious essay, removed much of the obscurity in which
the subject has been involved, and every student is indebted to him for having
rendered the science so much easier of application. His definitions are generally
perspicuous, his method of demonstration simple and clear ; and his object,
that of assisting the uninitiated into the mysteries of quantity, seems, in a great
measure, likely to be attended with success.

THE DRAMA.

THE DEVILS !

THE Devils have at last appeared— that infernal combination which threatened
so to astonish, overpower, overwhelm, and annihilate, with excess of delight,
the expectant, though trembling natives of this great nation, has at length burst
upon their wondering gaze, in all the sublimity of blue fire and brimstone.
When will these Gallo-germanic monstrosities reach their climax ? The Cholera
Morbus is said to be making progress in the metropolis ; but the Cholera Dia-
blerie of the national theatre is infinitely more alarming. The legislature ought to
interfere as much in one case as the other. When such frightful diseases threaten

358 The Drama. [MARCH,

to prostrate our moral as well as physical energies, it is cruel to be partial.
Why not establish a theatrical board of health, to be held at the Garrick Club-
house, to watch the cases as they appear, and report, from time" to time, the
number of the victims.

We are happy in being enabled to state, that up to this moment, amongst the
numerous cases that have appeared, only one has proved decidedly fatal, and
that was the case of the old gentleman in Drury Lane, who, we regret to say,
was seized with a violent attack on the 20th of last month, and is not expected
to live out the week. The music connected with these diabolical affairs is re-
ported to be the production of Mayerbeer, but we are slow in giving credit to
idle reports. We believe rather, that the public is indebted to Messrs. Bishop
and Lacy for a work which was intended to throw " Der Freischutz" into the
shade. Notwithstanding the awful nature of the visitation, the speculations of
the public press respecting it are rather amusing. Never was the great art of
puffing more pertinaciously and successfully employed than in the present in-
stance. Don Pedro and the Portuguese — the Belgian question — the unknown
tongues — the last speech of the Marquis of Londonderry — and all other won-
ders— have been effectually silenced by this all engrossing topic. The progress
of the disease has been as follows : first, the Devil's Son was taken at the Adel-
phi — the whole management of the case being confided to Dr. Buckstone. We
believe the laundress at Sadler's Wells came next on the list — then the old
clothesman at the Pavilion theatre — the Orange-theatre girl followed close — at
last the old gentleman at Drury Lane was seized — and the old lady at Covent
Garden — and here we pause to take breath.

The newspapers have displayed great ingenuity and judgment on this occa-
sion. One told the public, that the cost of the organ built at Drury Lane was
500Z. — three days after another journal announced, that the organ at Covent
Garden cost 2,000/.— balance in favour of the latter theatre 1,500/. ! One morn-
ing paper boldly asserts, that the best portion of the Opera at Drury Lane is the
overture ! — this is excellent — no doubt meant as a compliment to some one or
other — certainly not to Mayerbeer ; for it so happens, that Mayerbeer's " Robert
le Diable" is essentially the same at both the national theatres, and a capital
drama it is too. Only imagine a demon coming piping hot from the regions
below, to play the gallant with one of the frail daughters of Eve — and a scurvy
devil he was to use her as he did. Well, this demon finds himself the happy
father of a hopeful youth, and, out of an excessive paternal regard, persuades
his son to accompany him to his paternal home ! Can fatherly affection be more
strikingly displayed ! — The plot of this great drama has been so often detailed,
that our readers must be already conversant with its merits ; it would answer
no purpose to say a word more on the subject. There is a scene, however, which
cannot be too highly extolled — we allude to that where a parcel of naughty, un-
ruly girls run about the stage in a sort of nocturnal undress, provoking, by their
amorous gestures and personal non-attractions, the disgust of the spectators.
This scene, we suppose, is intended to convey the highly moral lesson, that all
vicious gratifications are in the highest degree repulsive, when viewed through
so moral a medium as the float-light of a patent theatre ! But unfortunately the
audience at Drury Lane did not understand the force of the point, for they hissed
where they ought to applaud ! — Indeed, the reception of the Opera was not so
flattering as had been anticipated. The Fiend-father, at Covent Garden, was
more successful, simply because more pains had been taken in the getting-up of
the piece. The scenery at both houses is splendid, and affords another proof of
the genius of our great modern dramatists, Stanfield, Marinari, the Grieves, &c.
&c. The machinist, Taylor, and other artists, also deserve their meed of praise.
Let us see — who have we forgotten ? — Who ! why — no less a person than Miss
Fanny Ayton, who so materially contributed to the amusement of the Drury
Lane audience. She has discovered an ingenious and very effective style of sing-
ing— she always evinces a decided hostility to the orchestra; and a very striking
effect is thereby produced. It seemed as though the vocal and instrumental de-
partments were engaged in a regular set-to — a musical boxing-match, which of

J832.] The Drama. 359

course must find a great number of admirers among the patrons of the noble art
of self-defence. The band decidedly had the worst of it, and was punished ex-
cessively.

- Of the music of the Opera we humbly abstain from giving an opinion, for se-
veral reasons. One thing, however, we are rash enough to predict — that Mo-
zart, Weber, Spohr, Rossini, Auber, &c. whose fame was threatened with in-
stant annihilation, upon the appearance of the diabolical prodigy, may now rest
satisfied that they have fortunately escaped such a terrible fate. It is asserted that
vast sums of money have been lavished on the production of the two Devils at the
two houses ! Drury Lane is said to have paid higher prices for its Devils than
for its quadrupeds and other beasts — the Lions of Mysore were mere babes to the
demon attendants. The public, certainly, is very unjust to complain, after this, of
the degeneracy and decline of the national Drama, when the ingenuity of ma-
nagers is ever upon the stretch to provide them with monsters of the rarest de-
scription.

TJie Self -tormentor, or, Mr. William Farren, in two acts. — Such was the title
of a piece ascribed to the veteran Kenny, which just hailed the light, and was
withdrawn after the second night. Kenny is a man that can very well afford to
sustain a failure — his dramatic fund is rich, and we shall be much astonished
if, ere long, the public does not draw largely upon his stock for many an even-
ing's amusement.

Some harmless little trifles have been acted at a place called Rayner's theatre.
Who is Mr. Rayner ? Is he any relation of the great Rayner family ? — We
candidly confess our ignorance of the many great unknowns about town. For-
merly theatres were denominated after their locality, or after illustrious persons.
We have made progress in this respect. Madame Vestris set the example which
Mr. Rayner is endeavouring to emulate. We have been told that we are to
have — Mr. Coveney's theatre — Mr. Paulo's theatre — Mr. Ellar's theatre, and
theatres by all the supernumeraries and scene-shifters, that are devoured by a
noble ambition for promoting the histrionic art !

The Olympic announces two entirely new and original Burlettas from the
French ! We believe that this time the two laureates of the establishment have
no finger in the pie. — Can this be possible ! — We have heard that the " GarricJc
Club" intend to award a gold medal to Madame Vestris, for her long services
and multifarious merits in promoting the cause of the Drama, and more parti-
cularly the patrons thereof. Signer Zerbini is to present the medal, he having,
with the true magnanimity of a fiddler, kindly consented, for this night only, to
waive the little coolness existing between himself and the fair proprietress, aris-
ing from his late summary expulsion from the fiddling department of the
Olympic.

Francis the First is underlined at Covent Garden theatre. Public expectation
has been much raised concerning this tragedy, and certainly, considering all the
circumstances of the case, no modern dramatic production has been brought
forward with greater claims to enlist in its favour the sympathies of the public.

Ecousse and Lebras, two young romantic writers — the former the author of
an absurd drama, called " Farruch-Le-Maur," a piece which was welcomed with
very injudicious praise, committed suicide at Paris, because a new melo-drame
of theirs, " Raymond, " failed at the Theatre de h Gcnte. We trust the
Board of Health will not vote this disease contagious, for the number of suicides
would indeed be alarming. If bad writers are to slay themselves after this

fashion, in the name of common sense, what is to become of Messrs -?

Let the reader choose his victims.

Surrey Theatre. — The question between the " Majors and Minors" is placed
in a very favourable light, by the contrast presented between the style of the per-

360 The Drama. [MARCH,

formances at this theatre, and the Diablerie now dignifying the stages which are
so satirically styled " classical." The Surrey is, in point of size and form, the
precise model winch every sensible theatrical architect ought to build by. It pre-
sents a fine, open, elegant effect ; and, what is a rare thing indeed in theatres now-
a-days, you can see and hear in every corner of it. And this leads us to another
distinguishing point in its favour — that the pieces are in general worth seeing
and hearing. Mr. Bulwer's magnificent tale, Evgene Aram, has been dramatised
here with much tact — the adapter having availed himself of almost every line of
the dialogue that could tend to complete the effect, and scarcely adding a single
sentence of his own. This gives the piece an additional interest in the eyes of
those who may have read the work — it is like seeing the novel acted. There are
many very striking scenes in it, in a theatrical sense ; much effective contrast
and situation ; but there is beyond this, a moral and intellectual tone pervading
the performance, that places it far beyond the pale of the common order of melo-
drame. With this spirit of intellectual beauty that hovers over the scene, " like a
golden mist/' Mr. Elton's delineation of Eugene was completely in harmony. He
gave that rich, deep, and mental colouring to the character, which the high and
searching imagination of the author has lavished all its powers in perfecting.
Our praise is equally applicable to the subdued and the energetic passages. In
Mr. Elton's hands, Eugene's is no vulgar mystery — a circumstance of some im-
portance, for it is upon this delicate perception and development of the charac-
ter that the whole interest of the piece depends. We have left ourselves little
space to speak of others, but we must not forget Mrs. West, nor could we be
other than amused, though he did not entirely realise the character, with Mr.
Vale's Corporal Bunting.

REVIEW OF MUSIC.

1. Riego's March, with Variations, by Sixto Perez. Goulding and Co., Soho-
square. — 2. The Passion Flower, a new song, Inj J. filewitt. Preston,
Dean-street. — 3. Soft and bright the Gems of Night : a Ballad, by H. Smart.
Chappel, Bond-street.

No. 1. Riego's March (which, by the bye, is like any thing but a march),
has been greatly improved by the clever manner in which Signor Perez has
varied it. One or two of the figures are new, though it seems expressly composed
for those who are not very far advanced in piano-forte playing. Although
laying well under the hand, and very easily accomplished, it still produces a
brilliant effect. We compliment Signor Perez upon his mode of producing good
effects by simple means.

2. The words of this song are the most unmeaning nonsense that ever spoiled
a sheet of paper, and the composer has expressed the meaning of the words pro-
perly. The ascent from the dominant in A scale, to the 6th above, is more
original than agreeable : the whole song is tinged with vulgarity, and, in all
probability, will never be heard of, away from the Melodists' Club, where
it was sung, and where, after copious libations, it might be tolerated.

3. Is a charming song, mis-named a ballad, but of too high a character to
deserve that name. We object to some 8ths at page 2 ; not because they hap-
pen to be 8ths, but because the effect is offensive to our ear ; with that excep-
tion, we have not seen a melody so beautifully dressed in fashionable harmonies
for a long time. We should be happy to see something of a higher order by
Mr. Smart, for we are certain that he possesses genius, which is rather a scarce
article in these times.

1. The Supplication Song. John Barnet. — 2. Dear Sir ; 3. The Soldier; 4.
Dearest come tome; 5. 'Tis my duty that calls ; — in the Farce of Country
Quarters. Composed by ditto. — Goulding and Co., Soho-square.
No. 1. is a plaintive canzonetta, full of tenderness and feeling, and every

word truly expressed by the music ; there seems to be a sort of analogy even

1832.] Review of Music.

between the harmonies and the words — this is what vocal music ought to be,
and Mr. Barnett considers this point more than any other composer in England
— and to make it still a greater bijou, it is perfectly original.

Nos. 2, 3, 4, and 5, were sung in the farce of Country Quarters. 2, is ano-
ther instance of sense in setting music to words — you might almost gather the
sense of the poetry from hearing the music alone ; 2, is dashing and dramatic,
and the coda is very striking, but requires a better singer to give effect to it, than
Miss Taylor.

3. Is a plaintive and well-planned melody, but not remarkable for originality;
indeed, we wonder the composer could have done any thing at all with such
stupid namby-pamby words.

4. Is in the style of the song in The Legion of Honour, we mean as far as
the accompaniment of the side drum goes, which little Miss Poole uses very
cleverly, but the treatment of it is much more masterly and varied than the
other. Now even these are clap-trap things that we are not at all partial to, and
we exhort Mr. Barnett not to be persuaded again, either by author or manager,
to waste his time upon such trash as Country Quarters. The cry has been for
grand English operas ; let him produce one, for to him alone we look forward
for such a novelty.

Three Italian Notturnos, with an accompaniment for the Piano-forte, by D. Crimlli.

Cramer, Addison and Beale.

WE feel great pleasure in recommending to our musical friends the above
work, as one which will delight them on account of the characteristic manner in
which it is constructed. Generally, this sort of composition has been considered
as one which ought only to consist of 3rds and 6ths ; but we find Mr. Crivelli
has departed from this routine in a great measure, giving more variety to the
parts. The chord at the beginning of the first notturno produces a very good
effect, particularly as it is unexpected : the tonic, or the 5th, being generally
what we are accustomed to hear as the opening chord of a composition, whether
vocal or instrumental. The melody is exceedingly well adapted to the words (a
great point, which many modern composers, we are sorry to say, disregard) ; the
accompaniment, too, is judiciously written, and not in the least complicated.

FINE ARTS' EXHIBITION.

BRITISH INSTITUTION.

WITHOUT entering into any comparison between this and former exhibitions,
we may at once say there are enough pictures of superlative merit, to confer a
solid pleasure upon the most fastidious amateur who may visit the gallery this
season ; though more are to be found of second and third rate character, and
still more of positive repulsive qualities — libels upon nature — treason against
art. In spite of much clamour, usually raised by the disappointed and their
friends, respecting alleged partiality in the arrangement of the works sent for
exhibition, it appears to us, upon a careful survey of the contents of the gallery,
that the best pictures are hung in the best situations, with very few exceptions —
and also, we are glad to observe, that the greater part of the first rate paintings
are distinguishable by a small slip of yellow paper on one corner of the frame,
marked with four most gratifying letters, spelling the word " sold." But, if
there must be second, third and fourth rate pictures, there are also as many
degrees of taste ; so that we will leave the greater proportion of these to the ad-
miration of the unwise in art, and proceed to enumerate those pictures which
have more particularly delighted us.

No. 1. Portsmouth, from the King' s Bastion. Painted for the King. C.STAN-
FIELD. — Though not a good subject for so good a painter, we are delighted with
the clear colouring, the vigorous pencilling, and general truth of atmospheric
effect. We were amused at hearing a self-elected arbiter elegantiarum, to whom
much deference seemed to' be paid by the keeper of the gallery, pass a sweeping

M. M. Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 75. 2 B

Ij^ Fine Arts' Exhibition: [MARCH,

censure upon this picture, whilst poking his eyes close to the surface, by saying
" He has not covered the canvass, Sir : I can see the canvass, Sir ;" as if the
recreant Stanfield had cheated his Majesty of so much paint.

5. A Falconer. A. FRASER, — A powerful bit of painting — a fine study of
character, and well coloured.

6. Sabrina, from Milton. W. ETTY. — This was in the exhibition last sum-
mer. It is a dream of color without the sun — mystical — full of wild grace and
fleshy beauty. The other picture of ETTY'S is called Robinson Crusoe, and has
been also exhibited before ; it possesses his usual attractive features of colouring
in the figure, but nothing of scenery or nature beyond.

19. The Contadina di Sonnino. G. HAYTER. — We do not see any improvement
in this artist since his residence on the continent ; but in this, and La Toillette,
and Conversion of St. Paul, rather a declension from his celebrated Trial of Lord
Russell.

We observe several exquisite fruit pieces by LANCE, painted with his usual
feeling and power.

E. LANDSEER has treated us with five subjects, viz.: 23. Hawking. — 75. Inte-
rior of a Highlander's House. — 174. The Auld Guid Wife.— 186. Lassie tending
Sheep. — 326. The Challenge. — These are all finished with the nicest feeling and
taste, equalling any of the animal painters of the Dutch and Flemish schools,
yet drawn and embodied without any apparent reference to any other source
than that of nature. The sheep in 186, must be placed among the greatest
triumphs of art — in colour, texture, drawing and grouping, we know of nothing
superior : the girl is very properly made subordinate to the animals, though she
too is painted with uncommon sweetness and skill. These pictures are as desi-
rable to possess as any of Berghems or Wouvermans.

52, An Antiquary. A. FRASER. — Here is another picture, which for colour,
execution, effect, and truth of detail, may be placed in any gallery in the world,
We only regret that the interest should be confined to objects of still life. There
is a young woman writing at a window, but the charm of the picture is not in
her — there is an old man reading a letter at a table, but the beauty of the work-
manship lies not in the old man. It is scattered over the canvass in a variety of
objects, especially to be valued by an antiquary, and appears perfected upon
the tall and ample figure of a yeoman of the King's guard, who has brought a
royal present, consisting of various pieces of armour, among which a fine Ben-
venuto Cellini shield lies, a very piece of deception, in the foreground. On the
whole, this picture is among the first of its class — brilliant in colour and effect,
and of masterly execution.

Amongst other beauties, MRS. CARPENTER'S Study from Nature, 39, must not
be forgotten ; it is of a sweet little girl, quite a character, and coloured like a
pure piece of infant flesh, round and rosy, with a little fat hand deliciously
coloured.

We advise J. P. KNIGHT to paint with more care, and particularly to make
his girls more attractive, if they are to be introduced as principal figures — we do
not like his two pictures, 60. Bit of Courtship, and 302. Auld Robin Gray.

We cannot withhold our warmest congratulations from Mr. LEE, who exhibits
five charming landscapes, upon the progress he has made in his art. He has the
right feeling, and works it out with corresponding power. His Landscape with
Seech Trees and Figures, 264. is worthy of the olden time,

Messrs. C. Fielding, Stanley, Hofland, and J. Jones, R. A., exhibit some
beautiful landscapes : we particularly admire a small subject by Fielding, whose
practice has hitherto been almost confined to water colours, in which art he is
pre-eminent. In 287, Loch Tuy, the oil painter is worthy of his water-colours.

Of historical subjects, there is a very scanty supply. Of these, HILTON'S Sir
Calepine rescuing Serena, 404, is about the best — it is certainly the best of his
own pictures. There are two others by the same hand, viz. 178. Jacob parting
with Benjamin, a weak and insipid piece of workmansnip ; and 527. St. Peter
released by an Angel, which is not very original in its conception. In the Sir
Calepine there is more of the grace and spirit that Mr. Hilton has formerly dis-
played ; and in the painting of the female bound to the sacrificial altar, a finish

1S32.] Fine Arts' Publications. 363

and beauty of colour more to our mind than any thing we have seen by the
same painter.

There are not many comic subjects, and few of these have any pretensions to
humour or character ; altogether there seems a lack of invention among our
artists ; but invention is a rare gift, and artists are very plentiful, so that it is,
perhaps, unreasonable to expect more in an exhibition of nearly six hundred
pictures, excluding portraits.

LIVERSEEGE promised well, but he is not now to be classed with living
artists, unfortunately. There are two subjects very prettily treated by him in
the present exhibition, Nos. 187, A Spanish Gentleman, and 337, The Recruit.

WEBSTER'S picture, called The Effects of Intemperance, possesses many good
qualities — the subject is well treated ; a drunkard in the stocks, surrounded by
a crowd of boys and neighbours of both sexes, and guarded by a portly beadle
of the parish, to whom the culprit's wife is making an earnest appeal. We like
two figures of an elderly couple going home from church, down a pretty road ;
they seem as if they had been much impressed with " an excellent sermon," and
quite shocked at the sight of the vile sinner in limbo at the church door. We
fancy this, though their backs are turned towards us, and they are trudging along
half a mile in advance.

Falstaff, Pistol, and Mrs. Quickly, by G. CLINT, is cleverly painted, though,
we think, not successfully in the characters of Falstaff and the hostess.

Covent Garden Market, by J. LEWIS, is good as a whole, though rather "too
sketchy to be dwelt upon with satisfaction.

H. HOWARD, R. A., exhibits two poetical subjects — Morning, from MILTON,
and Queen Catherine's Dream, from SHAKSPEARE — hazardous subjects for any
painter, though tempting to one whose mind is imbued with classical reading.
We cannot think Mr. Howard has achieved all that he has attempted, or at-
tempted even enough of the poetical in effect.

WILSON, the landscape and marine painter — DANIEL, R. A. — J. CHALON—
WESTALL, R. A., and LESLIE, have severally contributed some very clever pic-
tures. Also Messrs. LINTON, HART, HANCOCK, BOXALL, EDMONSTON, and
MORTON.

Mr. PRENTIS* Eleventh Hour, 297, is so badly hung that it is impossible to
see it as it deserves to be seen ; but we remember having a good look at it last
season, in Suffolk-street. m

FINE ARTS1 PUBLICATIONS.

SAUL.
(Painted by Varley, engraved by Linnell.)

THIS is a fine production, and one to which, in these modern times, we have
been but little accustomed. What with domesticities and eccentricities — dogs
and ducks — jolly-faced dowagers, and whey-and-water-visaged " scions of a
noble stock/' the genuine poetry of the art seems to have been buried five
fathoms deep, or, like another Sappho, to have thrown herself, in mere despair,
from the mountain of genius, into the waters of insignificance. After a long and
tedious walk amid every day occurrences, from the purlieus of common life, we
have imbibed a most refreshing draught at the fountain of " Saul." From this
engraving we learn that it is still possible to produce solemn effects, without
borrowing the gewgaw arrangements of melodrame to sustain them — a sort of
rotten prop, inserted to uphold the sullen glories of some ancient abbey ; and we
see that sublimity of feeling may yet exist, without the introduction of an impos-
sible light to trick the unwary into a false and unwholesome faith.

The funeral of Saul is a poetical subject in itself. The warrior, who lost his
three sons in one sad hour, and then " played the Roman fool, and died on his
own sword," has a fair claim to poetical honours at his funeral ; and in this
picture they are duly rendered. Throughout the whole of the scene there is a

364 Fine Arts' Publication. [MARCH,

8olemn repose, in unison with the sadness of the occasion : the living figures ap-
pear as motionless as the corpse that lies extended on the bier ; and it might be
ahnost imagined that they formed a group from the melancholy city of the
dead. Every thing tends to one point, and has an intention in harmony with
the design : the dim, uncheering light of the heavens, such as it is, concentrates
towards the headless remains of the hero ; though, so unwilling are the gleams
that steal from beneath the clouds, that it would rather seem as if Phosbus
shrank from the sight, and, as at Atreus' bloody banquet, refused to look upon
the scene. The architecture of the city gates, to which the procession is ap-
proaching, lends a gloomy beetling front to the solemn severity of the design ;
and the very trees seem to be waved by the bidding of the wind, so as to marshal
" the men at war" the way that they are going.

These remarks rather apply to the general purpose of the whole ; but we
should be guilty of an omission, were we to forget to say, that, in the minor
points of the detail, there is displayed that feeling which gives evidence of the
angle object of the artist, without which no great work in any of the arts can
ever be produced. It is with the painter, as with the poet : to be great, he must
set out from one single, unit of thought, and the whole of the remainder, to be
genuine and in keeping, must be the sincere ramifications of that one single
unit ; so that the entire, however extended, may present no interruption of senti -
ment, but be instantly acknowledged as the honest offspring of " the head and
front" of the composition. It is because we have found this in " Saul" that we
have indulged so much in the laudatory strain ; and we have, perhaps, been the
warmer in our praise, owing to the scarcity of the opportunities afforded by our
living artists.

We must not forget to congratulate Mr. Linnell on his successful endeavour in
transferring the picture to the copper : it is engraved as if he shared the artist's
feeling, that poetry rejoiceth in truth, and most religiously escheweth the mere-
tricious gewgaws of trickery and of Germanism.

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PRESS. tion of Deeds, Wills, and other Docu-

— ments of Title to Lands. By Mr. R. G.

A Dictionary, Practical, Theoretical, Hall.

and Historical, of Commerce and Com- Picture Melodies, being illustrations,

mercial Navigation. By J. R. MlCul- Musical and Poetical, of several of our

loch, Esq. National Pictures.

Ten Sermons upon the Nature and Songs for Sunday Evenings.

Effects of faith. By the Rev. James Songs of the Exclusives, being a Se-

Thomas O'Brien, Fellow, T.C.D. quel to the Songs of Almack's.

Dr. Lardner's Cabinet Library, Vol. Lectures on the Dispensations of God
IX. Memoirs of the Duke of Welling- with Adam. By the Rev. Ralphe War-
ton, Vol. II. die.

Illustrations of the Christian Faith Bibliographia Inedita, or, a Catalogue

and Christian Virtues ; drawn from the of Books not printed for Sale, with some

Bible. By M. S. Haynes, Author of Account of them. By John Martin.

Scenes and Thoughts, &c. A Letter to the Right Hon. Lord

A new work on the Gender of the Althorp, on the State of the Currency.

French Nouns. By Mr. Thurgar. By Henry Lambert, Esq., M.P.

A volume of Elementary Exercises. Kidd's Guide to the Surrey Zoologi-

By Mr. Payne. cal Gardens, with illustrative Engrav-

Tales and Conversations for Children ings. By G. W. Bonner.
of all Ages. By Mrs. Markham, Au- A Diamond Pocket Dictionary of the
thoress of the History of England. French Language, with English Inter-
Stanzas in Continuation of Don Juan, pretations, and the Pronunciation of all
&c. Doubtful Words, from Catineau.

Rudolph, a Dramatic Fragment. A History of the Highlands and of

A Treatise on the Rules of Construe- the Highland Clans. By James Browne,

1832.]

List of New Works.

365

Esq., L.L.D. To be complete in four
volumes.

Guide to Herne Bay, with an Engrav-
ing of every object on the banks of the
Thames, and a View of the New Pier.
By G. W. Bonner.

Guide to the Theatres of the Metro-
polis, with Engravings of each ; by
JBonner. And a History of the Rise
and Fall of the Drama.

A History of the Church of England.
By the Rev. Thomas Vowler Short.

Conjectures concerning the Identity
of the Patriarch Job, his Family, the
Time in which he lived, and the Loca-
lity of the Land of Uz. By the Rev.
Samuel Lyssons.

Reflections on the Metaphysical Prin-
ciples of the Infinitesimal Analysis. By
M. Carnot. Translated by the Rev.
W. R. Browell.

The Works of Archbishop Cranmer.

The Works of Francis Bragge, B. D.

Origines Hebrsese, or, the Antiquities
of the Hebrew Republic. By Thomas
Lewis.

The Criterion, or, Miracles Exam-
ined. By John Douglas, D.D., Bishop
of Salisbury.

Principles of Astronomy. By William
Brett, M.A., Fellow of Corpus Christ!
College, Cambridge.

Richard of York, or, the White Rose
of England, an Historical Novel.

The Adventures of Barney Mahony.
By T. Crofton Croker.

Santarem, or, Sketches of Society and
Manners in the Centre of Portugal.

The Feast of Kenilworth and Poet
Life, a Tale from the German of Tieck.

A translation of Merimee's Work,
entitled a History of the Art of Paint-
ing in Oil, from the earliest period to
the present time.

Dr. Chalmers' New Volume on Poli-
tical Economy, in Connection with the
Moral State and Moral Prospects of
Society.

By Lady Sandford, of Glasgow, " Sto-
ries from the History of Rome," ad-
dressed to a Little Boy.

Practical Hints on Landscape Gar-
dening, with some Remarks on Archi-
tecture, as connected with Scenery,
with Plates. By W. S. Gilpin, Esq.

Rise and Progress of the English Com-
monwealth, from the first Settlement of
the Anglo-Saxons. With Documents
and Records, hitherto unpublished, il-
lustrating the History of the Civil and
the Criminal Jurisprudence of England.
By Francis Palgrave, Esq.

Sir Richard Phillips has just com-
pleted the printing, and will publish in
a few days, a small Volume, called a

Million of Tracts ; intended to serve as
a general Common-place Book, for refe-
rence on every subject of probable in-
quirv or curiosity.

The Consistency of the whole Scheme
of Revelation with Itself, and with Hu-
man Reason. By P. N. Shuttle worth,
D.D.

The History of the Inquisition. By
Joseph Blanco White, M.A.

The Life of Luther. By Hugh James
Rose, B.D.

The History of the Principal Coun-
cils. By J. H. Newman, M.A.

In Monthly Numbers, Illustrations
of Modern Sculpture, consisting of
highly-finished Engravings, after Draw-
ings from the finest Works of the most
Eminent Sculptors, with prose Descrip-
tions and Poetical Illustrations, by
T. K. Hervey, Esq.

LIST OF NEW WORKS.

BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

Memoirs of Celebrated Military
Commanders. By the Author of Darn-
ley. In 3 vols. 11. 11s. 6d.

Reminiscences of the Rev. Robert
Hall. 8vo. 9s.

The Life, Writings, and Genius of
Akenside, with some Account of his
Friends. By Charles Buck, Esq. 12mo.
9s.

Life of John Bradford. 8vo. 16s.

Dr. Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopaedia,
Vol. XXVI f. ; being " History of the
Italian Republics." By J. C. L. de
Sismondi. In 1 vol. 6s.

The Privy Purse Expenses of King
Henry the Eighth, from Nov. 1529 to
Dec. 1532. By Nicholas Harris Nicolas,
Esq.]

JUVENILE BOOKS.

The Young Gentleman's Book, con-
taining a Series of Choice Readings in
Popular Science. 10s. 6d.

Charlie Seymour, a Sunday Story.
18mo. 3s.

Treasure for Youth, from the French
ofBlanshard. 12mo. 4s.

Travels in Spain. 18mo. 2s.

Travels in Sweden. 1 8mo. 2s.

Travels in Russia. 18mo. 2s.

Juvenile Annual for 1832. 4s.

The Cabinet Annual Register, and
Historical, Political, Biographical, and
Miscellaneous Chronicle for the Year
1831. 8s.

Letters of Eminent Men, addressed
to Ralph Thoresby. 2 vols. 8vo.

Murray's History of Galloway. 8vo.
10s. 6d.

Monastic Annals of Teviotdale ; or,
the History and Antiquities of the

List of New Works.

[MARCH,

Abbeys of Jedburgh, Kelso, Melrose,
and Dryburgh. By the Rev. James
Morton. 4to. Prints, 21. 2s.

Cory's Ancient Fragments. 8vo. 21s.

The Georgian Era, Vol. 1., 10s. 6d.

A Description of the Contents, Ob-
jects, and Uses of the Various Works
printed by Authority of the Record
Commission, for the Advancement of
Historical and Antiquarian Knowledge.
-8vo. 4s.

MEDICAL.

A Series of Experiments, performed
for the purpose of shewing that Arteries
may be obliterated without Ligature,
Compression, or the Knife. By Benja-
min Phillips. 8vo. 2s. 6d.

History of Chronic Phlegmasiae, or,
Inflammations, founded on Clinical Ex-
perience and Pathological Anatomy ;
exhibiting a View of the different Va-
rieties and Complications of these Dis-
eases, with their various Methods of
Treatment. By F. J. V. Broussais,
M.D. Translated from the French by
Isaac Hays, M.D., and R. Eglesfeld
Griffith, M.D. 2 vols. 8vo. 11. 8s.

A Treatise on Physiology applied to
Pathology. By F. J. V. Broussais,
.M.D. Translated from the French by
John Bell, M.D., and 11. la Roche,
M.D. IGs.

' Observations on the Medical Treat-
ment of Insanity. By Edward J. Sey-
mour, M.D. 8vo. 5s.

Chapman's Atlas of Surgery. 8vo.
18s.

Anatomical Atlas. By Dr. Weber, of
Bonn, with the Text translated into
English, Parts 1 to 4.

The Cyclopaedia of Practical Medi-
cine, Part 1. Edited by John Forbes,
M.D., Alex. Tweedie, M.D-, and John
Connolly, M.D.

The Principles and Practice of Obste-
tric Medicine. By David D. Davis,
M.D. Parts 1 and 2.
' An Inquiry into the Medical Pro-,
perties of iodine, partly translated from
the Latin of Schroder Van Der Kolk.
By C. J. B. Aldis.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Harkness's Description of the Neil-
gherry Hills. 12s.

Mo'ore's Dissertation on the Calendar
and Zodiac of Ancient Egypt. 8vo.
9s.

Geological Sketches and Glimpses of
the Ancient Earth. By Maria Hack.

Questions on Adam's Roman Anti-
quities. 8vo. 6s.

Population Returns for 1831. Royal
8vo. 10s.

Memoirs of the Wernerian Natural

History Society, for the Years 1826—31.
Vol. VI. 8vo. 18s.

The Library of Useful Knowledge.
Vol. II. Natural Philosophy. 8vo.
10s. 6d.

Essays— Moral and Political. By Ro-
bert Southey, Esq., Poet-Laureate. 2
vols. 12s.

The National Library, No. XIV.;
containing Lord Byron's Conversations
with Captain Medwin. 6s.

The Zoology of North America, Part
II. containing the Birds. By John
Richardson, M.D., with Fifty beautiful
coloured Engravings, drawn by W.
Swainson, Esq. 4to. 41. 4s.

Scottish Jests and Anecdotes ; to
which are added, a Selection of Choice
English and Irish Jests. 6s. 6d.

The Philological Museum. No. 2. 5s.

Outlines of a Constitution ^or the
" University of London," proposed for
the Consideration of the Proprietors,
Donors, and Professors. By James
Yates,M.A. Is.

NOVELS AND TALES.

Sir Ralph Esher ; or, Adventures of
a Gentleman of the Court of Charles II.
By Leigh Hunt. 3 vols. 11. 11s. 6d.

The Member, an Autobiography. By
John Gait. 12mo. 8s.

Chantilly, a Novel. 3 vols. 31s. 6d.
POETRY.

Anstey's New Bath Guide, New Edi-
tion, with Biographical and Topogra-
phical Preface. By J. Britton, with
Engravings by George Cruikshank.
6s. 6d.

Catherine of Cleves, a Tragedy. By
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The Shakspearian Dictionary 12mo.
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Cheskian Anthology. By Dr. Bow-
ring. 12mo. 7s.

Caractacus ; a Poem, in 12 Parts,
12mo. 7s.

Attila, a Tragedy ; and other Poems.
Post 8vo.

RELIGION AND MORALS.

Hall on Regeneration and Baptism
Considered. 12mo. 5s. 6d.

The Seven Apocalyptic Churches,
with Illustrations. Oblong 4to. 15s.

Saturday Evening ;• or, Philosophical
Meditations. By the Author of " Natu-
ral History of Enthusiasm." In 1 vol.
8vo. 10s. 6d.

Sermons, originally composed for a
Country Congregation. By the Rev.
Cornelius Ives. 12mo. 6s.

Records of a Good Man's Life. By
the Rev. C. B. Taylor, Author of " May
You Like It." 2 vols. 14s.

The Prophetic Blessings of Jacob and

1832.] List of New Works. 367

Moses, respecting the Twelve Tribes of British Relations with the Chinese
Israel. 12mo. 3s. • Empire in 1832 ; Comparative State-
Smart's Dutv of a Christian People ment of the English and American
under Divine Visitation. 8vo. 6s. Trade with India and Canton. 2s. fid.

Captain Frankland's Narrative of his
Visit lo the Courts of Russia and Swe-

A Narrative of Nine Months' Resi- den, in the Years 1830 — 31. 2 vols. 8vo.

dence in New Zealand, in 1827; toge- 28s.

ther with a Journal of a Residence in British America. By John M'Gre-

Tristan d'Acunha, an Island centrically gor, Esq. Contains full and accurate

situated between South America and Sketches of the Climate, Soil, Natural

the Cape of Good Hope. By Augustus Productions, Commerce, &c., of New-

Earle, Draughtsman to his Majesty's foundland, Prince Edward Island, Cape

Discovery Ship " the Beagle." With Breton, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick,

Engravings. and Canada ; with Practical Remarks

Illustrations of the Vaudois, in a on Emigration. 2 vols. 8vo., with

Series of Views, engraved by Edward Maps. 28s.

Finden, from Drawings by Hugh Dyke Journal of a Tour through Styria,

Acland, Esq., accompanied with Descrip- Carniola, and Italy. By S. Pobin.

tions and a Map. 8vo. 10s. 6d. 5s. 6d.

MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

THE character of the present season is at length. decided, and it is now too late
either to expect or apprehend any rigorous or continued frost. Scarcely a country
letter but touches feelingly upon this critical subject ; and it is the general
opinion, at least in the southern and midland counties, that should a frost, so
much the object of our prayers some time since, occur in this latter part of the
season, and in the present premature state of wheat crop, much of it would perish :
the other horn of the dilemma is, in probability, more alarming ; which is that
late spring frosts usually balance the seasons, the want of frost in winter being
atoned for in that course. Should such occur in the ensuing spring, the wheats,
in their too forward and highly susceptible state, would be so stricken, as to sus-
tain an injury irreparable by any subsequent favourable state of the weather.
Again, this crop which, under present circumstances, forms so heavy a national
and farming stake, is already supposed to have sustained a degree of exhaustion
from its premature luxuriance, being on some rich lands a foot and a half high, or
nearly ; now, should the weather continue favourable and mild throughout the
spring, the great and increased height the corn will acquire, must necessarily con-
tribute to its weakness and inability to stand against the heavy showers of the
summer solstice ; it, in consequence, will be generally beaten down or laid, the
damage of which, over great breadths, would be of heavy consequence. How-
ever, though it be wise to foresee and prepare against evil when possible, it is not
equally wise to despond. We may, after all, reap a fine harvest, (of which, in one
or two counties, the expectations are sanguine). Though the grounds of such
good fortune are not at present to be ascertained, at any rate, we can take upon
us to warrant the probability of, at least, a good straw harvest. It is proper, how-
ever, to state that, in Scotland, and in most parts of our northern border, a simi-
lar alarm does not exist, as to a too great luxuriance of the wheat crop. Clover,
and all green crops> are in an equal state of luxuriance, befitting mid-May rather
than winter ; and on the best grass lands throughout the season, there has been
a bite for a large ox. Thence hay and fodder have been spared in a most uncom-
mon degree ; hay, though a short crop, being in the utmost plenty, at a low price,
in many parts, unsaleable. Turnips are flourishing, with the green foliage appro-
priate to October and November : in course the roots must have suffered a constant?
exhaustion of substance, detracting from their nutritious quality.

According to general information from Scotland, particularly the north, and
great part of England, the atmosphere has been rather dry, with little com-
plaint of fog ; of which, perhaps, this country has had a greater share, as well as
of rain, especially during last month. We have the pleasure to repeat our former
accounts of the great forwardness of all culture appropriate to the season, with
the heavy, and most unfortunate drawback of the accompanying WEED culture,

Agricultural Report. [MARCH,

the curse of English farming, and the ruin of many an English farmer, and starv-
ing of many a labourer. The wet, heavy lands have been broken up in massive
clods, affording no very promising seed-bed ; and where such have been manured,
there is little doubt but that both the time and charges have been expended in
vain : in such a case, and we decide from experience, the absence of weeds, con-
sequently root weeds, and subsequent effective aeration with the hoe, would be
far superior in profit, to a coat of the most forcing manure. We have lately wit-
nesseu on heavy lands, which were fallowed early in autumn, a mass of soil turned
up, with the stubble fresh and sound, and weeds in equal proportion, with myriads
of slugs and terrene vermin of every description. It was, however, beyond our
expectation to hear so much about weeds, as we have lately heard from the cele-
brated county, Norfolk ; surely Holkham must not be included. We have been
amused at the idea of killing weeds by feeding off rank wheat with cattle, because,
upon the lands of those whom we have known longest in the practice, we have
observed an ample store of weeds. As of wheat, generally, there is an uncommon
breadth of spring wheat sown ; and it is probable, with good husbandry, that all the
spring crops will be got early into the soil. Oats, beans, and peas, in the for-
wardest districts, are finished ; and barley sowing in such, began with the month,
and is now in a state of forwardness. Complaints are reiterated, indeed, increased,
as to the quantity and quality of the last year's crops. The wheat and beans
come out so soft as to be unfit for the granary, and prices are said to afford no
profit ; the same of live stock, which, it is averred, cost as much per Ib. in stones,
as they produce at Smithfield when fat. As to the fairs and markets, there seems
very little variation from our late reports ; they are in general amply supplied,
sale and price varying in different parts. The crop of potatoes was wonderful,
both for bulk and q'uahty ; indeed, such seems to be the prerogative of that valua-
ble root. They are literally unsaleable in many parts, and if at all, must be used
in stall-feeding. Hops are somewhat in demand. Wool, some few markets ex-
cepted, has again come to a stand-still. In Lincolnshire, and other counties,
where draining is much and meritoriously in practice, the labourers are well em-
ployed and satisfied, earning 12-v. and 14s. per week, and at task -work, 20s. There
is no fear of using thrashing machines. In too many parts, westward, the labour-
ers are in an impoverished and dangerously dissatisfied state. We had lately a
visit from a farmer, who informed us that, in his parish, one hundred and thirty
men and boys had no other resource than labour on the high roads at 3s. per
week — that the gaols were in many parts filling with poachers from absolute
necessity ; and that great numbers were extremely desirous to emigrate, had they
the means or information thereon. This surely must be an object of important
consideration with our patriotic ministers, to whom we would recommend some-
thing effectual to be done in the case. Horrid incendiarism still lurks in the minds
of the discontented ; and the following fact will shew, that the vindictive act may
be excited by any cause of discontent, as indeed has immemorially been the case.
Two or three weeks since, the overseer of a parish in Berks, for doing his duty,
by acting according to the orders of the vestry, had his premises set on fire twice
in the course of three days, and few of the labourers would lend a hand to extin-
guish the fire, to which end men were obliged to be procured from a neighbouring
village ; and also as a nightly guard subsequently, a repetition of the crime being
fully expected. Such is the state of morals among the inferior classes in this
enlightened country ; and such the apathy and want of spirit with which the conse-
quences were met in the beginning, and even in its progress. The dreadful wicked-
ness is actually encouraged, and in the end, no man of property will be found to
undertake any public responsible office.

Smithfield.— J$eef, 3s. 2d. to 4s. 2d.-^Mutton, 4s. 5d.— Veal, 5s. Od. to 5s. 10d.—
Pork, 4s. 5d. to 5s. 8d. (dairy-fed) Rough fat, 3s.

Corn Exchange.— Wheat, 46s. to 76s.— Barley, 24s. to 39s — Oats, 15s. to 28s.

The London, 41b. loaf, 10£ d — Hay, 50s. to 84s.— Clover ditto, 63s. to 120s.—
Straw 28s. to 40s.

Coal Exchange Coals, in the Pool, per ton, 14s. 6d. to 22s. 9d.

Middlesex, February 22nd.

APRIL, 1832.

CONTENTS.

Page

I. The Church put in the true Light 371

II. The Wreckers. By James Sheridan Knowles 374

III. Don Pedro and his Adherents 375

IV. The Political Zoological Garden 380

V. A Winter Evening with the Poets 383

VI. The 'Prentice Boys of Deny, with a Graphic Sketch of the

Marquis of Londonderry 392

VII. Pigs : addressed to those about to leave Business 395

VIII. The Convalescent 397

IX. Suggestion for the Celebration of Shakspeare's Birth-day 398

X. Drearywit and his Friends 401

XL On the State of Criminal Justice in France 413

XII. The Diamond District of the Serro do Frio 418

XIII. On what Principles is the Irish Church Establishment Founded? 424

XIV. The Field of Monuments 426

XV. Song: for the First of April . 433

XVI. Auto-biography of Polinario, the Spanish Bandit — No. 1 434

XVII. Abolition of Imprisonment for Debt 441

XVIII. Specimens of Latin Comedy — No. III. The Menaechmi, of

Plautus 445

XIX. The Dramatic Monopoly 455

XX. Gibbs, the Pirate 460

XXI. Meditations on a Scene in Summer 463

XXII. NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL: — Facts and
Documents — Plebeian and Patrician Cookery : Soup for the
Poor — Progress of Dogmatism — The Reform Bill — A Threatening
Letter — Maw worm in Parliament, &c. &c 465

XXIII. REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.. 473

XXIV. THE DRAMA 478

XXV. REVIEW OF Music 482

XXVI. FINE ARTS' EXHIBITION — Society of British Artists 483

XXVII. WORKS IN THE PRESS, AND NEW PUBLICATIONS 484

XXVIII. AGRICULTURAL REPORT, &c. 487

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

THERE are many communications still remaining in the hands of the pub-
lisher ; and others will be forwarded by the fifth of the month. Those of our
correspondents who may not have received private communications by the date
specified, are requested to send to Messrs. Whittaker as soon afterwards as
may be convenient.

To a correspondent who charges us with having changed our politics, and
with becoming "thorough-bred reformers," we beg to say one word. To the
accusation of being " reformers" — in the farthest and fullest, though in an un-
revolutionary sense of the word — we, without the slightest remorse or contrition,
plead guilty. But that we, as public writers, have " changed our politics/' is a
charge that results only from ignorance of a particular fact — that the political
writers in the present volume of the " Monthly" are not the political writers in
the last volume. The Magazine has cast its Tory skin, we admit — but this is
attributable to the circumstance, that a proprietor does not purchase principles
with a journal ; any more than our correspondent, if he wished to purchase a
house for his own occupation, would purchase one already inhabited by an
obstinate tenant and ten children. A man buys an estate, and plants it as he
pleases. The present proprietors of the " Monthly/' when they undertook the
management of it, never dreamed of carrying it on upon any but popular and
independent principles. They have simply possessed themselves of a fortress of
the enemy, and turned into a stronghold for the friends of Reform. They were
prepared for any misrepresentations they may have encountered, and are aware
of the risks they run in being honest and open in their measures. They did not
wheel round " bit by bit," but came at once to the point, and confessed, without
fear, for what party they intended to vote.

Articles intended for insertion in the ensuing number must be forwarded by
the 10th of the month.

It is requested that all communications may be addressed " To the Editor"
only, and forwarded to Messrs. Whittaker, Ave-Miria-Lane. It is scarcely
necessary to say that no unpaid letter can be received.

The writers of poems, and other short pieces, are requested to keep copies of
them.

H. BAYLIS, JOHXSON'S-COIJIIT, FLEET -STREET.

THE

: MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OP
POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.

VOL. XIII.] APRIL, 1832. [No. 76.

THE CHURCH PUT IN THE TRUE LIGHT.

UNLESS -we are deceived, much of the outcry that has been made
against the clergy may be traced to a popular misconception as to the
true use and design of the church. How common is it to hear it
alleged that the establishment is a national institution, intended to
maintain and promote the Christian religion ! Now, that this theory is
not the true one, we have the best possible proof — its inadequacy to
explain the phenomena : — it is irreconcileable with all we know of
churchmen either from history or experience. Such, however, is the
tenacity with which, in sacred as well as in profane matters, men stick to
a favourite hypothesis, that those who hold this erroneous opinion as to
the object of the church, instead of abandoning it, (as by the rules of
just philosophizing they are bound to do,) the moment it is j^iewn to be
repugnant to facts, not only persist in maintaining it, but, aggravating
bad logic by bad feeling, convert it into an instrument of attack upon
the clergy, whom they brand with hypocrisy, because, forsooth ! their
conduct does not quadrate with a system which is nothing but the fabric
of their own fancies.

No marvel, indeed, that the public press — that unwearied archer —
daily empties its quiver upon bishops, priests, and deacons, when the
notion has been so busily propagated that their principles bind them to
despise riches, renounce the world, and preach with their lives as well
as their lips the doctrines of the New Testament. Were such the case,
the defence of the clerical order would, truly, be no easy matter.
Their enemies would only have to prove their enormous wealth to
obtain a verdict against them. An establishment, in the annual receipt
of some seven or eight millions sterling, designed to shew forth the
evangelical charms of a life of penury and self-denial, were an odd
adaptation of means to ends. It is not the gospel that is described as

" A gay religion, full of pomp and gold."

A hierarchy, " lifting its mitred head in courts and parliament ;" a
priesthood which might take for its motto " quorum pars magnafiti," so
much more conspicuous are their labours on the magisterial bench than
in the Christian vineyard : these things savour more of this world than
the next. The pluralist, the non-resident, the fox-hunter, are characters
which it would puzzle the best advocate in the Common Pleas to tor-

2C2

372 The Church put in the True Light. [APRIL,

ture into the remotest similitude to that of the apostles. Nothing, in
short, can be plainer than that a radical reform of the church is neces-
sary, if it be true, that its design is to benefit the community by the
advancement of religion.

But let us throw that idea boldly overboard, and state the design of
the establishment to be simply the temporal comfort and good estate of
the clergy, and see how intelligible and harmonious the whole system
at once becomes ! Before the true theory, as by the touch of some
wizard's wand, every difficulty vanishes ; the crooked becomes straight ;
deformity is turned into loveliness ; what seemed anomalous proves to
be in the most exquisite proportion ; ecclesiastical practice with eccle-
siastical principle makes sweet music ; all is regular, consistent, natural :
the splendour of the church is no more her shame : with one hand upon
her coffers replenished with gold, and pointing with the other to her
vast domains, she turns to any who assail her, and exclaims —

" You vulgar cynic ! how can I be wrong ?"

How glorious, upon the golden hypothesis, is the right reverend
bench ; how comely the deans, each in himself a corporation ; how
seemly the archdeacons, prebendaries, and canons ; and oh ! how goodly
a thing it is to traverse, even with the mind's eye, the florid files of the
rectors, and see in every round and rosy form the profit of that godli-
ness which maketh fat ! Where now is the abomination of non-resi-
dence and the crying sin of plurality ? where the scandal of fox-hunt-
ing? what has become of the unseemliness of holding the commission
of the peace, or the extortion of taking the poor man's tenth sheaf, or
tenth goose ? Even the starveling curate, in this view of the establish-
ment, is justly to be numbered amongst its beauties : he makes the
fatness of the rector more fat by contrast.

The money theory makes every thing square. The connection of
church and state is no longer a criminal conversation ; the bishop yearns
to the boroughmoriger, and says unto corruption, " Thou art my
brother," nor can malignity itself charge him with departure from prin-
ciple ; the deanery is no longer ill-bestowed on the adulator and para-
site ; the priest no longer intrudes, when he meddles in politics ; the
pulpit is no longer polluted when it rings with the cry of the Orange-
man or the Tory ; the character of a good parson is no longer fabulous,*
like the Chimera or Centaur, for to be a good parson nothing more is
needful than a pious affection for the good things of the passing world.
Pelf, on this hypothesis, is religion ; the love of pelf is piety ; avarice
is devotion ; rapacity zeal ; extortion enthusiasm ; he is the best divine
who has the largest maw; he the most faithful shepherd who shears his
flock nearest to the skin. As to preaching, the essence of all sermons
(that are of any use) is contained in the following laconic address of an
Italian monk we have somewhere read of: Vos me quceritis^fratres caris-
simi ! quomodo ilur in Paradisum. Hoc dicunt vobis campance monasterii
nostri — dando, dando, dando.

But it will be said, if this view be correct, the God of the establish-
ment cannot be the God of the scriptures. Why, not exactly ; but still
a god often made mention of (never of course very honourably) in that

_ . , .

* See Drvden's Fables.

The Church put in the True Light: 373

apocryphal book— the Money-god or Mammon — him, who, not vaunt-
ingly in the least, but most truly, thus speaks of his own divinity in
the seventh canto of the " Fairy Queen" —

". God of the world and worldlings I me call
Great Mammon, greatest God below the sky,
, That of my plenty pour out unto all,

And unto none my graces do envy :
Riches, renown, and principality,
Honour, estate, and all this world's good,
For which men swink and sweat incessantly,
From me do flow into an ample flood."*

Yes ! Mammon ! god of churchmen ! thou art indeed great ! Thou
alone reignest in the hearts and souls of men ; thy worshippers are the
whole family of man ; the foot of a hypocrite never trod the courts of
thy temple. Thou hast no peculiar priesthood ; for the priests of all
other altars serve at thine : with their lips they honour other gods ; but
thee they honour with their lives, which go up before thee as a morn-
ing and evening sacrifice. Thou art kind and ever gracious to thy
servants, and never keepest them back from riches and honour : the
followers of other deities are poor, afflicted, and of no reputation : thine
are clothed in purple and lawn ; they are plump and of good estate ;
they sit v/ith the nobles of the land, and receive other diadems than
those of martyrdom, crowns of roses not of thorns. In serving them-
selves, most gracious Mammon ! they serve thee : thy rewards are
mitres and pluralities : on the prelate thou descendest in golden showers :
by thy grace he possesses the land in the length and breadth thereof,
airy! jwhen he takes his place where the princes and rulers are gathered
together, to thee is the glory to be ascribed. Thou smilest on the dean
and in the light of thy countenance he greatly prospers : thou lookest
on the rector and he waxes fat. Thou dost not say to the shepherd —
" care for nothing but the flock, be with them in their goings forth and
their comings in, be thou empty that they may be filled ;" but this is thy
charge concerning them — " do with them as it seemeth good in thine eyes ;
they are thine, given to thee for thy gain, that thou mayest profit by them,
not they by thee ; they are thine to feed or to devour ; tarry with them if
thou wilt; depart from them if thou wilt; absent or present they are thine ;
thine in their fleece and fatness; for thou art my faithful priestand servant;
thou honourest me and thou shalt have thy reward." Oh ! Mammon !
God of Churchmen ! among the gods of the earth there is none like
unto thee ; thou are great, glorious, and good ; thou are worthy of all
honour and all establishment ; kings set up thy golden image, and the

* Milton, (led into error by his veneration for the Bible,) in his account of
Mammon, actually goes so far as to place religion and the love of pelf in contrast.
Hear how he describes the golden god—

" The least erected spirit that fell
From heaven, for even in heaven his thoughts and looks
Were always downward bent, admiring more .
The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold,
Than aught divine or holy"" —

as if there were no divinity in riches — as if gold were not <• the holy of holies"
itself.

374 The Church put in the True Light. [APRIL,

princes, the governors, the captains, the prelates, the judges, the magis-
trates, the counsellors, and the sheriffs, fall down and worship : thine is
the only Catholic church ; thou art the adored of all nations ; all the
languages of the earth praise thee ; but thou knowest, oh Mammon !
that none have bent the knee so low before thee as this people ; none
have built thy altars so high ; none have so frequented thy temples •
none have so magnified thy name ; none have so reverenced thy com-
mandments ; none have so endowed thy ministers ; thy priests tithe us ;
thy high-priests rule over us ; thy religion is the religion of the state.

But this is enthusiasm and we meant only to be philosophical. Let
us conclude, therefore, in the calm strain in which we commenced ; let
us hope that the true theory of the established church will rapidly sup-
plant the false one ; and that we shall hear no more in future of the
inconsistency and double-dealing of the clergy, whose zeal and activity
in their master's business is in truth above all eulogy ; whose principles,
when not misrepresented, are steadily and vividly illustrated by their
lives ; and from whose example a Christian ministry might take many a
profitable lesson. If ever a religious revolution shall take place in
England, and Mammon shall be deposed to make room for Christ, let
the new ministry be but half as diligent in their vocation as the old,
but half as zealous for the gospel as their predecessors for gain, but half
as sincere and devoted and persevering through good report and
through evil report ; their hearts but half so full of affection for their
lord and master, their eyes fixed but half as steadily upon the reward
of their labours, and we fear not to predict they shall see the faith they
preach, prosper and increase mightily in the land.

THE WRECKERS, BY SHERIDAN KXOWLES.

" A storm ! A storm !" the Wreckers cry,

As they look from the shore — yet no storm seems nigh ;

But wind and billow, rack and ship,

Along the main seem all asleep :

But where is the day ? — Tis gone! .Not a trace

Of the sun ! The cloud has taken his place,

And moves not — breaks not — hanging there,

As 'twere fix'd in the sultry, thick'ning air !

A flash ! — Another ! — sky and main

Begin to move ! — A flash again !

Thunder — wind — the storm is come.

The sea's a smoking sheet of foam !

Rain ! — It pours in floods, as though

The clouds did mock the floods below !

And the Vessel, from her anchors torn,

Towards the shore by the raging billows is borne.

Hurra! — Hurra ! — A wreck ! — Hurra !
She strikes ! — By the board her tall masts go ;
She reels ! — recoils, and strikes again !
They hoist the long-boat out ! — In vain —
'Tis swampt ! — Slie now beats broadside on —
Another sea — she sinks ! — she's gone !
Masts, cordage, planks, the breakers strew !
May Heaven have mercy on her crew !

1832.J [ 375 3

'

DON PEDRO AND HIS ADHERENTS.

>

" Tros vel Tyriusque Nullo mihi discriminc habetur."

THE infamous career of Miguel is drawing fast, very fast, we trust, to a
close. Don Pedro is on the seas, and ere the expiration of another
moon the constitutional banner of the young Queen Maria da Gloria
may float in triumph, not in the language of Casimir Perrier beneath,
but above the walls of the capital of her ancestors. Were we to mea-
sure the probabilities of the success of the expedition by the rules of
the military art, we should be less sanguine in our expectations — in a
military point of view, all the chances are on the side of Miguel. Don
Pedro's line of operation will extend from Terceira to the coast of
Portugal, subject to all the vicissitudes of a maritime expedition, and
the risk of a descent in a country in which he has not a single point
d'appui : but the question comes rather under the head of military poli-
tics than of strategies. Don Pedro will triumph rather by moral than
physical force. The first battalion sent to oppose his landing will join
his ranks ; this is an opinion we share with the ex-emperor himself,
who confidently expects to enter Lisbon almost without firing a shot.

Every term of obloquy and reproach with which our own, and every
other European language abounds, have been vented on the head of
the present ruler of Portugal. It is not our intention to dispute the
justice of that sentence of universal execration so justly awarded against
him ; our object is rather to shew, by the following sketches, that Don
Pedro, and the leaders of his party, are just as unworthy of the gene-
rous sympathy of the British nation as the Infante Miguel himself.

DON PEDRO D' ALCANTARA.

The ex-Emperor Don Pedro, notwithstanding the bright corrusca-
tions of liberalism that have, from time to time, illumined his political
career, is considered by his warmest partizans rather a liberal fc par
ton" than et par sentiment" In fact, if, undazzled by the glittering halo
shed around him by the incense of flattery, we penetrate its specious
glare, we shall discover that the ruling passion of his mind is des-
potism ; while the whole tenor of his political life has been marked by
phases of a deeply dyed political duplicity, to which no parallel can be
found, even among the deeds of his more unpopular brother Miguel.

When the constitutional system was adopted in Brazil in 1821, Don
Pedro, eager for popularity, and enamoured of novelty, declared him-
self the champion of freedom, and momentarily became the idol of the
people. But his popularity was short — for it must be in the recollection
of every one acquainted with South American affairs, that scarcely
three months after this event, the Praca do Commercio, within the walls
of which were assembled the electors of the capital, for the purpose of
constitutionally petitioning the king, was suddenly surrounded by a
battalion of Cascadores, who commenced an indiscriminate slaughter of
the assembled multitude. This atrocious assassination, this open violation
of the constitutional rights of the people, was the work of the liberal

376 Don Pedro and his Adherents. [APRIL,

Don Pedro himself, who was seen disguised in the uniform of an officer of
the corps, personally directing the work of extermination. But it was
soon after the departure of his father, Don Joa5 the Sixth, and on his
assuming the regency of Brazil, that he threw off the mask, and stood
boldly forward to the world, as the violator of every sacred pledge,
human and divine.

The prince kept up an active correspondence with his father. In
these letters, which do honour neither to the head or the heart of the
writer, and which were ordered to be printed at the time by the cortes
at Lisbon, Don Pedro dwells on the difficulties with which he was en-
vironed, and solicits his recal ; and, at a subsequent period, when his
own dark intrigues were on the eve of development, in order to lull
the suspicions of his betrayed father, he wrote to him a letter (of which
we shall make an extract), unique in its kind, even in the annals of
falsehood and duplicity : —

" They tell me that it is the general wish to proclaim me emperor.
Now, I protest to your majesty that I will never be perjured, that I
never will be false to you ; and should they attempt this madness, it
will only be after I and every other faithful Portuguese have been
hacked to pieces. This is what I swear to your majesty — a solemn
oath, written in my blood, in the following words : — ' I swear to be
always faithful to your majesty, and to the Portuguese nation and con-
stitution/ "

" Queriao me e dizem que me querem acclamar Imperador. Protesto
a vossa majestade que nunca Ihe serei perjuro, que nunca Ihe serei falso,
e que elles farao esse locura, mas sera depois de Eu, e todos os Portu-
guezes estarem feitos em pedacos. He o que Juro a Vossa Majestade1
escrevendo nesta com a meet sangre, estes sequintes palavras. Juro sem-
pre ser fiel a vossa majestade, o nacao, e ao constitui9ao Portugueza.
"4 de Octobre de 1821." " Palacio do Rio de Janeiro."

The blood was scarcely dry with which this impious oath was writ-
ten, than this dutiful son and faithful subject expelled from the Rio,
the Portuguese garrison, under Jorge d'Avillez, whom he foresaw would
be barriers to his ambitious designs ; and ere the expiration of a year,
this perjured prince was emperor of Brazil, and that immense empire
forcibly separated from the crown of Portugal. A few months after
his elevation to the imperial throne, he forcibly overthrew that consti-
tution which he had solemnly sworn to defend ; and latterly, having by
his folly exhausted the patience, and alienated the affections of his
subjects, in attempting to depart from the fundamental principles of the
revolution, he lost at once his crown and his empire.

THE MARQUIS DE PALME LLA.

If we except the Austrian Metternich, or the Corsican Pozzo de
Borgo, in the well filled ranks of European diplomacy, we shall look
in vain for a more formidable enemy to the liberties of mankind than
Don Pedro Holstein, Marquis de Palmella — one of the original
framers of the holy alliance. Europe, which sickens at his name, has
contemplated, with surprise and mistrust, this arch intriguer, this
ultra despot, for some months past, sacrificing at the shrine of consti-

1832.] Don Pedro and his Adfofenl*. %

tutional liberty, amid the waves of the western ocean. Among the
liberal portion of his countrymen his name is in universal execration;
for to his subserviency to the political views of the English ministry,
they, one and all, attribute the ruin of their country. Accordingly,
when, in the year 1820, the constitutional star arose on the benighted
horizon of Portugal, the marquis was banished from her shores. Fore-
seeing that the chord struck in Europe would vibrate in Brazil, he
crossed the Atlantic for the purpose of crushing in the bud the first
germ of liberty on the Brazilian soil.

He landed at Bahia. Here, by his wiles, he gained over to his
views the Brigadier Felisberto Gomes Caldeira Brant (since known in
this country as the Marquis de Barbacena), one of the most influential
men in the country, and already looked upon as the future Bolivar of
Brazil.

Yet, by the promise of an earldom, a boon no South American re-
publican can resist, he enlisted him on the side of despotism ; and when
the regiment of artillery raised a few weeks afterwards the banner of
the constitution, Felisberto led a body of troops against them, was de-
feated, and, unable to stem the torrent of popular opinion, was obliged
to take refuge on board an English sloop-of-war in the harbour.

It would take up too much room were we to follow, from this period
until the death of Don John the Sixth, this astute diplomatist through
all the dark and tortuous mazes of that policy, which sacrificed, without
a blush, every consideration of his country's weal at the shrine of his
own ambition. We shall complete this sketch by presenting him to
the reader, in his military capacity, during the memorable campaign of
the three days, as the expedition to Oporto in 1828 has been face-
tiously termed by the political adversaries of the noble marquis.

When the steam-boat with Palmella and his companions arrived in
Oporto, the constitutional army, under General Saraiva, an officer who
had studied the art of war in the anti-salas of the palace at Rio Janeiro,
was in full retreat, and their vanguard already within seven leagues of
the city. Unfortunately for the cause of legitimacy and right, the
command of the army devolved on the Marquis de Palmella, who was
the senior officer present. Had the youthful queen herself assumed the
command, the result could not have been more disastrous. The con-
juncture was a critical one ; but an officer of decision would have risen
superior to it, and have converted the retrograde into an en avant move-
ment. But such a man was not Don Pedro Holstein ; for years past
he had been more conversant with the wiles of a diplomatic chancellerie
than with the martial exercises of the camp. He could scarcely sit his
charger, and as he rode through the streets of Porto, amid the " vivas"
of the assembled populace, holding on by the pummel of his saddle,
and almost sinking beneath the weight of his military trappings, he
was compared to the figure of St. George of Cappodocia, the patron
saint of Portugal, who, in the procession of the Corpus Christi, is annu-
ally paraded through the city. The whole day was occupied in per-
forming a distance of barely three leagues, and, in the meantime, hear-
ing that the army was abandoning its forward position, the panic seized
Palmella, who actually returned to Oporto without even seeing the
army he went out to command. Here he assembled the provisional

378 Don Pedro and his Adherents. [APRIL,

government, when it was decided that its members should embark for
England, while the army should abandon the city, and gain the Spanish
frontier in the best manner it was able. Stung to the quick by this
pusillanimous resolution, General Saldanha, one of the best officers in
the Portuguese service, offered to remain and conduct the retreat of the
army, provided two members of the government would also remain,
and share the responsibility. Two of the number, a colonel of cavalry,
and a young ouvidor, acceded to the proposition. The general accord-
ingly mounted his horse, and galloped to the army, while the marquis and
his companions sought refuge on board the English steam-boat. When
the general reached the camp, he assembled the superior officers of the
army, communicated to them the object of his mission, and the reso-
lutions of the provisional government — concealing, however, their in-
tended return to England, well knowing that such a communication
would have proved fatal to their lives. The officers, to a man, refused to
retreat ; the general, finding every effort to control their resolution
ineffectual, returned to Oporto, and communicating to his colleagues the
result of his mission, embarked on board the steam-boat. It was with
joy that Palmella witnessed his return ; for the glory he was likely to
acquire had already engendered in his mind the bitterest feelings of
jealousy. Saldanha, on his side, overcome with grief and fatigue, re-
tired to his cabin. Scarcely had the general quitted the camp than a
reaction in the feelings of the officers took place. A deputation, com-
posed of the general and two colonels, repaired to Oporto, to induce
him to return and assume the command. On reaching the city, what
was their surprise and indignation at finding that the members of the
government had all embarked, and left the army to its fate. They
repaired on board the steam-boat, and demanded an interview with
General Saldanha ; but this did not suit the views of Palmella. They
were told that the general was indisposed, and could not be disturbed.
In the meantime the tide served, the boat got under weigh, and when
Saldanha awoke in the morning and found the deputation on board,
he was already far from the shores of Portugal. Such was the termi-
nation of this ill-conducted enterprise. Had the Marquis of Palmella
possessed but the spirit and professional knowledge of a corporal, the
advance upon Lisbon would have been a mere military promenade ; and
the evils — which for the last four years have pressed so heavily on his
unhappy country, consigned to a scaffold, to the noxious dungeons
of Belem, or driven into foreign exile, the elite of her population —
would have been averted.

It is owing to the jealousy and intrigues of the Marquis de Palmella
and the Marquis de ViHa Flor, the destined commander of the invad-
ing army, that General Saldanha does not accompany the ex-emperor in
the present expedition, in the success of which all the liberal portion of
Europe is interested.

THE MARQUIS DE VILLA FLOR.

Don Jose Monoel de Portugal Marquis de Villa Flor entered the
army at an early age. He served during several of the peninsular
campaigns on the staff of Marshal Beresford ; the bearer of dispatches

1832.] Don Pedro and his Adherents. 379

more than once to the court of Rio de Janeiro, he rose rapidly in the
service. On his last trip across the Atlantic, he found his quarters in
Brazil so comfortable, that he did not return to join his brothers in
arms in the peninsular. In 1816 he was appointed Captain General of
Gram Para. This province he governed with all the tyranny of a
Roman consul, or the relentless cruelty of a Turkish pacha — a professed
pro-libertine. It was said of him, as of Caesar of old, that he was the
husband of every pretty woman in the province. Woe to the man
who possessed a wife or a sister whose personal charms had excited
the lusts of the captain general ; some excuse was soon found, either
to remove or incarcerate him till the marquis had gratified his criminal
desires. It would only shock the delicacy of English ears were we to
enumerate in detail the catalogue of his enormities ; we shall there-
fore present only one to the reader, which will exhibit his character in
odious relievo to the execration of every honourable mind.

On quitting Para on the expiration of his government, he touched
at Maranham on his way to the Rio. While riding out one evening
he was struck with the bojiuty of a young lady of respectable family,
who was enjoying the cool of the evening in her balcony. This maiden
he forcibly extracted from the house of her father, kept her till the eve
of his departure, and then returned her, polluted and dishonoured, to
her disconsolate family. He was shortly afterwards appointed gover-
nor-general of the province of Bahia, where the constitutional party, in
consequence, fearing every thing from his well-known tyrannical cha-
racter, declared a month sooner than they intended the Spanish consti-
tution of 1820. Several of the officers who thus precipitated the revo-
lutionary movement, are actually now serving under his command at
Tevceira.

Such are the characters of Don Pedro, his councillor, and his general.
The ex-emperor is far from popular in Portugal ; and his returning, as
he does, surrounded by such men, does not give to that unhappy
country the promise of a bright futurity. Indeed, those who augur
that the overthrow of Miguel will be followed by the reign of
political tranquillity, know little of the real state of things in Por-
tugal. She has yet a fiery ordeal to go through. The political rege-
nerator in vain looks for materials for his great work — to root up from
her soil the rankling weeds of centuries of misrule and corruption — to
conciliate the fiery wrath of party spirit, and gradually prepare the
minds of the people for the blessings of freedom — to guide the vessel of
state through the innumerable shoals that beset her onward course, will
require the arm of a political Hercules. Yet we fervently indulge the
hope that such a man will be found ; and that this fine country — this an-
cierit ally of England — to the spirit and enterprise of whose people
Europe owes so much, may yet attain a distinguished place in the scale
of nations, and bask in the sunshine of political prosperity.

[ 380 ] [APRIL,

.

THE POLITICAL ZOOLOGICAL GARDEN.

FOR the gratification of those who have not yet visited this establish-
ment, we give the following brief account of the extremely rare and
curious collection of animals it contains. We shall not aim at classifica-
tion, but take fish, flesh, and fowl, just as they chance to recur to our
memory.

A huge cage near the entrance contains : —

The Boroughmonger — the monarch of birds of prey, of the vulture
species ; its usual food is public property ; this it is enabled to procure
by means of its long beak, which it darts into the pockets of the people.
Its odour is singularly offensive ; and it is found in all parts of the
kingdom, particularly in Cornwall. There is reason to think the species
will soon be extinct; the whig sportsmen consider them excellent
shooting; and a general " battue" is expected to take place in a short
time. The bird here exhibited is one of the largest size and most
rapacious in its habits ; it was taken some time since at Newark, just in
the act of dashing its talons into the vitals of the constitution.

The Bishops — amphibious, living both by land and by sea, (qu. see,)
resembles the porpoise in shape ; but in voracity is near akin to the
shark. It is found in most parts of Europe, but thrives best in the
British isles. The finest and fattest specimens are found at Canterbury
and Durham in England, and Derry in Ireland: the present one was
taken on the Thames close to Fulham.

The Dean — a smaller animal of the same genus.

The Sinecurist — a species of the sloth-bear, at once a lazy and pre-
datory animal : its favourite food is salary, of which it is absolutely in-
satiable : it is to be seen in great numbers in the western districts of
the metropolis : in appearance it is bloated and disgusting : it multi-
plied more rapidly some years ago than it does at present, which is
chiefly to be attributed to an invaluable little animal, called economy,
(introduced of late years into England, by a gentleman of Scotch ex-
traction residing in Bryanstone-square,) and remarkable for its instinc-
tive animosity to the sinecurist, which it pursues into its den and
destroys, something in the way a weazel disposes of a rat, or any other
sort of vermin.

. The Pensioner— a variety of the sinecurist : it is gregarious, and goes
in packs usually called lists. A kind of poison composed chiefly of
printer's ink, has been found the most effectual way of extirpating them :
it is sold at mo?t of the offices of the daily and weekly newspapers, and
13 so extremely useful a commodity that it is heavily taxed by act of
parliament.

The Tori) — It is nearly impossible to distinguish this quadruped
either by feature or voice from the common ass. To the stupidity and
obstinate temper, however, of the donkey species, it unites the cunning
and malignity peculiar to itself. In fact the beast is a hybrid, between
knave and fool. A mortality commenced amongst the species just
about the time the Reform Bill was introduced into Parliament ; and it
has raged so violently ever since, that some persons assert there is
not a genuine specimen of the animal to be found now in all England.
This, however, is manifestly a mistake. Besides the present instance,
it is well known that several fine old tories are still to bc% found at

1832,] The Political Zoological Garden. 381

Oxford and Cambridge, and many other parts of the country. Zoolo-
gists tell us a number of extraordinary stories of their propensities
and instincts. Amongst other things, they say, that they have the
greatest antipathy imaginable to Frenchmen and Americans, especially
the former, whom they never see without braying in the most hideous
manner, and endeavouring to kick their shins. Another peculiarity is,
that they delight in a red-coat as much as a turkey-cock hates it.
They are said, likewise, to exhibit the most lively symptoms of joy at
sight of a gallows or gibbet, which is the more surprising, as it is not
their nature to eat human flesh.

The Orangeman — a decided blood-hound ; it is a native of Ireland,
where it is still common, particularly in the northern provinces. Pre-
vious to the year 1829, the ravages committed by this fierce animal
were almost incredible. A vast number of them were kept in the
government kennels, and used to hunt down the papists, as Cortes
hunted the aborigines of America with wolf-do'gs. At the date re-
ferred to, it began to strike the legislature that it was not the best way
to tame the people of Ireland to treat them as wild beasts ; and accord-
ingly they passed an act for drawing the teeth of the Orangemen, which
was carried into immediate execution. It was ludicrous enough to
observe the furious but ineffectual attempts they made to bite after the
state dentists had deprived them of their fangs ; they snapped at every
one they met, and barked louder than ever. No species of dog is more
subject to hydrophobia, as appears from their uncontrollable propensity
to drink excessively of wine and ardent spirits, particularly about the
first of July and the fourth of November, when they are in the highest
state of rabid excitement, and make the most horrid howlings imagi-
nable. The specimen here offered to public notice is a most ferocious
dog. He was taken about a month since at the door of Exeter Hall,
at the conclusion of the great " whole Bible" meeting, at which Lord
Lorton presided.

The Rector — a wolf in its internal conformation, but externally re-
sembling a sheep. It avails itself of this likeness to insinuate itself
amongst the flock, one or two of which it usually devours at a meal.
It infests all parts of England and Ireland, to the great annoyance and
damage of the farmers in particular. The Irish, however, have a kind
of shepherd's dog, called a white-foot, which has a rough, but most
effectual way of dealing with these depredators. There is a white-foot
in this collection, a half-starved cur, the very antithesis of an English
mastiff.

The Tithe-Proctor — this animal is to the foregoing what the jackall
is said to be to the lion. Zoologists call the jackall the lion's-provider,
because he selects and hunts down the prey with which that lordly
brute gorges himself. The tithe-proctor performs the same savage and
obsequious part for the rector. The Irish peasant, when he catches it,
is in the habit of cutting off one of its ears, and sometimes both ; it is a
rare thing in that country to see a tithe-proctor with a complete set of
the organs of hearing. The specimen here exhibited was caught in the
county Kilkenny, near Knock-Toplur. It is a young one, and has the
moiety of one of its ears left.

The Curate — of the ox species ; supposed to be a native of Egypt,
from its striking similitude to the breed of Pharaoh's " lean kine." It
is an intelligent, useful, submissive animal ; does an incredible deal of

382 The Political Zoological Garden. [APRIL,

work, and requires incredibly little provender ; indeed so little, that
some zoologists have supposed that, like the chameleon, it might be
supported altogether on air.

The Hcrald-at-arms — a nondescript animal, with the head of a lion,
the body of a horse, the plumage of a mackaw, and the tail of a dol-
phin. Its outlandish shape and gaudy colours are wonderfully attractive
to children under eight years of age, hereditary peers, and old ladies ;
but it is impossible for a sensible man to see them without bursting into
a fit of laughter. Like all monsters, the herald-at-arms is perfectly
useless ; and it is, perhaps, for that reason that it is so great a favourite
in the aristocratic circles. It has the screaming note of a parrot, and
might be said to have a language of its own, were it not that none of
its sounds have the slightest sense or meaning. The growing indis-
position of the age to encourage the breed of any creature that is un-
serviceable to man, is likely to make this grotesque animal as great a
rarity before long as a phoenix or unicorn.

The Great Captain — a hunting leopard, a fierce and sanguinary, but
withal magnificent looking animal. It generally hunts down what-
ever game it is ordered to pursue ; but its keeping costs more than the
game is worth. The people of England had once such a rage for the
species of amusement this brute afforded them, that they submitted to
be taxed enormously for it. In fact, their "penchant" for great cap-
tains has contributed more than any other national folly to swell the
national debt. In the year 1815 one of the finest of the breed was
brought over to Flanders (reckoned the best ground in Europe for the
chace), and there was such noble sport, and so much game killed, that
nothing else was talked of for a long time : at length, however, brea4
grew dear, the people began to see that such pastimes were too e#-
pensive ; and they have " rued the hunting of that day" ever since.

The Agitator— ~ a species of watch-dog, and a native of Kerry, in
Ireland. It got into the House of Commons one day (through the
negligence of Sir R. Peel, who left the door open), and bit the Irish
secretary, who immediately went mad and attended to his business.
The animal is fierce and noisy, but has many useful, and some noble
qualities. In the present defective state of the laws for the protection
of property, the agitator is extremely useful, especially to the poor,
who would often have their pockets picked, or their cottages burgla-
riously entered, but for his timely barking. Many a depredator, lay and
clerical, has been detected by his vigilance ; he is consequently the
" best abused" dog in Ireland ; some call him a mad dog, some a dirty
dog, some a wicked dog ; all, however, agree that he is a clever dog.
His chief fault seems to be, that he snarls sometimes at persons whose
intentions are honest ; this, however, may be only through habit : the
knaves in the world are so much more numerous than the fools, that
wiser animals than dogs may be excused if they do not always distin-
guish the one character from the other. Some say that, if the ministry
would throw him a bone, he is ready to turn tail upon the people ; we
incline to believe, however, that he is attached to his master ; and, as
good radical reformers, we heartily wish we had a dozen of the same
breed in England,

'

1832.] [ 383 ]

A WINTER EVENING WITH THE POETS.

WE have been anxiously looking forward to the delight of passing
one of these long winter evenings in the contemplation of our immortal
poets ; to creep away for a brief season from the tumultuous clamour
and the hateful passions of tory despotism and democratical phrenzy,
into the cool and ever verdant umbrage surrounding the fountain of our
early poetry. How grateful and refreshing to the mental eye, dazzled
by the gilded luxury of modern days, are the beautiful colours still
floating over the rural pictures of old Chaucer ; and with what a balmy
and restoring influence does the divine air of Milton's " Paradise" steal
upon our senses as we gradually ascend into the pure atmosphere of his
holy imagination. The cry has gone forth that the age of poetry is past.
We grant the truth of the conclusion, but dissent from the premises.
Poetry has not departed from our minstrels, but taste and feeling from
the public. The supply has diminished in proportion to the demand.
The fact of a MS. volume of poems by the late George Crabbe, having
remained in the hands of Mr. Murray for several years unpublished, is an
authentication of our assertion. We believe, that if a poet were to arise,
uniting in his own person the fancy of Spenser to the learning of Milton,
his fame would nevertheless be confined to his own immediate coterie
or school.

We see nothing singular in this state of the national mind. The
literary history of every people affords an evidence in confirmation.
The growth of refinement, after it has reached a certain stage, is
always accompanied by the decay of invention. We behold this very
clearly in the productions of the Athenian dramatists. The imagination
which arose wild and sublime in ^Eschylus, was softened into beauty
and elegance in Sophocles, and diluted into sentimental pathos in Euri-
pides. The progress of science has likewise been found generally to
have involved the ruin of the purer spirit of poetry. The Greeks
thought Anaxagoras endowed by some Aca/^v because having foreseen
rain in the morning, he took the precaution of attending the Olympic
Games in a strong outer garment. Yet Anaxagoras had Pericles and
Euripides for his pupils, and the Athenian theatre was ennobled by the
tragedies of Sophocles. Egypt, the most enthusiastically devoted to
science of the ancient nations, was at all periods totally destitute of
a school of poets. We are not aware of any available instance. The
poets who wrote under the Ptolemean dynasty were Greeks. But we
must not spend our " Winter Evening," in discussion upon the Pagan
ages : we have made these brief allusions, because the facts referred to,
form an interesting commentary upon the state of poetry.

We would not have it supposed, that, because we profess ourselves
enthusiasts in our love of the older English poets, we are blind to their
defects, or deaf to the charming of the modern. We hope to award
them all the merit they deserve. The Excursion, and Thalaba, and the
Ancient Mariner, are not Lays to be spoken of lightly, or estimated care-
lessly. What would we have given for one lecture of Aristotle upon
the rich fancy of Southey, and one comment of Plato upon the philoso-
phy of Wordsworth !

The history of our poetry commences with Chaucer. Snatches of
beautiful thought, and sentiments of love and tenderness, had indeed

2R4 A Winter Evening with the Poets.

been diffused over the masses of society by the early ballads, which
have been found to precede the dawn of literature in every country.
They were, however, if we may be allowed the metaphor, indications, of
the golden morning, which soon after began to appear above the
horizon. The elements of poetry were prepared, and Chaucer moulded
them into a form, and breathed the life of inspiration into his creation.
A dreary period elapsed from his death to the days of Surrey and Sack-
ville. We look in vain for any name of distinguished excellence. The
seed sown by Chaucer, lay for a long season in the earth before it burst
forth into an abundant harvest. The names of a few intermediate
writers occur, such as Lydgate, who was more famous as a traveller
than a poet, and James I. of Scotland, and Skelton, more remarkable for
his furious attacks upon the Cardinal Wolsey, than his offerings to the
muses, to which may be added those of Occleve and Gawin Douglas. Of
the writings of Skelton, we are willing to confess our ignorance ; we
know, however, that one of the most accomplished scholars and classical
critics of the present day, (we allude to the Rev. Alexander Dyce,) is
now engaged in ^editing his works.

The Earl of Surrey and Sir Thomas Wyatt, were friends and con-
temporaries, and must ever be pointed out by the historian as the pro-
moters of a more elegant style of versification. A memoir of each is
prefixed to the beautiful edition of their works in the Aldine Poets.
Little requires to be said of their poetry. .Wyatt, was a clever man,
and a very mediocre writer ; his Defence proves the one, and his poetry,
the other. His poems consist almost entirely of amatory effusions, put
forth under such endearing titles as these : — -How the Lover perishefh m
his Delight as the Fly in the Fire; and again — On. his Love that pricked
herjinger with a Needle. We are inclined to reject altogether the story
of his attachment to Anne Boleyn, and confess our inability to discover
that alteration which the believers in the love-tale assert to have taken
place in his verses, after the execution of the unfortunate lady. Any of
our readers who have no other occupation, may read Dr. Notts' specu-
lations on the mutual affection of the queen and the poet, or their
perusal may be imposed, by way of gentle correction, on a refractory
child.

The character of Wyatt seems to have been deservedly held in high
estimation by his contemporaries, and his death called forth numerous
memorials of love and esteem. That " his poems sufficiently attest the
variety and scope of his abilities/' we coincide with his biographer in
the " Aldine," in considering, though in a different sense. We are at a
loss to guess how any critic of this day, could call the following lines,
written by Wyatt during his incarceration in the Tower, to Sir Francis
Bryan — beautiful.

Sighs are my food, ray drink are my tears ;
Clinking of fetters woul.l sv,ch music crave;
Stink, and close air, away my life it wears ;
Poor innocence is all the hope I have ;
Rain, wind, or weather, judge I by my ears ;
Malice assavl's Hint righteousness should have.

Sure am I, Bryan, this wound shall heal again,

But, yet, alas the scar shall still remain.

We are quite ready to confess our ignorance of the meaning of the
lines we have marked in italics. Our readers we trust will be more

1832.] A Winter Evening with the Poets. 385

sagacious. We wonder that a fellow with such a glorious beard as
Wyatt appears to have possessed, should have written such nonsense.

here is pathos and a measure of picturesque elegance in his Peniten-
tial Psalms, which we prefer considering with the author of the Aldine
Memoir, as indicative of the serious and contented nature of his thoughts,
rather than, as Dr. Nott has imagined, of remorse, or regret, for his
previous career. We will quote one stanza, which is characterized we
think by much simplicity of idea and considerable harmony of versifi-
cation.

This while a beam that bright sun forth sendeth
That sun, the which was never cloud could hide,
Pierceth the case, and on the harp descendeth :
Whose glancing light the chords did overglide,
And such lustre upon the lamp extendeth,
As light of lamp upon the gold clean tried,
The lome whereof into his eyes did start,
Surprised with joy by penance of the heart.

We have been lingering too long with Wyatt, and we hasten to the
great epoch in the history of English poetry — the composition of the
" Paradise Lost !" The sudden transition from the quaint images and
English ruggedness of Wyatt, to the stately harmonies and magnificent
visionings of Milton, is like the entrance through a miserable wooden
door into the gorgeous audience-chamber of the Persian prince, of
which mention is made in the travels of Morier. Of the gradual pro-
gress which the muse had been making towards this perfect excellence
wre shall now say nothing. We trust that Southey will some day give
us the history of English poetry, which he once promised. It would be
difficult to find one more peculiarly suited to the task. Of our own
qualifications, with the modesty of true genius, we are silent.

We are led to speak of the Aldine editor of the poems of Milton
more at length, because we take it to be (so far as it has hitherto ex-
tended) the most perfect, and at the same time the most interesting'of
any which have yet appeared. Mr. Mitford possesses the learning and
taste which alone enable a man to edit such a composition as the " Pa-
radise Lost/' The original notes illustrative of the text are worth the
price of the volumes.

The Memoir of Milton appears to us quite beautiful in the tone of
its sentiments, and the melody of its style. We shall presently afford
our readers an opportunity of judging for themselves. A diligent
perusal of the prose works of Milton, and of the illustrious scholars of
that age, has enabled Mr. Mitford to throw much light upon many
obscure passages. Into the private or public life of the poet, however,
we have no intention of entering : we shall confine ourselves to his
poetry. Milton had very early formed the idea of writing an epic
poem. Homer was reported to have found the Iliad and Odyssey in
an Egyptian temple. In like manner the archives of European litera-
ture have been examined, and the most worthless productions brought
to light, in order to discover the original of the Paradise Lost. His
critics, by a sort of general consent, have determined that the frame-
work, at least, of his immortal composition was borrowed. Colonel
Leak, the able geographer of Greece, has pointed out a singular coin-
cidence between the Paradise Lost and a modern Greek poem. Of these
hypotheses we are not aware that Mr. Mitford takes any notice. Possibly

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 76. 2 D

386 A Winter Evening with the Poets. [APRIL,

a critic in the Athenaeum alluded to this omission,, when he accused
Mr. Mitford of having "thrown out no new views of Paradise Lost."
Surely the list is sufficiently extensive.

Poetry never more clearly proved itself to be the antithesis to prose
than in the Paradise Lost. We do not remember a purely prosaic
passage in the whole twelve books. The spirit of life is every where
diffused. A current of celestial blood seems to circulate in the veins
of the immortal agents — you never cease for a moment to recognize the
divinity of Milton's angels. And here he surpasses Homer, and all the
writers of antiquity. He appears undismayed by the magnitude of his
subject ; the proportions of his mind increase with the events which
he describes. His spiritual converse has communicated a heavenly
power to his understanding. The tumult of affairs, says Pliny, is con-
tinually drawing off the attention, and the master-pieces of art require
silence and tranquillity of mind. The Roman critic is alluding to the
study of painting — but the observation is not inapplicable to Milton.
His poetical life — that season which he devoted to the composition of
his great poem — may be dated from the conclusion of his political en-
gagements. He retreated out of the turbulent animosities of the time
into the sanctitude of his own imagination. The bitter passions of a
violent republican were replaced by meditations upon the fall of hu-
manity. All his youthful dreams of King Arthur vanished, and he
felt himself called to a nobler daring.

We promised an extract from Mr. Mitford's memoir, and we cannot
do better than quote the beautiful passage in which he notices this
change in Milton's sentiments : — i

"We should have had the enchantments of Comus, the sounds of revelry and
Circe's cup; but we should have wanted the songs of a higher mood, the sor-
rows and the pride of the Hebrew captive. We should not have been carried
back, as it were by vision, into the dark and austere learning of the Sanhedrim,
and had the Teraphim and the Ephod, pall and mitre, and the 'old Flamen's
vestry' brought before our eyes. We should still have possessed the noblest
epic of modern days ; but its argument would not have been the talk of angels,
the sullen despair, or the haughty resolves of rebellious spirits, the contrition of
fallen man, or the decrees of eternal Wisdom. We should have had tales of
chivalrous emprise, of ' gentle knights that pricked along the plain/ the ' cru-
elty of inexorable beauty, and the achievements of unconquerable love.' Its
scenes would not have been laid in the bowers of paradise, or by the thunderous
throne of Heaven, nor where the wings of the cherubim fan the Mercy- seat ;
but amid royal halls, in the palaces of magicians, and islands of enchantment.
Instead of the serpent with hairy mane, and eye of carbuncle, gliding among the
myrtle thickets of Eden, we should have had jousts and tournaments, the stream-
ing of gonfalons, the glitter of dancing plumes, the wailing of barbaric trumpets,
and the sound of silver clarions ; battles fiercer than that of Fontarabia, and
fields more gorgeous than that of the Cloth of Gold. What crowds of pilgrims
and palmers should we not have seen journeying to and fro, with shell and
staff of ivory, filling the port of Joppa with their galleys. What youthful war-
riors, the flower of British chivalry, should we not have seen caparisoned, and
in quest of the holy Sangreal ? The world of reality, and the world of vision,
would have been equally exhausted to supply the materials. The odours would
have been wafted from the weeping woods of Araby ; the dazzling mirrors would
have been of solid diamond ; and the flowers would have been amaranths, from
the land of Faery. Every warrior would have been clothed in pyropus and
adamant. We should have watched in battle, not the celestial sword of
Michael, but the enchanted Caliburn ; we should have had, not the sorrows
of Eve, and the fall of Adam, but the loves of Angelica, or the exploits of
Arthur."

1832.] A Winter Evening with the Poet*. 387

The genius of Milton possessed more perfectly than that of any poet
who ever lived, the opposite endowments of the a>o/3spov and the KaXoy.
The terror and majesty of Satan, and the loveliness and delicacy of Eve,
can never be surpassed — nothing can exceed the charm of that gentle
creature in the melancholy season of human sorrow and temptation.
Her footsteps make a beautiful light in the darkness of that painful
story. But we must look to the character of the fallen angel, and the
description of his actions, for the full development of Milton's powers.
The wings of his inspiration are unfolded, and their gigantic shadow
rests upon his poetry. The present becomes the past ; in the words of
Schlegel, he gives de I'ame aux sensations, el un corps a la pensee. Mil-
ton has been charged with arraying Satan in too attractive colours, and
certainly his sublimity of mariner seizes strongly on an ardent and
youthful mind. Lord Thurlow is reported to have been excessively
fond of reading the Paradise Lost aloud at Oxford, more especially the
speeches which are put into the mouth of Satan ; and he frequently
exclaimed, after finishing the celebrated address to the sun, " He was a
fine fellow — / wish he had won /" Setting apart the impiety of the
observation, we think it expresses very vividly the feelings of many of
Milton's readers.

We have already noticed the supernatural strength and energy dis-
played by Milton in the Paradise Lost. Even before the " dark pavi-
lion," spread out upon " the wasteful deep," the poet stands unquailed
by the thrones of Chaos and Night. We see in him none of the straining
after effect, and lashing of every power into exertion, so obvious in
other poets. He gazes upon Eternity with a calm and serene counte-
nance, while the illimitable ocean of time rolls around him. His Titan
intellect bears the pressure of six thousand years without any per-
ceptible bending. The mind of Milton was not debilitated by the ener-
vating nourishment of vain and unprofitable studies. The nerves of
the spiritual man were firmly knit together, and braced by the pure air
of that lofty region in which he delighted to wander. But the subli-
mity and terror of Milton were softened by a most touching and en-
dearing grace and pathos. The gentle voice of Sion's " flowery brook"
is heard amid the warring elements of nature. He disdained not occa-
sionally to mix the crystal waters of the heavenly fountain with the
bright wine of a Grecian Circe. Milton was the most learned of poets ;
but in him poetry was " the blossom of all human knowledge." Unlike
Callimachus, or the writers of the Alexandrian school,, his immense
acquirements were all transmuted by a spiritual alchymy into splendid
and exhaustless imagery. The stream of his poetry rushes over the
orient pearl and sands of gold, which the tide of years has gathered
together. Milton was the most frequent, and the most successful of
imitators. It may be affirmed of him, as of Virgil, that he borrowed
nothing which he did not improve. The various editors of Milton have
cited parallel passages almost without number, and the cultivated mind
of Mr. Mitford has enabled him to offer another highly interesting con-
tribution. It is curious to trace out the sources of some of Milton's
peculiar idioms. Mr. S. Boyd very ingeniously pointed out the coin-
cidence between a passage in the Banquet of Virgins, of Methodius, and
the description of Eden in the 4th book of the Paradise Lost.

The words of Methodius are, "There bloomed innumerable trees,

2 D 2

388 A Winter Evening with the Poets.

surcharged with autumnal riches, and glorying in their golden fruitage,
which depended amiably" — KapTwy affajupJ/zEvwv iXapwj — Milton says-—

-

Thus was this place
A happy rural seat of various view :
Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm,
Others whose fruit burnished with golden rind,
Hurtg amiable. Book 4, p. 250.

Surely this coincidence could not have been accidental. But we
have neither time nor space to pursue this inquiry. Whenever Milton
descended from his majestic throne to gather assistance from the
humbler works of others, he always rose, Antaeus-like, with tenfold
energy.

And now, thou most dainty blue book, we must close thee for a brief
period, for we are desirous of saying a few words upon one who resem-
bled thee only in his adoration of nature, and the innocency of his
breast — we mean the author of " the Seasons." We shall return to
Milton in a future Winter Evening, for we have much to say upon that
now frequently underrated poem, the Paradise Regained.

The principal merit of the earlier volumes of the Aldine Edition,
appears to us to consist in the antiquarian research which they display.
The purely critical passages might have been written by Alaric Watts,
or Robert Montgomery. Indeed, we have been occasionally reminded
of these distinguished authors during our perusal of the Life of Thom-
son. We shall offer two or three specimens of the biographer's style,
and we are the rather inclined to do so, because of the subsequent lives
(we allude to those written by the Rev. Alexander Dyce, and the Rev.
J. Mitford) we have already, in the case of Milton, spoken and shall
continue to speak in terms of high praise. The author of the " Life of
Thomson" commences his memoir with the following lucid observation.

" The biography of a man whose life was passed in his study, and
who is known to the world by his writings alone, can present few facts
to render it popular, unless it was chequered by events that excite
interest, or marked by traits which lessen esteem."

We have two remarks to make upon this paragraph. In the first
place, it would seem strange to persons of ordinary minds, that an indi-
vidual who had been honoured with a " biography," should be never-
theless " known to the world by his writings alone," and secondly, how
it is possible for the " biography of a man whose life was passed in his
study, to be chequered by events that excite interest." We make this
objection with all diffidence, and proceed to illustrate our remarks by
another quotation. The author of the Memoir, has been alluding to the
injustice Thomson always received at the hands of Dr. Johnson, and he
proceeds thus : — " The cause of this hostility must be sought in vain ;
but the temper of Johnson, and his violent political feelings, are suffi-
ciently notorious to render the patriotic sentiments which Thomson
every where inculcates a sufficient explanation of his hostility, whilst
his country may have been another ground of his dislike."

We are gravely assured at the beginning of this short sentence, that
" the cause of thii conduct will be sought in vain," and in the next line,
are presented with the very cause itself. We repeat our conviction, that
the Memoir of Thomson was written by the author of " Satan." We

1832.] A Winter Evening with the Poets. 389

are sincerely happy to find however, that Mr. Pickering limited the
" Oxford" minstrel's biographical talents to the author of the " Seasons/'
and that we are not disgusted by his " Omnipresence" in any other of
the Aldine.

Thomson was the founder of the descriptive school of poets, and
it may be affirmed that by none of his numerous followers has he
been surpassed, very rarely equalled. The love of nature and her
works, which in many of our modern bards is a fictitious passion, was in
the poet of the seasons a genuine feeling of the heart. The exquisite
stanza in the Castle of Indolence, in which he so touchingly pourtrays
this sentiment, is, we trust, in the recollection of our readers. Thom-
son's life may be considered a delightful scholiast upon his poetry. In
a letter addressed to his friend Mr. Paterson, we find him giving an
account of his innocent and simple occupations. t( Retirement and
nature," he says, " are more and more my passion every day ; and now,
even now, the charming time comes on ; Heaven is just on the point, or
rather in the very act, of giving earth a green gown. The voice of the
nightingale is heard in our lane. You must know that I have enlarged
my rural domain much to the same dimensions as you have done yours.
The two fields next to me, from the first of which I have walled — no, no
— paled in, about as much as my garden consisted of before, so that the
walk runs round the hedge, where you may figure me walking any time
of the day, and sometimes in the night."

Thomson was an ungraceful letter writer, but his simplicity of man-
ner and expression is sometimes very pleasing. We wish he had occa-
sionally carried more of this quality into his poetry. His pictures of
scenery and natural objects are commonly vivid and beautifully true,
but they are often injured by a pomp of language and exaggeration of
imagery. He not unfrequently exchanged the wild-flower band of his
muse for a golden girdle, which ill-assorted with the graceful negli-
gence of her attire. Poetry, purely descriptive, is not entitled to a
very distinguished rank. It requires little imagination, and no inven-
tion. The beauty of the pictures of scenery in the Seasons consist in
their truth. The sound of the cataract, and the whispering of the sum-
mer waves, and the singing of the birds, all live in the verse, every word
seems to be imbued with a particular colour. Thomson is the Claude
of poetry. Mark how terribly he paints the rising of the storm.

A boding silence reigns

Dread thro* the dun expanse : save the dull sound
That from the mountain, previous to the storm,
Rolls o'er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood,
And shakes the forest leaf without a breath,
Prone to the lowest vale the aerial tribes
Descend : the tempest-loving raven scarce
Dares wing the dubious dusk. In rueful gaze
The cattle stand, and on the scowling heavens
Cast a deploring eye ; by man forsook,
Who to the crowded cottage hies him fast,
•tefjj . Or seeks the shelter of the downward cave.

Tis listening fear and dumb amazement all :
When to the startled eye the sudden glance
Appears far south, eruptive thro' the cloud,
And following slower, in explosion vast
The thunder raises his tremendous voice,

390 A Winter Evening with Ike Poets. [ APRIL,

At first heard solemn o'er the verge of Heaven,
The tempest growls : but as it nearer comes,
And rolls its awful burden on the wind, &c.

Summer, b. 1135.

Now take a picture of the returning calm : —

As from the face of Heaven, the scattered clouds
Tumultuous rove, the interminable sky
Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands
A purer azure. Through the lightened air
A higher lustre and a clearer calm

Diffusive tremble :

* * * * «

Tis beauty all, and grateful song around
Joined to the low of kine, and numerous bleet
Of flocks thick-nibbling through the clover'd vale.

b. 1234.

English poetry does not contain two pictures of greater truth and
beauty than these. The first has the wild and tempestuous colouring of
Salvator Rosa, and the second, the delicate tints of Claude. We hear
the thunder " rolling its awful burden" upon the bosom of the hurri-
cane, and in a few minutes the shadows are gone and the grass is
glittering with the rain, and the kine are lowing in the meadows.
How poor and spiritless, compared to the landscapes of Thomson, are
the graceful etchings of Goldsmith. If the ' ' Deserted Village" had been
written in blank verse, it would never have attained a tithe of its present
popularity. Goldsmith was the Gainsborough of poets. That delightful
artist was accustomed to select the most simple features of nature, a
thatched cottage with a back-ground of beautiful and luxuriant trees,
with a cart winding up the green sequestered lane, and a little urchin
by the side of an old gray horse — there was a subject for Gainsborough.
He had absolutely no invention, he copied nature, as boys do maps,
over a tracing glass. A similar character may be given of Goldsmith ;
the finest image in the " Deserted Village" was taken from Young's
« Night Thoughts."

We have been scarcely able to write these last lines by the decaying
light of our lamp, and we are therefore compelled to break off abruptly,
but we shall devqte an early winter evening to the continuation of our
thoughts upon Thomson and his illustrious companions.

W. R. A.

•Vtj

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•

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• . -

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. . •

•

THE MARQUIS OF UNDONE PERRY.

...nil <-.»JT

1832.] [ 393

THE PRENTICK-BOYS OF DERKY.
AN IRISH VAUDEVILLE (Acted but OHCC.)

Scene, DERRY. — An immense assemblage of Prentice-boys, consisting of not less than
twenty-seven persons, all above fourteen years of age, are encircling the Town-Pump in the
absence of their great Patron, and drinking in pure water, (ivith some whiskey in it,)
health and long-laughter to the Marquis, or, as he is more familiarly called, the Quiz, of
Derry. They dance round the Pump, on which the Peer's head is appropriately carved,
and sing—

Green grows the Marquis, oh !

Green grows the Marquis, oh !
The wildest wag the world e'er saw
Is tamer than the Marquis, oh !

Old Nature dear she loves the peer,
Whom people near and far quiz, oh !

Her 'prentice han' she tried on DAN,
And then she made the Marquis, oh !

Green grows the Marquis, oh !

Green grows the Marquis, oh !
What signifies the House of Lords,
If 'twere not for the Marquis, oh !

A shout is raised in the distance, and cries of " The Marquis ! the Marquis /" The
gates of Derry are heard to creak on their obstinate hinges, and the hero enters in triumph,
borne irresistibly onwards by a dense crowd of fifteen tenants. As the 'Prentices rush
forward to greet him, crying out " The Marquis ! the Marquis /" an Irish echo answers,
" Quiz ! quiz!" and when they change the shout to " Derry!" the same echo faithfully
replies, " Derry, down derry." A VANE is descried in the background, pointing to the
west, where the sun of England is seen setting for ever. The Marquis ascends a car,
not unlike a coal-waggon, and speaks : —

My lords and patriots — I mean, my " lads,"
And " Pats" that keep aloof from every " riot,"
By patriots raised — believe me that it glads
My heart, to see this scene of peace and quiet !

Here a fight ensues among the 'Prentices, in consequence of one of them having said
that it was the Duke of Wellington, and not the Marquis, that beat Alexander the Great
at Waterloo ; and that Magna Charta was instituted by Oliver Cromwell instead of the
hero of Derry. The refractory asperser, being put down by the united valour of the
assembly, is eventually borne off upon a shutter.

Most gallant politicians, noble boys,

Who hate vile Freedom, nourished upon noise,

I've often wished — it makes my bosom bleed

To think you can't — that some of you could read. •

Then should you see, in London as in Derry,

How every way my genius wins its crown ;

And how the press devotes itself to ferry

My fame across the current of renown.

Of course you've heard of my exploits, you've heard

How every night my satire some one shatters ;

How Brougham was left without a single word,

And how I tore Lord Plunkett all to tatters.

Two Chancellors are they, without a chance ;

The House seems horror-stricken ; poor Earl Grey

r>i)4 The 'Prentice-boys of Derry. [ APRIL,

Turns blue, and cries " divide !" as I advance —
And then the treasury troops all run away.
(Hurrahs and laughter.) Thus, ye boys, do I
" Flutter the Volscians in Corioli."

Here the 'Prentices can contain their enthusiasm no longer, but mounting the car, or
waggon, insist upon seizing the hero and carrying him in triumph round the town ; which,
he respectfully declines, on the score of their not being able. He then resumes his speech.

Give me, ye men — that is, ye boys — permission
To read to ye — just mark — your own petition !
Yes, here it is — I needn't read it through —
" We who have fixed our crosses hereunto.
Not underminers, no — but merely minors ;
We having, like the peerage, not yet reached
Years of discretion, are the best diviners
Of what should now be practised, and what preached.
Being quite ignorant of all that passes,
We're free from prejudice ; and simply ask
Your Majesty to crush the middle classes,
And look for help from us in every task ;
To grant, in reason's and religion's name,
The church whate'er it condescends to claim ;
To shut your eyes to scenes of wild distress,
Your ears to wronged reformers' idle stories,
Your mouth, when throne-addresses vow redress,
Your heart to all — except your faithful Tories ;
To raise the pensions, and increase the taxes,
And give the earth a more convenient axis ;
To make the Horse- Guards keep the land in peace ;
To stop the rushing ocean on its way,
And let the rivulets have proper play ;
In short to make your people, all police ;
Let Derry have the seals, dismiss Lord Grey,
And your petitioners will ever pay."

Tumultuous delight, manifested by the medium of shouts and shilalaghs. The 'Pren-
tices rend the air with their cries, as far as they can ; and again insist upon carrying
their hero in triumph— but he assures them that he merely wishes them to carry the petition
~-which is done. In the confusion the speaker resumes —

This to the King shall be forthwith preferred ;
I'll then repeat the speech you all have heard.
And now, ye glorious 'prentices, all hark !
Let every lad amongst ye make his mark.

A flourish of sticks. Everybody makes his mark where he can ; but as the blows of
the combatants are principally directed to the head, little mischief is done. Three cheers
are given for the Hero, three for the Boroughmongers, and three thousand for the Queen.
The Marquis makes his escape with only a few affectionate bruises, and the Derry
choristers break out into their opening chaunt —

Green grows the Marquis, oh !

The oddest sums that e'er were spent

Were spent upon the Marquis, oh !

Old Nature hears O'Connell's jeers,
And people near and far quiz, oh !
Her 'prentice han' she tried on DAN,
And then she made the Marquis, oh.

Here the 'Prentices, in a state of delirium unprecedented even in Derry, all fall down
— to a boy ; and then — the

CUKTAIN FALLS.

1832.] [ 395 ]

PIGS ADDRESSED TO THOSE " ABOUT TO LEAVE BUSINESS !"

MISERABLE are those thrifty traders, who having crammed their bags
" e'en to bursting" with gold and bank-paper, shut up shop, and en-
deavour gradually to accustom themselves to the sight of green turf,
ere they are called upon to sleep under it. Mr. Pettitoes was one of
these unhappy beings. He had, in his day, shed oceans of pig's blood,
and had grown immensely rich by the sanguinary employment. One
day, however, his evil genius whispered, " Pettitoes, sell your business,
and go live at your ease in the country." We much doubt whether the
suggestion of the genius would have of itself prevailed, had it not been
most opportunely backed by the whirling-by of the handsome carriage
of Mr. Figdust, late grocer of Oxford-street, but then Cincinnatus of
Battersea Rise. Enough : Pettitoes " sold his business :" behold him
in the country.

Pettitoes had a fine family — three daughters, born, it would seem,
with a mortal hatred of pigs — a splendid house, gardens beautifully laid
out, graperies, pineries, arable land, peacocks strutting on the lawn, and
golden pheasants glittering in the wise preserves. To these delights
may be added The Morning Advertiser every day ; and, had he deigned
to consult them, the twenty new novels (subscribed for by the young
ladies) every week. What greater delight could fall to the fate of a
retired pork-butcher, tainted with a touch of the romantic ? And yet,
after a time, Mr. Pettitoes lost his customary suavity, became careless
of his attire, of gentlemanly cut, and once or twice struck his family
with consternation, by handling, in an absent and mysterious manner,
his father's ivory-hafted killing-knife, religiously preserved by his
pious son. Mrs. Pettitoes and her daughters — unanimous for once —
declared that Mr. P. " was not at ease. — What could be the matter
with him ?"

Unreflecting souls — they had their new novels, the last new songs of
the butterflies, lectures on chemistry, and the Egyptian hieroglyphics,
to occupy their minds — but not so Mr. Pettitoes : he, indeed, in the
eloquent language of his sympathising family, " was not at ease." Could
they have entered into his mind, they would have seen how grotesquely
were reflected there all the beauties of surrounding nature. To his
mental vision, every oak, beech, or elm, seemed to take the shape of
a huge " hand" or " leg" of swine's flesh — a hedge of hornbeam was
but a Brobdignag loin — the row of poplars so many gigantic skewers
— Sylph, the Italian greyhound, had bristles in his back, and the
peacocks did not scream, but grunt. Gentle reader, let not this de-
scription of our hero's mind appear forced and extravagant. It is the
common malady of the retired trader to assimilate the objects of rustic
life to the things of his former and happier state. As the sailor beholds
" green meadows in the salt seas, and hears the bleeting of the sheep,"
so does the retired tea-dealer or pawnbroker (we, of course, mean
those with whom books are nought) clothe the fields and hedges with
hyson and souchong, and see the three balls, glistening like Virgil's
golden branch, from every tree. Could they write their confessions,
what drolleries would they not give us — what hackney-coaches running
in the milky way — what skylarks singing the twopenny-postmen's
bells— what Naiads and Hemadryads frisking it in comely whitey-brown

396 Pigs— Addressed to those " About to leave Business !" [APRIL,

aprons and elbow-sleeves. Thus it was with Mr. Pettitoes : all his
dreams, his waking feelings, ran on pigs ; it was in vain that he tried to
divert his mind by reading. He sent for " Hogg's Tales," but was
disgusted and disappointed. Shakspeare was only saved from his con-
tempt by two lines — " Where hast been, sister ?" — " Killing swine !"
Oh, acutely wretched is that golden wretch, who, dragged by Plutus
from the joyous town, creeps over fields and adown hedges, twisting
buds and flowers into numerals and £. s. d. The glorious sun is to him
but a bright new shilling, and when he gazes at the moon, he reads
there, " Georgius IV., Dei Gratia Rex !"

Our friend Pettitoes wrestled with circumstances, but it was in vain ;
he succumbed to the ruling passion, and, like a true philosopher, it
was observed that he displayed a greater serenity of mind, when it was
evident that he knew the worst. His family wondered at his compo-
sure ; they were still more astonished when they discovered its cause ;
for, it is a curious fact — a fact well worthy of the attention of those
" about to retire from business" — that from the moment Pettitoes had
resolved once more to keep pigs, from that moment he became more
civilized and companionable. Great, however, was the terror of the
wife and daughters when they discovered that, to receive the purchased
pigs in due state, it had been deemed necessary by Mr. Pettitoes to
demolish a magnificent green-house. The fucias, the geraniums, the
ranunculuses, gave way to boars and farrow sows, with long-tailed pigs,
short-tailed pigs, pigs with crispy tails, and pigs minus such decora-
tion. Mrs. Pettitoes was astounded — the young ladies vehemently re-
monstrated. Pettitoes, however, flew from domestic strife, and solaced
himself at the pig's-sty There, at all times, might he be seen, his eye
gliding up and down some plethoric porker, as though, in his mind's
vision, he was cutting up the breathing animals into hands, legs, loins,
and chops. Had Pettitoes been transformed by Circe, he would have
surely wept when set again upon his two legs. In order, as he thought,
to mollify the ire of his wife and daughters, our tradesman christened
his grunting family after the heroes and heroines of modern poems,
novels, and songs. There might be seen, located in various styes,
" Pelham," and " Eugene Aram," the " Lost Heir, and " The Man of
Refinement." " Satan" was a great boar, and " Alice Gray" had a
farrow of thirteen. This desecration of all that the female Pettitoes
held beautiful, only served to whet their disgust at pork, and to send
Mr. Pettitoes from his carpetted room, hung round with genuine Mor-
lands, to obtain tranquillity and enjoyment at the piggery. For some
time was our tradesman satisfied with looking at the objects of his
affection : it was enough for him to see the backs of his darlings widen,
and the legs to become massive with the best of fat. At length, how-
ever, he felt his native thirst for blood, and it was observed that, after
a time, he never visited the piggery without fumbling about at his
knife. It was in vain — he gave himself up to fate — he would take his
old shop. He did take it, paying the tenant an immense premium to
go out. When Pettitoes' wife and daughters learnt his resolution, they
fainted ; it is said, that for three days horrible shrieks were heard in
the neighbourhood. Fortunately, however, for the gentle sex, " as
woman," as Mad. de Warens might have said, " who screams is not
dead," Pettitoes was not called upon to go in sables. The ladies, of
course, did not accompany Pettitoes to town ; no, they kept the country-

1832.] Pigs— Addressed to those " About to leave Business^ 397

house, and lived with their fitting companions, the peacocks, and the
golden pheasants.

Pettitoes re-opened his shop : the day he again appeared in public
his face had a fresher glow-^-his steel glittered in the morning sun —
his apron and his sleeves never looked so blue. In fact, he appeared
more than a vulgar butcher — there was a certain regimental air about
him ; indeed, it might have been said of him, as of a great general, he
looked " butcher to the king."

By degrees the piggery at Battersea Rise was cleared of its inhabi-
tants. A large part of ' < Childe Harold" was minced into sausages —
" Eugene Aram" was once more anatomized for the benefit of the
public — the family of " Alice Gray" went at from seven to ten shil-
lings each — " Satan" was drained into black puddings, and " the Un-
dying One" hung for two days, with a gash from ear to ear.

Of course the family never deigned to visit Pettitoes at the shop.
Too proud, however, was the husband and the father, if his wife and
daughters, at their country residence, would suffer him to send them
down a joint of pork. They had their novels, their harps, and their
auriculas — but Pettitoes was again in business : he had his apron, his
knife, and his pigs. J.

THE CONVALESCENT.

«« We sometimes find a disease quite strip the mind of aH its ideas, and the flames of a fever in a few
days calcine all those images to dust and confusion which seemed to be as lasting as if graved on
marble." LOCKK.

BREATHE, gently breathe upon this wasted frame,

Thou breeze of spring, that stirs the dewy air !
Breathe, gently breathe I for fever's restless flame
Hath long been madd'ning there !

Yon vale — how sweet ! 'Tis sure some fairy spell

Binds my soul there, and bids me fondly gaze !
Hark ! 'twas a voice that murmur'd through the dell —
And spake of happier days !

And where are they ? — a thousand visions pass —

A thousand phantoms melting into air —
Hast thou no records, Oh! ray heart ? — Alas !
All — all is vacant there !

Why slumbers memory in its depths unknown ?

Wake, sweet remembrance ! ere the doom be cast :
Long hath this heart been desolate and lone —
Oh ! bring me back the past !

Roll back, thou tide of being ! Break your rest

Ye light wing'd dreams ! and from that slumber start :
Oil ! all is dark'ning in this dreary breast —
Come — and light up the heart !

Tis past — the tie hath burst ! Away ! bright vale,

I've no communion with thee ! all is flown !
Then come, wild Fancy, weave some wizard tale —
Some memory of thine own !

Wing, wayward thought, thy lone mysterious way !

Mount through all marvellous things — Heaven's mystic plain —
The winds ! — the melancholy moon ! — Away ! —
There's madness on my brain !

0.

[ 398 ] [APRIL,

•

SUGGESTION FOR THE CELEBRATION OF SHAKSPEARE's
BIRTH-DAY.

AN event once happened in April, that has made it illustrious — more
illustrious even than " the fairest maid on ground," the ever fair and
ever youthful May herself. The light of one little day has shed a glory
upon the month, that is as pleasant and refreshing to the heart, as the
breathings of spring that come with it are to the sense. SHAKSPEARE
was born in April ! on the twenty-third of the month, in the year 1564.
This is quite enough to hallow the recollection of April, in the minds of
all true lovers of poetry and human nature, as long as there shall be
months, or mankind to enjoy them.

Let not the reader imagine that I am going to gild refined gold, and
to eulogize Shakspeare. If I were an emperor, and were inclined to
offer a reward for a new pleasure, I should probably offer one for a
volume of praises worthy to be placed on the shrine of the greatest and
gentlest-hearted poet that the world has ever seen. But, as it is, I
should as soon think of writing an essay to prove that nature is a greater
thing than art ; that Falstafs quips and quillets have a tendency to
excite laughter, and that Hamlet is a finer philosopher than the grave-
digger. My only object is to tell a short story, and then to throw out a
suggestion by way of a moral to it.

I have the pleasure of being a member of a " club" that was instituted
a few years ago, by a few personal friends, in honour of Shakspeare.
The number of our members is limited to the number of his plays ; and
our regular meetings are two only, 'in the year — on the Anniversary of
the Poet's Birth-day, and on a particular day in the autumn. This
meeting we distinguish by the title of the Mulberry Festival. As the
club, if I must call it so, consists chiefly of persons connected with
literature and the arts, we have provided a book called the Mulberry
Leaves ; and at each half-yearly meeting we elect a member or two to
contribute something to its pages — an essay, or a song, or perhaps a
fanciful vignette, all of course in praise, if not in illustration of the
" golden meanings" of the spirit in whose name we are assembled.
Besides these contributions, which are reserved for publication at a
future period, we have a few Shakspeare-songs, which the sentiment
they express at least lends music to, and which the occasion never fails
to make pleasant.

Now without pointing out, as a model for others, the plan upon which
one little cluster of the admirers of Shakspeare thus meet together, I
may hope to be pardoned for suggesting to all who have drunk witn
similar delight and profit at the fountain of that verse, which philosophy
repairs to for an inspiring knowledge, and which flows on from age to
age in a current of the purest and truest humanity — to all who have ears
for his music, and hearts for the glorious beings with which he has
peopled the realm of fancy — to such I may venture to suggest, without
the slightest apprehension of incurring ridicule, that they cannot evince
their gratitude to so social and loving a genius, more acceptably, than by
marking out the day of his birth as one of the brightest in their calendar
— as a period when friends may well meet together in unaffectedness of
heart, to discuss all pleasant things in his name, to whom we owe so
much of our knowledge of them — to put his poetry into practice for at

1832.] Suggestion for the Celebration of Shakspeare s Birth-day. 399

least one night in the year, and to deserve the poet by appreciating his
wisdom and gentleness. Let it not be supposed that such a celebration
of his birth-day would degenerate into any thing theatrical or common-
place. We can talk of Shakspeare without eternally calling him " our
immortal bard," and the " sweet swan of Avon." There are meetings
to be held out of the Freemason's Tavern — and of course out of the
Garrick Club, where at the dinner the other day, they forgot to mention
the name of Shakspeare, until some one recollecting that Garrick owed
a few trifling obligations to the aufhor of Hamlet and Richard, pro-
posed this very celebration which we are now suggesting — an idea that
was immediately rejected, on the score of inconvenience and innovation.
But let the reader try the experiment ; let him assemble some half-dozen
friends, if he object to a larger party, and revel for an evening upon
recollections of Bardolphs and Benedicks. He will find that we have
advised him well, and in " the sincerity of love and honest kindness."

Of course there are many great names in English literature that might
be made the annual instruments of calling friends together for a similar
purpose — and we should like to see similar honours paid to them, even
by public meetings. When a nation is blessed (or rather, was) with a
Pitt Club, we can see no especial objection to the establishment of a
Hampden Club. A few lovers of poetry and lofty principle might pos-
sibly be called together once a year in Milton's name. There are thou-
sands we hope that would not hesitate to join as many Spencer and
Fielding Clubs as might be formed. But Shakspeare was of all others
a social genius, and stands first in more senses than one. Milton him-
self regarded him with " wonder and astonishment." Cowper thought
it praise enough—

" To fill the ambition of a private man,

That Shakspeare's language was his mother tongue."

And Wordsworth, an authority no less illustrious, exclaims in one of
his sonnets —

We must be free, or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakspeare. spake."

The season of the year in which the birth-day falls is an argument
for its celebration — that season, to use his own words —

" When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Has put a spirit of youth in everything."

The sanctity and loveliness of the time has been beautifully touched
upon, in some verses that celebrate

" The hallow'd morn when Will was born, in the spring-time of the year.

" Some morn symbolic of his mind — elastic, warm, serene ;

Whose smile expansive lighted up man's universal scene ;

Whose subtle spirit everywhere could penetrate and cheer —

On such a morn our Will was born, in the spring-time of the year." '

Shakspeare Songs, by John Ogden.

After all these quotations, it would be presumptuous to conclude

400 Suggestion for the Celebration of Shakspeare1 s Birth- day. [APRIL,

with some verses of my own, were they not offered, as the writer of the
songs from which I have just quoted, remarks, — in the hope that they
may elicit better. I have had the gratification more than once of
hearing them sung, adapted to an Irish air, by one of the ablest drama-
tists and truest Shaksperians of the age.

SONG — FOR SHAKSPEARE^S BIRTH-DAY.

Ever since the dawn of time

Have poets told their sylvan stories,
Gemming life with truths sublime,

And crowning man with living glories.
Sweet their strains, but far less dear

Than his to whom all shapes were given —
Now a breathing violet here,

And now a streaming star in heaven.
Oh ! the vast, the varied mind,

The all-encircling line of Shakspeare !
Nature yet must feel regret

At losing him — the gentle Shakspeare !

Oh ! the brighest flame of life,

It burns in those who best adore him ;
Gloom and doubt, despair and strife,

Like snow melt all away before him.
All his mighty mind was love !

Yes, sure his pen was once a feather
In the wing of Noah's dove —

It links us so in peace together.
Oh ! the sweetness of his song,

The music and the mirth of Shakspeare !
Golden word was never heard

Like thy all-echoed name, my Shakspeare !

O'er the mind his magic breathed,

And still it leaves a charm within it ;
As Apollo's harp bequeathed

Its music where it laid a minute.
Time shall never still the tone,

Nor e'er of radiant wreaths deprive him ;
Nature was his nurse alone,

And Nature only can survive him.
Oh ! the green, the glorious page,

The everlasting line of Shakspeare !
Millions meet, with praises sweet,

Around thy sunny shrine, my Shakspeare !

I repeat my prayer to the reader, to Shakspereanize on the coming
23d of April. Let him try the experiment — he will find it a pleasant
and proper starting-point for his summer enjoyments. " To conclude,"
in perfectly original phrase — if the suggestion I have thrown out should
be the parent only of one meeting — if it should tempt only one lover of
humanity to pay a hearty homage to its great Friend and Illustrator—
my object will be attained. L. B.

1832.] o.,vv [ 401 ] .•>•.•'* x

^v*rViMBt

DREARYWIT AND HIS FRIENDS.

CHAPTER FIRST.

LET me not discuss the origin of evil : that pernicious pippin was,
doubtless,, the cause of all the misery that has hitherto, been contrived by
man for the benefit, or rather the bane, of his species. No wonder,
therefore, that Sir Isaac Newton discovered gravity by means of an
apple.

It is, however, not a little deplorable that what are termed the " good
things" of this world have not a more equal and equitable partition ; and
that you shall not seldom see a poor devil with hardly a leg to stand
upon, while a huge alderman can afford to keep half-a-dozen footmen in
good calf. It is no part of my present purpose to account for these dis-
crepancies,— it is nevertheless my duty, as a virtuous member of society,
to lament them.

What I most complain of is, that men having " appliances and means
to boot," whereby the respectable appointments of a gentleman may be
maintained, should, as it were, voluntarily relinquish them into the most
tenacious digits of rogues and swindlers ; and, by a perversity of reason-
ing, or a depravity of taste, seem virtually to affirm that a leg of mutton
is far worse eating than the mastication of the air, and that a sirloin of
beef is not half so pleasant as the enumeration of trees in St. James's
Park.

" A bird in the hand," quoth the old proverb, " is worth two in the
bush." What opinion, then, should we form of the intellects of a man
who, when he might hold a veritable goose in his grasp, should prefer
to be beating about the bushes for a pair of dubiously existing owls ; or
who should leave his Stilton to the tender mercies of the mice, under
the belief that he was shortly to receive a new importation of green
cheese from the moon ? We should, doubtless, forthwith consign his
head to the barber, and look to find him, in due time, among the incu-
rables in the Lambeth Asylum. But,

" Certain the pleasure is as great
In being cheated as to cheat,"

or how else can we account for the singular complacency with which
some people hold open their pockets (and this, too, under the perfect
conviction that they are immense gainers by the operation) while others
dive into and dismantle them ? Some there are, indeed, who, having
gone forth to shear and become shorn, would fain betake themselves to
their own homes, like the prodigal son, to eat roast veal, and would, for-
sooth, say no more about the matter, like a wise man under rebuke, or a
fool in the megrims ; while others, not content with making " ducks and
drakes" of their money, must needs make geese and donkies of them-
selves, and go cackling and braying about the face of the earth with a
most portentous inanity of aspect, or repose themselves under the shade
of disgrace, poverty, or ruin, with an air of agreeable lassitude and gen-
teel relaxation. These enthusiasts,

" So perfect is their misery,
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
But boast themselves more comely than before ;"

M.M. New Series.— Vot. XIII. No. 76. 2 E

402 Drearywit and his Friends. [APRIL,

and I verily believe would refuse sufficient annuities, if they were
thereby prevented from pursuing their destructive and disastrous avo-
cations.

I would that the foregoing moral reflections had not been called forth,
and the extent of reprehension contained in them were not applicable, in
a mournful degree, to my friend Drearywit, who has all his days (so to
speak) been casting his bread upon the waters until he has quite got rid
of the loaves and fishes, and who was no more expected by his numerous
connections to be seen in the path of life he chose to perambulate, than
you might indulge reasonable expectation of meeting a cow in a milk-
walk. I say, it is not a little astonishing, as the world goes, to find a
man stepping over the heads of others ; still more surprising to behold
him wandering about on his own ; but most marvellous, when we dis-
cover him running his proper skull against a post in the most ruinous
and persevering manner. Conceive a distracted muffin-maker plying
for custom on Salisbury Plain ; or a petitioner tweaking the nose of his
patron ; or a runaway banker, who has once " hopp'd the twig," return-
ing to repeat such saltatory movement ; you can, after all, conceive no
extent of folly, imprudence, or madness, at all comparable with the
visionary day-dreams of my friend. But I will not anticipate.

Let me, however, do strict justice. Drearywit was as far as possible
removed from any sympathy with those whining sentimentalists who
creep about as grave and watery as an undertaker on St. Swithin's day,
and mysterious as a maiden speech : he was not one of that tribe of dis-
satisfied rascals, 'yclept misanthropes, who rush headlong into a sea of
troubles, like their swinish prototypes in the New Testament, and when
they should be endeavouring to swim, cut their own throats : he was
not one of those against whom the stigmatizing name of twaddler is
launched, neither could he, after any fair process of investigation, be
accounted a bore. But why do I waste my time in these negative state-
ments ? Drearywit' s character was ever, I believe, in all the domestic
relations, unimpeachable, and any posthumous notice respecting him
may be, accordingly, engraved on his tomb (when he shall take it upon
himself to die) without giving occasion for a blush to his panegyrist or
an incredulous grin to the stone-cutter.

But it is in quite a distinct light that I would at present view him ; I
would fain, as it were with a lever, upraise his bulk into the air of
reason and philosophy, that the rays of truth may fall upon the dense
mass of frail and incommunicable flesh, and that I may, finally, be en-
abled to draw his frailties from their brittle tenement with satisfaction to
myself and advantage to the reader.

CHAPTER SECOND.

It is neither my duty nor my inclination to be censorious or uncha-
ritable. I do not profess to be a modern Diogenes, looking after honest
men with a pair of lantern jaws, and creeping into a kilderkin if I can-
not find them ; moreover, it is no concern of mine whether the commu-
nity be honest or otherwise. I should certainly prefer grasping my
friend's hand in any other place than my own pocket, and I should
duly deplore the deficiency of the moral sense in one whom I might dis-
cover in the act of plundering my pantry or secreting my spoons. But,
as I have hinted, I am not curious upon these points of morality. I
have, accordingly, the less hesitation in condensing long dissipated and

1832.J Drearywit and his Friends. 403

dispersed whispers into an 'articulate sententious sound, signifying, that
the father of our friend Drearywit was not particular to a shade ; that
he did not stick at trifles ; that he knew on which side his bread was
buttered, inasmuch as he buttered both sides himself; and that all were
fish that came to his net, especially gudgeons. It by no means follows
that he was not a highly respectable man, and a member of the common
council. Let me indulge a reminiscence respecting him. If the retina
of my eye have not deceived me, and my memory prove faithful, my old
acquaintance must ever have cut a despicable figure, looked upon as a
study for the artist or a model for the sculptor. He was tantum pellis et
ossa, so much skin and bone ; in truth, if to inherit no flesh were to be
exempt from the " thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to," the
outline in question might have laughed and grown fat at his leisure.
But he had not soul enough to laugh ; indeed, although according to
Shakspeare, a catch could draw three souls out of a weaver, I question
whether all the music of the spheres would have extracted the tithe of
one from my wretched friend.

It is a mystery to me, ignorant as I arn of the process by which ideas
are generated in the mind, how it could have occurred to the old widow
Snatchaway and her daughter that such a penurious rascal should be
deemed a desirable speculation. It is still more remarkable that he
should have consented to take any woman into stock (for with some
men such enterprises are mere matters of business) without being
thoroughly satisfied of the pecuniary fitness of the transaction. Certain,
however, it is, that elaborate calculations were entered into on his part,
during which it was observed that he divided by two, more often than
was his custom heretofore. In a word, he was content to do one im-
prudent act in his life, upon a principle which I do not understand, but
which, at all events, vindicates the existence of the will in a most con-
clusive manner. On the lady's side, be it borne in mind, she was now
of that most uncertain of ages called " a certain age," by which, let it
be understood, she was dancing to and fro upon the vast gamut of time,
extending from twenty-nine to sixty inclusive, and no one knew the
precise chord upon which she should fairly have reposed herself.
Furthermore, there was a fatality in the concern : she had her own
private reasons for wishing the thing ; she had dreamed of him; she
was born for the man ; her mother had consulted the grounds of the
coffee-cup, and such-like Delf-ian oracles ; and, in fine, the two ladies,
either by setting, laying, or running their heads together, had made him
their own to a dead certainty, long before the match had been even con-
templated by him.

A marriage consequently took place, appertaining to which nothing
is half so deserving of mention, or worthy of commemoration, as the
birth of our friend ; a circumstance unlocked for at home, and matter
of wonderment and whisper to the neighbourhood, which, I must say,
generally contrives to interest itself much more in other persons' affairs
than the occasion could seem at first, or even at second sight, to warrant.
For example, winks and shrugs and smiles were put into requisition ;
shrewd guesses were hazarded — " he was a wise child that knew his
own father," and indirect imputations of the like nature were mumbled,
all tending to provoke a breach of the peace and harmony then subsist-
ing betweeft a couple whose evenness of temper on the one hand, and

2 E 2

404 Drearyivii and Ids Friends. [APRIL,,

smoothness of forehead on the other, were, if I may hazard the conjec-
ture, pretty much upon a par.

The old gentleman, however, had friends of another complexion, —
men, elevated far above the mists of prejudice and the tumults of pas-
sion. These worthy individuals were delighted at the accession so
recently made to their friend's family, and were the first to make a leg,
and present a congratulation. To these, of whom I shall just now only
remember two — the estimable Earthworm and the respected Gulph, the
physiognomy of the infant, sooth to say, as yet so imperfectly developed,
indicated, with all the lineal accuracy of a chart, the possession of facul-
ties of a superhuman growth, and pointed out with a precision almost
miraculous, the destiny whereto fortune was about to raise him. In the
meanwhile, it was deemed to be a time-honoured observance to enrol his
name duly as a youthful Christian, at which ceremony the solemn Earth-
worm and the lugubrious Gulph were called upon to officiate as sponsors.
To this proposition one objection would fain have presented itself, since
the former was in common decency expected to make his appearance,
bearing some offering indicative of a kindly feeling towards the child,
which feeling was upon this occasion made manifest by the presentation
of a pair of pewter spoons, while an outlay of sixpence, paid into the
ruthless and vice-closing hand of the nurse, was entailed upon the un-
happy Gulph. These exactions, nevertheless, hindered not the out-
pouring of similar prognostications, to which the old gentleman lent a
ready ear, and, indeed would have given both ears rather than these
prophecies should be unfulfilled. But — such is the infirmity of man —
even these gratifying anticipations could not be indulged in a sober and
fitting spirit ; for, it is a grievous truth, that at the close of the day, this
worthy triumvirate demeaned themselves in a most heathenish and ex-
travagant manner. Drearywit had, long before the termination of the
evening, resigned his perpendicular, and was, as it should seem, strictly
and minutely scrutinizing the pattern of the carpet ; Earthworm had for
a considerable period been stretched athwart the mat at the foot of the
stairs, bellowing for assistance ; while Gulph, upon whose brain the in-
fluence of wine acted as an amiable madness, after dancing solemnly and
sedately about the drawing-room, was carried grinning and gibbering
to his own home, where the application of a few smart reprimands, and
as many smart boxes on the ear, administered by his wife, soon brought
him to his senses, and caused him to sneak up to bed with a very forlorn
and dejected deportment.

CHAPTER THIRD.

That ancient philosopher who made it his business to go out upon the
house-top and shout with a loud voice, " Educate your children," was
a well-intentioned, but I regret to say it, an absurd person. I am in-
clined to think he must have been a single gentleman, without incum-
brance — of brains, at any rate — and one addicted to the intolerable ill-
breeding of offering advice where it was least wanted. He should have
eschewed treading the tiles, and have "come down" with something
handsome. A score of young Greeks, boarded and converted into sages
at his sole charge, would have taken the conceit out of him. To be
plain, this sort of gratuitous advice is of no practical service whatever,
like Dr. Watts's considerate recommendation, " to get a vast quantity of

1832.] Dreary-wit and his Friends. 405

ideas/' — " never to be deceived by sopftisms or fallacies/' and the like.
Hand us over the coin then, deliver a cheque upon your banker, my
dear twaddler, or mum's the word. For, to speak in the vulgar tongue,
how is a family pauper to perform payment, a dustman to down with
his dust, or a " needy knife-grinder" to " fork over" the ready ? The
idea is preposterous. The expense, then, of educating his son had agi-
tated old Dreary wit most miserably ; for the schoolmaster was at that
time at home, and quite indisposed to " rear the tender thought," with-
out raising the stubborn charge for his trouble. It was this conviction
that decided the old gentleman upon keeping his child for a few years
under the tutelage of his grandmother, with whom, although he would
hardly acquire sufficient mental activity to skip over the various branches
of learning like an intellectual squirrel, to whom knowledge should be
as nuts, yet he would be enabled, perchance, to climb up the main trunk
of the tree, by the aid of goadings and castigation, in a deliberate, sober,
and steadfast manner. And, surely, this was a very prudent design, for
the lady in question was truly one of a thousand, and appeared to have
drunk constantly, if not from the very fountain of knowledge, at least
from some source, into which had been infused a strong decoction
of old-womanism, since her learning was of the traditional kind, and
sheathed itself in an infinite multiplicity of adages, proverbs, and axioms,
for an insight into which the curious may refer to Dr. Franklin passim,
or to the first sagacious aged gentlewoman he may chance to encounter.
The strictness of this amiable person's discipline more than kept pace
with her erudition, for the elements of our vernacular tongue once
thoroughly acquired — the alphabet, I say, being digested, and the sylla-
bic mystery explained, " and there an end," as the respectable lady held,
never having read a book herself, that the truth was not in them. Her
instructions, then, such as they were (and far be it from me, by such
mode of phrase, to undervalue them), were delivered by word of mouth,
and enforced in an exemplary manner, viz. by causing her crutch to
descend upon the skull of the devoted wretch with amazing force, inso-
much that echoes were made to vibrate and tremble along the walls ;
and the immense thickness and density of the boy's occiput rendered
more pliable and porous, and fitter to the reception of such ideas as she
might please should take root and flourish there.

It is somewhat remarkable, that the boy, so disciplined, even unto the
creation of echoes, as aforesaid, should have thriven thus vigorously ;
but so active and restless was his mind, and such a spirit of inquiry
actuated him, that his preceptress herself was heard to admit " he some-
times even puzzled her ;" nay, it was ascertained that he had supplied
the old lady with various information and knowledge to which she had
been heretofore a stranger. Some went so far as to say that he had
taught his grandmother " to suck eggs," but this I do not believe. I
must even express my doubt whether such ovicular instruction is prac-
tised in this age. The practice is, however, legendary, and comprises a
fine apologue, which may be called " Truth teaching Experience," and
rendered serviceably efficient as a hint to certain self-willed greybeards
of my acquaintance.

Unpleasant difficulties, nevertheless, it must perforce be told, arose
out of. this reciprocal exchange of knowledge and community of ideas ;
for the lad> being now well nigh grown up, appeared less disposed than
he had hitherto shewn himself to receive implicitly such dogmas as the

40t> Dreary wit and his Friends. [APRIL,

perverse old cat would oftentimes enunciate ; so little willing, indeed,
that a. dispute having one day arisen, the ferocious fiend sought to esta-
blish her point, as usual, by calling to her assistance that ligneous co-
adjutor her crutch ; when the vivacious youth, turning upon herself her
own instrument, made such a reprisal upon her pericranium, as com-
pletely demolished the organ of memory for one while, and set the
prismatic colours dancing before her eyes in a somewhat complicated
and incessant figure.

And now he was become of a fitting age to benefit by the more prac-
tical and profound precepts of Earthworm, and the subtle and ingenious
sophisms of Gulph ; both of whom found a singular delight in grafting
tlie slips of their experience where the moral fruit was likely to be
abundant, and of rapid growth. Now, as the characters of these gentle-
men were somewhat strange and opposite, it may not be irrelevant to
record them here. Earthworm, held of a verity that every man was
better off, and de facto, a better man than himself, who possessed any
one species of property, not common and accessible on the instant to
him, the said Earthworm, and his chief object, accordingly, was to lay
his fingers upon such property in the most amiable attitude possible.
He maintained, that it was better to be a toadeater, than eat nothing at
all, and he would have administered flattery to old Nick himself, if he
could have got his matches dipt in brimstone for nothing by it. He
was like the " camomile that thrives the more 'tis trodden upon," and
he would have welcomed a kicking, if it were understood to entitle him
to a fair claim upon your good offices in future. His piety, however,
was orthodox, and the parson and he were the best friends in the world.
Not so Gulph, whose honesty was the fear of the gallows, and whose
religion was a dread of the devil. Gulph was a kind of Timon, with a
considerable resemblance to Sir Giles Overreach : and was alternately
railing at, and robbing the world with an intensity of satisfaction incon-
ceivable to the mere rogue in grain. He would have been considered
a very grave person in the cave of Trophonius, but he had his laugh out
in private. Withal, he was always having a fling at human nature, and
complaining, that there was no friendship and sincerity in this life,
that there was no community of feeling, but a mere interchange of
snuff-boxes. He admitted, there might be such a sentiment as friend-
ship, but thought that our own friends tended to fix us in a contrary
belief; and said, that their hearts might be in the right place, but he
should be glad to know where they were. I am not sure, for my part,
that Gulph was not correct in these latter conclusions; for it just now
occurs to me, we do not find that our friends exhibit much alacrity, or
appear very solicitous about paying our debts, or alert at securing our
convenience and comfort. But I apprehend, it is all owing to that
cursed linsey-wolsey material of which this said human nature is com-
posed. " We cannot make a silk purse," &c., the proverb is a trite one,
or if we could, it would commonly be found that we had got the wrong
sow by the ear.

By these worthies, then, was our friend Drearywit, rendered conver-
sant in early youth with such branches of knowledge, as would in course
of time have sufficed to make him a pretty accomplished rascal ; and it
is far from improbable, that he profited not a little by the lessons vouch-
safed unto him by these sages, for he seized upon every opportunity of
wheedling Earthworm out of such coinage as that curmudgeon found it

1832.] Drcarywit and his Friend*. 407

in his nature, after wretched inward wrestlings, to bestow ; while he
took delight in abstracting the spectacle cases from the pocKets of the
other, and in employing maledictions and outrageous abuse, accom-
panied by gesticulations and face-making, while the old fellow's back
was turned, not a little shocking to hear and to behold,

CHAPTER FOURTH.

As I had for many years been a constant visitor at the house of old
Drearywit, both before his marriage, and after the demise of his lady,
(who had not long survived the birth of her infant,) I felt that I also
had a right to mould and model the flexible organization of the lad after
my own fashion ; and was not unwilling to instil into his soul a few
grains of philosophical truth, not to be picked up by every goose of the
common. I was the more readily enabled to do this by reason of the
boy's partiality towards me ; induced, I conceive, by timely presenta-
tions of stomach-ache in the form of apples and unlimited pastry ; as
well by the amiable appearance of occasional mintage, that found favour
in his pocket after an emigration from mine.

But in this design I had been in a great measure forestalled by a
philosophical fire-eater and water-drinker, Millwheel by name ; a man
of intemperate temperance, and the most uncontrollable temper. He
was one of those who enforce moderation in a voice of thunder, and
exemplify charity by buttoning up their pockets ; yea, such was the
ferocity of his nature, that he would have presented you with a piece of
bridecake on the point of a bayonet, and run you through the body by
way of tickling you at his excruciating jests. His voice, too, was
detestably horrible. A whisper from him, " came o'er the ear like the
sweet north east," or, an echo from the hollow caverns of Avernus, and
a sigh (if any such there were) resembled a blast from the Vulcanian
forge.

The doctrines of this person were of a lamentable description, how-
beit, they have been, I mourn to say, indulged and adopted by many
individuals quite narrow-minded, ignorant and presumptuous enough
before without such aids, and sufficiently of a piece to succeed and
establish the previous promulgations of Earthworm and Gulph. " He
taught the boy to speak"' inhuman nonsense, and, as he advanced into
manhood, supplied him with exhaustless chatter concerning utility, and,
(( the greatest happiness principle," the eternal discussion of which sub-
jects was not only without utility, but productive of the greatest misery
conceivable. The first, appeared to my weak and uninitiated under-
standing a mere amplification of vulgar cant, which the cheesemonger is
beginning to be ashamed of; while the other was manifestly an anoma-
lous monster, begotten on a truism by the amiable principle — " Every
one for himself;"' or, " The devil take the hindmost."

Millwheel, a sincere convertite to these notions, and a zealous ex-
pounder of them, in explanation of his theory of utility, hesitated not to
affirm the superiority of a candle-snuffer over a Newton or a Galileo ;
while Milton, " that mighty orb of song," was accounted nought in
comparison with a mightily rotund shopkeeper. But, his greatest hap-
piness principle, was in no quarter so well understood as at home;
where to maltreat his wife, to chastise his children, and to kick his ser-
vants down stairs, supplied him with tolerable employment, and left

4X)8 Drearyrvit and his Friends. [

him in fit cue for a denunciation of the evils of the body politic, and a
patriotic indignation at the tyranny of its rulers.

It were no marvel if a youth, passed in the first instance through the
crucible of a remorseless grandmother, afterwards tried in the furnace
of an Earthworm, filtered through the sandy alembic of a Gulph, and
finally, rolled out and extended in the mangle of a Millwheel, should
have come forth into society a ready-made pattern of perfection, a
monstrum sine vitio, or at least, a specimen of that kind of popular
virtue which is seldom undermined, or endangered, by a too great sus-
ceptibility of feeling, or a superabundant allowance of passion.

But it was not so, for as it is said; that " what is bred in the bone
will never come out of the flesh," so I believe it to be just as true, that
a cobbler's lapstone can never be converted into a diamond of the first
water,, and, that the volition of a milestone (if it have any), is of rather
a sedentary nature. For, be it observed, your comet is hardly to be
reasoned with, and your stock of wild oats cannot properly be sown
until the waste lands be brought into a little cultivation. This may
appear to be very madness, but such wide talk will alone fit the nature
of the case, and this Suckfist* mode of ratiocination is the closest argu-
ment I can afford upon the present occasion. More intelligibly, how-
ever, to speak, " All the fair hopes which Millwheel was to have
crowned/'' did the young dog Drearywit, with a capricious gamboling
and a juvenile unconcern destroy ; and thus —

It so chanced that the father of the youth, or, as I should now say,
the young man, took an opportunity one day of giving up just so much
of the ghost as he might be supposed to have possessed. The old fellow
had been for a long time in a bad way, and there is no doubt but that
half an hour's simmer in the pipkin of Medea would have done him a'
world of good ; as it was, he had become very aged, with a frequent
oppression and weight upon the chest, only to be likened to the burden
of a nightmare with an alderman upon its back, or an elephant standing
upon one leg for lack of the other three. The death of this respectable
gentleman, if it gave rise to any feeling in the breasts of his friends, was
of that especial kind, that " doth lie too deep for tears." We were,
certainly, in no condition to prove our lineal descent from Niobe ; for
I much misgive me, whether the quantity of moisture mustered over
his grave might not have been exceeded by a chymical extract from an
ounce of tinder, or by the voluntary exudation of a grain of dust.

The young gentleman was pleased to call this event a happy release,
and truly he appeared to consider himself released from any further
payment of deference or respect to his quondam advisers ; for he took
the very first opportunity of reviling Earthworm, of abusing Gulph,
and of ridiculing Millwheel ; and I verily believe, would have had small
scruple in dancing over the grave of his grandmother, had he not been
withheld by the dread of her posthumous presence in the form of phan-
tom, night hag, or succubus.

For my part, as I find very little pleasure in winking at a blind
horse, in whistling to a dead dog, or in arguing with a deaf man ; and
as there is no superfluity of fleece and some waste of trouble in the
shearing of swine, I very prudently forbore to interfere between my
young friend and his plans. Certain I am, that none are so impatient

* Rabelais.

1832.] Drearywit and his Friends. 409

of advice as those who are most in need of it ; and if one's friends will
go to the dogs, it is really no business of ours to see the tails of those
animals docked, and their quadrupedal vagaries restrained.

km* .tlqlllr) £ CHAPTER FIFTH.

It was shrewdly suspected of Lorenzo de Medicis, that he possessed
two souls, so singular an union did he furnish between virtue and vice.
A like predication, slightly modified, might have included Drearywit.
Never did a man so flagrantly belie the expectations of his friends, and
so perversely turn away from the right path into the most crooked
byways and tangled brakes. Instead of that sedate deportment hitherto
adopted by the young man under the auspices of his elders and his
betters, a reckless and wretched levity was substituted, quite subversive
of those principles of serious meditation heretofore inculcated, and alto-
gether destructive of that elongation of visage which is the necessary
result, if not the type and symbol of them. The party to whom he was
indebted for his introduction to the great world — the piper, as it were,
to whose particular tune he was but too willing to dance, even though
he were compelled afterwards to pay such piper, was a young fellow
calling himself Harebrain. This hopeful youth, this scatterling, having
in an incredibly short period run through his paternal estate, now felt
himself reduced to the necessity of living upon the small freehold of his
wits ; and, to do the boy justice, as he had never been unwilling to
maintain his immediate predecessors in the same exigency, he naturally
felt, that he had a strong claim upon the next in rotation. Experience,
it is said, makes fools wise, but as neither he nor his disciple considered
themselves fools, they were quite above taking any unfair advantage of
experience.

Harebrain, indeed, was constitutionally incapable of resisting any-
thing that came before him in the questionable shape of speculative
philosophy ; and having been hurried and twisted round in the vortex
of dissipation and pleasure, brought an acquired giddiness and volatility
to the general stock that admirably aided the headlong propensities of
his companion. He was acted upon by every impulse of the moment,
and transferred to his friend, on the instant, a portion of the same rage,
whatever it might be, that, for the time at least, was, by the energy of
its action, consuming his very vitals. Thus, an occasional visit to the
hairdresser would have suggested the expediency of importing a vast
quantity of Polar bears, and the exhibition of a conjurer would have
induced the determination of procuring a Lapland witch or two by way
of novelty. He had dived into chymistry, and questioned whether
moonbeams might not be potted like cucumbers, and rendered service-
able at pleasure as tapers ; and he would fain have bottled the lightning.
His pen also had been employed upon a " Dissertation on Mares' Nests,"
and, " The best means of setting the Thames on fire," not to mention
some loose hints on the possibility of building castles in the air, with
reflections on the art of making bricks without straw, and other matters
of less moment, but, as he conceived, of more difficulty and hazard.

Here, then, was the kind of Mentor to whom my poor Telemachus of
a friend committed himself and his fortune ; and it demanded very little
sagacity to foretel, and by no means the optical completeness of an
Argus to foresee, that this brace of blockheads were going to the devil
in the most handsome and liberal manner. But the case became so

410 Drcarywit and his Friends. £ APRIL,

urgent in a very short time, inasmuch as the total melting away and
vanishing of the young man's property was veritably nigh at hand, that
we, his oldest friends, to wit, Earthworm, Gulph, Millwheel, and my-
self, were constrained to call a council, and in close divan devise expe-
dients for reclaiming or restoring the infatuated victim.

It was proposed by Earthworm, that the youth's effects should be
sequestrated and confided to his sole and peculiar care. Gulph, as one
of the executors under the father's will, was strenuously of opinion, that
the remainder of the property should be withheld from him ; while
Millwheel was for inserting him in Bedlam with the least possible
delay. For my part, I had enough to do to reconcile these conflicting
propositions, which, however, were speedily laid aside upon the appear-
ance of the young gentleman. - And now it was, that I made a serious
endeavour to bring the boy to his senses ; and with timely exhortation
and the most earnest entreaty, I have but little doubt that I should
have caused considerable salutary compunction and better resolutions
for the future, had it not been for the pestilent interference of those
vociferous old fools, who, nevertheless, found not their account in such
vehement discourse. Presuming too far upon the forbearance of their
quondam pupil, they proceeded to such extremity of reprehension as
caused the youth to have recourse to the poker, which directly led to
the necessity of their making a sudden and simultaneous rush to the
door, a huddling and tumultuous casting of themselves from the stair-
head, and a violent issue into the street ; the whole presenting a spec-
tacle of unextinguishable laughter to the window-gazing inmates of the
house, from which they had so unceremoniously disembogued them-
selves.

Left, then, as at length he was, to the sole direction of Harebrainy >a
series of the most preposterous projects was the result. He contem-
plated, it seems, the civilization of the native Indians, and forthwith
despatched two ill-fated missionaries to attempt the establishment of a
commercial treaty between them. He proposed to send over books,
religious and profane, for their improvement, in exchange for toma-
hawks and other implements of warfare, to be used with advantage
upon the skulls of the more obtuse in our own country ; and was only
prevented from carrying his design into effect by a notification, that the
unfortunate functionaries had been devoured in toto by those whimsical
beings, who had accomplished a saraband after the repast, with the
most ingenious and extraordinary agility.

But, why should I enter further into these distressing details ? why
relate the mining associations, the pearl fisheries, and the vinegar com-
panies, in which my friend Dreary wit took too fatal an interest ? What
need to tell, that after galloping most vigorously over South America.,
our agent was unable to discover any suitable or practicable mine ; that
after incessant diving and plunging, not even an oyster shell was to be
detected ; and that the devil a drop of vinegar was to be had, for love
or money, unless, indeed, it were extracted from the visages of the
shareholders.

It is of more importance to state, that these Utopian projects carried
away my friend's property without ceremony, and hastened the intro-
duction of Harebrain to a private retirement in Battersea-fields, de-
signed expressly for such spirits as despise utterly the usual diurnal
duties entailed upon our physical, moral, and intellectual being.

1832.] Drearywit and his Friends. 411

CHAPTER SIXTH. *™d* ^9V * *"

It were, without all question, a most desirable circumstance, if, after
having paid, however dearly, for our experience, we could, by some
extraordinary and retrograde movement, contrive to occupy the same
position in respect of years, application, and means, as that, from which
we originally started. But, the misery is, that we cannot do so ; and,
upon better reflection, a system of this kind would undoubtedly intro-
duce a strange jumble of dates, facts, and memories, not at all recon-
cileable with the known adaptation of our natures. We should, " take
no heed of time," even " by his loss," and, indeed, that worthy old
fellow would be constrained to shave off his beard with his own scythe,
and accommodate himself to the prevailing fashion.

It is, nevertheless, melancholy to reflect, that a man is disposed to
husband his money precisely at the period when he has none left to
preserve ; just as vast pains are taken to turn the key of the stable,
after the horse has been sold at Smithfield. There is no help for it.

Here now was a man, my friend, who had began life with " bril-
liant prospects," as they are called, compelled, much against his will, to
restrict his views to a narrow vista, terminating, in all probability, in a
dead wall ; and whose prandiary propensities were hereafter to be satis-
fied, not as formerly, at pleasure, but by certain express invitations
from Duke Humphrey, or by a wretched resemblance to King Nebu-
chadnezzar.

Under such circumstances, a great many things are assuredly to be
done ; there is a wide scope wherein the faculties may expand them-
selves ; and if a man cannot become prime minister, he may at least be
secure of going out of the world like a gentleman whenever he pleases
to annex himself, by way of personal appendix, to a yard of twine.

" Tis pleasant, through such loopholes of retreat,"

to make an escape from the vexation and coil incident to humanity ;
and as there is very little pleasure upon earth, it is well to be inde-
pendent of that element when we take our leave of it.

With such consolatory talk did I beguile the miseries of my unfortu-
nate friend, who had now discarded altogether that impatience of
advice, and repugnance to reproof, so common and prejudicial to young
men in general ; and who, perhaps, would have listened to the exhorta-
tion and comfort even of Earthworm, or Gulph. As for Millwheel, he
had long ago given him up for lost ; ever since he had ascertained that
the miserable wretch had been guilty of a taste for the fine arts, and
had actually uttered strange language, indicating occasional sympathy
for his fellow creatures, couched, alas ! in the abominable form of senti-
ment. Moreover, he was at this time too busily engaged in the composi-
tion of a work intended to prove that all men were rascals, and that,
accordingly, all men should beware of all men ; and it was an ingenious
expedient of his logic, that whenever he found a particular conclusion
at direct variance with the principle he sought to establish, that princi-
ple was set down at once as steadfast, immovable, and not to be contro-
verted.

There were, at this juncture, several paths open to Drearywit, into
one of which I would willingly have introduced that young man ; very
good paths in their way, although not so precisely gravelled and

412 Dreary toil and his Friends. x Q APRIL,

smoothly rolled out as the pleasant promenade on which he had hitherto
delighted to parade. For instance, by a strenuous exertion of interest,
a sinecure might have offered its stool and salary for his reception ; or,
he might have let himself out as shadow to a young fellow of fortune,
or compendious abstract of witticism and repartee, or convenient echo
of horse-laughs and puppyisms, whereto, " profits might accrue/' Or,
if he really possessed any talent, he might have scribbled a fashionable
novel ; or, if he were entirely destitute of brains, he might have done
the same thing writh as much advantage to himself. Against all which
projects he decidedly set his face. Well, then ; there was the establish-
ment of a republic in South America, a blessed chance of distinguishing
himself, with magnificent remuneration " in fuluro ;" or there was the
independence of Greece, and the rapture of enthusiastic and never-
ending reference to Marathon and ThermopylEe, with a special recom-
mendation to Capo d'Istrias. No, it would not do. Further, there
were matrimonial chances, connubial bliss, domestic peace, rich heiress,
complying widow, or expectant spinster of the last century. This was
by no means palatable. He said, one might as reasonably fall into a
well and expect to find Truth there, as fall in love arid hope to meet with
her in a woman ; and he cited instances in which certain friends of his
had met with ruinous reverses, nay, with untimely deaths, in conse-
quence of such witless extravagance of sentiment.

Finding my endeavours likely to produce no fruit worth the gather-
mg, I left the foolish and wrong-headed wretch to his own obstinate
devices and determinations ; and I shortly afterwards heard of his de-
parture, with the wrecks of his property, for New South Wales, where
he fully expects to realize a very large fortune in a very little period ;
and, for my part, I sincerely wish that he may get it.

And thus abruptly terminated the hopes and flattering expectations
which we had been too prone to entertain of this young gentleman ;
and, perhaps, the recital may not be without its advantage if it operate
as a warning against the folly and extravagance of youth. And if the
reader should, after all, be unconscious of the moral intended herein,
why, I must even dismiss him in the chin-clad dervise style of the
eighteenth century — " Go, my son, be virtuous and be happy."

As for Harebrain, I had occasion to see him a short time ago. It
appears, he is about to square the circle and discover the longitude ;
and he has, he avers, succeeded in creating a perpetual motion. And
he maintains, that his mansion at Battersea is the very Temple of
Reason, and his strait waistcoat the academic robe of a Stoic Philo-
sopher.

1832/J [ 413 3«srvjwtl

hi\d 3r rjj gu jiro JbslloT yirltoomti

ON THE STATE OF CRIMINAL JUSTICE IN TRANCE.

THE code of laws which, in France, regulates the prosecution and
punishment of crimes and offences, is one of iron-handed oppression.
Bequeathed by the expiring despotism of the French empire, to the
restoration of the Bourbons, it has outlived the ascendancy of that
infatuated race, to form, at the present day, a strange anomaly with the
principles which led to the revolution of 1830 — with the constitution
then framed — with the free institutions upon which the French monar-
chy now reposes.

Napoleon, in the zenith of his power, framed the Code df Instruction
Criminelle rather as a means of arbitrary government than a preventive
of crime ; and with this view, he exempted public functionaries from
its operation. With the semblance of providing against all undue ex-
ercise of power, this code tends, in reality, to keep the community in
awe by the terror of its oppression. No individual, however free from
reproach, who does not belong to the class of functionaries, is beyond
the reach of its lash ; for no evidence is required to deprive him of his
liberty, it being a doctrine of French criminal law, that an accusation
must in itself warrant provisional imprisonment until proof of the fact
can be found. Thus any citizen may be incarcerated upon a mere
alleged culpability, and kept in confinement, without a trial, during an
indefinite lapse of time, even to the term of life itself, provided an inter-
rogatory, or any other act of instruction take place once in every ten
years.*

The due execution of this monstrous code is entrusted to the discreet
vigilance of a body of the high magistracy, consisting of the several
Procureurs Generaux, Procureurs du Roi, Avocals Generaux, Avocats du
Hoi, and Substituts. These officers constitute the Ministere public, or
agency of public prosecution, of which each Procureur General is the
chief within the jurisdiction of the Cour Royale to which he is attached.
They exercise a variety of functions, and are invested with a power
over the liberties of the subject, almost beyond control, and entirely
free from personal responsibility. A French Procureur General is at
the same time high magistrate and public prosecutor, accusing from the
very judgment seat; he unites in his single person the character of
judge with the duties of high sheriff and chief constable, and thus holds
in one hand the scales of justice, and in the other wields the sword of
executive power ; his requisitoire consigns to jail whomsoever it may
please him to tax with crime,t or even incipient criminal intention, and
no acquitted prisoner can be liberated but upon his warrant, which he
may at all times withhold. He exercises, moreover, a special surveifc
lance\ over the criminal judges, and with it a necessarily strong per-
sonal influence, much increased by the great patronage he enjoys, as
the judges look forward to preferment through his recommendation.

In French law, the action civile, and the action criminelle, resulting

* Code cT Instruction Criminelle, 637-

•j- Code ^Instruction Criminelle^ 47, authorizes the Procureur du Roi to accuse and
incarcerate, no matter how he may have acquired his information. See, also, same
code, 22, 27, 47, 249, 274, &c. &c. &c., relative to the functions of the Minislere
public.

± Code d'Instruction Crimindle, 270.

414 On the Stale of Criminal Justice in France. [APRIL,

from the same fact, are quite distinct, and the right of criminal prose-
cution is vested solely in the public prosecutor.* The person injured
cannot arrest the action of the Ministere public, and if he join in such
action, he can become a party, only so far as regards his civil interests ;
but he is bound to pay all the costs, should the accused be acquitted.

The formidable attributes of the Ministere public being, as we have
already observed, unattended with responsibility, are the more danger-
ous, because every functionary invested with them, holds his appoint-
ment at the pleasure of the crown. Hence they become an engine of
cruel oppression in the hands of a corrupt government. But the most
common inducement to exercise them with undue, not to say unjust and
inhuman severity, is one of personal interest — the hope of preferment
to higher rank. The promotion of an officer of the parquet^ depends,
after his subserviency to the existing government, upon his skill in
detecting the existence of crime, and his success in obtaining convic-
tions where the justice of conviction is doubtful. To prove criminality
without evidence, is a test of talent which leads to distinction and
celebrity.

Neither is transcendant eloquence, nor forcible reasoning, a necessary
concomitant of success in such cases. A plausible man, of very ordi-
nary talents, may easily succeed in misleading an unsuspicious jury,
because every thing connected with the administration of justice, in a
French Cour d'Assises — nay, the very law itself — assists the public pro-
secutor in his attempt to maintain the truth of that which he knows to
be false, or, to use a milder expression, in his endeavour to present as
true that which he doubts. The criminal law of France is founded
upon the doctrine of constructive crime, and the investigation made by
a judge of instruction, instead of being confined to the proof of a spe-
cific charge, extends to the whole previous life of the person impli-
cated ; by which means a mass of facts, independent of each other, and
presenting not in themselves a shadow of criminality, may be so con-
nected and arranged as to form a specious semblance of guilt. It
matters not whether these facts be brought to bear upon the identical
imputation which gave rise to the proceedings, or upon any new charge,
provided a crime of some sort be framed out of the materials collected ;
because the title of the accusation is not fixed until the instruction is
terminated, and the party ready for trial.

The labours of the judge of instruction, J selected in each case by the
public prosecutor himself, depend, as to their duration, upon his mere
will, or, perhaps, upon that of the Ministere public, to whom he is
always obsequiously subservient. An incarceration of several years
before trial is an event of common occurrence ;§ nor, after conviction, is
this previous captivity, termed provisional, ever taken into account,
_ .

* Same code, 1, 3, and 4.

-j- Office assigned to the members of the Ministere public.

£ There are twelve judges of instruction at Paris.

§ M. Bourbon-Leblanc, a distinguished French Advocate, to whom Peyronnet,
formerly Minister of Justice, and Jacquinot-Pampelune, ex-Procureur General of
Paris, were personally hostile, was arrested, provisionally, in 1824, and tried and
acquitted in 1830, a period of more than six years ! ! ! Bail can never be received
when the charge is above a simple offence (delictus), and when allowed on the
most trivial charge, the law makes it a favour, and not a right, so that it is optional
with the public prosecutor and the Chamber of Counsel to grant it or not.

1832.] On the State of Criminal Justice in France. 415

much less is any indemnity obtained on acquittal. During the period
of such punishment by anticipation, the judge of instruction may apply
every species of torture short of the actual rack. Solitary confinement
in a dark cell — long and harassing secret examinations — privations
beyond those usually inflicted in prisons — all communication prevented
with family and friends — beset by spies day and night, and every casual
expression tortured into self-accusation ; — such, and many others
equally cruel, are the means resorted to by judges of instruction, and
persevered in for years, in the hope of overcoming the patience of the
accused, and inducing an avowal of what perhaps does not exist.
" Nemo tenetur se ipsum accusare" is a maxim of our own law ; so it is
of the jurisprudence upon which the French pretend to have founded
theirs ; yet it is spurned in the practical criminal law of France, where
so much importance is attached to an avowal or admission of crime on
the part of the accused, that to obtain it every mean stratagem is em-
ployed.

The proceedings are carried on, in secrecy, under the direction of the
public prosecutor, and the accused denied all access to them. The law
even provides, that each witness summoned by a judge of instruction
shall be heard, out of the presence of the accused, who is thus kept in
ignorance of the charges against him. In a word, the leading principle
of the Code d' Instruction Criminelle seems to be, that the means of accus-
ing and prosecuting shall be subject to no restraint, and those of defence
confined to the narrowest possible compass.

The judge of instruction terminates his share of the prosecution by a
report to the Chamber of Counsel, composed of five judges, over whom
lie himself presides. If the accused is to be discharged, there must be
unanimity of opinion in this chamber, a single vote being sufficient to
send him before the Cour lloyale. Thus the opinion of the judge of
instruction, when unfavourable to the prisoner, decides the point, and
his report is always signed by the other judges, as a matter of course.

When the proceedings are transmitted to the Chamber of Accusation,
which is a section of the Cour Royale, the accused is called upon to
furnish, within five days, a written justification, without, however,
being allowed to see the proceedings, or to know the specific charges
against him. This is quite a mockery of justice, as likewise is the
decision of this chamber, which is always given upon the report of one
of its members delegated to examine the case. All the proceedings of
the Chambers of Counsel and of Accusation are secret ; and the secret
deliberations of judges in France are, to use the words of an eminent
lawyer of that country, ' ' des ^changes d'egards et de procedes avec Mon-
sieur le Procureur General auxquelles ou sacrifie impunement, dans le
secret du conseil, I'honneur et le repos des families.''

The report of the judge of instruction, confirmed by the Chambers of
Counsel and of Accusation, contains, in too many cases, broad allegations,
unsupported by the slightest evidence ; and to such an extent is this
carried, not only in such report, but likewise in the Procureur General's
act of accusation, that facts are assumed, and false inferences drawn, for
the mere purpose of presenting a case to the jury.* It may readily be

* This may appear too highly coloured, but it is, nevertheless, literally true.
The public prosecutor and the judge of instruction have, to use a French expres-
sion, •• la tUc clans le mime bonnet ,-" and when an individual, however innocent, has

416 On the State of Criminal Justice in France. [APRIL,

imagined that such statements, coming, as they do, to the jury with all
the weight of judicial authority, often make an undue impression upon
the most impartial, and the honour, perhaps the life, of an innocent
man may be sacrificed to the selfish ambition of the accusing ma-
gistrate.

By means such as we have described, the public prosecutor in
France obtains a very powerful auxiliary to his personal talents. But
this is not all. In a French Cour d'Assises there are no protecting rules
of evidence ; neither is there any humane participation by the presiding
judge in the defence of the accused. The bench generally take a
decided, and often disgraceful, part against the latter. Prior to the
trial, they study the case from the materials collected by the judge of
instruction ; and it is notorious that their minds are made up upon the
merits of the accusation, from these ex-parte materials, before the pri-
soner has had an opportunity of offering any defence. A general bias
of the assize judges in France in favour of the prosecution arises from
this vicious system ; and the resuming or summing up of the evidence
by the president has several times been noticed in the French legisla-
ture as an additional pleading against the accused, and, as such, subver-
sive of the true ends of justice.

With regard to evidence, none is really required to convict. " The
law," says the Code d' Instruction Criminelle, Art. 342, " does not
inquire how, or by what means the jury have become convinced. It
prescribes to them no rules by which they are to fix the plenitude or
sufficiency of a cause. The only question is, have they an intimate
conviction ?" In short, the law authorizes their coming to a conclusion
without any evidence whatever, and upon mere circumstantial inference.
This is termed the omnipotence of the jury.

It cannot be denied that such a system is highly dangerous to public
justice ; for it actually breaks down the safety-barrier, with which the
necessity of proving ought to surround and protect the accused, who is
otherwise exposed to the errors and imperfections of human judgment,
unbridled by those wise laws of evidence, which serve as a counterpoise
to its fallacy. The French legislator has, either wilfully or inadvert-
ently, laid down a wrong principle — having confounded intimate con-
viction with mere opinion formed on hypothetical reasoning. Con-
viction can proceed only from certainty, and certainty cannot exist
where a doubt is possible. Intimate conviction of a physical fact can,
therefore, be obtained from physical proof alone. To be intimately
convinced you must be as sure as if you had yourself seen or heard ;
and such actual certainty, if not the result of your own senses, must,
by the evidence of other people's senses, be brought upon your mind
in the same manner as your own seeing or hearing would do. This
last kind of proof is that submitted to the jury in judicial trials; and
in England, where its principles are so well understood, it is subjected
to rules which, so far as human foresight can extend, have provided
against every chance of error.

been detained in prison twelve or eighteen months, these worthies will strain
every nerve to get him condemned, in order to justify his previous detention. In
1828, Count Portalis, then Minister of Justice, stated" in the Chamber of Deputies,
that a prisoner was seldom detained more than twelve months ivithout a trial, unless the
Ministtre public felt sure of getting him convicted !

1832.J On the State of Criminal Justice in France. 417

Certain it is, that where no evidence is required — where all the ad-
vantages belong to the prosecutor, and none to the accused — where the
judges take a decided part against the latter, and have the last word
against him — the jury may, in their pretended omnipotence, be in-
veigled into an act of injustice ; but when a power above the law itself
is applied by the presiding judge to any particular view of the case,
which the ex-parte statements of the prosecution may have made him
take, it becomes still more difficult for the prisoner to burst his toils ;
he must shew innocence in a twenty-fold ratio ere he clear himself
from imputation. This formidable power, termed discretionary, is
given to the president by the Code d' Instruction Criminelle, Art. 268.
Being undefined by the law, it is exercised to an unlimited extent. By
it, the president is enabled to dispense with all protecting forms of law,
and actually to set aside the solemn judgments of his own court, in
which he has concurred as president, but whose effect he paralyzes, en
vertu de son pouvoir discretionnaire.* Added to this, is the faculty,
which the law ascribes to the presiding judge, of wording the questions
put to the jury ; and this is sometimes done so artfully as to produce
conviction where acquittal was evidently intended.

During the reign of Napoleon the operation of these laws was com-
paratively mild, because their most oppressive enactments, being princi-
pally applied to political offences, were not accompanied by that reck-
less thirst for condemnation, which has so disgraced the reigns of Louis
XVIII. and Charles X. Since the restoration of the Bourbons this code
has been applied to party feuds, prostituted to private malice and
revenge, and made a stepping-stone to ambition. The Minisiere Public
has actually revelled in the wantonness of his uncontrolled authority ;
the most delicate family secrets have been cruelly forced upon the notice
of the public — the venial faults of youthful indiscretion, long ago for-
given and forgotten, have been revived and magnified into heinous
offences : in short, the honour and peace of families have been, and are
still, at the absolute discretion of men who ought to be made personally
responsible for the exercise of a dangerous and unconstitutional power,
which they are too much inclined to misuse.

It might have been expected that the revolution of 1830t would have
put an end to a system so contrary to its principles. M. Barthe, the
present minister of justice, and his predecessor, M. Merilhou, have
both oftentimes admitted the discrepancy between the Code & Instruc-
tion Criminelle and a constitutional government. Nevertheless, this
code has been suffered to remain, in all its native deformity, as an
appendage to constitutional freedom, whose exuberance it is, no doubt,
intended to check. The only improvement in the criminal laws, which
the Perier administration has deemed expedient, is a partial revision of
the penal code, whose operation is merely dependent upon that of

• A disgraceful instance of this occurred, in 1830, at the Cour d'Assises of the
Departement du Lot. It is recorded in the " Gazette de Tribunaux" and also, with
severe comments, in the " Censeur Judiciaire." Our limits prevent our giving the
particulars of the case.

•f When order was restored after this revolution, M. Bernard de Rennes ac-
cepted the office of Procureur General at Paris, and M. Barthe that of Procureur
du Rol. But these distinguished individuals soon discovered that such offices were
not in unison with their high-minded notions of honour and delicacy, and they
retained them only a few weeks.

M.M. New Series.— -VoL. XIII. fto. 76. 2 F

418 On the Mate of Criminal Justice in France. [APRIL,

which we have endeavoured to point out some of the defects. Cusimir
Perier comprehends not the wants of his country — he misunderstands
the revolution of 1830, which he would fain degrade to a modified
restoration of the Bourbons ; and he, perhaps, finds use for such an
engine as the Code d' Instruction Criminelle, whenever he would smother
the cry of popular discontent. How much longer a system so hostile
to the institutions of a free people may be tolerated, is beyond the scan
of human foresight ; but from the manner «in which it bears upon the
French community, they who sanction its oppressive operation may,
perchance, in the end, " draw the string a little too tight."

C.

THE DIAMOND DISTRICT OF THE SERIIO DO FRIO.

WHEN the ex-emperor, Don Pedro, raised the standard of Brazilian
Independence at the Villa de Piranga, in Minas Geraes, I was residing
at Villa Rica, the capital of that province. Foreseeing that the tide of
political events would soon oblige me to return to the Rio de Janeiro,
I resolved previously to leaving the interior provinces, to visit the
Diamond District of the Serro do Frio. The prodigious value which,
in every age and country, has been attached to diamonds, and, perhaps,
too, some old nursery recollections, powerfully excited in my mind an
ardent desire to see this far-famed district — though when I tell the
reader that I am but an indifferent mineralogist, he will probably think
that the feeling which actuated me was very similar to that which in-
duced the celebrated Tom Sheridan to descend into a coal-pit, merely
for the pleasure of being able to say he had been there. At any other
period I should not have been able to procure the necessary permission
for my journey from the official authorities, so studiously was all access
to the Diamond District prohibited by the Portuguese government, to
whom belonged every diamond found throughout the country. Even
in Brazil itself little was known of this region beyond the immediate
sphere of the few individuals officially employed there by the govern-
ment. It was governed by a code of regulations, drawn up by the
hand of the celebrated Pombal himself. On leaving the Comarca, all
persons were subjected on the frontiers to a rigorous examination, both
of person and property. But liberalism had become the fashion of the
times ; to depart from every regulation enacted by the old government
was now political " bon ton." Pombal, formerly the object of their
admiration, was declared a despot ; and thus did I obtain my passport
from the same cause which, only a few months earlier, would have in-
duced the authorities to have haughtily refused it.

Having made the necessary preparations for the journey, I left Villa
Rica on the 9th of October, accompanied by a trusty guide and two
negro servants. The whole party was well mounted, and moved in
light marching order. Francisco, the guide, was a shrewd, intelligent
fellow, well acquainted with the country ; he knew, moreover, every
page of the Chronique Scandaleuse du Pays for several hundred miles ;
it was his invariable custom to divert the tedium of our day's journey,
by relating some anecdote of the family with whom we were to take
up our quarters for the night. If one twentieth part of the Senhor

1832. j The Diamond District of the Serro do Frio. 419

Francisco's histories were true, gold and diamonds were certainly much
more abundant productions in the country through which I was tra-
velling than chastity and morality. To my great mortification, I
found, however, that his own did not stand very high along our line of
route ; he was a grempeiro (a smuggler), and had been extensively
engaged in the contraband trade of diamonds, which accounted for his
accurate knowledge of the country ; a circumstance, too, and travelling,
as I did, with such a personage in my suite, that subjected more than
once the motives of my own journey to painful misconstruction. Indeed, a
suspicion that I was myself a contrabandista of superior grade, appeared
to be lurking in Francisco's mind. I frequently observed him minutely
examining every article of my baggage, and once I caught him striking
the butt-end of my gun and my pistols against a large stone, in order
to ascertain by the sound if they contained cavities for the secretion of
the precious gems, besides endeavouring to draw from me, by artful
inuendos, the motive of my journey.

Travelling in Brazil, even in the most populous parts, is no sinecure.
And yet there is a wild excitement, a feeling of ecstacy, produced on
the mind when wandering through these magnificent and auriferous
regions — regions cast by Nature in a titanic world — that I have never
felt, even when sojourning amid the classic spots of the old world,
consecrated by the lapse of ages, and hallowed by the inspiring asso-
ciations of history and romance.

We generally bivouacked for the night at a rancho, a sort of shed,
open on every side, to leeward of which there was always a large fire.
I preferred this, in preference to taking up my quarters at a venda,
or a fazenda, the owners of which so pestered me with questions, that I
fairly believe they took me for an " Encyclopedic Ambulante." It
moreover afforded me an opportunity of studying the wild, independent
character of the inhabitants of the country. My nocturnal companions
were chiefly muleteers, proceeding from the capital to the distant pro-
vinces of Goyazes or Matto Grosso, gipsy merchants, parties of
miners, men, in short, of every caste. But wild and savage as was
their demeanour, their manners were simple and kind. They inva-
riably swung my hammock in the best part of the rancho, and would
hang up a hide, or their large ponchos, to shelter it from the nocturnal
breeze. On these occasions the social qualities of my guide shone forth
with considerable lustre. He would collect the party around him in
groups, and entertain them with some wild legend of the country. They
generally turned on the early history of the colonists ; on the discovery
of some mine of extraordinary richness, all traces of which had been un-
fortunately lost by the untimely death of the discoverer ; and, as the
narrative proceeded, the dark visages of the listeners would glisten like
copper when exposed to the action of the furnace. It was interesting to
observe the effect produced on the minds of these people, by these sto-
ries, so common in every mining district on the globe, and which have
so singularly affected the moral and social condition of their inhabitants.
On the conclusion of the story, they would sit, wrapped in deep silence,
each of them, perhaps, dreaming at the moment that it might be his
own fate to again discover this fabulous " el dorado/' At other times
Francisco would take his guitar, and sing to its accompaniment some
plaintive inodinha of the country, or striking a livelier strain, would
excite the wild movements of their national dance. The grouping of

2 F 2

420 The Diamond District of the Serro do Frio. [ APRIL,

the figures, their singularly wild and picturesque costume, their savage
air, heightened by the red glare of the fire, produced a pictorial effect,
which only the pencil of a Salvator or a Murillo could delineate. On
one occasion the harmony of the evening was interrupted by a serious
brawl. A miner, a tall, morose-looking fellow, took fire at the atten-
tion paid by Francisco to a pretty mulatto girl, who was travelling
under his protection, and on whom the handsome person, and fascinat-
ing powers of the guide made considerable impression. The jealousy
of the miner was aroused, and he applied to F/ancisco the opprobrious
terms of cigano (gipsy), and grempeiro (smuggler) ; the former re-
torted, by the term " baeta," an allusion to the coarse fabric of his
poncho, and one which no miner can patiently endure. In an instant
his knife was out, and but for my timely interference, in another I
should have been deprived of the valuable services of my guide. On
the following morning Francisco, aware of the vindictive character of
his countryman, struck into a route only known to himself; and on
the evening of the same day, the ninth since we left Villa Rica, we
arrived at the Villa do Principe, situated almost on the verge of the
Diamond District.

The country through which we had travelled was, perhaps, the
richest on the face of the globe. In the year 1750, the produce of the
gold mines in Minas Geraes was estimated at upwards of six millions
sterling, produced almost solely by the simple operation of washing in
the mountain streams. But the moral and social condition of the inha-
bitants of these auriferous regions was at the lowest ebb. The extra-
ordinary wealth accumulated by some of the earliest mining adventurers,
the fabulous legends they left behind them, have so dazzled the
imagination of their descendants, as to totally unfit them for all the
ordinary occupations of social life. On our line of route many of the
hills were pierced like honeycombs ; and in every direction we saw
streams diverted from their course for the purpose of gold washings.
Thus they dream away their existence in pursuit of a shadow, and
neglect the more solid advantages of agriculture, in a land in which
the productions of every soil and climate would almost spontaneously
flourish.

On leaving the Villa do Principe, the geological features of the coun-
try were completely changed ; it was dreary and barren, and full of
embedded stones ; the trees had no longer the same luxuriant growth ;
the mountains were bare and black, and their tops exposed to the
benumbing influence of a cold, bleak wind. We were now within
sight of the mountain boundary of the far-famed Valley of Diamonds ;
and fatigued by a hard day's riding, I felt anxious to arrive at our
halting-place for the night. " Who," said I to the guide, as we toiled
up a steep ascent, "is this Illustrissimo and Valerosissimo Capitam de
Cavalleria" (for such was the hyperbolical superscription of my letter
of recommendation), " with whom we are to take up our quarters for
the night ?" — t( Senhor," replied Francisco, with gravity, " he hum
homen da chapa tern venda ;" (he is a man of property, and has a
venda, a chandler's shop on a large scale) ; " but," he added, " he muito
impertinente," (he is very curious) j a sufficient reason, I thought, tired
as I was, for declining the honour of his acquaintance, even though we
passed the night on the summit of the Sierra. Avoiding, therefore, the
habitation of this personage by a considerable detour, for his dignity

1832.] The Diamond District of the Serro do Frio. 421

would have taken fire had we passed near it without paying our re-
spects, we resolved on gaining the rancho on the Rio Milho Verde by a
forced march.

The moon was just rising when we reached the summit of the lofty
Sierra that surrounds the Diamond District ; the scene that suddenly
burst upon us will, to the last day of my existence, be green in the
memory : it was one of Alpine magnificence, and one which forcibly
recalled to the recollection the glowing descriptions of the Arabian
tales.

On every side arose, high on the blue expanse of the heavens, the
peaks of gigantic mountains, of almost perpendicular elevation, down
the bare sides of which rushed impetuously into the valley beneath,
innumerable torrents, glittering in the moon-beams like liquid silver.
A thick mist hung over the valley, beneath whose surface lay hid those
precious gems, the noblest ornament of the monarch's diadem, the pride
of beauty, the universal object of research in every age ; on the value
of which the caprices and vicissitudes of fashion have been powerless.
I stood, gazing on the wild scenery around, till the cold mountain blast
reminded me that I should find much more comfortable quarters on the
Rio Milho Verde. We reached, about the middle of the ensuing day,
Tejuco, the capital of the District, in the very centre of which it is
situated. It contained about five thousand souls ; but so barren was the
soil in its immediate vicinity, that every thing necessary for the sub-
sistence of its inhabitants was brought from a considerable distance. I
met with a most hospitable reception from the Commandante das Armas,
who insisted on my making his house my home. My host was a man
of superior intelligence, and he appeared to think that his country was
not yet politically ripe for a revolution. He entertained the most ex-
alted idea of the power of England. " Grande nacao sao os Inglezes,"
said he, " porem bebem muito/' (the English are a great people, but
are very hard drinkers). This opinion of the gallant commandant's is
general throughout both Spanish and Portuguese America. The late
king of Portugal, though extremely fond of the English, looked upon
us, nevertheless, as a nation of drunkards.

When the congreve rockets were first introduced into the navy, the
admiral on the Brazil station proposed to exhibit to the King Don
Juan VI. the effect of these formidable projectiles. His majesty con-
sented, and the whole court were accordingly assembled in the balco-
nies of the palace at the Rio, for the purpose of witnessing the spec-
tacle. By some mishap, of very frequent occurrence in the early his-
tory of these missiles, at the moment of firing the tube veered round,
and the rocket, instead of flying over to Praia grande, took the opposite
direction, and fell and exploded in the great square, almost beneath the
windows of the palace. The consternation of the king was only
equalled by the mortification of the admiral, who immediately dis-
patched an officer on shore to explain the cause of the contretemps
to his majesty ; and offering to let off another, but the terrified monarch
would not hear of it. "I have a great respect," said he, "for my good
allies, the English, but after dinner they are absolutely fit for nothing ;"
an observation which clearly indicated to what cause his majesty attri-
buted the unfortunate result of the exhibition. Two days after my
arrival at Tejuco, I rode out to the principal diamond works in the Com-
marco, on the Rio Jigito?ihonka. The operation of working for these

422 The Diamond District of the 'Serro do Frio. [APRIL,

precious gems is a very simple one. The alluvial soil (the cascalhao) is
dug up from the bed of the river, and removed to a convenient spot
on the banks for working. The process is as follows : — a rancho is
erected, about a hundred feet long, and half that distance in width ;
down the middle of the area is conveyed a canal, covered with earth ;
on the other side of the area is a flooring of planks, about sixteen feet
in length, extending the whole length of the shed, and to which an
inclined direction is given ; this flooring is divided into troughs, into
which is thrown a portion of the cascalhao ; the water is then let in,
and the earth raked until the water becomes clear ; the earthy particles
having been washed away, the gravel is raked up to the end of the
trough ; the largest stones are thrown out, and afterwards the smaller
ones, the whole is then examined with great care for diamonds. When
a negro finds one, he claps his hands, stands in an erect posture, hold-
ing the diamond between his fore-finger and thumb ; it is received by
' on'e of the overseers posted on lofty seats, at equal distances, along the
line of the work. On the conclusion of the work, the diamonds found
during the day are weighed, and registered by the overseer en chef.
If a negro has the good fortune to find a stone weighing upwards of
seventeen carats, he is immediately manumitted, and for smaller stones
proportionate premiums are given. There are, besides, several other
works on this river, and on other streams, but the supply of diamonds
falls now considerably short of former periods, and their produce
scarcely defrays the expences.

The Diamond District of the Serro do Frio is about twenty leagues
in length, and nine in breadth ; the soil is barren, but intersected by
numerous streams. It was first discovered by some miners, shortly
after the establishment of the Villa do Principe. In working for gold
in the rivulets of Milho Verde and St. Goncalzes, they discovered
some pebbles of geometric form, and of a peculiar hue and lustre. For
some years these pebbles were given as pretty baubles to children, or
used as counters for marking the points of their favourite game of vol-
tarete. At last an officer, who had been some years at Goa, in the East
Indies, arrived in the Commarca : he was struck with the peculiar form
of these pebbles, and from several experiments he made, it struck him
that they were diamonds. He immediately collected a few, and sent
them to Holland, where, to the astonishment of the lapidaries, they
were found to be brilliants of the finest water. It will be easily ima-
gined, that on the arrival of this intelligence in Brazil, the hitherto
despised counters suddenly became the objects of universal research,
and almost immediately disappeared.

The government of Portugal now issued a decree, declaring all
diamonds a monopoly of the crown. For a length of time it was con-
sidered that diamonds were confined solely to the District of Serro Frio.
But this is an error ; they are found in almost every part of the empire,
particularly in the remote provinces of Goyazes and Matto Grosso,
where there exist several districtos diamantescos. These gems have
been even found on the tops of the highest mountains ; indeed, it is the
opinion of the Brazilian mineralogists that the original diamond forma-
tions are in the mountains, and that they will one day or other be dis-
covered in such quantities, as to render them objects of comparatively
small value.

The largest diamond in the world was found in the river Abaite,

ia32.J The Diamond Dix/.ricl of the Serro. do Frio. 423

about ninety-two leagues to N.W. of Serro do Frio. The history of
its discovery is romantic : — three Brazilians, Ant° de Souza, Jose Felix
Gomes, and Thomas de Souza, were sentenced, for some supposed mis-
demeanour, to perpetual banishment in the wildest part of the Interior.
Their sentence was a cruel one ; but the region of their exile was the
richest in the world ; every river rolled over a bed of gold, every valley
contained inexhaustible mines of diamonds. A suspicion of this kind
enabled these unfortunate men to support the horrors of their fate ;
they were constantly sustained by the golden hope of discovering some
rich mine, that would produce a reversion of their hard sentence. Thus
they wandered about, for nearly six years, in quest of mines ; but
fortune was at last propitious. An excessive draught had laid dry the
bed of the river Abaite, and here, while working for gold, they dis-
covered a diamond of nearly an ounce in weight. Overwhelmed with
joy at this providential discovery, they resolved to proceed, at all
hazards, to Villa Rica, and trust to the mercy of the crown. The
governor, on beholding the magnitude and lustre of the gem, could
scarcely credit the evidence of his senses. He immediately appointed
a commission of the officers of the Diamond District to report on its
nature ; and on their pronouncing it a real diamond, it was immediately
dispatched to Lisbon. It is needless to add that the sentence of the
three " condamnados" was immediately reversed.

This celebrated diamond has been estimated by Rome de 1'Isle at the
enormous sum of three hundred millions sterling. It is uncut, but the
late King of Portugal, who had a passion for precious stones, had a
hole bored through it, in order to wear it suspended about his neck on
gala days. No sovereign possessed so fine a collection of diamonds as
this prince.

The average annual produce of these mines since their first disco-
very, is estimated at 25,000 to 30,000 carats, and the expense of the
works from £20,000 to £25,000 sterling ; but it is supposed that dia-
monds to the amount of nearly £3,000,000 have been extracted by the
contrabandistas, whose illicit trade the most vigilant measures of the
government have been unable to check. Nothing can give a stronger
idea of the jealous vigilance with which this district was watched, than
the code of regulations, drawn up in the fiercest spirit of eastern des-
potism, by the celebrated Minister Pombal, in the year 1775. Accord-
ing to this " regimento," no person, however exalted his rank, could
enter the District without the permission of the Intendente General.
All persons who possessed no ostensible vocation were compelled
to leave it ; and should they return, the offender was banished for life
to the coast of Africa. But all this, and the organization of a corps of
cavalry, the officers and men of which were acquainted with every inch
of the country, was ineffectual in preventing smuggling. Such was the
"appas1' of gain, that the very government employes were more
extensively engaged in it than any others. Indeed, the venality of the
public functionaries in Brazil completely neutralizes all the efforts of
the government ; probably not more than one half of the revenue finds
its way into the government coffers. Some years ago, while residing at
one of the northern ports, an English vessel arrived with a cargo of
gunpowder — the article was, at the time, a strict monopoly of the
crown ; but notwithstanding the severe penalties attached to an illicit
trade, the whole cargo was landed — landed under the eyes, and by the

424 The Diamond District of the Serro do Frio. [_ APRIL,

administrador of the custom house himself, who shared in the immense
profits of the transaction. And yet the words honour and patriotism are
constantly in the mouths of these people.

After sojourning upwards of three weeks in the Commarca, I re-
turned to Villa Rica,, where I dismissed Francisco, who, I believe, had
found an opportunity of indulging in his old vocation. Notwithstand-
ing his notorious reputation as a smuggler, I was surprised at the terms
of easy familiarity with which he treated even the intendente himself.
I believe they perfectly understood each other. Francisco was a
gipsy; his people are numerous in Brazil, and carry on the whole
commerce of the interior. The epoch at which this singular people,
whose origin has occupied so much of the labours of the learned world,
migrated to the wilds of South America, I could never ascertain from
any Brazilian, who are singularly ignorant of every thing connected
with the early settlement of their country. I once questioned Fran-
cisco on this interesting subject, in the hope that some old tradition of
the event might be preserved among his tribe; but I received the
universal answer given to every other such question, " Quern sabe."

The character of the Brazilian people, who pompously style them-
selves a nation of demi-gods, may be briefly sketched : — their numerous
vices are scarcely redeemed by a single good quality. In cunning
they surpass all people — all must yield to the Brazilian. No check is
imposed on his rapacity and fraud by the fear of detection, the con-
sciousness of shame, the sense of justice, the love of honour ; specious-
ness, craft, dishonesty, swindling, lying, gasconade, and cowardice, form
the grand features of their character, coupled with every other vice that
can degrade human nature.

ON WHAT PRINCIPLES IS THE IRISH CHURCH ESTABLISHMENT

FOUNDED ?

WE think we can answer this important question.

1st. A congregation is non-essential to the existence of a church.
The common idea that clergy is a relative term having laity for its cor-
relative is erroneous.

2d. Supposing that by any accident there is a laity, its numbers are
never for a moment to be considered in fixing the numbers or incomes
of the clergy. The former may be counted by hundreds, and the
latter by thousands, without the slightest impropriety.

3d. The same disproportion may lawfully exist between the wealth
of the church and the resources of the country. A people vegetating
upon potatoes and sea-weed, and a priesthood dining on venison and
drinking claret, is no anomaly, but the most reasonable state of things
imaginable.

4th. The interests of the flock are to be taken into account only when
they are not opposed to the affluence and ease of the minister.

5th. The chief part of the pastoral office is the sheep- shearing.

6th. The laity should concern themselves about one thing only,—
namely, that the clergy be well provided with the good things of this
world : the clergy should be left to take care of every thing else.

7th. The text — " You cannot serve God and Mammon/' is an inter-
polation, and of no authority whatever.

1832.] On what Principles is the Irish Church Establishment Founded. 425

8th. That other text — " The labourer is worthy of his hire/' is a mis-
construction of the original, which should be translated thus — " The
rector is worthy of his tithe." The notion of labour and hire is incon-
sistent with the dignity of the church.

9th. A clergyman may reside amongst his parishioners if he likes ;
but it is by no means incumbent on him to do so. He can take as good
care of their souls, living in Bath or Naples, as in his own glebe-house.

10th. Pluralities are perfectly consistent with the spirit, though per-
haps no- where directly sanctioned by the letter of holy writ.

llth. Union is good in all things ; especially union of parishes.

12th. As the number of priests is not to be regulated by that of the
people, so is not the number of bishops to be regulated by that of the
priests. Although twenty-six mitres are enough in England for seven
thousand rectors, it by no means follows, that twenty-two mitres are
too much in Ireland for twelve hundred rectors. Bishoprics are great
blessings, they cannot abound too much.

13th. The same holds good of deans, arch-deacons, and dignitaries of
every degree.

14th. A bishop is " Episcopus" or Overlooker: he may therefore
overlook religion altogether.

15th. A church never looks so comely as when she is literally a
" Church Militant," fenced in by thirty thousand bayonets, and a park
of artillery in every parish.

16th. A minister of the gospel is never seen to such advantage as
when he is charging his flock at the head of a troop of dragoons, or a
strong body of the constabulary force. This is what is described by
the psalmist, as " the beauty of holiness/'

17th. It is no objection to the establishment of a Protestant church,
that the people of the country where it is established are not Pro-
testants.

18th. The more reluctant the people are to pay tithe, the more need-
ful it is to force them to do it. Their hatred to tithe springs from their
irreligion.

19th. The argument for a church establishment gains strength the
more unpopular that institution becomes. Were it universally admired,
the people would be universally religious, and then there would be no
occasion for it at all.

20th. The best way to bring the nation round to the religion is to
make them hate the clergy. The tithe-proctor is the best apostle of
Protestantism ; and the tithe-system, (or such substitute for it as is-
contemplated by the present government,) the most powerful instru-
ment for advancing the reformation.

21st. Finally, it is never to be forgotten, that nations were made for
institutions, not institutions for nations.

These principles, co-numerous with the Bench of Bishops, seem to
embrace what may be called the spirit or genius of the Irish Ecclesias-
tical Establishment. We frankly confess, that we think them open to
some objections; and that, in a church constituted on such grounds,
there should be persons who believe it would be possible to make some
improvements, it does not appear to us to be matter of astonishment.

[ 426 ] [APRIL,

THE FIELD OF MONUMENTS I A VISION.

I HAVE often thought, when viewing a diversified country at sunset,
that the prospect might be aptly compared with a backward glance at
the history of literature. We look abroad upon the face of nature, and
we see it sprinkled with gilded eminences ; some nearer, others more
distant ; some rising almost up to heaven, others projecting but a little
way beyond the level of the earth ; these only are distinctly revealed to
the eye, though we know that many dark valleys, and many sterile flats
intervene, and that the broader and more towering eminences, have
thrown into shade some of the lesser heights which surround them.
And so, when we glance backward at the history of literature, we see
the great and the small start out from the vast level of past ages ; some
stand single, others in groups ; long and dreary wastes, their level
scarcely broken by a single prominence, stretch in one direction ; while
in another, hardly are we able to discover a vacant spot of earth. I
have often, in a dreaming hour, fancied myself wandering over this vast
level, upon which there seemed to be scattered the monuments of the
departed, shewing by their attitude the comparative genius of those
whom they commemorated ; and this, not according to the verdict of
mankind, but according to the final and unerring judgment of some
higher tribunal. It was but in the dusk of yesternight, that I stood
contemplating this wide plain, which seemed to be lighted up by the
oblique rays of the declining sun. At no great distance from the spot
where I stood, was a cluster of pillars, for the most part of moderate
altitude; beyond these, and to a considerable extent across the plain,
monuments were scattered, single, and in groups, and of various alti-
tudes, and of these, the most remote rose immeasurably the highest,
and stood upon the verge of a vast desert expanse, where scarcely a
single monument arrested the eye, as it glanced across to the extreme
limits of the plain ; but there, as if links between heaven and earth,
gigantic columns were seen towering up between it and the highest
horizon.

While I remained silently contemplating the scene, I saw a man sud-
denly step from behind one of the pillars, and advance towards the spot
where I stood : I had somehow an instinctive knowledge that this man
was able to be my cicerone over the field of monuments, and I received
him with much civility. <c You are no doubt desirous," said he, " to
learn the secrets which this plain reveals, and thus be able to estimate
the judgment of the world : you will see many things which may appear
wonderful to you, but you are one of a misjudging race ; sometimes
your verdicts are right, but they are oftener wrong. We who manage
matters here proceed upon more certain data." — " It is probable," I
replied, " that our hasty judgments are often incorrect, but time rectifies
our errors ; the mass of the world will always be led by the few in it
who are capable of judging, and therefore the deferred verdict of man-
kind must be just." — (( Just!" interrupted my companion, with some
heat, " how can justice result from erring judgments ? fashion, passion,
and prejudice, may indeed be corrected by time, but the powers of judg-
ment among men are not greater now than they were two thousand years
ago. Limited they have always been, and limited they will always be.
How, let me ask, should you be able to judge of the merits of a poem.

1832.] The Field of Monuments : a Piston. 427

when you are profoundly ignorant of the nature of that which has pro-
duced it, the mind ?" — " We judge by the result," I ventured to reply. —
" Truly an excellent way of judging/' said my companion, with a smile ;
" look at yourself, and look at this blade of grass ; judging by the result,
you would say that the genius which contrived the one, is more excel-
lent than that which produced the other ; and yet they are both the
work of Omnipotence ; but come, let me be your instructor and your
guide over this field of truth ;" and so saying, my companion walked in
silence towards the monuments.

We soon approached a group of monuments of different altitude, of
which three were more conspicuous than the others. " These names,"
said my companion, " are no doubt familiar to you, but your estimate
of them may perhaps have been erroneous."

I read upon the three pillars the names of Samuel Johnson, Oliver
Goldsmith, Laurence Sterne. Of these, the first appeared upon the
lowest of the three monuments, the second was inscribed upon the
highest, the last occupied a middle station. " What !" said I, in sur-
prise, " do you rate the genius of Johnson, the colossus of English
literature, lower than that of Goldsmith or Sterne ? Johnson, whose
learning was unbounded, whose mind was capable of embracing the
whole circle of letters ?"

" Softly," returned my companion, " we do not estimate men here by
what they may be thought capable of doing, but by what they have
done."

" And yet," said I, " Johnson has done much ; as a lexicographer,
at least, he has no competitor."

" So much the greater misfortune for the English language," replied
my companion ; " his work is an extraordinary example of persevering
labour in a man whose genius no doubt qualified him for a higher
sphere ; for when we contemplate the beauties which are scattered over
his moral and imaginative writings, we cannot but regret the sacrifice
which has probably been made of works from his pen, for a production
which would better have emanated from the combined labours of men of
inferior talent."

" But what," returned I, " do you say to the claims of Johnson as a
critic, a novelist, an essayest?"

" His great critical work," said my companion, " is more valuable as
a specimen of biographical writing, than as a body of sound criticism.
For criticism of a certain kind, Johnson was well fitted ; his natural
shrewdness, his long habits of thinking, and his knowledge of mankind
and of the world, enabled him to judge justly, and promptly, of all that
is addressed chiefly to the reason ; and of all that class of poetry of
which imagination is not the source, but only the adornment. This, he
was well capable of doing; unless when the free exercise of his judg-
ment was impeded by his prejudices, which were neither few nor weak.
But on poetry of a higher order, the cast of Johnson's mind altogether
disqualified him from the exercise of criticism. His own poetry is a
sufficient proof of his want of that genius required for judging of the
higher flights of poetry in others."

" Then you are of opinion," said I, " that in order to judge of lofty
poetry, one must have the power of writing it."

« No," returned my companion ; " but if a critic himself adventures
into the poetic field, and betrays in his productions a want of those fine

428 The Field of Monuments : a Vision. £ APRIL,

sympathies, those delicate perceptions of the beautiful and the grand,
which are inseparable from a poetic mind, and shews himself the dis-
ciple of a school whose character is correctness instead of fire, and which
abounds more in laboured declamation, than in the inborn eloquence of
the soul, we are justly entitled to conclude that that man is not fitted for
judging of poetry, the elements of which dwell not in him. In propor-
tion as the poetry criticised by Johnson approaches his own, his judg-
ments are correct."

" But how is it," said I, " that with such an estimate of Johnson's
merit as a critic, this monument should be even so lofty as I find it ?"

" Because," replied my companion, " he was also a moral essayist ;
and possessed that fine sense of right and wrong, that unerring percep-
tion of virtue, which, aided by a sound judgment, and keen observation,
eminently qualified him for excellence in this department and it is a
curious illustration of this truth, that the prejudices which in matters of
criticism often betrayed him into error, have never impaired his moral
judgment. But look, this is the record of a greater man," added my
companion, as he turned towards the loftier pillar, upon which was
written the name of Oliver Goldsmith ; a better dictionary than John-
son's may hereafter appear ; a sounder body of criticism than his pen
has produced ; but never will it be our duty to raise a monument to a
poem, or a novel, more full of nature and truth, than those bequeathed
to us by Goldsmith."

" And this," said my companion, turning towards the pillar that stood
hard by, " fixes the rank of Laurence Sterne."

" You amaze me," said I, " you assign a higher place to him than to
Johnson ; to a trifler, than to a — "

" No profanity," interrupted my companion, " he who is master in
any one department has a right to pre-eminence, and deserves to be
named with respect."

" And what department may I ask/' said I, " was that in which
Sterne was master ?"

" The pathetic," replied my companion. <f You have had no imita-
tions of Sterne," added he, after a pause ; " you have had the ghost of
Johnson, but never the shade of Sterne. The language in which Sterne
clothes his thoughts is as imposible to be imitated as the thoughts them-
selves. There never was but one Sterne. But let us pass on/' said my
guide, " there is nothing to detain us here."

As we walked onward, I saw many groups, and single pillars, scat-
tered here and there, generally of little altitude, and some scarcely
visible above the level ; but feeling as desirous of knowing who were
esteemed little, as who were esteemed great, I inquired to whom belonged
a group of pillars of very moderate altitude that stood on the left hand ?

" These," said my companion, " are the metaphysicians ; we do not
question the accuracy of some of their deductions, but we question their
utility. If Locke had never existed, men would have continued to act
as they now do ; the stock of human enjoyment would not have been
less, or the amount of human knowledge scarcely less limited. Where
a study can neither lead to any practical result, nor widen the circle of
enjoyment, the time that is bestowed upon it is cast upon the waters."

As we still proceeded, my companion pointed out to me, as we passed
successively by them, the monuments of our historians, novelists, and
poets. Among the latter, I could distinguish those of Thomson, Collins,

1832.] The Field of Monuments : a Vision. 429

Gray, and Burns ; the latter distinguished by its greater altitude. But
we passed by innumerable little monuments, almost like grave-stones,
so slightly elevated above the surface of the plain, that the name was
scarcely visible ; upon one of these I observed the name of Addison.

" Surely," said I, suddenly stopping, " there is some mistake here/'

" Here we make no mistakes," said my companion. " I perceive you
are surprised that your estimate and ours of the genius of Addison, so
widely differs. Humour, morality, and good sense, distinguish the
writings of Addison, but genius I know not where: his poetry owes
any charm it possesses, to a correct judgment, rather than to a fine
imagination ; but poetry is not the child of reason, although it must be
corrected and chastened by her. Poetry is that which is conversant with
beauty and with power ; which calculates not, labours not ; but springs
up like a first creation, and throws over the dulness of reality a spirit of
energy and life. The province of imagination is visionary ; but Addison
confined his poetry within the province of reason."

" But," said I, " I perceive we have passed by a monument greatly
more elevated than any of its neighbours ; let us return to it."

" It is the record," said my companion, "of Dean Swift."

" You estimate his genius high/' said I.

C( Not higher than it deserves," returned my guide.

" Why I" said I, " no man has written so much nonsense."

" He wrote," replied my companion, " much that fools would call
nonsense ; but which wise men would perceive to be sense in disguise ;
he took a new view of human nature/'

" He satirized it," said I.

" No ;" returned my instructor, " his work is no satire upon human
nature, only upon its absurdities and pretensions. In one part of his
work, where men are represented six inches high, and where yet the
drama of life is carried on as among mortals such as yourself, Swift has
satirized the objects of intellectual pride ; ambition, glory, and distinc-
tion, are all shorn of their illusions ; for he represents the highest offices
in the state awarded to those who are able to leap highest on a pack-
thread ; he ridicules national honour, by making wars originate in dis-
putes about the manner of breaking an egg ; and if he would lay bare
the insignificance of human grandeur, he represents the emperor six
inches high, with his sceptre and crown, sitting in divan with the lords
of his council, and regulating the concerns of a kingdom twelve miles in
circumference. In all this he shews the insignificance of great things ;
while in another part of his work he satirizes the too great importance
that is attached to little things ; he views things through a magnifying
glass, and thus beauty becomes deformity ; and the frailties of human
nature being stripped of the veil which throws over them the glass of
refinement, humility is taught, and personal vanity humbled/'
" And what is the estimate here/' said I, " of his other works ?"
" They have added little," replied my companion, "to the height of
this monument ; but come," added he, " let us proceed."

I would have stopped as we passed the lofty pillar upon which the
name of Pope was inscribed, but my guide told me it was unnecessary,
because the estimate which we mortals had formed of his genius corres-
ponded almost exactly with that which the pillar indicated. " But
yonder/' said he, " upon the verge of that comparatively desert plain,
stands a range of far loftier monuments ; let us hasten towards them, for

430 The Field of Monuments : a Vision. [APRIL,

the sun sinks low, and the journey across the waste is long and weary/'
We accordingly quickened our steps, and soon approaching the group,
which, however, was not concentrated, but scattered over a considerable
space, I remarked about a dozen of pillars, more elevated than the rest ;
all of them of vast altitude, some of them towering almost beyond the
reach of vision, but no two among the twelve precisely equal in height.
I read the names of Milton, Shakspeare, Moliere, Cervantes, Corneille,
Petrarch, Tasso, Spencer, Bacon, Dante.

" Let us pause here/' said my companion, as we reached the pillar
upon which was inscribed the name of Milton.

" I perceive," said I, " that this monument is not eclipsed in height
by any that surrounds it/'

" Why should it be eclipsed," returned my companion ; " for is not
the production of a great epic poem the highest effort of the human race ?
It embraces within itself the rudiments of every other species of poetry.
In the invention and disposition of the plot, and in sustaining the chief
and subordinate characters, the dramatic art is largely required : in the
episodes, are demanded the endowments of the lyric muse ; while the
conduct of the narrative calls for all the gifts of the descriptive and
didactic poet/'

" Tell me one thing," said I ; " how is it, since such various and such
exalted qualifications are required by the poet who attempts the epic,
that the nearest approaches which have been made towards perfection
should have been in the infancy of the respective languages in which the
attempt has been made with success ; the works of Homer, Milton, and
Dante, were each of them the first fruits of a language just emerged
from barbarism."

" There is an epoch," replied my companion, " in the history of a
language, when alone it is competent to sustain the weight of the highest
production to which the mind is able to give birth ; and if no genius
sufficiently mighty to achieve this undertaking should arise in that par-
ticular era, the language will never afterwards boast of this highest
effort of the poetic power."

" I should imagine," said I, glancing at the same time up the gigantic
column, " that this pillar is meant to commemorate perfection."

" Perfection," replied my companion, " belongs not to human efforts ;
unbounded as was the genius of Milton, extraordinary as was his learn-
ing, splendid as was his subject, and immense the resources with which
he came to it, stored as he was with a perfect knowledge of all the great
models of antiquity, the treasures of the early Italian, and the powers
and facilities of his own unrivalled tongue, it may yet be said that Mil-
ton has not entirely succeeded in the object of his work. The pure
illimitable attributes of the f great first cause least understood' baffle the
feeble powers of man, and are contemplated with sentiments of awe,
which even the loftiest flights weaken and debase." .

" But," said I, " were not the same difficulties opposed to the epic
poets of the ancient world ?"

" No," said my companion ; " the mythology of the Greeks and
Romans does not oppose the same difficulties ; their gods were carnal
gods, fraught with human passions and human failings, and differed in
nothing from the inhabitants of your * sin-worn mould,' except in being
gifted with superhuman powers, and present immortality."

" These/' said my companion, glancing towards the other lofty pillar

1832.] T/ie Field of Monuments : a Vision. 431

that stood near, " are the records of the great of modern times ; they
stand, you perceive, upon the verge of that dusky plain whose monotony
is broken by few monuments, arid those few scarcely rise above its
level ; that pillar on the edge of the desert is inscribed with the name of
Dante ; it is the connecting link between the literature of the middle
ages, and that of modern times, and stands on the dark shore that sepa-
rates the ancient from the modern world ; and look, canst thou descry,
across the dreary level, some gigantic pillars on its utmost limits, dim
and indistinct?"

" I can see them plainly," said I.

" These/' returned my companion, " are the monuments of the
ancients ; wouldst thou pass the desert, and read the names of Virgil
and Homer, and JBschylus and others, the poets and philosophers, and
orators and painters, and sculptors of the ancient world ?"

" Let us cross the desert," said I. But as I walked on, keeping my
eye fixed upon the dim and distant monuments, I lost sight of my com-
panion, who, outstripping me, glided behind the monument of Dante,
and when I reached it, he was no where to be seen. I was alone.
Before me lay the wide monotonous plain thinly sprinkled with monu-
ments ; the lofty pillars of a former race stood on its utmost limits, their
summits yet gilded by the last rays of the declining sun, and I leaned
against the column upon which was written the name of Dante.

" Mighty poet," said I, looking upward at the tall column, whose
summit I could scarcely discern, " mighty was thy song, fit to be the
imperishable record of thy genius. Hell, and the workings of despair,
in the sad realms where hope ' never comes, that comes to all ;' purga-
tory, and the reign and progress of repentance, mingled with the sweet
influences of reviving hope ; heaven, and the fulness of pure joys
unutterable —

" Where the blest spirits above

On flowers reposed, and with fresh flowrets crowned,
Quaff immortality and joy."

I knew not whether to retire, or to advance ; whether to linger among
the monuments that were scattered around me, or enter upon the plain,
where were thinly strewn the records of the middle ages; but the
gigantic monuments that stood upon its uttermost limits seemed to
beckon me forward, and I went on.

I had now no guide to direct my judgment, and I was forced to form
my own conclusions from what I saw. These were somewhat at vari-
ance with my previous impressions ; for although, compared with the
field of monuments which I had already passed, the plain which I now
traversed was bare and monotonous ; and although the pillars which I
passed by were but of moderate height, yet the records of human endea-
vour were more frequent than I had expected to find them. When I
had thought of the dark ages, I had pictured to myself a time when
Goth and Vandal trampled under foot all that was noble and intel-
lectual ; a dark rayless season of mental bondage, when intellect never
put forth one bud, or if she did, when her blossoms were crushed by
the hand of the barbarian, or drooped because they bloomed alone, and
that at a certain epoch called the revival of letters, intellectual light
broke upon the benighted earth, as the sun bursts from an eclipse upon
a shrouded world. But this impression I found belied by what I saw

432 The Field of Monuments : a Vision. [APRIL,

around me ; I discovered a connecting chain ; I was arrested by many
pillars, records of the genius of the middle ages ; many, not indeed of
vast importance, but yet rising above the level, inscribed with the names
of those who had appreciated, and therefore preserved and multiplied the
relics of the ancient world ; and many, more lofty, bearing the names of
those to whose genius modern Europe is indebted for the germs of her
romantic poetry. I passed too, the monuments that had been raised to
those illustrious patrons of letters, whose zeal for the promotion of know-
ledge shed, for a time, something like the twilight of learning throughout
the sphere of their influence. I read the name of our great Alfred upon
the most distinguished of these pillars, and the name of Charlemagne
upon another ; and I transported myself, in fancy, to those days when
Christianity struggled with the relics of paganism ; when the sciences
had hardly any existence, when the refinements of life were unknown,
and when yet, the spectacle was seen, of sceptred kings and conquerors
listening to the instructions of wisdom, inviting the learned to their
courts, protecting genius, encouraging education, promoting knowledge,
and devoting the repose which victory had purchased, to the cultivation
of the arts of peace.

' I had passed a dreary waste, and now approached a spot where stood
a group of tall pillars, surrounded by many lesser monuments. It was
already deep dusk ; the monuments of the ancients were no longer
visible, and the light only enabled me to read upon the columns around
me the names of Hafiz, Ferdusi, Al-Mamoun, and Haroun Al-Raschid.
These were the records of Arabian and Persian genius, when, at a
time that intellectual light was flickering with an uncertain flame over
Europe, that flame had found a shelter, and was burning with a steadier
blaze, in a land from which long ago all traces of its influence have
disappeared.

I threw myself at the base of the column of Haroun Al-Raschid, and
abandoned myself to a dream of past glory and present debasement.
Arabia, a thousand years ago, the seat of learning, the cradle of genius,
the birth-place of poesy : how changed ! a thinly-peopled land, an
uncultivated soil; flocks of wild animals, wandering tribes, whose riches
are their camels ; cities, deserted and silent, ruins crumbling away ;
ignorance, superstition, idolatry, throwing their deepest shadows over a
parched and desolate land. Well may a contrast like this curb the
naughtiness of man, and lead him, from the mutability of human
endeavour, to look beyond it. I.

[ 433 ]

SONG : FOR THE FIRST OF APRIL.

GOOD reader, these are times, too serious for rhymes ;

The world's been full of crimes, since we were whipped at school
Yet some men have no taint, 'gainst them we've no complaint,

And Cumberland 's a saint — Oh, you April Fool ?

The Tories, so they say, resolve to fast and pray,

Repenting (well they may !) their errors and misrule ;

Eldon 's resigned his fees, his conscience to appease,
And Wharncliffe 's on his knees — Oh, you April Fool !

The Derry boys aspire, above each base desire ;

Lord Londonderry's ire has now begun to cool ;
There 's Wetherell in haste, now buttoning up his waist,

And Ellenborough's chaste — Oh, you April Fool !

There's Hunt has grown genteel, as Hardinge or as Peel,
And Croker now can feel a drubbing like a mule ;

While Perceval at last, has really made us fast,
And then the Bill has passed — Oh, you April Fool !

Now Cobbett's morals mend, he calls "The Times" his friend,
Our cares are at an end, O'Connell's grown a tool ;

For Ireland cries jam satis, and this a truth I state is,
He loves the tithes like 'taties — Oh, you April fool !

Our Aldermen forswear all corporation fare,

And take themselves to pray'r, on some convenient stool,

And they with thoughts divine to "Temperance" incline,
And send the Poor their wine — Oh, you April Fool !

The Cholera rages still, in spite the Doctors' skill,

Continuing to kill, with systematic rule ;
Among the Peers it spread, the Tories quickly fled,

The Bishops are all dead — Oh, you April Fool !

The Lords are growing wise ; they write to our surprise,

The gravest tragedies, as humorous as Poole ;
Their genius soars so high, from them must Shakspeare fly,

And Milton's " all my eye" — Oh, you April Fool !

Some flourish in debating, astonish in narrating,
Are clever in translating, as Sotheby or as Hoole ;

We've all so happy grown, by their good deeds alone,
That taxes are unknown — Oh, you April Fool !

And now all heroes fly, to conquer or to die,

And " Freedom !" is the cry, from Timbuctoo to Thule ;

His murderers remain, where Torrijos was slain,
And Poland 's free again — Oh, you April Fool !

M. M. New Scries.— VOL. XIII. No. 76. 2 G

434 3 [APRIL,

.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF POLINABIO, THE SPANISH BAXDIT. NO. I.

ALTHOUGH my life has been almost wholly passed on the Castilian
side of the Sierra Morena, I am, nevertheless, a native of Andalusia,
and no Castilian, though the contrary is asserted in the royal pardon
obtained for me, in which I am called Polinario of La Mancha.
Possibly the Bishop of Jaen, who obtained for me the king's forgive-
ness, did not care to own me ; but the truth is, that I was born in his
diocese, in the small town of Tobaruela, which is situated about eight
leagues up the river Guadalimar from Andujar. My father was a
muleteer, owning four as good mules as any in the province ; and these
he turned to the best advantage — travelling between Jaen, Andujar,
and Ubeda, sometimes with a little merchandize on his own account,
but oftener on the errand of others. He was as honest a muleteer as
any on the road, and a good Catholic, never omitting either mass or
confession ; and by his industry, he contrived to provide sufficiently for
his family, which consisted of two besides myself, Diego and Mara-
quita, the one older, the other younger than me. I shall have occasion
hereafter to make frequent mention of my father, who died only four
years ago — at present I am speaking of the time that elapsed from the
age of which I remember any thing, until I attained to fifteen. When
I say that my father provided sufficiently for his family, I do not mean
that we had always the chocolate pot to go to, or that we had a smok-
ing puchero every day in the year ; but we had bread, and fruit, and
wine, and oil, and I may say eggs, in plenty, and a puchero on feast
days, as well as on every occasion when my father was expected to
return home with his mules. Since those days, I have tasted the best
that either Castile or Andalusia can afford — and have eaten of many a
dinner that might have tickled the palate of a baron ; but never any
thing so dainty as the pucheros cooked by my mother against my
father's return. These were happy nights j I think I see now the mules
enter the kitchen, one by one — and even my father behind, in his em-
broidered jacket and tight gaiters — while we three children ran to meet
him ; and my mother (God rest her soul !) left off stirring the pot to
ask how he fared, and how many pesetas he had brought back ; and
then he would loosen his girdle, and untie the knot at the end of it,
and take out a handful of coin, silver and copper mixed, and give a
quarto to each of us, and drop the rest into my mother's lap ; and then
we all feasted on the puchero. Never was there a better mother than
mine, or a more indulgent — I am not sorry that she went to paradise
before I had entered upon what she would have called evil ways.

When I had attained the age of about twelve, it was a question with
my father and mother in what line I should be bred. Diego, my elder
brother, had already learned the trade of making ropes of aloes, and
could gain a real every day ; and my mother wished me to follow some
business that would bring in as much. " That will be two reals a day
between the two lads," said she — for I perfectly remember her words —
" three hundred and sixty-five times two reals — it will go far in a
year's time to buy you a fifth mule." My father, on the other hand,
fancying he discovered proofs of capacity in me, thought of the church ;
but for my part I liked neither the one nor the other of the plans ; and
one night, when my father had returned, and when my brother Diego

1832.J Autobiography of Polmario, the Spanish Bandit. 435

put into my mother's hand the real he had gained, "when," said she,
addressing her husband/' will this little rogue," tapping me on the head,
" be able to do the like ?"

(< I was thinking," said my father, " that he had best follow his
father's trade ; I'll put him 011 a mule the next time I go to Andujar ;
and who knows but in a year's time, as the lad is quick, he may
manage to take two mules to Jaen, at the same time that I take two to
Andujar, and so turn over more reals than Diego ? and so in effect it
was agreed : at thirteen I was a muleteer ; and to the taste which this
manner of living gave me for an unsettled life, may be partly attri-
buted the events that subsequently followed. But I have now to relate,
with some exactness, one or two circumstances that helped more espe-
cially to change my manner of life.

I had attained the age of fifteen, when my father gave me in charge
two mules to take all the way to Cordova, to bring back some lead from
the mines in that neighbourhood, which was wanted for some repairs to
the Convent of San Felipe Neri, in our town. I took my mules to
Cordova accordingly, and put up at the Posada ; I had scarcely dressed
and watered the beasts, when there drove into the yard a coach drawn
by seven mules, and another coach behind it. The Duque de Huescar
sat in the first, and four of his highness's attendants occupied the other.
The Posada was soon all in a bustle ; for dinner was to be got ready
for the duke. There were soups, and stews, and pasties, and many fine
dishes I never saw before or heard of, for the duke's own cook — a
Frenchman as some said — travelled with his master ; but there were
no pucheros — no, no ! the duke's stomach was too delicate for them.
At length the dinner was cooked and served ; but the duke not having
then dismissed the corregidor, who had waited upon his highness out
of civility, the head servant invited all who were in the kitchen to go
and see the duke's dinner, the like of which nobody there had ever
before set eyes on. Among those who were in the kitchen, there
chanced to be a poor fellow, with scarce a rag to cover his back, and
who appeared grievously to stand in need of some inner lining to his
belly. I had observed, that when the cook tossed a bone to the dog,
he snatched it up, and began to peel off it the little that was left ; and
this pobre followed the rest out of the kitchen. " All this," thought I,
" for the Duque de Huescar, and nothing for this pobre !" As my eye
wandered over the smoking soups and stews, and the rich steam saluted
my nose, there was a dish with a capon in it, divided into two : and
just as I had cast my eye upon it, a great bustle in the passage an-
nounced the duke's approach. Every one scampered off, the duke's
servant the first, and I took the opportunity to seize a half capon by a
drumstick that rose above the sauce, and whisking it out of the dish,
conveyed it to the starved wretch, who still lingered behind, wistfully
eyeing the dishes ; and he concealing it under his tattered cloak, we
left the room just as the duke entered. Among all the events of my
life, and their results, no one ever afforded greater satisfaction than this ;
when soon after leaving the kitchen to look after my mules, I saw the
poor hungered fellow crouching among the beasts, busy with the capon
which I had subtracted from the duke's feast. The whole of that even-
ing I argued within myself the question, whether there could be any
sin in robbing the rich to give to the poor ; and the longer I thought
upon the matter, the more satisfied I was with myself. I had never,

2 G 2

436 Autobiography of Polinario, Ike Spanish Bandit. [APRIL,

however, before taken the value of a quarto from any one, even to give
to another, and I accordingly resolved to go to confession before quit-
ting Cordova. This I did the following morning, and my confessor
having enjoined only an ave and a paternoster, I was the more confirmed
in the estimate I had formed.

This event, insignificant as it was in itself, was not insignificant in its
results ; for beside that it in some degree helped to decide my after line
of life, it materially affected the manner of it ; for it will be seen here-
after, that no adventure in which I was ever engaged, terminated at the
expense of the poor ; that I always took from those who could afford to
lose something ; and that the gold of the rich, in most cases helped the
poor to a puchero.

I have now to relate the second circumstance that contributed to
strengthen, or rather to form my inclination for the life which I after-
wards adopted. I was now eighteen years old; and my sister Mara-
quita, was one year younger. We were all a handsome family ; my
father was tall and straight, with broad shoulders, and fine calves to his
legs ; my mother, besides her fine eyes, had the true Andalusian figure
and gait, and knew the use of her fan and her mantilla, as well as any
Senora in the land : I took from both ; at seventeen I was as tall as my
father; and almost as strong; my limbs were as straight as a palm ;
and my dark crisped locks, open brow, and well turned features, to say
nothing of my ready speech and skill in the Bolero, had already created
enough of jealousies among the village girls. But I was speaking of
Maraquita. She was the queen of Tobaruela, some said, of all the pro-
vince. Guitar strings were freely broken on her account ; but this was
not the worst of it : some quarrels among rivals, ended badly ; and my
father was resolved to marry her. The son of a neighbouring small
olive graver, was the favourite of my sister ; but the father of her lover
would by no means consent to the marriage, unless his daughter-in-law
could bring as many duros as would purchase an olive press, and a
mule, to tread.

Since I had transferred the half capon from the duke's table under-
neath the cloak of the pobre, I had never committed any breach of
honesty ; but I now began to think how happy it would make Mara-
quita, and all of us, if she were married, and how little matter a mule
and a small purse of duros would be to some. During the greater part
of a year I meditated upon t{iis, and just then an event took place that
helped me to the accomplishment of the resolution I had formed. An
uncle, my father s brother, died at Torre Nueva in La Mancha, leaving
to him, a house and a small piece of saffron and wine land, and the
mule trade between our village and Andujar having become worse,
owing to the channel of the river having been deepened so that boats
could pass down, my father resolved to cross the Sierra into La Maricha,
to spend the rest of his days on his newly acquired inheritance. The
evening before our departure, while my sister Maraquita sat weeping
at the thoughts of parting from her lover, whom she thought never to
see more, I resolved that she should no longer have cause for sorrow-
ing ; and without saying anything, I slipped out, and wrapping my
cloak round me, walked to the outskirts of the village, to a small venta
kept by a man called Tobias, who had the reputation of being a shrewd
man and an arrant rogue, and whose neck had been saved upon more
occasions than one, by the dexterous use he had made of an ill-gotten purse.

1832.J Autobiography of Polinario, the Spanish Bandit.

" Good evening, Sen or Tobias," said I, " I've come to wish you
health in this world, and a moderate lease of purgatory in the next ;
you've heard, no doubt, we cross the Sierra into La Mancha, to-
morrow ?"

" A bad exchange," replied Tobias, " but the virgin go with you."

f( Tobias," said I, " we're in sad want of a mule ; you're a shrewd
man, and likely to know where one may be picked up cheap."

'• If you had asked me," said Tobias, " where one might be picked
up for nothing at all, the question would be easier answered."

" Well, Tobias," said I, " suppose you were to answer that question."

" Come, come," said Tobias, " don't be ashamed ; thou'rt a promising
lad ; ask my advice, and thou shalt have it. Dost thou hear the chink of
these duros ?" striking his hand upon his girdle ; " they were yesterday
at the disposal of a prebendary of Jaen ; to-day, they must obey Tobias.
You want a mule ; well, the superior of the Carmelites returns from
Baylen to-night ; not a friar in the province owns a better mule ; and
I'm mistaken, if his purse be not in as good condition."

" No, no, SeFior Tobias," said I, " I'm a good Catholic ; and would
rather go without a mule, than be indebted to a friar for it." -.Tiji^rfc

" And so am I a good Catholic," said Tobias, crossing himself; " but
if a horse will suit the purpose as well as a mule, I can spare thy con-
science, and fit thee to a tittle. Not ten minutes since, the young lord
of the Senorio, passed by on a choice Andalusian, with a guitar slung
behind him, I'll lay my life, to try what he can do with your pretty
sister Maraquita."

" Thanks, many thanks, Tobias," said I, and the next moment I
was making the circuit of the village towards my father's house. I was
soon convinced of the shrewdness of Tobias' surmise, by hearing the
twang of the guitar, and by seeing a horse standing in the moonlight, at
a little distance ; and pulling a loaf out of my pocket, I took him gently
by the mane, and began leisurely to feed him. I had not been long
occupied in this way, when the caballero, having just made an end of a
canto amoroso, and perceiving that some one stood beside his horse, left
the spot where he was standing, and walked towards me.

" Seuor," said he, " please to leave this neighbourhood ; it is unusual
to intrude upon a serenade ; and please also to leave alone this horse,
which is my property/'

" Senor," said I, in return ; " the neighbourhood of your serenade
chances to be the neighbourhood of my house; and this horse I have
just made my own."

" How, fellow 1" said he.

" I am no jester," returned I, " you have just been serenading my
sister, and striving to please her ears with your guitar and canto amoroso.
Meanwhile, I have been serenading your horse in another fashion ; by
tickling his palate. The only difference is, that I have been more suc-
cessful than you ; Maraquita has paid no attention to your guitar and
fine sayings, but your horse has willingly listened to my importunities,
and has eaten a loaf of the finest bread in the province : if Maraquita
had listened to you, doubtless you would have made the "most of your
good fortune ; and in thus taking advantage of the docility of your
horse, I but act in the same way. Put up your guitar, Senor, and pass
on the other side, lest worse befall thee ;" and the young lord of the
Seuorio, perceiving my athletic figure arid determined air, and sup-

438 Autobiography of Polinario, the Spanish Bandit. [ APRIL,

posing that next day he would have his revenge, by feeing the Escri-
vano, took my advice, and left me with my conquest. But his projects,
whatever they might be, were disappointed ; before day, I had carried
the best of our mules to the house of our neighbour, as the dowry of
Mnraquita ; and soon after, all our family, mounted on the three mules
and the caballero's horse, were toiling up the Sierra Morena ; which,
however, my sister Maraquita soon re-crossed.

All that I have hitherto said, has been but introductory to my life
and exploits ; but I have related this last circumstance at some length,
because it was the first occasion on which I openly made myself master
of the property of another : henceforth my actions will be of a bolder
and different character, and will justify the name of Polinario the
Bandit.

I had not yet, as has been seen, made the life of a robber a profession :
and for some time after settling at Torre Nueva in La Mancha, I assisted
my father in the cultivation of his land ; but never felt any inclination
for that life, which, after my experience of that of a muleteer, appeared
to me sufficiently monotonous. We began also to fall back in the world.
Having occasion for but one mule, we sold the others ; and as the
saffron land brought in but a small return, the money we received for
them was soon expended. About this time it was, that my mother
died; and on the very day of her burial, a muleteer from Andujar,
brought us intimation, that my brother Diego lay sick, and was desirous
of seeing one or other of us before he died. The very next morning I
set out on foot for the neighbourhood of my native town ; and from
that hour, I date the commencement of my lawless life.

As I journeyed onward, I thought of our poverty, and the unequal
distribution of wealth ; and recalled to my mind with no small satis-
faction, the only two occasions upon which I had attempted to make it
more equal : and with these thoughts, and a few pesetas in my pocket,
and my gun over my shoulder, I reached the Venta de Garden o at the
foot of the Sierra Morena. I was not then acquainted with Bartolomeo,
the master of the Venta, who afterwards proved so useful an ally to me,
but I at once perceived him to be a shrewd man, and a rogue, like
Tobias, whom he greatly resembled in many things ; and he, on his
part, doubtless saw something in me, that led him to open the following
dialogue.

" You have never seen Don Jose de Rabaclel ?" said he.

" I have heard the name," said I, " but the caballero never chanced
to come in my way."

" So much the better for you," returned Bartolomeo ; " but he was
before your time — you're as like to him, Senor, as two peas are to each
other — only twenty years or thereabouts his junior."

" He was a robber, was he not ?" said I.

" The prince of robbers/' returned Bartolomeo ; " he was the true
king of the Sierra Morena, and his throne yet remains vacant for any
one who likes to step into it, and has boldness enough to keep it."

" You were his friend then r" said I ; " his" —

" Speak out," said Bartolomeo, " his accomplice ; ay, and many a rare
diversion we've had here, — flat times since then, I'll warrant you. A
likely gun that of yours for a bit of work. If Don Jose were here, he'd
not sit long with the wine-skin in his arms ; and before cock crow,
gold pieces would be as common as pebble-stones. I don't know how

1832.] Autobiography of Polinario, the Spanish Bandit 439

you may find it, Sefior, but for my part, 'tis but seldom I hear the chink
of gold — body of me but it's a pleasant sound."

" In truth, Senor Bartolomeo," said I, "the sound as seldom tickles
my ears as yours. I'm no boaster, Senor, but I may make bold to say,
that with the advice and countenance of a man of your experience,
there's little Don Jose could have done that Polinario would fear to
encounter."

" Give me thy hand, friend," said Bartolomeo, " I've found him again
then, and old days are coming back."

I am unable to recollect the particulars of the conversation that fol-
lowed, and which was such as might be expected from one of Bartolo-
meo's experience. The conclusion, however, was nearly this : — " Don
Jose," said he, " committed one error ; he had comrades, and one of the
number betrayed him : take my advice, and act for yourself-— no com-
rades in your exploits, and only one accomplice to secure the booty —
boldness, Senor, only boldness is required on your part ; the fear of a
name is better than half a dozen comrades." In my after life I acted
strictly upon this advice, and found truly, that the fear of my name did
as much for me as my gun and cutlas.

The exploit with which it was ordained that I should commence my
career, was not one of extreme difficulty ; Bartolomeo informed me, that
a messenger had arrived that morning, to bespeak supper for three canons,
travelling from Cordova to Toledo: " they travel in their coach," said
Bartolomeo ; " and some years having now passed since- Don Jose has
been heard of hereabouts, they travel without any escort, — 'tis but stroll-
ing up the mountain road, and waiting their approach — the rest follows
of course."

It was just falling dusk when I quitted the Venta de Cardeno, and as
I slowly walked up the winding road, I considered, for the last time,
the course upon which I had entered. I had no difficulty in resolving,
that it was better each of the three canons should be a purse the lighter,
than that my father and I should be compelled to live upon bread and
garlic; my only cause of hesitation was the necessity of confession,
which I had never omitted, and the probability that the priest might
exact as the price of absolution, a promise to change my manner of life.
In this first exploit, however, I resolved to obtain absolution from the
canons. It was nearly dark when I reached that turn on the road where
there is a small low ruined wall, which has for the last twelve years
been known under the name of Polinario's Seat, because it was there I
was afterwards accustomed to sit down, and wait the approach of tra-
vellers. It is well adapted for the purpose ; for neither in going up or
down the Sierra can this wall be seen, till one be within twenty yards
of it ; and, although in all my exploits I ever calculated upon success,
yet, in the event of failure, this spot was the most judicious that could
have been selected, for just there a deep dell runs into the wildest parts
of the Sierra ; and I may say, without undue vanity, that, having once
cleared the wall, nothing but a lead bullet could overtake me. Once
only I have had occasion to resort to this escape, three, or it might be
four years before I left off' the life of a robber. I had resolved to rifle
the Seville mail, and, sitting on this wall as usual, challenged it as it
came up. It chanced, however, to be laden with pines for the royal
table, sent as a compliment by the governor of Ceuta ; and in place of
finding only three guards to oppose me, out jumped three other troopers,

440 Autobiography of Polinario, the Spanish Bandit. [ APRIL,

who had been sent to guard the treasure. I have made it a rule never
to spill blood without good cause ; and, perceiving little probability of
success, I darted into the gorge. Six bullets were sent after me, but
they all whizzed by. But to return to the canons.

I had scarcely taken my seat on the wall, when my ear caught the
sound of carriage wheels, and in a few moments after, I had turned the
mules' heads, and opened the carriage door. " Reverend Senores/' said
I, " you see before you the representative of the renowned Don Jose de
Rabadel."

, " Ah, Jesus Maria !" exclaimed all the three canons, at the same
time muttering a prayer, and rapidly crossing themselves.

t( No doubt," continued I, " your reverences travel with well-stored
purses, that you may have wherewithal to bestow a charity by the
way/'

" Mine, Senor," said one of the three, " is the only one of our purses
that is not entirely exhausted ; the demands of charity upon those of
my two brothers, have left not a real in either of them."

" Then," said I, " I will be generous, and accept of the purses of
your brethren ;" and those being hesitatingly drawn forth, and presented
to me with faultering hands, I found, as I expected, to be well stored
with gold ; while the remaining purse that had been offered, I after-
wards learned from Bartolomeo contained scarcely as many pesetas as
paid for supper. " Remember, Senores," said I, tf that Polinario is the
name of the man who has made himself master of your gold, and that
he has taken two purses when he might have taken three •" and having
requested absolution, which they dared not refuse, I allowed the canons
to pursue their journey, and arrived at the Venta soon after they had
entered it, and in sufficient time to partake of supper along with the
reverend sen ores whom I had robbed.

<f No cause for alarm, Senores," said I, as entering the room where
the canons were just dipping their spoons in the soup ; they all let them
drop into the dish, and rose from their seats. " Pray, reverend sirs,"
continued I, "resume your places; having shared your gold, I am
now going to partake of your supper ; but, harkee, say not a word of me
to the rascally innkeeper, who would play me a trick if he could, at the
first sign of recognition — you understand me, Senores." This I said to
screen Bartolomeo from suspicion of being connected with me. The
loss of their gold, and perhaps my presence, appeared to have in some
degree diminished the appetite of the canons, so that there was abun-
dance, and choice too, for a fourth mouth ; and after supper was ended,
I divided the booty with Bartolomeo, who complimented me highly,
especially upon my having returned to sup with the canons, which he
said was just Don Jose's way. From this moment I was Polinario the
Robber, known and feared from Seville to Madrid.

I do not purpose now to continue the regular thread of my exploits.
In the eleven years that I ranged over La Mancha and the Sierra, I
committed no fewer than three hundred and fifteen robberies ; but I
purpose only detailing a few of the most difficult, the most curious, and
the merriest of my adventures ; relating also in what manner I obtained
a wife, and how I visited my sister Maraquita, and my native village of
Tobaruela and Tobias, for it will be recollected that I am now on my
way to see my dear brother Diego, who lies at the point of death.

1832.3 [ 441 ] ;%>".

VA aMii Ju&d wkb

ABOLITION OF IMPRISONMENT FOR DEBT.

•

ON Tuesday, March 6th, the Lord Chancellor moved an humble
address to his Majesty, requesting that he would cause that there be laid
before the House, the last report of the Common Law Commissioners.

His lordship observed, a more important document than that to which
he alluded had seldom been laid upon the table of that House, and in this
opinion we most heartily and wholly concur. Upon no subject did we
ever feel more deeply interested than that respecting the rights and
interests of debtor and creditor ; and it is a great gratification to us to
find the commissioners recommending the abolition of punishment for
misfortune. During several years we have wagged our tongue till our
mouths' moisture was absorbed, and used our pen till the inkhorn was
dry, in aiding the accomplishment of this legal improvement ; we hope
that even our humble efforts have at length been of some avail. In the
outset we found many opposed to us : we found that the poet of nature
was oracular, when he said that " pleasure and revenge (and we will
add, interest) have ears more deaf than adders to the voice of any true
decision." This is not surprising, for we learn from the speech of his
lordship, that some of the commissioners who had none of these feelings
to gratify, and who had commenced the investigation of this important
subject with a contrary opinion, were not till now convinced of the futility
as well as injustice of imprisonment for debt.

The trading portion of the community — the honest traders, who, in
most matters, understand their interests better, have, we believe, been
advocates for, though in truth they are the greatest sufferers by, the
existence of this power to imprison. Dearly do they pay for the plea-
sure they enjoy in that most delusive protection ; and however averse
they may be to lose the opportunity of thus gratifying their spleen, we
conceive they will soon find their account in a pecuniary compensation,
by the abolition of what in fact is a mere dilatoriness in the execution of
the law. Happy should we have been could we have convinced men by
the voice of reason or humanity ; but passions, if not governable, must
have restrictions imposed upon them — individual gratification must be
sacrificed for the general good. It is no easy task to convince men to
forego even a seeming advantage ; but many tradesmen with whom we
have conversed are of opinion with us ; they aver, that independently
of the injury of imprisonment for debt to the community, and its cruelty
to the individual, it is also ineffectual. How cheering to find that
throughout the laws of civilized society, humanity and true policy go
hand in hand. We will venture to assert, that wherever laws are cruel,
they are not merely unnecessary but inefficacious.

Interest and power blind men for a season, but the impotency of cruel
laws will effect their downfall, although mercy or enlightened humanity
fail. To illustrate our position, we now find the bankers, the origiT
nators and upholders of death for forgery, petitioning for its abolition,
and their reason assigned is, not the cruelty nor the injustice, but the
inefficacy of the punishment.

We should think it requires no stretch of reasoning to convince those
who will reflect upon the subject, that even creditors themselves (scarcely
excepting creditors for law-costs) would benefit most by the alteration.
But to all honest persons these laws work an evident injury. All who

442 Abolition of Imprisonment for Debt. [APRIL,

intend to pay, or who do pay for what they purchase, are suffering from
them. Do we not know by experience, that tradesmen charge extra
prices for risks, and calculate for bad debts ? If so, the honest pay for
the fraudulent. The inducements, therefore, to give credit, if of a
tyrannous nature, should not be countenanced by the law ; if they
were not, men would only trust those in whom they could confide, or
where the extraordinary gain was tantamount to the dangers from fraud
and misfortunes. If it be said, that this would stop the current of
necessary credit, we ask have we one bankrupt less, because he is not (if
an honest man) imprisoned — because his creditor cannot confine him
three or four months ? They fear not perjury here, although the
temptations are necessarily much greater ; and, seriously, has any in-
jurious diminution of credit taken place on account of the bankrupt laws ?
If the abolition of this protection decrease the facilities of getting any
credit at all, it will be credit of an injurious or fraudulent description.
The poor and the dishonest alone will feel the hardship : perhaps they
may be stimulated to useful exertion, when they are no longer tempted
to indulge in luxuries, for which they can have no reasonable hope of
ever being able to pay, but which they have not the moral courage to
refuse.

Men are still found much too ready to give credit, which is a great
evil. We think that any law which would diminish the facility of
getting into debt, would be generally beneficial. There would neces-
sarily be less waste of property, fewer losses to the honest, and more
industry, with less extravagance among that portion of society whose chief
endeavours now are to live upon the labours of the industrious. >1 oot

Tradesmen frequently trust with considerable risk, upon the strength
of this power of imprisoning, and the exorbitant profits to be made
thereby; and they are often in the end, allowing for all losses, great gainers
in this gambling traffic. By this custom all honest debtors are imposed
on by being compelled to contribute towards paying for bad debts.
Remove the cause of this practice, and the honest portion of the com-
munity will in future pay only for what they positively get.

Active tradesmen wellknow whom to trust, and where to risk; let them
abide by the consequences of too venturous or too avaricious attempts at
gain. The caution of the tradesman will induce carefulness on the part of
the customer, who will purchase at a cheaper rate, where there is no
extraordinary risk ; and nothing but good must result from giving
credit only where there is substance or likelihood. Caution will prevent
an endless waste of property, and incalculable misery on all sides. But
creditors who contend that insolvents of all denominations merit punish-
ment, should be informed, that in England imprisonment for debt is not
awarded by law as a punishment, though it comes to the same thing,
and produces all the evils of which we complain. It is an awful pro-
crastination of justice alone, which compels a man to remain incarce-
rated several months before his cause can be heard, till an inefficient
tribunal brings up his hour ; but the poor insolvent during this time has
lost his employment, is degraded and quite ruined. He could not before
his imprisonment pay his debts, perhaps he could scarcely support him-
self;— can shutting him up within the walls of a prison improve his cir-
cumstances ? But suppose he has a wife and family — a circumstance
not very uncommon with a poor man — the injury does not stop here ;
consider the consequences which follow upon his imprisonment. His

1832.] Abolition of Imprisonment for Debt. 443

wife seeks a living how she can. God knows the difficulties a poor but
virtuous female may encounter to procure bread under such circum-
stances. If she be indifferent to her fate, alas ! for the sympathies of
humanity. The helpless children, however, must be fed and clothed
by the parish ; they are virtually imprisoned, and the badge of disgrace
is cast upon them for their parents' misfortune. Here then is a new
burthen, but it may go even beyond this.

By such disgrace, and the misery consequent on imprisonment, you not
only reduce men to poverty, but to demoralization and despair ; they
either become a burthen to the community, or are driven necessarily to
the commission of crime, which puts the country to a worse and wasteful
expense of prosecuting the victim of its own rearing.

Prisons, we allow, must exist for the protection of the just, and work-
houses for the relief of the wretched poor ; though both are necessary,
at best they are evils ; but let a politic legislature prevent as far as pos-
sible these scenes of depravity and degradation from becoming our
schools of education.

We would allow a creditor to pursue the object of vengeance, and to
take from him what is not his own — make his whole effects liable now
and available for ever — pursue him to execution — to destitution, but
stop there ; — imprison not the body — infringe not upon the individual
right of freedom — confound not guilt with misfortune, a distinction
which should be carefully observed — punishment should be propor-
tionate to the offence.

You only imprison the felon, you feed and clothe him ; you imprison
too the useful labourer, honest, moral, and industrious though he be ;
you deprive him of his means of subsistence. It matters not whether
the person indulging in this barbarous but legal tyranny be an honest
man or a rogue ; he and his family perhaps are luxuriating upon credit ;
and this is not a rare case ; he is a man of straw, one who intends from
the beginning of his career to defraud his creditors, sufficiently confi-
dent to ask, and wicked enough to take effects on credit, with the sole
view of appropriating them to his profligate uses ; yet even this man,
not liable himself to suffer imprisonment, is intrusted with the scales
and sword of Justice. Interested and vindictive, he is made the judge
and avenger in his own cause ; he has the power to imprison the guilt-
less and useful member of society, for offending, however slightly,
against his borrowed and temporary lustre. Monstrous ! but to crown
this absurdity, the law robs Justice of her chief attribute, and permits
Oppression with a partial eye to select his victim.

To allow imprisonment for an original debt for which the creditor
gave a substantial consideration, is undoubtedly injurious to all parties ;
but it is the height of impolicy and folly to permit attorneys and bailiffs
for costs, to paralyze the efforts of able and useful men, and to reduce
very numerous families to destitution and infamy.

These results too, incredible though they appear, more frequently
happen in actions for costs than upon original debts, the imprisonment or
detention not arising in the wish or vindictive pertinacity of the creditor,
but in the callousness of low officers, familiar with this business. Nor
should it be here forgotten, that the instances are not few in which the
original creditor himself becomes the twofold sufferer, first by losing his
debt, and secondly by incarceration for being unable to pay the enor-

444 Abolition of Imprisonment for Debt. [ APRIL,

in (HIS bills of costs, incurred by endeavouring to recover the wages of
his industry.

We will'notice but one point more, which indeed is wormwood to us ;
it is the unequal manner in which the law affects the different parts of
the community. The law-makers, both peers and commons, exempt
themselves from the fangs of arrest-law, — disgusting anomaly ! — The
powerful body of large traders too are screened, i. e. if insolvent they
may take refuge in the bankrupt laws ; and a long list of public func-
tionaries, with their domestics and caterers to their various appetites,
whose duties are considered by the legislature of more importance to
society than the culture of the earth or manufacture of its produce, are
privileged from arrest and imprisonment. What can be more conclu-
sive of the absurdity of imprisonment than the very fact of privileging
certain classes of individuals, that they may not be impeded in the
exercise of their duties for the public benefit ? If this be beneficial to
the state (which is the only reason they dare assign for its existence) in
the instances above cited, it is surely much more so when extended to
labourers who have nothing but their power of labour, but without the
benefits of which the machine of government would stand still. Nor can
you draw blood from stones — men truly insolvent cannot pay. Deprive
yourself of their services, or what is worse, allow every man at will to
deprive you of your useful members, and you sap the best interests of
the state. Industry and character are two of the chief pillars of our
constitution — in the name of patriotism let us use our dearest efforts to
preserve and foster them. For our own parts we hesitate not to attri-
bute much of the existing misery of the country to imprisonment for
misfortune and the unavoidable consequences flowing therefrom. If
there be any utility in imprisonment it must be useful to all ; but had
this been made the condition of allowing imprisonment for debt to exist,
how long, we ask, would the lords and members of the House of Com-
mons have tolerated it ? We have done.

The rights of humanity, the voice of reason and of true policy both for
the individual and general advantage, call aloud for impartial justice ;
they demand of the legislature the prompt performance of an imperative
duty ; namely, that of acting upon the recommendation of the report of
the law commissioners, and sweeping from amongst us the absurd,
impolitic, and barbarous practice of imprisoning insolvents.

R. T.

1832.] [ 44f> ] >*

'itid-anornr

SPECIMENS OF LATIN COMEDY No. III.

'
k) gj- THE MEXAECHMI, OF PLA.UTJJS*

" Credite, non ludo ; nam sunt mihi dramata Plauti,
Nil nisi lautitia; deliciaeque merac."

Lamb. Pithop, '

WE remember to have read somewhere, we believe in the life of
Demosthenes, by that most narrative and unparalleled biographer,
Plutarch, an anecdote to this effect : a young Athenian once asked this
" mightiest chief of Grecian eloquence," what he considered the first
thing to be attended to in oratory ? to which he replied, action : the
interrogateur then asked, what he considered the second ? to which also,
lie replied, action, in a more decisive tone : and " what is the third ?"
said the youth ; action, replied the orator in a voice of thunder.

Now, if we were called upon in a similar manner, to say, what we
deem the most fertile subject of comic merriment, we should unhesi-
tatingly reply, personal resemblances, and if asked, what we deemed the
second, we should but reiterate our answer ; and if interrogated respect-
ing the third, we should refer the person who thus pestered us with his
interrogatories to the April Number of the Monthly Magazine, (that
never-sufficiently-to-be-lauded publication,) for the year 1832, page 445,
where he would have an ocular declaration of our opinion.

The leading trait both in the Captives and the Amphitryon, is the
mistake and comic humour arising from the similarity and convertibility
of two characters ; in the Captives, of Tyndarus and Philocrates, in the
Amphitryon, of Sosia and Mercury, Jupiter and the General, who has
given name to the play. And so in the Menaechmi, the amusement of
the piece hinges on the series of mistakes and divers hallucinations into
which the Epidamnians fall in consequence of the perfect resemblance
of the twin brothers, and their final confrontation. But, though the
leading trait is essentially the same in this play as in the two from
which we have made extracts before, yet the plot is so beautifully
varied, and the scenes are so exquisitely diversified, that what in other
hands would probably have been but a monotonous repetition, assumes
under the management of Plautus, the air of novelty and perfect origi-
nality.

The Captives, was imitated by Rotrou, the Amphitryon, by Dryden
and Moliere, but the Menaechmi, has been imitated by Shakspeare, in
his well known Comedy of Errors ; which, though it does not stand
high in the gamut of our great dramatist's compositions, bears neverthe-
less, the evident stamp of Shakspeare ; but we cannot agree with the
celebrated Schlegel, in thinking it superior to the Menaechmi of Plautus.
The fact of Shakspeare and Dryden, par nobile fratrum, having lighted
their torches at the lamp of Plautus, is no inconsiderable testimony to
the excellence of the Roman comedian.

Few, if any plays, have been so frequently imitated and translated as
this, particularly in the Italian theatre ; where the Lo Ipocrito of Aretine
holds the highest rank, though the respective imitations of Cecchi,
Firenzuola, and Trissino, enjoy considerable reputation. The Me-
naechmi, received a version into English as early as 1595, the title of
which -bore these words; "a pleasaunt and fine conceited comedie,

440 Specimens of Latin Comedy — [ APRIL,

taken out of the most excellent wittie Poet Plautus, chosen purposely
as least harmfull, yet most delightful." It has also been imitated in
French, by Regnard; whose play entitled, Les Menechmes ou les
Jtimeaux, is considered the most lively, and in every respect the best
imitation of this comedy, which is certainly one of the best of Plautus's,
and is decribed by a learned commentator, as festivissima atqne eruditce
varietatisfabula.

The whole plot and humour of this play is founded on the perfect
resemblance of the twin sons of a merchant of Syracuse. And, as we
have intimated, the mistakes and misunderstandings which arise on both
sides from this personal likeness, the unwitting counterworkings of the
two Menaechmi, and the upshot of the whole in the discovery of their
brotherhood, render the intrigue particularly interesting. One of these
children, called Menaechmus, had been lost by his father in Syracuse,
in the midst of a dense crowd in the street, and upon being found by a
Greek trader, was conveyed by him to Epidamnum, (the Roman
Dyrrhacium, now, Durazzo,) and kindly received into his family. But
the father did not long survive the loss of his child ; and the grand-
father, to mollify a little the grief which he felt on the occasion, gave
the other, (before called Sosicles,) his brother's name of Menaechmus.
Months and years rolled on, till at last the original Menaechmus was
adopted by his protector, and the other Menaechmus, (originally Sosicles,)
was arrived at an age, at which he might be trusted to act on his own
account, and follow the profession of his late father. Accordingly, the
latter, willing to spare no exertions for the discovery and restoration of
his brother, undertook many expeditions and travelled in every direc-
tion in search of him, till in the course of his peregrinations he came to
Epidamnum, where every one he met seemed to look on him as on one
with whose person they were familiar, and many to his surprise, whom
he had never seen before, greeted him by his name, and offered him
the usual salutations in the most friendly manner ; and even the wife of
the Epidamnian Menaechmus, takes him for her husband. And here
again, we have the parasite acting one of the principal parts. The play
opens indeed, with the preparation for an entertainment, which Me-
naechmus of Epidamnum had ordered for his mistress Erotium, and to
which the parasite was invited. The Syracusan brother happening to
pass, is asked to come in by his brother's mistress, who falls into the
common error, and partakes with her of the feast. This greatly enrages
Peniculus, the parasite, when he finds that the banquet is over and he
has been overlooked. (Act. iii. sc. 1.) He (Menaechmus of Syracuse)
receives from her, in order to carry it to the embroiderer's, a robe,
which his brother had abstracted from his wife's wardrobe to present to
his mistress. He is afterwards attacked by his brother's wife and her
father ; he of course is quite ignorant of the whole affair ; and answers
as if he were so ; this convinces them that he is deranged, and the old
man goes for a physician. The Syracusan escapes; but they soon
afterwards lay hold of the Epidamnian, in order to carry him to the
physician's house, when the servant of the Syracusan, mistaking him
for his master, rescues him from their hands, and for a recompence
demands and at once receives his liberty. The Epidamnian then goes
to his mistress to persuade her to return the robe to his wife. The
scene which occurs between them is very amusing ; the innocent igno-
rance of the husband, the half-feigned suspicions of Erotium, and the

1832.]

The Menacchmi, of Plavtiis.

447

evident confusion of both, are highly comic. At length, however, the
whole enigma is unravelled by tlie meeting of the two Menaechmi ;
when by means of the valet of the Syracusan, who asks them different
questions about their father and mother, place of birth, age, &c., they
are proved to be twin-brothers. This is the denouement of the play,
and the whole is concluded by the servant of the Syracusan receiving
from his master a confirmation of that liberty which had been granted
him in mistake by the Epidamnian Menaechmus, who agrees to return
with his brother per undam Siculam to the place of their joint-nativity.

The scene is of course laid in Epidamnum.

The third act opens with the parasite vehemently exclaiming against
his patron for giving him the slip at the time he had invited him to
dinner, and reproaching himself for mixing in a crowd, where he was
so likely to be missed : he appears of course in his usual character of an
unmitigated cormorant.

I have seen thirty years and more, yet never

Played I so foolish or so vile a trick

As I have done this day, in mixing with

The crowd in the assembly of the people,

Where while I stood staring about, Menaechmus

Gave me the slip, I fancy to his mistress ;

Nor took me with him. — Gods confound the man 1

First took it in his head to institute

These meetings to engage the most engaged :

'Twere better only to elect the idle,

Who should be fined in case of non-attendance.

There are enough who eat their meals alone,

Who've nought to do, who nor invited are

Nor e'er invite. — These were the men to hold

Assemblies, and attend at the Comitia. —

Had this been so, I had not lost my dinner,

Which he'd as sure have given me, as t live.

I'll go however — hope of the very scraps

Comforts my mind. — But see, Menaechmus comes

From dinner, with a wreath — all's ta'en away,

And I am come at a fine time indeed !
In the next scene we have the interview between Menaechmus^
(Sosicles,) of Syracuse, and the parasite, who takes him for his Epidam-
nian patron, and, making up to him, addresses him under this persua-
sion. Sosicles is coming out of Erotium's house, carrying the robe to-
the embroiderer's to be beautified. Peniculus first speaks apart, greatly
enraged at the dinner being finished without his valuable assistance, a
circumstance which he argues from the departure of his (supposed)
patron from the house of his mistress : —

He's carrying the robe

To the embroiderer's — and dinner's done —

The wine drank off, and the poor parasite bilked.

By Hercules ! if I put up with this,

And not revenge, I'm not the man I am.

Let's first see what he'll do, and then accost him. —

Menaechmus, of Syracuse, (whom brevitatis causa we shall call Me-
naechmus Sosicles,) riot observing any one coming, congratulates him-
self on his unexampled fortune in the language both of the Epicurean
and the Pirate, little expecting the rencontre which he was to have with
the hungry parasite : —

oi

9 no no -
morfw ,*i
rahi bsTj
"to a'iivr £
sns» rf bru

.•o orft
BOB g.d
1 vd bsfqo&B
Jjj b'^iin& &&w

448 Specimens of Latin Comedy— [

Immortal Gods ! is there a man on whom
You've in one day bestowed more good, or one
Who less could hope for it ? I've dined, I've drank,
I've feasted with my mistress, have borne off
This robe, which she no more shall call her own.

PEN. (apart.} He speaks so softly I can scarce distinguish
What 'tis he says : sure, now his belly's full,
He talks of me and of my share at dinner.

MEN. Sos. She told me, I had given her the robe
And that I'd stolen it from my wife : tho' I
Knew she was wrong, I seemingly assented
To all her story, as if both of us
Had been joint parties in the whole transaction.
Said as she said. — What need of many words ?
I never in my life have fared so well
And at so small expense.

PEN. I will accost him.
I'm out of patience till I quarrel with him.

MEN. Sos. Who is it that is coming to accost me?

PEN. Tell me, inconstant, lighter than a feather,
Thou worst of men, most wicked of mankind,
Base man, deceiver, void of faith and honour !
Have I deserved this of thee ? For what cause
Hast thou undone me ? , Say have I deserved,
That thou shouldst steal thyself away from me,
Now at the Forum ? Thou hast buried too
The dinner in my absence, to the which
I was joint heir — How dare you serve me thus ?

The unexpected expressions of ignorance and of affront on the part
of Menaechrnus, form a striking contrast to the parasite's vociferations
of rage and gluttony : —

Prithee, young man, what hast thou to do with me ?
Abusing thus a man thou dost not know —
You'd have me wreak this insult then hereafter ?
PEN. You've done that already.

MEN. Sos. Answer me.
Tell me your name, young man.

PEN. Still mocking me ?
As if you did not know my name ?

MEN. Sos. In troth,
I know not till this day I ever saw thee,
Nor art thou known to me : whoe'er thou art,
It ill becomes thee to be troublesome.
PEN. Not know me ?

MEN. Sos. If I did, I'd not deny it.
PEN. Awake, Menaechmus.

MEN. Sos. Troth, I do not know
That I'm asleep.

PEN. Not know your parasite ?

MEN. Sos. Thy head is turned, young man, in my opinion.
PEN. Answer me, did you not this very day,
Steal from your wife that robe, and give't Erotium ?

MEN. Sos. Neither have I a wife, nor robe have stolen,
Nor given to Erotium.

PEN. Are you mad ?

Have you your senses ? Why the thing's apparent !
Did I not see you coming from the house,
The robe upon you ?

1 8.32.] The Menaechmi, of Plaittos. 449

MEN. Sos. Woe upon thy head !
'Cause you're a rogue, think you we ali are such ?
Say you, you saw me with this robe upon me ?
PEN. I did, by Hercules!

MEN. Sos. Go and be hanged,
As you deserve, or else go purge your brain ;
For thou'rt the veriest madman I e'er met with.

PEN. By Pollux' Temple, nothing shall prevent me
From telling to your wife, the whole that's passed.
And then shall a'll this scurril wit retort
Back on yourself. Nor shall you unrevenged
Have swallowed down my dinner.

MEN. Sos. What is this ?
Shall every one I see, affront me thus ?
But see, the door is opening. —

The parasite now finding it impossible " by this encompassment and
drift of question/' to extort from his patron, as he imagined, the reason
of his conduct, goes away, leaving Menaechmus in a maze of astonish-
ment, to see himself exposed to so many unaccountable adventures ; and
this astonishment is soon heightened by the servant-maid of his brother's
mistress coming out to him with a clasp to be repaired and renovated at
the goldsmith's — and as it is " all fish that comes to hook'* with him, of
course he readily takes it, promising faithfully to discharge her in-
junction.

In the next act we have Menaechmus of Epidamnum, his wife, and
the parasite brought together, by no means "in sweet, accord." The
parasite endeavours to expose the conduct of his patron to the wife, and
brings against him severe accusations, which, from the sincerity of their
allegation and the credulity of his wife, Menaechmus knows not how to
controvert. The first thing is to silence the sycophant : —
Wont't you be silent ?

PEN. No.
He nods at me to hold my tongue. — (To the wife.}

MEN. EPI. Not I,

By Hercules ! I neither winked nor nodded.
WIFE. I'm an unhappy woman !

MEN. EPI. Why unhappy ?
Explain. —

PEN. A rare assurance, that denies
What yourself sees. —

MEN. EPI. By Jove and all the gods !
I nodded not — are you now satisfied ?

PEN. And to be sure, she now will give you credit.
Go back again —

MEN. EPI. And whither ?

PEN. Whither else

But to the embroiderer — beyond all doubt
I think you ought — go, and bring back the robe —
MEN. EPI. What robe do you speak of?

WIFE. Since he don't remember
What he has done, I have no more to say.

MEN. EPI. Has any of the servants been in fault ?
Has any of the men or women slaves
Given you a saucy answer ? — Say, speak out,
He shall not go unpunished.

WIFE. Sure you trifle,
MEN. EPI. You're out of humour : "that I'm not quite pleased with.

M.M. New Series.— VOL XIII. No. 76. 2 H

450 Specimens of Latin Comedy — [APRIL,

WIFE. You trifle still.

MEN. EPI. Has any of the family -,,v/
Done ought to make you angry ? ,rj«

WIFE. Trifling still.
MEN. EPI. Angry with me then —

WIFE. Now you trifle not.

MEN. EPI. Troth I've done nothing to deserve it of you.
WIFE. Trifling again.

MEN. EPI. What is it gives you pain ?
Tell me, my dear.

PEN. He sooths you : civil creature I

MEN. EPI. Can't you be quiet? I don't speak to you. — (ToPeniculus.)
WIFE. Off with your hand.

PEN. Ay, thus you're rightly served, — (aside,)
Dine then again in haste when I am absent !
And rally me before the house when drunk !
A wreath too on your head !

Peniculus thinks he has got the better of his patron, and that this will
be a " knock-down stroke," as Shakspeare says ; but Menaechmus is
too much surprised to apply himself to resent the insult.

By Pollux' Temple !

I have not dined to day, nor have I once
Set foot within the house.

PEN. You dare deny it ?
MEN. EPI. I do, by Hercules.

PEN. Consummate impudence !
Did I not see you with a wreath of flowers,
Standing before the house here ; when you said
My head was turned ; when you denied you knew me,
And when you'd pass upon me for a stranger ?

MEN. EPI. I do assure you, since I slipt away
This morning from you, I've not been till now
At home.

PEN. I know you, Sir ; but you knew not
I'd wherewithal to take revenge upon you.
I've told your wife the whole, by Hercules !

The parasite is continually throwing out these provoking innuendoes,
with the triumphant confidence of one who delights in bantering an-
other with his knowledge of a secret, by the disclosure of which he has
it in his power to injure his character or prejudice his interest. But
Menaechmus (of Epidamnum), remarkable throughout the play for his
coolness of temper and gentlemanly conduct, replies with the innocent
curiosity of a mens conscia recti —

What have you told ?

PEN. I know not. Ask of her.

MEN. EPI. What's this, my dear ? What is it he has told you ?
You answer not — why don't you say what 'tis ?

WIFE. As if you knew not. Why, a robe has been
Stolen from me in my house.

MEN. EPI. A robe stolen from you ?
WIFE. Do you ask me ?

MEN. EPI. la troth, I scarce should ask it,
Was I assured it was so. —

PEN. Wicked man !

How he dissembles ! but you can't conceal it ;
I know the whole affair ; and I have told it
All to your wife.

] 832.] The Menaechmi, of Plautus. 451

MEN. EPI. What is all this about ?
WIFE. Since you have lost all shame and won't confess
The thing yourself, hearken to me, and hear it ;
I'll tell you what has made me out of humour,
And every thing he has discovered to me.
They have done well for me, they've stolen my robe.
MEN. EPI. Done well for you by stealing of your robe !
PEN. Observe his subterfuge : 'twas stolen for her —

(meaning Erotium.)

And not for you : Had it been stolen for you,
It had been safe.

MEN. EPI. I've nought to do with you.
But what say you ? — (to his Wife.)

WIFE. I say, I've lost from home
A robe.

MEN. EPI. Who took it?

WIFE. He, who stole it, knows.
MEN. EPI. And who is he ?

WTIFE. One who is called Menaechmus.
MEN. EPI. Spitefully done ! And who is this Menaechmus
WIFE. Yourself, I say.

MEN. EPI. What! I?

WIFE. Yes, you.
MEN. EPI, Who said so?

WIFE. Myself.

PEN. And I ; and that you had carried it
Off to your mistress, to Erotium.

MEN. EPI. I ?
I gave it her ?

PEN. You, you, I say. Shall I
Go fetch an owl to hoot it in your ears,
You, you ? for we are both quite tired.

MEN. EPI. By Jove and all the gods, I swear, my dear,
I never gave it her : will that content you ?

PEN. And I, I swear by Hercules ! that we
Say nought but truth.

MEN. EPI. I did not give it her,
I only lent it.

WIFE. Troth, I never lend

Your coat, nor cloak abroad. 'Tis right for women
To lend out women's garments ; men, their own.
Won't you return my robe ?

MEN. EPI. The robe I'll see
Shall be returned. .

Menaechmus then goes to Erotium's house, in order to get the robe to
return to his wife, but the reception he met with was anything but what
he expected. Erotium had given the robe already to Menaechmus of
Syracuse, taking him for her lover ; and when he comes again as she
imagines to re-demand it, she suspects some collusion in the matter, and
upbraids him most unsparingly for his double-faced conduct ; and goes
out (exit} in a rage.

In the next scene we have Menaechmus (Sosicles) coming in with
the robe from the embroiderer's, and immediately accosted by the wife
of Menaechmus (of Epidamnum), who imagines he is her husband, with
whom she had just held such quarrelsome discourse.

WIFE. I'll go, and talk to him as he deserves.—
Art not ashamed, vile man, to appear before me,
And with this robe ?

2 H 2

452 Specimens of Latin Comedy — [APRIL,

MEN. Sos. Why, what's the matter, woman ?
What is't disturbs you ?

WIFE. Dare you, impudence !
Mutter a single word, or speak to me ?

MEN. Sos. What have I done, I should not dare to speak ?
WIFE. What! do you ask me ? O, consummate impudence !
# • • # #

You would not own but now, you stole that robe,
And now you hold it out before my eyes ?
What are you not ashamed ?

MEN. Sos. By Hercules !
You are an impudent and wicked woman,
To dare to say this robe was stolen from you ;
When it was given me by another woman,
To get it altered for her.

WIFE. Yes, by Castor !
I'll call my father hither, and lay open
All your base actions to him. Decius, go — (to a servant)
Seek for my father, bring him with you ; say,
'Tis proper he should come. — I'll tell him ail
Your horrid usage. —

MEN. Sos. Are you in your senses ?
What horrid usage ?

WIFE. How you have filched from me
My robe, my gold, from me who are your wife,
And given them to your mistress — say I not
The very truth ?—

MEN. Sos. I prithee, woman, say
Where I may sup, to charm me from your tongue.
I know not whom you take me for — for you,
I know as much of Parthaon.

WIFE, Dar'st thou deny
That thou know'st me, deny thou know'st my father?

MEN. Sos. I'd say the same thing did'st thou bring thy grand-
father.
WIFE. By Castor ! you are like yourself in all things.

She hastens away to bring her father to aid her in restoring her
husband to his right senses. Meanwhile Menaechmus Sosicles escapes,
and when they arrive he of Epidamnum is in the way, and his igno-
rance of what had passed but a few minutes before, superadded to the
ignorance of Sosicles respecting what had taken place between him and
the wife, only enhances the general bewilderment and confusion, which
ends in the old man trudging away for a doctor to consult him on the
disease under which Menaechmus is labouring — but he is as unable as
they are to explain the mystery, or exercise to any purpose the therapeu-
tic art, and advises them to have him carried to his house, where he
would be better able to form an opinion on the matter — (probably by
consulting his Hippocrates). This is agreed on, and accordingly in the
fifth scene of the fifth act, we find the old man marshalling in a phalanx
of servants to bear off the subject to the physician's house. Messenio,
however, the servant of Menaechmus of Syracuse, Sosicles, mistaking
him for his master, rescues him from their merciless hands. The scene
is very amusing.

MEN. EPI. I'm undone.

What is the matter ? What do these men want,
That they run here so fast ? What is't you want ?
Why do you thus surround me ? Why thus hale me ?

1832.] The Menaechmi, of Plautus. 453

Where would you carry me ? Undone ! help ! help !
Aid me, ye Epidamnians ! Let me go. — (To the servant*.)

MESS. Ye gods, what do I see ! What men are these
Who thus unworthily are bearing off
My master ?

MEN. EPI. What will no one dare to help me ?

MESS. Master, I will, and boldly too.— What villainy !
Ye Epidamnians, thus to seize my master,
In the open street, by daylight, undisturbed
By tumults in your city — A free man
He entered it — then let him go, I say —

MEN. EPI. Whoe'er you are, assist me, I beseech you,
Nor let them do such signal outrage on me.

MESS. Yes ; I'll assist, defend, and succour you.
'Tis far more just that I myself should perish,
Than suffer you to be thus treated, master :
Pluck out that fellow's eye, I beg of you,
Who holds you by the shoulder. I'll myself
Plant in these rascals' chaps a crop of blows.
If you persist in bearing him away,
You'll find you'll have the worst of it. Let him go.

MEN. EPI. I've got hold of the rascal's eye.

MESS. Why then,

Let in his head the socket strait appear.
Rogues ! rascals !

SERVANTS. You'll murder us ! Have mercy !

MESS. Let him go then.

MEN. EPI. What is't you mean, you rascals !
By laying hands on me thus violently ?
Curry the scoundrels with your blows.

MESS. Away,

Begone, go and be hanged, ye rascals !
You there, that are at last to quit your hold,
Take this along with you as a reward. — (Strikes him.)
So, so : I think I've on this scoundrel's chaps
Written in red letters. — Troth, I came in time
To your assistance, master.

MEN. EPI. May the gods !
Whoe'er you are, be ever kind to you,
Young man. For without you, I ne'er had seen
The setting sun this day.

MESS. By Pollux! therefore,
If you do right, you'll give me, Sir, my freedom.

MEN. EPI. Give you your freedom !

MESS. Out of doubt, my master,
Since I have saved your life.

MEN. EPI. How's this ! young man,
You are mistaken.

MESS. I mistaken ! how ?

MEN. EPI. I swear by father Jupiter, I'm not
Your master.

MESS. Can you say so ?

MEN. EPI. I don't lie.
I never had a servant yet, I say,
Who ever did for me, what you have done ?

MESS. If then you will not own me for your servant,
E'en let me. go and have my liberty.

MEN. EPI. As far as in my power, take your liberty,

And go where'er you please.

454 Specimens of Latin Comedy. £ApniL,

In the next scene Menaechmus (Sosicles), and Messenio, his servant,
meet ; the master declares he has not seen the servant before for the
day ; and the servant declaring with equal confidence, that he had not
only seen him, but had even given him his liberty ; but just as they are
disputing this knotty point, Menaechmus of Epidamnum comes in, and
every one is surprised to see Menaechmus, the citizen of Epidamnum,
and another so like him, that they could not distinguish between them :
this gives rise to the investigation which, by the management of Mes-
senio, servant of Sosicles, leads, as we have stated before, to the clear-
ing up of all the mistakes and misunderstandings which had recently
taken place between the different parties, and the result is such as we
have above detailed.

We cannot, we think, conclude our notice of this play better than by
a translation of a soliloquy of the parasite, who always supports the
character of the broad comic in the Latin plays. It stands in " Plautus"
at the beginning of the first act, but it will not be deemed out of place
as a farcical peroration.

Our young men call me dishclout, for this reason,

Whene'er I eat, I wipe the tables clean.

Now in my judgment, they act foolishly,

Who bind in chains their captives, and clap fetters

Upon their runaway slaves ; for if you heap

Evil on evil to torment the wretch,

The stronger his desire is to escape.

They'll free them from their chains by any means :

Load them with gyves, they file away the door,

Or knock the bolt out with a stone.— Tis vain this :

But would you keep a man from 'scaping from you,

Be sure you chain him fast with meat and drink,

And tie him by the beak to a full table.

Give him his fill, allow him meat and drink

At pleasure, in abundance, every day ;

And I'll be sworn, although his crime be capital,

He will not run away : you'll easily

Secure him, while you bind him with these bonds ;

They are wondrous supple these same belly-bonds,

The more you stretch them, they will bind the harder.

For instance, I'm now going to Menaechmus,

Most willingly I'm going to be bound,

According to his sentence passed upon me.

Good soul ! he's not content with giving us

A bare support and meagre sustenance,

But crams us even to satiety ;

Gives us, as 'twere, new life, when dead with hunger.

O he's a rare physician : he's a youth

Of lordly appetite ; he treats most daintily ;

His table's bravely served ; such heaps of dishes,

You must stand on your chair to reach the top ;

Yet I've some days been absent from his house ;

Homely I've lived at home with my dear friends,

For all I eat or buy is dear to me,

Yet they desert the very friends that raised them.

Now will I visit him : but the door opens :

And see ! Menaechmus' self is coming forth.

The poor parasite little thought how he was to be defrauded of his
long-anticipated banquet. %

1832.] [ 455 ]

.

THE DRAMATIC MONOl'OLY.

WE return to this subject with the pleasing hope that our advocacy
of the cause of fair competition, however [humble, will not be useless.
Among the fair auguries which seem to portend its success, the bright-
est, perhaps, is the unanimity of the press in its favour. Like the
discovery of the cavern in Rasselas, it is better than an omen ; it is an
irresistible aid. We are happy that the public voice, speaking by this
its mighty organ, has pronounced judgment against the all-powerful
influence of wealth and rank, that might be supposed to ensure a bias
on the other side. And it should be a subject of honest congratulation
that a people and its leaders, engaged in the most important political
discussions, and occupied with the prevention of pestilence itself, have
yet the inclination warmly to interest themselves in the less pressing
consideration of the rights of artists, and the means of perfecting their art.
Public opinion, then, the originating power of most beneficial measures,
has given leave to bring in the bill, and has pledged itself to efficient
support. For the mere advocates of the cause, it would have been
better had some one vouchsafed them an answer. Their arguments are
merely " beating the air." After careful perusal and inquiries, a soli-
tary article in the " Metropolitan" is the only one which can claim a
line of comment. Personalities in the Sunday papers, distinguished as
the " scurrilous," are, of course, not noticeable ; they have no right to
claim a common denomination with the newspaper press of England.
But the opinion of the " Metropolitan," if at all founded in fact or reason-
ing, is of higher importance, though there is a strange aristocratic petu-
lance about styling the opponents of monopoly " the minors and the
mob ;" the writer sKould rather have said, " the small theatres, whose
existence has been threatened, and the public, whose rights have been
contemptuously disregarded/' The " Metropolitan" claims compensation
for the larger houses, and puts forth an objection on the score of mora-
lity. " If/' says the writer, " unlicensed private theatres already do
so much harm to the morals of juvenile linen-drapers and milliners,
what is to become of the infatuated calicots and grisettes, if they are
allowed to follow their idle propensities as a lawful calling ?" He need
not be alarmed ; we, at all events, and we presume the framers of any
legislative measure upon the subject, are actuated by the desire of pro-
tecting such only as by assiduous study have gained something like a
competent knowledge of their art. The actors, we presume, the exertion
of whose talents is sought to be prevented, seek no alliance with aux-
iliaries of this kind. Neither they nor the public wish to see theatres
springing up in every street, merely making the incompetency of the
performers a cloak for riot and debauchery. No ; they and we wish
to uphold an useful, as well as an agreeable art, not to suffer it to be
brought into disrepute by ludicrous wretchedness on the one hand, any
more than to be destroyed by grasping monopoly on the other. We
are, in the best sense, the conservatives.

We are not, however, of those who would find fault with an existing
order of things without giving our best attention to the means of im-
proving it. We have dwelt long enough upon the faults of the present
system ; let us take up the more agreeable task of proposing the
remedy. .

456 The Dramatic Monopoly. [APRIL

The basis of any enactment to afford a real and permanent relief,
must be the utter destruction of any fixed monopoly. It must have at
least the spirit of existing competition vitally animating its operations.
To throw down one class of vested interests for the mere sake of pro-
tecting others, and, as far as property goes, inferior ones, would be an
absurdity. The only vested interests which claim respect, in a question in
which their value is an absolute tax either upon the public or the artists,
are such as are conferred by the reputation of able and efficient manage-
ment. The moment any exclusive right enables an individual or a
corporation to exact, in the shape of rent, more than the proper interest
for the building and its situation, that extra rent is an oppressive and
unjust tax. Let it be levied on whom you will, its ultimate effect is the
deterioration of the public entertainment in some one advantage of
quality or of cheapness. Let it lessen the actors' salaries, the best per-
formers will go elsewhere ; let it decrease the means of expenditure in
scenery or dresses, the public are the losers ; let it appear in high
prices, it will destroy the public opportunities of amusement, and
reduce the theatre to a desert, or an unprofitable receptacle for free
orders. Of all amusements this is one which ought to be cheap. Those
who indulge in it should be led into no crime against the more serious
calls upon their resources. With the lower orders it should not be the
ally, but the antagonist of the gin-shop ; with those of decent medi-
ocrity of circumstances it should be a relaxation, the price of which calls
for no privation in other matters. The hours, too, of amusement at all
the theatres should be much fewer. No theatre ought to be permitted
to be open for more than three hours and a half, or, at the very utmost,
four hours; and effectual penalties should be levied for any infringe-
ment of so important a rule. The pleasant, perhaps necessary dissipa-
tion of the evening should leave no sting for the next day. It might
be made the usual and delightful alternative with music or cheerful
conversation, and should scarcely interfere more than these would with
ordinary household arrangements. In speaking of the classes we have
enumerated, we have mentioned almost all the real supporters of the
drama. The higher ranks of society, with a few illustrious exceptions,
have abandoned the theatre for frivolities which lay less burden upon
the thought, which appeal almost solely to the senses, and ask no occu-
pation of the intellect. They interfere sometimes with an absurd and
baneful patronage, make fashions of foreign novelties, build saloons, and
uphold the particular interests of actresses; but seldom, very seldom, do
they interfere with an art which, from want of information, they
despise, unless to degrade it by their own misuse, and to disgust those
of its professors who regard it with respect and enthusiasm. The proofs
are not far from us ; at what time were the stage and its followers so
justly regarded, as under the almost absolute control of one of their own
order, David Garrick ? We should say to the actors, as, indeed, to the
whole people of England, leave off the affectation of aristocracy, which
is losing you the substance of comfort and respectability, by offering
you a shadow ; be as proud of the name of plebeian as others are of the
rank of patrician, and at least regulate the affairs of your trade arid
calling with less deference to birth and title than to skill and expe-
rience.

The public should, we conceive, be allowed to be their own judges
as to the necessity of any increase of the number of places of amuse-

1832.] The Dramatic Monopoly. 457

merit in their own particular vicinages. Wherever a sufficient number
of rate-payers might consider the present means of dramatic entertain-
ment insufficient, their petition for a license ought to be the warrant for
its immediate grant. This would protect existing establishments from
ruinous and useless competition. It would render them dependent on
those whose tastes and feelings it is their bounden duty to consult. It
would give an immediate appeal from incompetency and caprice ; it
would be a sufficient guard to a liberal and popular management. Nor
should any theatres be licensed, unless declared to be fit for the accom-
modation of some given number of persons, and certified by a sur-
veyor as to their safety and convenience. The capital necessary to
commence speculations of this sort would in itself be a pledge of
some reasonable chance of success or necessity for competition, as well
as for the use of proper and decent means for securing the favour of the
audience. The hours, the conduct of the establishment, should be sub-
ject to the vigilant inspection of the police, acting as much as possible
upon fixed and well-known regulations, so as to render fine or the
forfeiture of the license a matter of course upon their infringement. By
these means the stage would still be bound in heavy recognizances for
its good behaviour, without being restricted in the exercise of a just
liberty.

Such a plan may perhaps be considered Utopian : we do not think it
so. The greatest error in legislation is an attempt to combine mere
temporary convenience with abstract justice : the latter is never allowed
a fair and unfettered trial, and retarded by its drag-chain of " circum-
stances," a right theory apparently fails, and is laughed at as the experi-
ment of a mad doctrinaire. We are lothe to trifle with this principle of
settlement, so absolutely necessary to maintain a permanent opposition
to corruption, caprice, and monopoly, but if it be too democratic for
allowance, we presume no one could object to vesting the absolute dis-
cretionary power in the magistracy.

A question may perhaps arise as to the limitation of the different
theatres to their respective classes of entertainment. To this, an easy
reply may be given. What part of their universality of performances
will the Theatres Royal Covent Garden and Drury Lane abandon, their
dignified exhibition of tragedies and comedies, or their more profitable
representation of melo-drrma, opera, and spectacle ? While they have
all, what remains but a perfect equality of competition ? We have not
yet heard of a pantomime at the Theatre Fran<^ais, or the Odeon, though
the Porte St. Martin produces such a drama as Marion de I'Orme ; and
surely, where the national theatres of England claim so much more,
they should not concede so much less.

But, whatever arrangements might be proposed between interested
individuals, the public can surely permit no compromise of this sort
Their interest, clearly defined and incontrovertibly proved, is, to have
the best class of entertainment at the cheapest rate, as near as possible
to their own doors, and in theatres of a size for the enjoyment of it.
Their interest is, that actors and managers should compete, not arrange.
To revive the public taste, the best plays of the old masters must be
allowed to be acted in every theatre of the metropolis. How long are the
inhabitants of the immense districts of the Tower, and of Lambeth, to
be contented with an exhibition purposely made inferior to that pre-
sented to the inhabitants of Westminster ? Whv are the citizens of

458 The Dramatic Monopoly. [APRIL,

LONDON itself, to be treated with so singular and senseless an indignity ?
In what are the hopes of the rising generation of authors to consist, un-
less in the right of having their dramas represented wherever it is the
interest of the management to encourage them ? The most popular pro-
duction of the present season is, " The Rent Day :" what was the real
stimulus to the writing of this fine specimen of the slandered dramatic
genius of the age ? That it could not be subject to individual caprice,
being of a class acceptable at every theatre in London. Let as much be
done for plays of more pretension, and we may find the modern drama
in a higher form, though it may be difficult to build it of much nobler
materials, either as to character or feeling.*

The strong hold of the enemy is his barrier of so-called vested rights,
a defence which has served for every abuse within the memory of man.
Large, indeed immense, sums of money have been laid out, the most
unsparing profusion has been exercised in the hope that a monopoly
created by patent, and recognised by acts of parliament, would be per-
petual. This is their case ; let us examine it in every part. Of the
enormous sums, almost incredible ! expended upon the building, fitting
and decorating of the two theatres, how large a portion will their pro-
prietors allow to be irrecoverably lost? The money has been paid
doubtless, but what is the actual sum for which the earnings of authors
and actors are now mortgaged by the monopolists to their creditors ?
Does the present rent of the theatre royal Drury Lane equal the sum
necessary, expenses deducted, for its effectual annual assurance against
loss by fire alone ? What is the actual value of any share in it divested
of the privilege of admission ? Is it more than nominal ? Plain answers
to these questions will, we apprehend, prove quite sufficient to satisfy
the candid, that this vested interest is but a shadow. Look at the other
house. Without the payment of any rent, have not its proprietors,
during the present season, been obliged to come to a compromise with
the performers ? During the first season of Miss Fanny Kemble's acting,
when the receipts were avowedly prosperous, (as in the case of Drury
Lane,) would the profits have paid insurance ? We put them to their
answer. Let the " Metropolitan" defend them upon this ground. True,
in any other case their financial affairs would be their own, their mis-
fortunes even sacred in our eyes, but when they set up a claim of com-
pensation for vested rights, it is' the duty of those who write upon the
subject to examine their value, and if that be comprised in a single
cypher, the simplest arithmetic is the best answer.

If we are to argue the vested patent rights upon principle, they are
not for an instant tenable ground. They were granted in a spirit op-
posed to the English statute law against monopolies, passed in the time
of James the First. Their origin is in every way corrupt, an exercise of
arbitrary power, a reward for the basest kind of services. The condi-

• One clause is absolutely necessary in any bill that may be brought in upon
the subject, namely, that the licenses, granted by whatever authority they may
be, should be for no less term than a year, subject, of course, to forfeiture, in case
of their misuse. Without this, the monopoly must virtually continue. The same
arrangement of seasons between the parties interested, so as effectually to destroy
useful competition will be left, and both the actors and the public must be the suf-
ferers by the grievance. The utmost care should be taken to uphold the principle
of free-trade in the enactment, and its preamble should enforce this as a land mark
for lawyers who may expound, and legislators who may amend the statute.

1832.] The Dramatic Monopoly. 459

tions on which they were granted have been in every manner violated,
so that we sincerely believe a Court of Chancery would annul them.
Moreover, they are incompatible with the advancement of the art, for
the purpose of advancing which they claim to have been created. The
whole, however, of this part of the subject, most ably treated by Mr.
Eugene Macarthy, in his speech at the Freemason's Tavern, has been
with still more skill and care insisted upon by him in a pamphlet just
published, and it is not for us, in an endeavour to amuse and interest,
to go twice over beaten ground.

Among the proprietors of the theatres royal, we believe, there is no
more than one actually a member of the profession they claim to mono-
polize. That gentleman, and in speaking of so distinguished an orna-
ment of the stage, we would use all the delicacy due to his feelings and
the respect which his attainments command, has, we imagine, been
himself the greatest sufferer by the monopoly of any one exercising his
art. The time and assiduity devoted to a hopeless enterprise have been
obstacles to his wealth, the irresponsible power of management has
proved a snare for his reputation. We have no right or wish to go
further into this point than so mere a hint, but we have to deal with him
as an exception to a body, the remainder of which have embarked their
property as mere speculators, or would claim some honour from their
pecuniary advances as patrons. As for the present lessee of Drury Lane
Theatre, his vote ought to be secured to the abolitionists, inasmuch as
the effect of legally destroying the monopoly must be to lessen a rent
paid by him, for a privilege which virtually no longer exists.

Among the latter class of proprietors, at all events, there should be no
hostility to a just settlement of this question, and yet the old adage, that
tc Corporations have no honour," may not impossibly be verified in this
instance. We have heard an anecdote of a member of committee, whose
personal reputation he would doubtless hold dear enough, advising the
non-payment of a debt avowedly due to an actor until the law might
compel such a settlement. But let us trust to better things. The influential
persons interested in the great houses are now appealed to in their
solemn office of legislators. To offer an unjust opposition would, as we
imagine, be doubly dishonourable and uncandid. They have, if they
view the matter rightly, some wrong to repair as well as justice to afford.
Without begging the question, we sincerely hope, that it may be argued
and decided upon as a conscientious matter of right, and we have no
fear of the result. It would be surely libellous to imagine, that it can
be decided upon any other view. Let us leave it to those who would
spurn the imputation to prove themselves incapable of the reality.

With the advocacy of the press, with the opinion of the public, with
the consciousness of right, can the cause of a noble department of litera-
ture be lost in liberal England, in the nineteenth century ? We answer,
" No ;" it will not, the advocacy of many a name high in political and
literary reputation is already pledged to it. Of the dramatic authors,
(we may almost say the actors,) we believe we may assert, that all are
favourable to it. Many openly espouse, and none have offered to op-
pose it

[ 4(50 J [APRIL,

GIBBS, THE PIRATE.

IT is amongst the remaining blots, upon the literature of the present
age, that our most distinguished writers of fiction should continue to
select their heroes from the most sanguinary and monstrous characters
that appear upon the theatre of the world. If wisdom, disguised in the
mantle of pleasure, be the object searched after by the novelist, it is not
to be attained by the exhibition of remorseless murderers and pirates,
arranged in a false grandeur, and surrounded by all high qualities of
heroism, magnanimity, and gloomy glory. Byron, Cooper, and Bulwer
have all descended for their skeletons into the caverns of murder ; and
even he who has arrayed in colours of gold the native truth, affection
and homely virtues of a Jeanie Deans, has yet bestowed upon the pirate
Cleveland, the accomplishments of generosity, sentiment, and the
charms of an exalted name. It were well that the pirate should no
longer be depicted as a hero, roving over sunny seas, and amongst green
islands and romantic rocks, but as a remorseless outcast, revelling in
scenes of drunkenness, blasphemy, and murder — indifferent to the shrieks
of his defenceless victims slaughtered on the solitary sea.

These remarks have been suggested to the writer, by the various
horrid narratives of piracy that of late years have occurred in the seas
of the West Indies, and amongst the Capes and lonely harbours of the
Island of Cuba. Amongst these desperadoes was William Gibbs, who
recently, in the flower of his youth, ended his days upon Long Island,
in the United States, by the hands of the executioner, after a course
of murderous achievements, unexampled in the annals of crime. He
was a native of Rhode Island, of religious and wealthy parents ; and
after having received a liberal education, this daring spirit was appren-
ticed to the sea. Through various adventures he is first recognized as
commencing a career of piracy in a privateer, cruizing out of Buenos
Ayres — one of those numberless marauders which, since the recognition
of the independence of the South American States, have roamed over
the Gulph of Mexico for the purpose of indiscriminate robbery and
murder. In this privateer he first distinguished himself by heading a
mutiny against the officers of the vessel, which proving successful, the
officers were landed upon the coast of Florida, and Gibbs, assuming the
command, stood out to sea to commence his terrific career. After pro-
ceeding for some time in merely detaining vessels for the purpose of
robbing them of their valuables, his crew grew weary of these incom-
plete operations, and consisting for the most part of Spaniards, it was
agreed upon that as dead men can carry no tales, thenceforth no quarter
should be shewn, and the vessel now hoisted the black flag of the pirate.
In the course of four years, during which this vessel infested the waters
of the Gulph of Mexico, thirteen merchant vessels were boarded, cap-
tured, and all on board indiscriminately slaughtered — Gilpbs himself
having been present at the murder of four hundred human beings. The
vessels and cargoes were regularly carried to Cape Antonio — a piratical
station upon the north-western extremity of the Island of Cuba — the
merchandize being thence transmitted by coasting vessels to the harbour
of Havannah, to agents in correspondence with the pirates, from whom
were received in return ammunition, provisions, and other supplies. At

1832.] Gibbs the Pirate. 461

Cape Antonio was a regular encampment and a battery mounting four
guns ; and during four years, owing to the supineness of the authorities
of Cuba, these desperadoes reigned without disturbance at that extremity
of the island. During this period their correspondence with the Ha-
vannah and other stations enabled the pirates to elude the cruizers of
England and America ; and Gibbs appears to have made frequent visits
to the Havannah, where his fine manners and dashing expenditure
brought him into the society of the officers of the vessels of war,, from
whom he frequently learnt the track of their ensuing voyages in search
of piratical vessels. It is also a circumstance to be regretted that regu-
lations should exist in our naval service, which, by conferring upon the
officers of our vessels the immense gains arising from the transportation
of specie, contributes to divert them from the active duties of watching
these piratical seas, so fatal to our commerce ; and at this period the
commanders of the vessels of war in the service of England arid America,
were busily engaged in carrying gold and silver across the Gulph of
Mexico, whilst the pirates of Cuba were ravaging the seas.

Amongst the adventures of Gibbs and his associates at this period was
the following most melancholy and truly dramatic occurrence. A large
ship bound from Curacoa to Holland, was intercepted and captured in
the Gulph of Mexico, and the crew and a number of passengers, in all
twenty-eight persons, were murdered and thrown into the sea. Amongst
the passengers was the family of a Dutch gentleman returning to Hol-
land, consisting of himself, his wife, servants, and an only daughter — a
young lady in the bloom of youth and beauty. After witnessing the
slaughter of her parents, the unfortunate girl fell upon her knees to the
captain of the pirates, and entreated him to save her from destruction in
a manner so moving, that at the hazard of endangering his own life
from the jealousy of his ruffian associates, Gibbs undertook to preserve
her, and she was carried off to the encampment at Cape Antonio. Here
this miserable female lived for six weeks amongst these ferocious
monsters in a course of life unutterable ; and to all the horrors of remem-
brance of her murdered parents, her own desolation and hopelessness
of ever regaining her home and country, was added the perpetual dread
of death from men whose policy it was to allow no human witness to
escape. Frequent dissensions respecting her arose amongst the pirates,
and upon one occasion her brains were about to be dashed out with the
handle of a pump by one of the most desperate of the gang, to prevent
which Gibbs was compelled to shoot the ruffian dead upon the spot. At
length so alarming were the consequences of preserving her, that a
council of war was held upon her fate, when Gibbs was compelled to
consent to her destruction ; whereupon this miserable lady was carried
off by poison — a dreadful termination of an agonizing life. Her melan-
choly end was declared by Gibbs to have caused him more horror than
all the atrocities of his sanguinary life ; it is the one redeeming
circumstance in his history, that in the midst of his brutal associates all
natural affection was not banished from his breast ; and his persevering
efforts to preserve the life of this unfortunate female form the one bright
spot in his dark career.

After various adventures, and many times being closely pursued by
vessels of war, the pirate was at length encountered by the United
States' brig, Enterprise, under the command of Lieut. Kearney ; and the

462 Gibbs the Pirate. [APRIL,

retreat to the port being now cut off, the vessel was abandoned, and the
pirates escaping in boats to the shore, defended themselves for some
hours behind the four gun-battery ; but this being eventually carried,
the gang were thus dispersed into the woods, and to the various har-
bours of the island. Here Gibbs found himself in possession of the
sum of thirty thousand dollars, the proceeds of his accumulated share of
the booty of the various expeditions ; and with this sum he now em-
barked for England, from the harbour of Havannah, determined, in the
enjoyment of his ill-gotten wealth, to banish the remembrance of its
criminal acquisition. But this was in vain; conscience haunted him in
the midst of his career of sensuality, and sinking into habits of drun-
kenness and waste, he found himself at length in circumstances of po-
verty in the port of Liverpool. Compelled again to resume his profes-
sion of the sea, but determined to return to his lawless pursuits, Gibbs
appears to have sailed for Gibraltar, and thence to the city of Algiers,
with the intention of offering his services to the Dey, then engaged in
war against the French ; but finding the harbour so closely invested
by the fleets of France that no entrance could possibly be effected, he
was compelled to abandon the enterprize, and returning to Gibraltar,
sailed thence to the port of New Orleans, in the United States. Here
his poverty left him no alternative but to engage as a seaman in the
brig Vineyard, bound to Philadelphia ; and in this voyage were per-
petrated the murders which terminated his career of crime.

When at sea, it became known to Gibbs and his fellow seamen, that
amongst the cargo of the brig, was the sum of fifty thousand dollars, in
boxes of specie, consigned to Mr. Stephen Gerard, the wealthy banker
of Philadelphia, whose recent decease, and magnificent donations to
the public institutions of Pennsylvania, are well known in this country.
To secure this treasure, with the vessel and cargo, by the murder of the
officers, was now determined upon; and the conspirators, of whom
Gibbs, with a youth, and the mulatto steward of the vessel, were the
principals, proceeded upon a certain night to the quarter-deck, where
stood the captain, who was brought down by the blow of a pump han-
dle, and immediately, whilst still alive, thrown into the sea. Descend-
ing to the cabin, the mate was there murdered in a similar manner, and
the mutineers were now in possession of the vessel. Gibbs assuming
the command, and steering to the north, from ignorance of the true
position of the vessel at that time, it appears that in the following night,
the brig went ashore upon Long Island, at a point distant about nine
miles from the city of New York. It now became necessary to abandon
the vessel ; and the fifty thousand dollars being secured, the party now
descended to the boats, and stood towards the shore ; a rough sea rising,
however, at the time, compelled them to throw overboard boxes con-
taining thirty-five thousand dollars, and a landing was with difficulty
effected with the remaining fifteen thousand. This amount the pirates
buried in the sand upon the beach, and proceeding to a neighbouring
tavern, were soon immersed in those scenes of debauchery, always at-
tendant upon a life of crime. Here, one of the party, whose participa-
tion in the mutiny and murder had been compulsory and unwilling,
revealed the particulars of the deed ; whereupon the whole party were
apprehended, conveyed to New York, and committed to prison. In the
month of June last, they were tried, when Gibbs, with the youth, and

1832.]

Gibhs the Pirate.

463

the mulatto steward, being convicted upon the evidence of their asso-
ciates, were condemned to death, and executed upon Long Island,
near the scene of their landing from the brig. The particulars of this
narrative are from the confessions of Gibbs, previous to his death ; and
an important document is said to have been rendered by him, containing
the names of many of his former associates in his career of piracy :
from which it appears, that many of the highest authorities of the island
of Cuba have been for years connected with piratical adventurers.
It is now the prevailing opinion in America, that the military occupa-
tion, by a superior power, of that lawless dependency of Spain, can alone
prevent a repetition of those murderous piratical horrors, which have
recently spread universal terror over the seas of the West Indies.

MEDITATIONS ON A SCENE IN SUMMER.

OH, Spirit of the Day, what sounds are these ?
And what a lovely light is on the land !
Here pilgrim-like I sink upon my knees,
Where summer, with its glad and golden hand,
Hath spread profuser glories ; and thus fanned
By the mild air, at Nature's living shrine,
I yield my spirit to her sweet command ;
And, filled with calm delight and thoughts divine,
Salute the sacred sun, and watch its slow decline.

Above me, and around me> and beneath,
Far issuing from the sky, the tree, the ground,
Beings invisible a balm bequeath,
Wherein the mystic charm of health is found.
Here, seated on this softly shadowed mound,
Beneath the breathing beauty of these trees,
That seem enamoured of each sylvan sound,
Raising their leafy lyres amid the breeze,
Here may my mind look forth in full majestic ease :

And, with a deeply meditative eye,
Reading the radiant truth sublimely writ
Along the purple page unrolled on high,
Surpassing all the powers of mortal wit,
Behold across the vivid volume flit
The cold grey shadows of unsettled things,
Dimming the azure tints that still emit
A warmth and welcome unto one that brings
A heart by nature held from worldly wanderings.

Anon my eye enraptured views the air
With silver plumes and wreaths fantastic graced,
Pictured in colours exquisitely fair
And varied as the forms amid them traced :
They come and vanish, not to be effaced
From the mute mind, that treasures in its cell
The tokens of eternal beauty placed
Promiscuously round, that man may dwell
Among familiar signs of joy invisible.

464 Meditations on a Scene in Summer.

Then downward glancing I survey the earth
In the green grandeur of its summer dress,
Glad with the gush of loud melodious mirth,
And gentle flowers, that spring in wild excess,
Strong in the natural spell of loveliness,
Fervid and fragrant as an infant's cheek
Beneath its mother's rapturous caress.
Thus smiles the sun upon each tender streak,
Teaching the timid leaves and blushing buds to speak.

Oh ! flowers have voices, for the human ear
Too tremulously fine, but to a sense
By holy hopes and native truth severe
Refined and quickened, with a tone intense,
An almost silent, rich intelligence,
They breathe of various themes to wisdom known,
And oft the world hath gained a virtue thence,
Which man amid his pride is slow to own,
In many a tender trope and touching moral shown.

Far down, the stately sculpture of the wood,
Groupings of glorious beauty, meet the view ;
Shapes that have like some olden statue stood,
Forms free as ever antique genius drew :
Romance, among yon mazes ever new,
Would seem like Reason won from worldly wiles ;
The stream, that like a spirit glideth through,
His sole companion in those dim defiles,
Gushing in music down or stealing forth in smiles.

And other paths are there, where Pleasure's feet
Touch airily the daisy's trembling head ;
Where Idlesse stretcheth in indulgence sweet
His sun-sick frame upon a branched bed ;
Or, by the light of clustering lilies led,
In the fond patience of her pilgrimage
Comes Melancholy there, unseen to shed
A human tear o'er life's illusive page,
The dazzling dreams of youth and dreary wants of age.

Let me from hence explore each haunted nook,
With an all-wondering and expectant gaze ;
And let me in the fresh and bubbling brook
Hear harmonies and long-remembered lays.
Each passing sound is full of nature's praise ;
The winds come whispering with a fervent power,
And every turf an altar seems to raise,
With welcome incense, won from many a flower,
Loading the happy air and hallowing the hour.

And oh ! to sit upon this quiet hill
To track the flower-like footmarks of the Spring,
To look upon the clouds thus calm and still,
The glorious water ever wandering,
The shadows flung from many a shining thing,
Green mead and mountain grey ; and high in air
A bird by natural transport taught to sing,
As if to mark the limit of despair —
This is to me a joy — a triumph over care.

L. B.

1832.] [ 465 ]

NOTES OF THE MONTH ON AFFAIRS IN GENERAL.

THE REFORM BILL. — The " Bill" has at length passed the Commons ;
and now comes the Rubicon. Will it pass or not? Twenty millions
answer, yes — the Duke of Wellington thunders, no. The odds against
freedom would be fearful, but for one little circumstance that promises
to turn the scale. Is it the glorious and convincing majority of one
hundred and sixteen by which the Bill has been sent up for the con-
sideration of the Lords ? No ; the opinion of the Commons has little
weight with the Lords, except when it declares itself in favour of some
suppression of useful knowledge, or an increase of that taxation which
distinguishes us from surrounding nations, and makes us the envy of
them all ! Is it the energy and enthusiasm of a ministry, strong, in the
confidence of the king, and in the fidelity and patient firmness of the
people ? No ; the ministers seem scarcely to know more than that the
king has summoned them to his councils, and that the people are com-
plaining about tithes. Is it the new batch of peers, of whom Lord
Grey has had fifty lists in his pocket for the last six months ? No ; there
is a perpetual motion on the part of the press and the people for the
production of one of these lists ; but, like the perpetual motion, it is
not to be found. Is it the transfer of Lord Althorpe to the ftouse of
Lords, to make an amiable return of good for evil, and to charm the
refractory peers by the suavity of his temper, as Jack the Giant-Killer
vanquished his enemies, by a skilful layer of straws ? No ; Lord Al-
thorpe may be wanted in the House of Commons to introduce a fourth
Reform Bill, and to assure the people that there is no earthly reason
why they should feel discouraged, as every debater in the House knows
his speech by heart, and can recite it again without the slightest incon-
venience. Is it — but we need not multiply inquiries ; every man that
has read the debates in the House of Lords on the bringing up of the
Bill, knows whither the wind bloweth, and whence it cometh. It may
truly be said to come from the sees. The Bishop of London has de-
clared himself — this, as the contagionists phrase it, is an undeniable
symptom.

The Duke of Wellington won his political battle of Waterloo, upon
the occasion of the defeat of the last Reform Bill, not by any gigantic
measures of his own, but by the unexpected and unprovidential coming
up of those Prussians, the Bishops, at the very instant when the reform
troops were least able to withstand the shock of their crosiers. But
bishops are easily translated when there is an object to gain ; and the
Prussian politicians seem not unwilling to undergo a translation into
English churchmen— to act with forbearance, when they find that they
are not fighting with windmills, and to give up all idea of gaining
what they have no hope of being able to keep when gained. A few
will, of course, hold out, consistent in their philosophy or folly, to the
last, as the Roman Emperor fiddled to the flames ; and even the others
submit to civilization and liberality with so ill a grace, that posterity
will hardly think of peopling Westminster Abbey with their statues.

But, notwithstanding this church- symptom of support, and certain
promises from the " smooth tongues" (according to the Standard) of
Lords Wharncliflfe and Harrowby, we are by no means secure — but
exactly the reverse— that the Bill will pass the final reading. There are

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 76. 2 I

4tK> Noies of the Month on [APRIL,

gipsies in the House of Lords (of what age or sex we shall pot say) who
will barbarously seize upon the unhappy child of liberty, dye its ruddy
and glowing features with deadly orange-juice — clip off its flowing
locks, or curl them up into the semblance of a clerical wig — draw out
some of its teeth possibly — strip off the splendid drapery in which popu-
lar expectation has clothed it, and so distort its limbs and deface its
visage, as to make it pass for their own. Let its parents and guardians
look to it. Let them watch its wanderings step by step —let them ex-
plore every inch of the way that it is to walk in. We do not expect it
to come back to us with every hair of its head untouched and entire ;
but we expect it to have a head. Let no noble necromancer persuade
them that the child is a Hydra, or a Briareus ; it has not a limb to
spare; it must return to us unmanned, or Reason disdains it as her
offspring.

FACTS AND DOCUMENTS. — Facts are as stubborn as anti-reformers ;
and documents St. Jerome avers to be the " imperishable verity of his-
torical record." A new contemporary (the " British Magazine") has
given them a still higher and holier property ; namely, that truth is only
to be distinguished by them. In advocating the interests of the church
(principles we hatl almost written, forgetting for a moment that this
term is now obsolete in its relation to church affairs,) he also alludes to
the education of the poor, their moral and religious condition, and their
temporal wants, being of paramount interest. Now the interest that the
clergy, as a body, have taken in the affairs of the poor of late, is truly
wonderful; from the publication of the Bishop of London's letter
against the purchase of vegetables on a Sunday morning, down to their
efforts in the invention of cholera, to prevent them from dying of starva-
tion. The Editor speaks, as we before said, of documents, and the pious
use that may be made of them. With respect to the use of documents,
we have a case most admirably in point ; — a few months ago, some
statements, tolerably correct, respecting the enormous revenues of the
clergy, and the value of church livings, were answered in a Tory jour-
nal, by a paper setting forth the value of church property, as stated in
the King's books ; — so much for the use of documents. Now, as we are
in perfect and Christian charity with our brother, the editor of the
British, we will present him, gratis, with a few abstracts of some curious
documents which have fallen in our way, relative to church govern-
ment.

Imprimis, we would refer him to a document drawn up at the Council
of Elvira, A.D. 305, article 28, which prohibits bishops receiving any
emoluments or free-will offerings from those who are not members of the
church. Art. 48 prohibits those who are baptized from putting money
into the basin, lest it should be supposed that the priests had received
pay for that which ought to have been done gratuitously — again, there
is another document, left by the Council of Aries, A.D. 314, which en-
joins all ministers to reside in the vicinity of that church where they
were ordained : we refer him also to a document left by the grand
Council of Nice, held by order of Constantine, which totally prohibits
the translation of bishops and priests from one church to another ; and
to another document subscribed, at the Council of Sardis, by one hun-
dred bishops from the west, and seventy-one from the east, " that no
bishops should go to court unless sent for by the emperor." We also

1832.] A fairs in General. 4(>7V

refer him to some very important documents left by the Council of Car-
thage, A.D. 378, art. 13, which ordains that bishops should reside near
their own officiating church ; and art. 14, that their furniture should be
plain, that they should be frugal in their manner of living, and seek honour
in a good name, rather than riches. Art. 20 enjoins that they should
not trouble themselves with secular affairs, but employ themselves solely
in reading prayer, and preaching the word of God. Art. ,11, declares
that they shall not apply any of the revenues of the church to them-
selves as appertaining to them, but look upon such gifts as a trust for
the benefit of others ; that they should cherish the poor, the infirm, and
the aged. Council of Augurs, A.D. 453, art 7, prohibits priests and
deacons from going to places of amusement where love-songs are sang
(the Opera) ; art. 13 ordains, " that any clerk, or member of the church,
being addicted to drinking, should be suspended for thirty days, and
suffer corporeal punishment/' At the Council of Orleans, assembled by
order of Clovis, and held the llth of July, A.D. 511, art. 5 ordains,
" that any benefactions bestowed on the church by a prince of the bloody
shall be appropriated in repairing the church, supporting the poor
clergy, maintaining the poor, and ransoming the poor captives. Bishops
neglecting to conform to this advice to be excommunicated." Art. 16
enjoins, " that each bishop, within his diocese, shall feed and clothe the
poor, the infirm, and all those who are unable to earn the common
necessaries of life." The Council of Tarragona, A.D. 516, directs « that
each bishop shall annually visit all the churches in his diocese ; shall
repair, at his own expense, all those which are dilapidated, and shall
perform service in each." Art. 10 prohibits the clergy from receiving
any remuneration for their services, unless it be a free-will offering.
The Council of Epaisse prohibits the clergy from keeping any dogs or
birds for field sports, lest it should abstract the mind from religious
duties, and that no clergyman, or priest, should enjoy more than one
living. At the Council of Orleans, called by order of Chilbert, A.D.
553, art. 3 ordains, that bishops shall receive no pay for ordination, or
any other special episcopal function. Art. 4, that whatever bishop
shall receive money for consecrating a church, shall be deprived of his
benefice. Art. 24 enjoins the bishop to take care of the sick and poor
within his diocese. Council of Jous, A.D. 567, art. 5, prohibits the
bishop from receiving any fee for consecrating a church. Council of
Lyons ordains bishops to watch over and protect the sick in their dio-
ceses, to furnish them with clothing and food ; and the Council of
Toledo, A.D. 589, ordains that the bishops should daily read their bibles
at their own tables.

These, and similar documents, we opine, would be of essential service
to the church, as well as to the public, should the editor bring such
forward ; and as facts are to be brought forward also, we certainly do
think there is a fine field of amusement — were every clergyman to con-
tribute the facts of his alma mater, the mummery by day, the buf-
foonery by night, and the debauchery through both — the doing generals,
juraments, and quodlibets — the lecturing to dead walls, and the chaunt-
ing of Joe Miller's jests, done into Sternhold and Hopkins' metre. All
this would be doubtless highly amusing and edifying. The methodists
make a use of their backslidings, by giving the facts of their expe-
riences^ and perhaps the Britisli Magazine may become the repository
ef some of those instantaneous and remarkable conversions which must

2 I 2

4G8 Notes of the Month on [APRIL,

take place, before the candidate for holy orders declares himself called
upon by the Holy Ghost to enter the ministry.

With regard to the use made of facts on the present occasion, we find
it stated as a fact, that there are in England and Wales above 4501
livings, under £150 per annum each. If this be fact, the more is the
shame for the pluralist, and the greater pity for the poor incumbent.
All the other facts go to prove one fact sufficiently obvious, namely,
that the affairs of the church are in a most deplorable condition, and that
the poverty of the clergy deserves our deep commiseration. The Arch-
bishop of Canterbury, according to the returns here printed, has only
£27,000 per year ; the Bishop of Durham only £17,000 ; the Bishop of
London only £10,000.

The whole of the church property only amounts to two millions.
But, in turning over to the next page of the magazine, we find an
account of the " Savings' Banks," in which it is stated that the deposits
of the poor are fourteen millions, demonstrating, by all the powers of
arithmetic, that the poor are seven times richer than the clergy — that
the apostolic age is returned, and that the power of working miracles
will again be the glory and exclusive privilege of the church ; — a privi-
lege, indeed, that will soon be imperatively necessary.

PLEBEIAN AND PATRICIAN COOKERY. — The ingratitude of the poor is
a proverb among the rich, and yet in spite of it we find philanthropists
as plenty as blackberries. The days of prison discipline and magdalene
qualifying are upon the wane ; the Rev. C. C. Smith is like a thing for-
gotten, dead, out of mind ; and man seems fast returning to the unso-
phisticatedness of his primitive state. His definition, according to one
who knew human nature well, the celebrated Dr. Kitchener, is the
" cooking or broth-making animal," and we hold the subjoined prescrip-
tion as an evidence that our nature is not entirely reprobate, and that
the stomach) which has been emphatically termed every man's master,
has not completely lost its a balance of power," in this universe of bone,
flesh, muscle, tendon, nerve, and ligament. We met with it in a reli-
gious print, and recommend it most heartily to the medical board as
another — cure for the cholera.

" SOUP FOR THE POOH. — Take six quarts of water"— (water, says Sheva, is
good, the doctors use a great deal of it), " and boil with it two onions, a turnip,
and a couple of carrots, till they are reduced to three" (this is a puzzle for a
Croker or Ricardo), " mixing with it, by degrees, half-a-pint of grits or oat-
meal, keeping it well skimmed" (for fear it should be too rich, of course) ; "then
take two ounces of bacon fat, and shred it small into the mixture, with two
spoonsful of walnut liquor" (such as gipsies stain their stolen children with),
" keep the whole stirring" (to amalgamate and mix its various qualities, for by
this process the fibrine is corrugated, the albumen coagulated, the gelatine and
ozmazome is liquified) " for half-an-hour, when it will be found, with the addi-
tion of pepper and salt, a wholesome and nutritious beverage, and exceedingly
cheap. — N.B. It should be eaten without bread."

Certainly ; good wine needs no bush, and we doubt whether the
addition of the pepper and salt be not superfluous ; it is apt to destroy, if
not used with the most scientific caution, the fine animal aroma of soups
in general. But, de gustibus turn est disputandum ; the only objection
we have to the dish is, that our population is too numerous already, and
we think the revealing of such a secret at the present moment highly

1&32.] Affair* in General. 4(>9

impolitic, and fraught with the most ruinous consequences. We have
heard from a learned Theban, whom we would sooner trust than a peer's
promise, that it was this very soup (leaving out the bacon-fat, which
was prohibited under the mosaic law) that made the children of Israel
to multiply so exceedingly in the land of Egypt ; and for our parts we
propose as an amendment, by and with the advice of our privy council,
the following, written at the request of a charitable lady, by a mem-
ber of the Metropolitan Committee of Taste, as infinitely more simple
and quite as economical : —

" Take ten quarts of water, and stir it with a rush-light till it boils ;
season it to your liking, and it is ready for use. — N.B. The wick may be
bolted."

Descartes might well ask if God made good things only for fools?
Here is the receipt of a philosopher, one who considered the stomach
as the grand organ of the human system, a nervous expansion of the
brain. But leaving philosophy out of the question, and to shew the
difference between plebeian and true aristocrat! cal soup, and what
pains that gracious, and noble, and right honourable body take to spoil
aqua pura, by heterogeneous and corrupt additions, we subjoin from
the " Universal Cook" the method of preparing Soup d la Reine.

" To a knuckle of veal, and six or seven pounds of lean beef, and six good
rashers of lean ham, put six quarts of water, with a little salt. Boil all together
till the meat is boiled quite down ; then boil half a pint of cream, and pour it on
the crumb of a penny roll. Blanch and beat a pound of almonds as fine as
possible, putting in now and then cream, to prevent them oiling. Then take
the yolk of six hard eggs, and the roll that is soaked in the cream, and beat
them all together, quite fine ; then make your broth quite hot, and pour it to
your almonds, strain it through a fine hair-sieve, rubbing it with a spoon till
all the goodness is gone through into the stew-pan, and add more cream to make
it white. Set it over tbe fire, keep stirring it till it boils, skim off the froth as
it rises, and soak the crusts of two French rolls in melted butter in a stew-pan
till they are crisp but not brown. A quarter of an liour before you send it up
to table, take a little of the hot soup and put it to the buttered roll in the bottom
of the tureen ; then put in the remainder, and pour some thickened cream on the
top, and send it up to table."

The Court of Aldermen, the Bench of Bishops, the House of Peers,
ought to grant pensions, " from generation to generation," to the families
of Collingwood and Williams (authors of the " Universal Cook") for this
glorious invention. Heliogabalus offered a reward for a new dish, but

he had never tasted Soup a la Reine.

•

PROGRESS OP DOGMATISM. — It is one of the most interesting things
in the moral world, says Tully, to observe how men in all ages, while
serving the immortal gods, have at the same time served themselves. It
seems as if the deities had ordained that all that is given to their glory
by the pious should return to them in blessings and temporal advan-
tages. Thus the riches, and honour, and power which generally belong
to the supporters of religion and the defenders of our sacred altars, may
be considered as the natural reward of piety and zeal.

It is, we suppose, from a due consideration of, and a fervent belief
in the truth of this divine apothegm, that the great, and good, and wise,
of the present day, are so excessively zealous for the interests of the
Deity. An exemplification of this sacred principle was the other day

4ft) Nofa'ofthe Montli on [ APRIL,

afforded in the House of Lords, when Lord Roden affirmed " that
national education is nothing without morality, and that there was no
morality unless in the unmutilated word of God;" and also warned govern-
ment how they might persevere in a course which must bring down the
indignation of the Lord on this favoured land. Truly this country is
highly favoured, and we ought to be grateful for it ; we have the
supreme felicity of eight hundred millions of debt, two millions of
paupers, as clamorous as young rooks, the dangerous burthen and deep
contamination of eight millions of filthy lucre taken off our hands by
the clergy, and wheat at eighty shillings a quarter instead of twenty.
When God sends mouths he sends bread enough to fill them, says the
proverb, in spite of Dr. Malthus ; the only difficulty is that the mouths
all go to one place and the food to another. This, however, is not
exactly to our question, which is that of Irish Education. We recollect
some thirty years ago when Joseph Lancaster brought forward his
system of education, that in a short time nearly all the bishops, headed
by Mrs. Trimmer, espoused the cause of Providence in a similar
manner. To them it appeared plain that the Lancasterian system of
teaching was to lead to heresy and schism, and that this universal run-
ning after strange doctrines would bring down the vengeance of an
incensed Deity upon merry England. The same outcry was raised
when the London University was projected — Heaven was to be disho-
noured and atheism was to abound in the land ; to prevent which
terrible catastrophe, and to save England from utter ruin, the King's
College was founded. Now all this we consider highly laudable, but
there is one particular about the Irish education affair that strikes us as
rather discordant ; namely, that Lord Roden, when he found himself
perplexed by the Duke of Wellington, on one side, and the Bishop of
London, on the other, proposed, as a mode of settling the whole affair
satisfactorily, that government should withdraw the grant from both
parties !

A THREATENING LETTER. — A Peer of Parliament has published a
letter in a Tory paper, addressed to Lords Wharncliffe and Harrowby, in
which, after a pathetic exordium, he says — " I have next been told that
Lord Wharncliffe has created a strong sensation of fear amongst the
bishops, and that he actually boasts of having brought over many of
the right reverend bench to vote for the second reading." Impious !
We wonder the very stones do not rise up in judgment against his lord-
ship for so unheard of an atrocity. The peer then continues — "Until
I witness this defection I have too strong a faith in God and in the
Church to conceive it possible ; but if it be so, I shall from that moment
consider the Church deserving the ruin impending over them, having
themselves contributed to its accomplishment." Thus, after boasting of
possessing too strong a faith in God, and in the Church, which he seems
to consider to have but little connection with each other, as they require
to be separately mentioned, he gives the Church over to its great enemy
in the most remorseless style imaginable. Then this paragon of peers
concludes by inquiring of the noble lords he is addressing, what has
induced them to draw off men of high honour and character from a
course of proceeding t( which their own smooth tongues on a former occasion
great/!/ induced them to adopt." We must say that this is a very shock-
ing affair. We did not imagine that Lords Wharncliffe and Harrowby

1832.] Affairs in General 471

were such gay deceivers. Here is a clear case of seduction, and the
only remedy within their power is in an action to recover damages for
the loss of their high honour and character. But what has induced
them to do this ? — aye, there's the rub ! And as it is a problem so
very difficult of solution, we must leave the noble lords to answer for
themselves. We only ask the deluded victims what induced them to
listen to the smooth tongues on a former occasion ?

MAWWORM IN PARLIAMENT. — We have already noticed the dramatic
talent of the Marquis of Londonderry, in his representation of Marma-
duke Magog ; but the noble marquis has been outshone, and that too in
a sphere so congenial to his lordship's taste and talents. Mr. Perceval,
on the evening previous to the General Fast, arose from his seat, and
addressed the members at considerable length, in the true Mawworm
strain of religious eloquence, boasted of a call from Heaven to awaken
them to contrition, declared that they had <c neglected their God, and
that in consequence their God had neglected them," and produced such
a sensation in the terrified House as never could have been equalled
since the days of Cromwell. The honourable member, we think, forgot
one threat which would have been very applicable. We remember
having heard it used by the Rev. John Listen, at the Drury Lane
Tabernacle, some time since, with considerable effect. That excellent
divine exclaimed to his edified congregation, much in the same manner
as Mr. Perceval addressed his — " When I'm going up to Heaven, yell
want to lay hold of the skirts of my coat — but I'll fling ye all — for I'll
wear a spencer !" We have heard, but do not vouch for its authen-
ticity, that the manager of one of the patent theatres has offered him a
liberal salary ; but as he receives £3,000 a year for performing the same
character in another House, we do not see how he is to accept a similar
engagement — unless he can make an agreement with his conscience to
think pluralities as allowable in his profession, as they are among the
most orthodox of our churchmen.

IMPORTANCE OP CELIBACY AMONG STATESMEN. — The most singular
assertion of the month, is that of the Lord ex-High Chancellor Eldon,
— that the woolsack was never the object of his ambition; that his
mind revolted from the acceptance of the highest judicial honours of
the realm, and meant to have contented itself with the mere Chief
Justiceship of the Common Pleas. It is as if a man should purchase
a lottery-ticket, and declare his disappointment when it came up a
prize. The parallel is imperfect, for the Chancellorship has been but
a blank to Lord Eldon ; there has been much cry, but little wool in
the woolsack. To be sure, his son had the reversion of three offices
forced upon him, out of pure love for the people, by George III. ; but
then Lord Eldon declares that he even begrudged the fees for the pa-
tents— which is very probable. In return for the unpleasantness of
paying fees, he took undoubtedly all that fell in his way ; but then, as
the Duke of Wellington observes, " it is the duty, and the practice of
all Lord Chancellors to provide for their families as well as they can"
So that Mr. Malthus is right after all— the children are to blame and
not the fathers — and the whole matter becomes one, not of pecula-
tion, but of population. We agree with the principle laid down by
an -evening journalist (The True Sun, a new paper, that promises to

472 Notes of the Month on [APBIL,

become an assiduous and valuable advocate of popular rights). The
writer observes — " Parents and guardians are, at all events, the most
dangerous species of statemen that a nation can be afflicted with ; and
we can see no hope of effectually cutting down sinecures and salaries
until the peers are compelled, as the priesthood used to be, to take a
vow of perpetual and patriotic celibacy. Instead of asking a nobleman
who is about to enter into office, what his qualifications are — the num-
ber of his cousins should be carefully inquired into ; and, instead of ad-
miring his great talents, we should have an eye to his great aunts."
People who advertise for any places, save those under government, are
in the habit of setting forth their eligibility, by declaring that they are
et without incumbrances ;" what a pity is it, that we have no statesmen
of this stamp. Why does not some patriotic person insert an advertise-
ment in the Times — " Wanted a minister, without relations."

THE STATE OP THE CONTINENT. — The whole surface of society
on the Continent is swelling and heaving with the agitation of a moral
earthquake, which, in a short space of time, will overthrow the strong-
holds of superstition and tyranny in Europe. Poland, though weighed
to the earth, feels her spirit of freedom still uncrushed ; it breathes
like a smouldering fire, fanned by hate, and kept alive by continued
wrongs. Let but the neighbouring nations display the banner of
liberty around her hills, and Poland will again rise — the resuscitation
from the living grave, where she has been kept by her relentless task-
masters.

In France Casimir Perier has enough to do to discover conspiracies.
Scarcely a day passes without a plot, and arrests and imprisonments
are continually growing more numerous. But these conspiracies seem
to be of the most frivolous nature, and people are daily accused on the
most ridiculous grounds.

From a letter which we have received from a distinguished foreigner,
we make the following extract : —

" The French papers speak with great confidence of the approaching downfal
of Casimir Perier ; the public opinion having shewn itself against him, both
before the jury and in the Chamber of Deputies. The president of the French
Council is a man of abilities, but of an obstinate and unsympathizing temper.
Self-esteem and great presumption are his striking characteristics. In giving
up again the seals of foreign affairs to General le Castiani, Perier returns
them less powerful ; and, indeed, during his interim, France has by no means
maintained her honour abroad. The occupation of Ancona with so small a
force will certainly prove fatal, both to the Romagna and to the French govern-
ment. The pope is a monk, and the cardinals are all vindictive. The people
will soon become hostile to the French, and in one day the citizens of Ancona
may repeat the Sicilian vespers. France seems advancing towards a new
change. Louis Philippe becomes daily less popular : the Carlists, the Republi-
cans, and the Napoleonists, fight for the same object — that is to say, for the
overthrow of the present government ; and Casimir Perier, with his impolitic
obstinacy, accelerates their projects."

Yet Italy has something to hope. Plots have penetrated into the
sacred precincts of the Imperial City, and conspiracies would have
been hatched during the Carnival, had not his Holiness thought proper
to make the citizens of Rome dispense with the mask.

It appears that the French soon made themselves great favourites
with the people of Ancona, though one Cardinal was exceedingly shocked

1632.] Affairs in General 473

at hearing that the French officers had caused an « air to liberty" to be
sung in the theatre.

A meeting of the Apostolic Junta has been held at Madrid, which
resolved, with the concurrence of the King, that as the restoration of
the constitutional system in Spain must inevitably follow the success of
Don Pedro in Portugal, it was essential for the protection of the throne
and the Clergy that assistance should be given to Don Miguel. The
army of observation, stationed on the frontiers, have therefore received
orders to march into Portugal at the summons of the Usurper. We
shall be glad to see something like a good struggle take place. We
have no doubt that Spain will follow so near and so excellent an exam-
ple ; and that the land of poetry, beauty, and romance will ultimately
succeed in throwing off the burthen of priestcraft and despotism which
has so long pressed upon its energies, destroying one of the finest
kingdoms in Europe, and weighing its people to the earth with poverty,
degradation, and shame.

Lord Londonderry, having grown tired of his nightly wrestling with
the English Lord Chancellor, is obliged to put up with a mere Irish
one. When he is wearied of Lord Plunkett, he will probably take to
the Lord Advocate of Scotland. And having again exhausted himself,
will look about for a Welch antagonist. In the struggle with Plunkett,,
the Marquis certainly received several mortal wounds to his vanity ;
but it must be admitted of the Irish Chancellor, that he was rather bent
upon giving blows than avoiding them. Having given the Marquis
satisfaction, Lord Plunkett might have " explained," as the parliamen-
tary phrase is. The passage-of-arms was a 'f passage that led to nd-

POLITICAL PHRASEOLOGY. — Colonel Sibthorpe is, beyond all compa-
rison, the most unfortunate member that the unreformed parliament has
yet to boast of. In the first place his amendments are invariably re-
jected,- and in the next, they have the singular misfortune, which is
probably one among many causes of their failure, of being supported by
Mr. Kearsley. There is a peculiar beauty in the epithets selected by
the honourable house for its ordinary uses ; but upon any unusual occa-
sion, they rise into poetry. In a recent instance, Mr. Kearsley carried
the Parnassian practices of parliament to an almost unprecedented degree
of perfection. He exhausted the world of the English language, and
then imagined new. The bill was, in his estimation, an iniquitous,
" damnable, and pick-pocketing bill." The term, pick-pocketing, is
one that enters, in a very particular sense, into the parliamentary voca-
bulary ; but Mr. Kearsley applies it in a way quite different from that
in which it will be understood by the people. When a measure is in-
troduced to effect the transfer of money from the pockets of those who
want it, to those who do not, the term legislation is substituted for the
obnoxious one ; but when a borough is to be abolished, it is not legisla-
tion, but political pick-pocketing.

b^dac*-.

> [ 474 ]

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

SATURDAY EVENING. BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE HISTORY OF NATURAL

ENTHUSIASM/'

WITH the simplicity characteristic of a strong and expansive mind, the
author of this singularly powerful and comprehensive work has embodied,
under the most unassuming and homely of titles, a series of profound
and interesting views on the state and progress of religious knowledge,
the great truths and hopes it disseminates, its onward impulse, and the
popular errors by which it is impeded. In the performance of his laudable
and laborious task, the writer, we think, has amply fulfilled the high promise
held out to us in the " Natural History of Enthusiasm/' and will greatly add to
the widely diffused and well earned reputation which he had previously ob-
tained. It is a production which bears throughout the impress of original and
discursive intellect ; and, to convey our idea in a word, it may be considered, as
applied to religious disquisition, like the writings of Wordsworth in our poetic
literature, both in its familiar and imaginative spirit. Thus, with the specula-
tive reasoning of the philosopher, the enlightened piety of a Christian, and the
compressed argument of the logician, there is a tone of enthusiasm, as well in
the style as in the sentiments of this writer not often to be met with, in treating
of purely moral or religious subjects. In this more imaginative power, indeed,
he may be thought to have somewhat too freely indulged ; trenching closely on
the borders of hypothesis and disputed creed, to the prejudice of his more calm
and elevated opinions on the great interests of religion it is his object so strenu-
ously to enforce. Perhaps the same exciting influence lends to his phraseology
an occasional peculiarity and quaintness, with its terseness and originality,
qualities from which neither his ideas nor opinions can be said to be wholly
free. Layman, as he states himself, his manner of expression, whether in words
or in periods, seems less purely English than that of many eminent divines, the
style of some of whose compositions, indeed, presents the best models we pos-
sess of our language. But these trivial drawbacks are amply compensated by
the high and masterly power with which he has here discharged the charac-
ter of a public instructor ; though, in his simple title, (he would seem to dis-
claim, in his preface, more than that of a familiar friend and companion, treat-
ing, withal, of high themes, by a " Saturday Evening" fireside. But if we grant
to him this quiet unassuming office, we would observe, to borrow his own en-
thusiastic mariner, that, in doing its pious duties, his presence, we trust, will
be felt in the cottage or the palace — like that of the angel-guest of Adam ere his
fall — to warn, to counsel, and to open, as far as human eye may reach, the vast
prospects of futurity. To an undertaking of this kind, the author of " Satur-
day Evening" has brought requisites of no common kind-; — he has dwelt on
subjects most calculated to impress the popular mind — to conciliate — to eradi-
cate error, and to impress on all the great duty of venerating the religion of
Christ, and of cultivating good will, peace, and charity towards one another.

CARACTACUS. A METRICAL SKETCH IN TWELVE PARTS.

WE cannot but consider an undertaking of this nature, in these degenerate
days, as scarcely a less proof of heroism in the writer, than of the British hero
himself, in seeking to deliver his country from the Romans. To write a blank
verse epic in twelve parts, and to celebrate a series of campaigns that occurred
before the period of state bulletins or of bullets, and of which such scanty re-
ports were given in the ancient British gazettes, must be, we opine, the very hie
labor, hoc opus alluded to by Virgil, as to signification of infernal toil. But the
greater the obstacles presenting themselves in a national achievement of the
above kind, the more brilliant must be the merit of that poet who celebrates the
early renown of his country's heroes, and defenders of other days. Without

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 475

exactly rank ing the bard of " Caractacus" with the Homers or' Ossians of their
days, we may safely aver that he might have executed his heroic task in a style
much inferior to what he has here done. It is so far from being a failure that,
we are of opinion, with more experience, and a more practised ear for the har-
mony of verse — with riper powers, and a severer taste, the author of the poem
before us would do no discredit to the epic muse of his country. Witness for
him the following specimen of the introduction from part the first, if we excuse,
here and there, a little halting in the lines : —

" On Mpna's isle the bardic song was raised ;
Harmoniously the sacred anthem rose,
From earth in supplication unto Heaven
For Albion's weal ! From harp, and pipe, and shell
Wild music floated thro' the forest grove
Softer than Lydian — sweet as Loxian measures
The weak notes chimed upon the tuneful waters ;
The louder tones voluminously full
Swept grandly o'er the plain, and rolled
With heavy cadence down the long steep vales."

THE ALBUM WREATH.

WE have great pleasure in agreeing with all critics, who are not above noticing
a pretty and graceful publication because it is published at a very cheap rate,
in praise of the " Album Wreath." It consists of selections in prose and poetry;
and original contributions, that seem in general to deserve the compliment of
being printed in a small and beautiful type, upon paper which varies in its co •
lour every number, but is always of the most elegant tint possible. The numbers
of this little work would form an ornament to any table.

. ' .7p •

sbic ; --il

THE CLASSICAL SCHOLAR'S GUIDE. BY RICHARD CARR.

WERE we to judge of the merit of a work by the opinion which the author himself
entertains of it, we should not hesitate to rank " The Classical Scholar's Guide"
with the most elaborate productions of Person and Hermann. But since it is
a failing in human nature to examine strictly the pretensions of an author who
thinks so highly of himself as Mr. Richard Carr, we cannot, conscientiously,
place him in so lofty a station. He seems enraptured with his plan ; witness
the following sublime language — "What an accession of knowledge will this
be ! derived from a source, which is in itself so apparently simple, yet, in its
situation, so central, that with an influential and sweeping operation, like that
of the mighty vortices of ancient times, it will, by the power of its all-attracting
agency, give, as it were, direction and motion to all the matcria ambiens." If our
readers understand this, their intellects must be more acute than ours, for we
must candidly confess that it surpasses our limited comprehension. Our elo-
quent friend, in speaking of the phraseology of some modern hypercritics,
breaks into sublimity — thus : — " Such like assumptions as these are the very
quintescence of vanity ; since we all know that ere long, when the decrees of
fate shall have run out — when the mighty barriers of the universe shall be
pushed aside, and the fatal blow of dissolution shall be struck at the compagines
natura — every system, whatever may be the subtilty of its constituent parts,
whatever ability may have directed its synthetical process, or however it may
be distinguished by the various lines of intelligence, shall then, under the hand of
analyzing destiny, be reduced to its primitive nothingness, and, ' like the baseless
fabric of a vision, leave not a wreck behind.' " The book is said to be " prin-
cipally intended for the use of schools ;" and, we would advise Mr. Carr, before
" he trespasses on the indulgence of the public" again, to adopt a simple and
more intelligible style.

We do not wish to speak uncharitably of the work, but it is our opinion, that
it will rather embarrass, than assist, the student of the classical languages.

476 Monthly Review of Literature.

1

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH, OR THE LIFE OP SAMUEL HIGH. BY JAMES

EVERETT.

ALTHOUGH we do not approve of obtruding on the public the life of every
individual who has raised himself above his sphere in life, and been distin-
guished among his cotemporaries by an acute intellect and fervent piety, yet
oftentimes such works are very interesting to those who have been acquainted
with the person whose character is delineated ; and if they are a source of
pleasure to any, there is a sufficient reason for the publication. The volume
now lying before us epitomizes the life of a blacksmith, distinguished for his
integrity and piety, and who has been very useful in his day and generation.
It is written in an easy, graceful style ; and it cannot fail to interest those
whose hearts can warm to the expressions of sincerity and benevolence, which
breathe through every page.

SELECT SPECIMENS OF THE EDIFICES OF PALLADIO, BY F. ARUNDALE.

WE are here presented with a very valuable addition to those more useful and
voluminous works connected with the architecture of different nations, which have
from time to time made their appearance. It forms a cheap and handsome folio —
is dedicated to that veteran of his art, Sir John Soane — and, besides a life of the
celebrated architect it commemorates, contains twelve fine engravings upon steel,
among which are views of the Olympic Theatre, the Palazzo, Chiericati, the
Screen to the Sala della Ragioni, and the Villa Capri, with ground plans and
sections, and a particular description of each edifice. Mr. Arundale has evinced
great skill and judgment, no less in the buildings which he has selected as speci-
mens of this distinguished master's style, than in the arrangement and execution
of the entire work. He has farther rendered it interesting, by giving a view of
the rise and progress of the science in Italy up to the time of Michael Angelo ;
and both in the preface and in his descriptions of the edifices, he shews that he
had made himself a complete master of every branch of his subject. Indebted,
as many of our first English architects have been, to the chaste and noble exam-
ples of Palladian architecture, from the days of Jones to those of Lord Burling-
ton, the present work will, we are sure, be hailed with pleasure by its admirers
and students, no less than by professional men, who are deeply interested in the
promotion of just principles and a real knowledge of architecture, particularly
among the higher classes, as having so decided an influence on their own reputa-
tion and success. The work is every way creditable to Mr. Arundale's talents.

RUDIMENTS OF THE PRIMARY FORCES OF GRAVITY, MAGNETISM, AND ELEC-
TRICITY, IN THEIR AGENCY ON THE HEAVENLY BODIES. BY P. MURPHY,
ESQ.

THAT distinguished astronomer, Kepler, acknowledged, after all the important
discoveries he had made during a life devoted to its study — " that a general in-
vestigation of the laws of motion was yet wanting." It was generally considered
that Sir Isaac Newton had developed the mystery which regulates the planetary
movements, by his principle of attraction or universal gravitation ; but even that
great man has owned, that besides the attraction of gravity, the heavenly bodies
are influenced " by some other attractive power diffused throughout their par-
ticles." The connection of electricity with certain atmospheric phenomena
has since been proved by the ingenious experiments of the able Dr. Franklin.
Later discoveries have been made, both by English and foreign astronomers, by
which the theory of electrical agency with planetary temperature has been placed
beyond a doubt.

After intense application to the study of natural philosophy, more particularly
to the investigation of astronomical science, Mr. Murphy has published the re-
sult of his labours, from which he forms a theory of his own — which is, " that
the planetary bodies, including the sun, which constitutes the solar system,
may be defined to be the union of the elements of three primary forces ; gravita-
tion, magnetism, and electricity." This our author very satisfactorily proves, not

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 477

only with regard to the laws of motion in the planetary system, but the agency
of his primary forces in all atmospherical phenomena, tides, dews, fogs, and
meteors, and the effect produced by those forces causing the variations in the
barometer. His observations on pestilential exhalations, particularly the mal
aria of the " Campagna di Roma,'* seem to us the result of considerable ability ;
the whole volume bears the stamp of a powerful mind, and we only regret that
our limits will not allow us to give our readers a more lengthened analysis of
its able contents. ••

FAMILY CLASSICAL LIBRARY. — No XXVII. PLUTARCH. VOL. V.

THIS volume contains the lives of Pompey, Alexander, Julius Caesar, and
Phocion, men who are so distinguished in the annals of the world, that we
have only to mention their names in order to excite all the enthusiasm which
they justly inspire. And it is superfluous to say how their lives are written by
Plutarch, the king of biographers.

We have often reverted to the series of translations published under the title of
the " Family Classical Library," and we have more than once expressed our
opinion of the cheapness and beauty of the publication. We cannot, however,
but mention our regret that some new translation has not been afforded to the
public instead of the old version, most of which are universally admitted to be far
from excellent. The translation of Plutarch in the present volume is by the two
Langhornes ; and every classical scholar knows how very inaccurate it is. The
best translation of Plutarch, in the English language, is that by North, which
is itself only a translation of the French of Amyot. Although it could not well
be inserted in the " Family Classical Library," on account of the antiquated
language in which it is written, yet we would advise our classical readers to
procure it, for it far surpasses Langhornes', both in energy and correctness.
Mr. Valpy would have rendered an acceptable service to English literature by
procuring a new translation of Plutarch. But he would be still more useful to
the public, by publishing translations of those Grecian and Roman classics,
which have never " been done into English." There are many works of Cicero
with which few are acquainted ; and as we expect to see them soon in the
" Family Classical Library," we do sincerely hope that they will not be mere
re-publications of translated works ; but that those splendid productions will be
brought forward, which the English have never yet had an opportunity of read-
ing in their own language.

REAL LIFE — PAGES FROM THE PORTFOLIO OF A CHRONICLER.

THIS work, we are afraid, will not please the greater number of novel
readers, for it is written in so plain and neat, yet withal, elegant a style, that the
vitiated taste of those accustomed to more highly seasoned delicacies will find
difficulty in relishing it. But we are always glad to see such works as these, and
to turn from the affected and extravagant sentiment of the generality of modern
writers, to the narration of some simple and unaffected tale. The volume at
present under our notice is a series of sketches, many of them animated, and
all interesting. There is, perhaps, a little of what is termed by some, prosing ;
but we can forgive it, on account of the general merit of the work. It is sup-
posed to be written by a person in an inferior station of life, who accompanies
his master, Simon, in his annual round of summer fairs ; and he writes down
the events of every day, in order that his wife may live with him during his
absence. We said that many of the reflections were expressed in beautiful
language ; and that our readers may have some opportunity of judging of the
truth of our assertion, we will extract the account of the two travellers arriving
at Bannockburn, immortalized in history by the glorious victory which Bruce
obtained over Edward, and which secured the independence of Scotland : —

" After walking in silence about a mile, we came to a burn, running rapidly
through the low grounds, and overhung by brushwood and alder. Simon suddenly
stopped, and turning to me, with sparkling eyes, and his whole countenance illu-
minated, cried, c Do you know what burn tliat is ?' I answered 4No.' c Off with
your shoes and stockings, lad, and wade across it. It is holy water — it will do

478 .Monthly Revietv of Literature. ([APRIL,

your heart pood, and your health good, for that is Bannookburn ! Poets may
write nonsense about the inspirations of the muses, and ok' this or that sacred
stream, but foul fa' the Scotch heart to which Bannockburn is not a true source
of inspiration ! It has been thought illiberal of late years to feel or express exul-
tation over the triumphs of our forefathers, and men, thinking themselves very
wise, very superior, and very genteel, treat with cold scorn the honest pride we
feel about battles arid victories which took place five hundred years ago. But
that is the false philosophy and vain deceit, which bewilders men of a certain ca-
libre of intellect, who thinking themselves wise, become fools."

A GEOLOGICAL MANUAL. BY HENRY T. DE LA BECHE, F.R.S., &c. &c.

THE science of Geology is still in its infancy, though every day affords fresh
materials to give greater certainty to its positions. Many have been the theo-
ries on this subject ; though, with some splendid exceptions, few but seem to
have been guided rather by fancy than reason. It is, therefore, very useful to
the student to have some book by which he may commence his studies, without
being bewildered by the numerous and strange hypotheses with which this
science, perhaps more than any other, is encumbered. For this purpose Mr.
Beche's manual will prove extremely useful ; although we think it by no means
unworthy the attentive perusal of those advanced in the science. The author
says in his preface, that he " has endeavoured to address himself less to the
accomplished geologist than to the student, though it is hoped that the former
may also find matter interesting to him. He has been particularly anxious to
point out his various sources of information, even when he has himself visited
the same countries, that, independently of the fundamental principle, suum cuique,
the student should be enabled more fully to avail himself of the labours of the
various authors cited, by referring to their published works for greater detail
than could be admitted into a volume of this description."

This renders the work very instructive ; and, as Mr. Beche always refers to
authors of acknowledged reputation, its excellence in this respect will be easily
appreciated. We had intended to give a longer account of the work than we
can now find space for ; therefore we will condense our remarks into one pithy
observation, that it is decidedly the most useful treatise on the subject with
which we have ever met. It is printed in a most beautiful manner, and the
woodcuts are very well executed ; in fact, the beauty of its illustrations, the
solidity of its hypotheses, and the accuracy manifested throughout its pages,
well entitle it to the perusal of every lover of geology. There are some of the
author's positions which, as speculators in this mart of science, we might pos-
sibly be inclined to doubt ; but since it is much easier to raise objections than
to suggest improvements, we shall be performing a more pleasant duty to
congratulate the author upon having produced a work which cannot fail of

being eminently useful.

A NUMISMATIC MANUAL ; OR, GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF GREEK, ROMAN,
AND ENGLISH COINS. BY JOHN Y. AKERMAN.

MANY persons imagine that the study of coins is dry and uninteresting, and
in fact, of very little use. But Mr. Akerman well observes, " To the historian
a knowledge of the coins of the ancients must be of infinite value ; they will
present the admirer of classical literature with many illustrations, which exist
in no other shape ; and the artist will discover in them much to instruct him
in his historical compositions." These assertions are perfectly true ; and we may
also add, that the study of coins imparts great amusement, besides conveying
considerable instruction. The present volume is of a small, unassuming form ;
but is likely to be of great utility. It contains an account of the origin and
progress of coinage among the Greeks, Romans, and English, together with a
list of the coins of those nations, arranged in a clear and compendious manner.
To those who are desirous of studying the subject we can cordially recommend
this manual, as a work which will give the tyro every requisite information,
without wading through those long and elaborate dissertations with which
works of this nature are too commonly full, and which serve to perplex, rather
than instruct, the student,

]

f am fcjaoH

THE DRAMA.

X-io-^

KINO'S THEATRE.
iutl

REALLY, Mr. Monk Mason, this will never do— after the brilliant notes of
preparation, in which you thought it expedient to sound — after having thrown
the whole of the fashionable, and would-be fashionable world into a fit of in-
describable excitement — after having divided the public mind with the reform
bill, the cholera, and other subjects of vital import — to fall as flat as Walter
Scott at the Battle of Waterloo* — why, you are surely laughing at the pensive
public — you are positively playing as many tricks and fancies in your manage-
ment as a child in a toy-shop. Where do you conceal the promised prodigies
of song? — the unrivalled wonders of dance ?— Where, where, in the name of all
the muses, are your vaunted novelties ? I beg your pardon — II Barbiere, Pietro
L'Eremita, La Vestalle, have appeared ; and then your artists are beyond all
praise — miracles of genius — though the gentle public are not alive to their merit
— the Contessa Lazise ! — Signora Albertini ! — Signer Calveri ! Indeed, we are in-
formed that you intend making some splendid additions to your already valua-
ble corps — Miss F. Ayton, Miss Pearson and others. Then there is Signora
Puzzi, endeavouring to create a sensation about the success which she met with —
a success which you very pertinently described as rivalling that of the ancient
warrior, when he exclaimed — "Another such a victory and we shall be ruined."
That jeu d' esprit is the best hit you have made this season. Seriously
speaking, Mr. Mason, if you are not totally deaf to the voice of pity — if your
heart has not yet arrived at the acme of professional callosity — for " managers
have flinty hearts" — do, for Heaven's sake, something that may even partially
satisfy the general craving, and justify the unwholesome quantity of puffs — for
in them alone have you shewn variety — with which every paper has been filled
since you were created the lessee of the King's Theatre. Puffs are dainty mor-
sels, to be sure — but such slender provision is not hospitable to your friends,
who crave other things. If you are determined to make your fast-day last the
season, you had better close your doors, and convert your theatre into a con-
venticle. By the way, it would not be a bad speculation — Mr. Spencer Perceval
would join you.

So much has been said and written concerning the tragedy of "Francis
the First," that little remains for us to say. As a coup d'essai it is very pro-
mising, and possesses sufficient merit to do honour to an acknowledged drama-
tist. It is a pity, however, that Miss Kemble did not take the advice of a noble
and talented lady, and erase a few extremely objectionable words and passages,
which we cannot but consider as so many blots upon its fair proportions. But
we may expect a little self-sufficiency from a young lady, doubtless spoilt by
the ill-judged flattery of friends ; we would say, however, that coarseness
rarely conveys force to expression. As an acting play " Francis the First" is
somewhat disjointed, but we must bear in mind, the tragedy was not written
with a view to its production on the stage, and therefore no adaptation can
remedy the original defect. Some of the scenes, however, are highly effective.

" Der Alchymist" has at length appeared, and proved to be the most
wretched, tiresome — we want a word, to express the very quintessence of tedious-
ness ; to express, in fact, what we felt — but that is impossible. It is enough

* For none by sabre or by shot,
Fell half so flat as Waiter Scott !

480 The Drama. L

to say, that it triumphs over all pieces that have hitherto lent their weight to
crush the stage ! Indeed, we were rather surprised that, even amongst the
many bold adventurers, there could be found a man sufficiently lost to all sense
of the moral obligations owing to society, as to be capable of perpetrating so
glaring, so monstrous a dramatic offence ; but, on inquiry, we are happy to
state that the whole weight of the trangression does not, fortunately, fall on
one. The responsibility and the consequences must be divided among several
offenders. 1st. There is one Henry Bishop, a great criminal — one, indeed, who
has already to answer for other mortal sins at the bar of the drama ; among
which, for that called " The Daemon," he can hardly ever, even by the most
sincere contrition, expect a pardon. 2d. There is Haynes Bayly, another con-
siderable delinquent, and the fate of whose " Decorum" last season, one would
suppose, might have taught him more this. 3d. Henry Morton, reader to Drury-
Lane, stands accused of the almost incredible crime of having contributed that
portion of the opera, facetiously enough termed humorous — but calling it so, is
the most humorous part of it. 4th. Though last, not least, Mr. Fitz-Ball
claims a very considerable share of popular indignation. From the opaque
and incomprehensible nature of the plot, we can readily imagine it to be this
gentleman's portion of the work ; it must have cost him as much difficulty in
writing, as us in understanding it. By a process extremely easy, we can
now fancy ourselves on the judgment-seat at the Old Bailey, with these hard-
ened criminals at the bar for judgment. This probably would be about the
extent of our severity. — You, Henry Bishop, are an old offender, and must
banish every hope of mercy from your mind. We hoped that the fate of your
namesake last session would have been a warning to you ; but you persevere
in the same dreadful courses with no remorse. You are incorrigible. Your
namesake suffered, as you well know, for the very crime of which you are
guilty ; and are you to escape ? The name of the unhappy Sphor stands in
dreadful evidence against you. You murdered him under circumstances of
unexampled atrocity ; it appears that you have, without compunction, mangled
and torn him limb from limb, until the air has been filled with untuneful howl-
ings ! The names of other sufferers likewise cry aloud for vengeance ; miser-
able, prepare to meet your fate, and make use of your remaining time in con-
ciliating the ghosts of your victims. Approach, Mr. Haynes Bayly ; and
promise never more to write for the stage ; confine your efforts to the amuse-
ment of the drawing-room and the boudoir; attempt not to court the good
graces of Melpomene or Thalia. To woo these damsels your Pegasus must fly
with other wings than those of Butterflies ! And now go away in peace. Mor-
ton ! et tu, Brute ! must we believe the charge preferred against you ! — Are
you really guilty of so grievous an offence ! You get three hundred pounds
a-year for reading plays — in the name of wonder, how much do you get for
writing such parts as that played by Harley in " The Alchymist ? Is it pos-
sible that, among the 4,500 dramatic pieces which you have read, you can find
no conceit amongst them more witty than Harley fancying himself a tea-pot ?
Why couple up with your unhappy witticisms, so inspiring an appendage to do-
mesticity?— Why this unmanly — yes, Morton, we repeat it — unmanly enmity
against a vessel, than which, in all our domestic inventions, we find not one
so cheerful — not one that so realizes the ideas of social enjoyment ? You,
Morton, are a domestic man yourself, blessed with an amiable wife and family ;
why, again we ask you, why hurl such bitter vengeance against that emblem
of home-comfort — a tea-pot ? Could you find no fitter object for the exercise
of your comicality ? We sentence you to be limited to the quantity of seven
cups to your afternoon repast for the space of one calendar month.

" Like Justice Park, we cannot but weep over the apparent cruelty of our
awards ; but there is one more culprit. He strives to conceal himself. Fitz-
Ball ! The Fitz-Balls must be added to the list of the Fitz's ; though it has been
whispered that this Fitz-Ball was once upon a time simple Ball, and that he only
condescended thus to place the baton of heraldry across his shield within these
last few years, to keep the Fitzgeralds, Fitzherberts, and others, in counte-

1832.J The, Drama. 481

nance, to afford them his most illustrious protection. Some say that it was the
only way he had of distinguishing himself from the herd of vulgar Balls that
infested the skirts of literature ; mere sheep-skin bails, stuffed with worsted ;
or cotton balls, only fit for mantua-makers ; or bladder balls, puffed out with
wind, and patted about by ladies in a drawing-room ; or your true foot-ball,
to be kicked about by men. Our Fitz-Bai\l is none of these : he is as much
above them, and as ornamental as the superb gilded ball that you see stuck a-top
of churches, under the weather-cock, to shew which way the wind is ; and as
for utility, he may vie with that ingenious instrument, the ball-cock of a cistern.
There is a fact which has been frequently advanced, that illegitimate children
generally turn out clever men ; then, by Heaven, we will, at sword-point,
maintain the legitimacy of our author, and break a lance in defence of his mo-
ther's virtue. We merely sentence him to beat hemp for a month at the House
of Correction.

Der Alchymist ; or, the Last of the Soporifics. Such was the title of a soi-
disant opera which was damned at Drury-Lane. Bless me — but I have said
all this before : well, then, to proceed with others.

The qualities of good and generous wine everybody knows to be highly fa-
vourable to the development of our comical faculties. Sheridan never wrote or
said such witty things as when a bottle of Burgundy was within his reach ; and
we, though, alas ! no Sheridan, should write none the worse were we slightly
— mind, we only say slightly — under the influence of such an inspiring fount.
We question whether a draught from the fount of Helicon itself, in all its
purity and freshness, would suit our constitution half so well. But this is idle
talking ; we are never likely to taste one or the other. This, then, leads us to
the point.

A comic actor, of all men in the world, should never appear before the indul-
gent public without this necessary preliminary ; and actors are so well paid,
that they can afford to drink nectar if they knew where it was to be bought.
They are not like we poor devils of scribes, who are obliged to content ourselves
with whisky toddy ; and very little of that, too. But actors — they are kings !
they can drink when they like, and what they like ; they are happy dogs — -they
can lie in a gutter all day long, if they please, and then at night reel upon the
stage and damn poor authors' pieces. It is rather hard on authors, but, poor
devils ! they are born to suffer. An actor must not be restrained in his innocent
recreations ; you might just as well expect him to come before the audience
without his glass, as a fiddler without his resin.

These ideas were suggested by the impertinent complaints of Mr. Poole, the
dramatist, who says, that when his farce of the Young Hopeful came out, at
the Olympic, Mr. Listen was so extremely elevated, that he damned the piece.
In other words, we blush to write it, that he was very drank indeed. Shameful
aspersion ! just as though Mr. Listen ever was drunk. Indeed, how could he ?
for to our certain knowledge he is chairman to a branch Temperance Societ)%
held at the Pig and Tooth- ache, Brompton, and is the bosom friend of Lord
Gambier. These facts speak volumes. Let Mr. Poole deny this if he can.

Mr. Buckstone is one of the champions of the minors — an unflinching re-
former, a staunch anti-monopolist ; by the way, we suppose that is the reason
he keeps the Adelphi stage entirely to himself : no other pieces than those of
the purveyor-general being marketable commodities at the Adelphi. We do not
so much find fault with his original French pieces — everybody has a right to get
as much money as he can, and in the easiest way, always supposing honestly ;
but that which raises our ire is, that the moment a man of genius breaks through
the system of translation, and embodies an idea successfully, then the purveyor-
general, at the head of a crowd of starvelling wits, rushes forward, seizes the bread
out of his very mouth, and the mob, like famished cannibals, devour it before his
face. To speak more plainly, the moment Jerrold's " Rent Day" appeared, the

M.M. AV/r Series. -VoL. XIII. No. 76. 2 K

The Drama. [APRIL,

purveyor gets up the " Forgery" upon the same plan. — It is a miserable failure,
but that's nothing ; it makes a good puff for a play-bill, and that's half the bat-
tle. Touching the Rent Day — the managers of the Adelphi, with an acumen
that argues well for their sagacity, could see but little merit in that piece ; and
actually allowed the author to withdraw it from their house, because, with the
spirit which becomes a man of genius, he would not consent, for the sake of a
few paltry pounds, to have his piece hacked about to suit the whims and fancies
of one of the major mountebanks of this most magisterial minor.

Madame Vestris, or, as she is generally called, the Widow of Wych-street, hav-
ing, by strict attention to business, and moderate charges, gained a considerable
increase of custom, intends removing to more commodious premises, and, sin-
gularly enough, has contracted with an undertaker to construct her habitation
on magnificent proportions. Gentlemen of this profession have generally such
small room for the display of their taste and ingenuity, that we are curious to
see the result. We hope it is not true that the fair widow has lately become a
strict disciple of Mr. Irving ; if so, the serious turn given to her mind by the
reverend gentleman, may naturally enough account for her employing an under-
taker. We suppose she contemplates the result of his labours as her last
home.

We fear that there will be little more to say in future respecting the theatres
— those termed national, we mean more particularly. Our minds misgave us
from the first, when we heard that a certain old gentleman in black, generally
supposed to be decorated with a tail and cloven foot, had identified himself with
the theatres, and had been at the elbow of managers during the season. The
consequence may be easily anticipated — it is such as usually attend those who
put their trust in such advisers. It appears that the old gentleman's visit,
though short, has been long enough to ruin the managers, and with them their
dependants. They have, therefore, accepted a general invitation from him in
return, and consequently theatres and actors, with the managers at their head,
are all going post-haste to " Le Diable" together. Sic transit gloria mundi I

REVIEW OF MUSIC.

Le Bouquet, a Souvenir for the year 1832, for the Spanish Guitar, composed by

Signor Verini. — Bentick Street, Manchester Square.

THIS little volume contains twelve vocal pieces, Italian, French, Spanish, and
English, ariette and duetti, all familiarly arranged for the guitar, besides
several short pieces adapted from popular Italian, English, French, and Scotch
airs. The songs, we believe, are original, and are put together in a very tasteful
manner, and so simply arranged as to encourage the most indifferent performer
to attack them. There are a few engravers' errors, which we are sorry to see in
so tasteful a work. It is beautifully got up, with a finely executed lithograph,
in imitation of a pencil -drawing of flowers. The volume is published at 10s. 6d.,
which is reasonable, considering the matter it contains.

Beauties of Sacred Harmony, arranged for the voice, piano, or organ, by J. C.

Nightingale. — Luff, Great Russel Street, Bloomsbury.

This volume, which consists of selections from the works of Corelli, Handel,
Havden, Mozart, Beethoven, &c., is designed, as the editor informs us upon the
title page, for the use of families and schools, and may answer the purpose of
the devout very well. We have little more, however, than we have seen in
other, and perhaps better forms. The selection from Handel, we have seen
better arranged by Horsley and others ; nor can we congratulate Mr. Nightin-
gale upon the introduction which he has composed to the pastoral symphony

1832.] Review of Music. 483

from the Messiah, — it is evident that such hallowed ground was not for him to
tread. The rest of the book is made up of " God save the King," PleyeFs
German Hymn, and other equally thread-bare and common-place pieces, which
the most unlearned amateur would turn from in disappointment. Had Mr.
Nightingale's object been to enable beginners to amuse themselves innocently on
Sunday evenings, by stringing together a number of common-place airs, we
might have applauded his undertaking, but we find in this volumn such songs
as " Had I JubaPs Lyre," " Angels are bright and fair," and other songs which
require the abilities of professors to give effect to, and consequently the work has
no design. Although Mr. Nightingale has failed in his undertaking, we think
that a well selected work upon this subject would meet with great patronage
from the public.

FINE ARTS' EXHIBITION.

SOCIETY OF BRITISH ARTISTS.

As the private view of this exhibition did not take place till the 23rd, which,
as most of our readers must be aware, is a late " Magazine day," we have to
apologize for not being able to get up a single Greek or even Latin quotation for
the occasion, like the illustrious pictorial critic of the Chronicle, who, in imita-
tion of Pope's quadruped :

" And ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost,"

seems utterly unable to tell green from yellow, or fore-shortening from chinro
'scuro, until he has disburthened himself of his last six months' gleanings from
Macdonnel's dictionary of quotations.

With this apology, therefore, for our want of learned lore, and trusting to our
good-natured reader to repeat the first twenty lines of " Propria quae maribus,"
before he proceeds any further, we venture at once (in answer to the call of the
devil) to dash in medias res, which, according to the catalogue, is

No. 13. Ruins, composition. D. ROBERTS. — And, Heaven save the mark,
here we get a quotation ready made to our hands, which we venture to set up
in opposition to the four next bits of learning that shall emanate from that very
small painter but very large critic, who struts so brilliantly in the columns of the
Chronicle. This is what Mr. Roberts (Mrs. Hemans loquente) tells us about
his own picture :

" There have been bright and glorious pageants here,
Where now grey stones and moss-grown columns lie ;

There have been words, which earth grew pale to hear,
Breath'd from the cavern's misty chambers nigh :
There have been voices through the sunny sky,

And the pine woods, their choral hymn-notes sending,
And reeds and Lyres, their Dorian melody,

With incense clouds around the temple blending,
And throngs, with laurel boughs, before the altar bending."

We. wish we could as .easily lay before our friends the poetry that is painted in
the picture, as we have that which is printed in the catalogue ; for it is long
since we have looked on any canvas " by a modern hand," so chastily designed,
and so purely coloured ; even where the tone is warmest, it seems so tenderly
inclined to glide away into sobriety, that the eye dwells with pleasure on the
scene without fear of being taken by assault by a sally of gamboge, or a charge
of the (aqua) marine.

45. The Widow. E. PRENTIS. — There are no " bright and glorious pageants"
here, but a tale of the heart instead. It is right pleasant to see a picture
handled with the sincerity of feeling which Mr. Prentis has here displayed.
There is something ominous in the title of " The Widow," at least we thought so,
till we transferred our gaze from the catalogue to the painting itself ; for till
that moment we had never, under the head of " Widows," become acquainted

484 Fine Arts' Exhibition. [APRIL,

with any medium between the two extremes of the " Dames of Ephesus," and
those, " like Niobe, all tears." Quite joyful, therefore, were we to find that in
this widow there was not one single melodramatic " Oh ! Ah !" but in its lieu,
a fine vein of sadness current through her face, — a subdued but trembling gaze,
as though she were tracing in the empty air real and substantial forms, — and
a melancholy repose of attitude in which the reclining of the body seems to in-
dicate the sinking of the soul. To those who love quiet, honest emotions, re-
leased from all the bustle of straining after effect, we recommend this picture.

57. Portrait of Mrs. Davenport, in the character of the Nurse, in Romeo and
Juliet. JAMES HOLMES. — A pleasant picture, and a pleasant likeness : we are
obliged to Mr. Holmes for thinking it worth his while to paint a stage -departed
favourite, when half the painting tribe is crying " Fanny to the easel, ho !" as
though the world had never seen the sun, until this very 1st of April.

115. The Baptism. — G. HARVEY, S. A. — This is a picture with great preten-
sion's, some cleverness, and the deuce of all figures in it. When we first caught
a glimpse of it, we took it for a parody on Michael Angelo's " Day of Judgment,"
till we scanned the face of the minister, full of what the English call acerbity, —
and the Scotch, devotion, — and which certainly ran no risk of being mistaken
for the " head and front" of Buonaroti's daring design.

151. Caution. JAMES INSKIPP. — This is a sweet little bit of unaffected nature ;
and when we say that it is coloured in the artist's best manner, we do not know
whether we do not go near to say — coloured in the best manner of the best co-
lourist of the age. There is certainly an astonishing richness and freshness in
the tone of this painter's pictures, and withal a delightful vein of ease and
nature.

There are other pictures which we could have wished to notice ; but we
lament to say that our limits and our time will not allow us to proceed any
further with those we had marked for observation.

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THE PRESS. containing a full and Compendious Ex-
planation of all Ecclesiastical Rites and

Gospel Stories. An Attempt to ren- Ceremonies. By Thomas Anthony

der the Chief Events of the Life of Our Trollope, L.L.B.

Saviour intelligible and profitable to Trials of Charles the First and the

Young Children. Regicides. By Charles Edward Dodd,

The Life of Peter the Great. Esq.

Pen and Pencil Sketches of India. The Agamemnon of JSschylus, trans-
Being a Journal of a Tour in that Coun- lateci from the Greek. Illustrated by
try. With numerous Engravings by Outlines from Ancient Gems. By John
Landseer, and Woodcuts, chiefly illus- S. Harford, Esq., D.C.L., and F.R.S.
trative of the Field Sports of India. By the Rev. Charles Eyre, an Illus-
By Captain Mundy, late Aide-de-Camp tration of St. Paul's Epistles, with an
to Lord Combermere. entirely new Translation.

Contarini Fleming. A Psychological The Greek Testament, accompanied

Auto-Biography. with English Notes. By the Rev. S.

The Province of Jurisprudence De- P. Bloomfield.

fined, in Six Essays. By John Austin, The Fair of May Fair. A Novel.

Esq., Barrister-at-Law. Country Houses. A Novel.

History of the War of the Spanish Calabria during a Military Residence

Succession (1702 — 1714). By Viscount of three years. By a General Officer of

Mahon, M.P., Author of the " Life of the French Army.

Belisarius." Augustus Fitzgeorge. A Romance

Natural Magic, in a Series of Letters of yesterday.

addressed to Sir Walter Scott, Bart. Heeren's Manual of the History of

By Dr. Brewster. Woodcuts. the European States, System, and their

The Encyclopaedia Ecclesiastica ; or, Colonies.

a Complete History of the Church; (Mi the Nature and Treatment of

1832.]

List of New Works.

485

Cholera. By Sir A. Carlile, adapted
for general circulation, by the simplicity
of its details.

By Mr. .1. Arrowsmith, the London
Atlas of Universal Geography, com-
prised in fifty Maps, constructed from
original MSS.

Bibliophobia. Remarks on the pre-
sent State of Literature and the Book-
Trade.

Mr. Medwin is preparing for publi-
cation a Life of Lord Byron.

History Philosophically Illustrated,
from the Fall of the Roman Empire, to
the Revolution of France. By George
Miller, D.D.

Jone's Plea for Christian Piety.

A Dictionary of the Anglo-Saxon
Language. By the Rev. J. Bosworth.

Heeren's Historical Researches into
the Politics, Intercourse, and Trade of
Ancient Nations of Asia.

.The Girl's Own Book. By Mrs.
Child. Reprinted from the American
Edition.

A New Musical Periodical, entitled
The Appoloniad.

Flowers of Fable, culled from the
works of Epictetus, Croxall, Dodsley,
Gay, Cowper, Pope, Moore, Merrick,
Denis, Tapner, and others, with one
hundred and fifty Engravings on Wood.

Memoirs of William Sampson, an
Irish Exile, written by himself.

Church History through all Ages,
from the first promise of a Saviour, to
the year 1830. By T. Timpson.

An Encyclopaedia, of Cottage, Farm,
and Villa Architecture, with numerous
Designs, and Analytical and Critical
Remarks. By Mr. Loudon.

A New School Atlas in small 4to.
By Mr. Wyld of Charing Cross.

'Herodotus ; with English Notes,
Philological and Geographical. By the
Rev. John Edwards, M.A., Head Mas-
ter of the Grammar School of Bury St.
Edmund's.

First Lines of Natural Philosophy.
In Question and Answer. By Robert
Mudie, Author of " First Lines of
Zoology," &c.

By Mr. Babbage, a Work on the Eco-
nomy of Machinery and Manufactures.
The results of his observations in the
various mechanical processes used in
the arts ; and also to explain the do-
mestic economy of the interior of our
great manufactories, by which the cheap-
ness of their products is insured.

Shaksperian Concordance. A Verbal
Index to the Plays of Shakspeare. By
M. V. Clarke, resembling, in arrange-
ment, Cruden's Concordances of the
Bible.

Historical and Practical Treatise on
Steam Carriages on Turnpike Roads.
By Alexander Gordon, Engineer.

The Messiah ; a Poem in Six Books.
By the Author of " The Omnipresence
of the Deity."

A Course of Lectures on the Coinage
of the Greeks and Romans. Delivered
in the University of Oxford. By Ed-
ward Card well, D*.D.

Hulsean Lectures for the Year 1831 .
The Veracity of the Historical Books
of the Old Testament. By the Rev. J.
J. Blunt.

The following Works are written in
conformity with the Will of the late
Earl of Bridgewater. The Authors, ap-
pointed by the late President of the
Royal Society : —

1. On the Adaptation of External Na-
ture to the Physical Condition of Man.
By John Kidd, M.D., F.R.S., Regius
Professor of Medicine in the University
of Oxford.

2. On the Adaptation of External Na-
ture to the Moral Condition of Man.
By the Rev. John Thomas Chalmers,
D.D., Professor of Divinity in the Uni-
versity of Edinburgh.

3. On Human and Comparative Ana-
tomy and Physiology ; and on Vegeta-
ble Physiology. By Peter Mark Roget,
M.D., Secretary to the Royal Society.

4. On the Mechanism of the Human
Frame, including the Hand and its
Uses, and the Organs of the Voice.
By Sir Charles Bell, Knt., F.R.S.

5. On the Habits and Instincts of
Animals. By the Rev. William Kirby.
M.A., F.R.S.

6. On Geology and Mineralogy. By
the Rev. William Buckland, D.D.,
F.R.S., Canon of Christ Church, and
Professor of Geology in the University
of Oxford.

7. On Astronomy and General Phy-
sics. By the Rev. William Whewell,
M.A., F.R.S., Fellow of Trinity Col-
lege, and Professor of Mineralogy in the
University of Cambridge.

8. On Chemistry, Meteorology, and
the Function of Digestion. By Wil-
liam Prout, M.D., F.R.S.

LIST OF NEW WORKS.

BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

The Rise and Progress of the English
Commonwealth, from the first settle-
ment of the Anglo-Saxons. " By F. Pal-
grave, Esq. 4to. 31. 3s.

Fox's History of Godmanchester.
21s.

486

List of New Works.

[APRIL,

Passages from the Diary of a late Phy-
sician. 2 vols. 12s.

Family Topographer ; containing
Cornwall, Devonshire, Dorsetshire,
Hants, Somertshire and Wiltshire,
forming the Western Circuit. Vol. 2.

Memoirs et Romances de Madame la
Duchesse de St. Leu. 4to. 25s.

Wallace's Memoirs of the Life of
George IV. 3 vols. 12mo. 15s.

Recollections of Mirabeau. By Du-
mont. 8vo. 9s., in French, 12s.

Royal Naval Biography. By John
Marshall, Lieutenant in the Royal
Navy. 8vo. Vol. 3. Part 2. 15s.

Neibuhr's Home. Vol. 2., translated
by Messrs. Hare and Thirlwall. 8vo.
16s.

ON EDUCATION.

An Elementary Treatise on Algebra.
Designed to facilitate the Acquirement
of the first Principles of the Science.
By Samuel Fennell, M. A. 8vo. 9s.

A Digested Series of Examples in the
Applications of the DifferentialCalculus.
By John Hind. 8vo. 8s.

Reflections on the Metaphysical
Principles of the Infinitesimal Analysis.
By M. Carnot. Translated by the llev.
W. R. Browell. 8vo. 5s.

Questions on Tytler's Elements of
Universal History. For the Use of the
Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst.
8vo. 5s.

The Doctrine of Greek Prosody,
translated from the German of Franz
Passow. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

A Grammar of the Hebrew Language.
By Edward Hincks, D.D. 8vo. 7s.

Analysis of the Seven Parts of Speech.
By the Rev. C. L. Lyon. 12mo. 3s.

Williams's Art and Science Antici-
pated. 18mo. 4s. 6d. .

MISCELLANEOUS.

Chamber's Gazetteer of Scotland.
8vo. 23s.

Gleanings in Natural History, with
local Recollections. By Edward Jesse,
Esq.

Hints to a Clergyman's Wife, or Fe-
male Parochial Duties practically illus-
trated. 12mo. 4s.

A Million of Facts. By Sir R. Phil-
lips. 8vo.

Observations on Tithes and Tithe-
Laws. By the late Sir George Wood,
Knight. 8vo. Is.

A Letter to the Royal Commissioners
for the Visitation of Colleges in Scot-
land. By Thomas Chalmers, D.D. 8vo.
2s.

A Manual of the History of Philoso-
phy. Translated from the last German

Edition of Tennemann. By the Rev.
Arthur Johnson, M.A. 8vo. 16s. 6d.

NOVELS AND TALES.

Woman's Love. A Novel, in 3 vols.
11. 11s. 6d.

The Water Queen ; or, the Mermaid
of LochLene. By Mr. Coates. 3 vols.
18s.

Frederick Wilding ; or, the Ways of
the World. A Novel, in 3 vols.

My Old Portfolio, or Tales and
Sketches. By Henry Glasford Bell.
8vo. 9s.

Real Life. Pages from the Portfolio
of a Chronicler. 5s.

Tales of the Saxons. By Miss Tay-
lor. 12mo. 5s.

POETRY.

The Easter Gift, a Religious Offer-
ing. By L. E. L., containing fourteen
highly finished Engravings. 9s.

Poems. By William Cullen Bryant,
an American Poet. Edited by Washing-
ton Irving. 9s.

Francis the First, an Historical Dra-
ma. By Frances Ann Kemble. 8vo.
6s. 6d.

The Death Summons, or the Rock of
Martos. A Tragedy. By W. C. Wim-
berley. 5s.

RELIGION AND MORALS.

A Treatise on the Authority, Ends,
and Observance of the Christian Sab-
bath. By the Rev. Duncan Macfarlan.
12mo. 4s.

Parry's Exposition of St. Paul's Epis-
tles to the Romans. 12mo. 7s.

Evidence of the Truth of the Chris-
tian Religion. By the Rev. Alexander
Keith. 8vo. 12s.

The Sacred History of the World,
attempted to be philosophically consi-
dered, in a Series of Letters to a Son.
Part 1. The Creation and subsequent
Events to the Deluge. By Sharon Tur-
ner. 8vo. 16s.

TRAVELS.

The Domestic Manners of the Ame-
ricans. By Frances Trolope. 2 vols.
21s.

Tour of a German Prince. Vols. 3
and 4. 21s.

Fragments of Voyages and Travels,
being an Account of Captain Basil
HalPs Naval Life and Early Voyages.
Second Series. Three vols.

An Account of the Province of New
Brunswick, including a description of
the Settlements, Soil and Climate, with
advice to Emigrants. By Thomas
Baillie, Esq. 12mo. 2s. 6d.

1832.] [ 487 ]

, -'t'trrr-'Jt
MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

DURING the whole of our reporting days, which have not been few, we do not
recollect to have received such general, or rather universal, panegyrical accounts,
as those now before us, of the excellence of the winter and present season —
weather most delightful for all agricultural operations. The spring seeds advan-
tageously put into the soil, and great breadths of plant above ground throughout
the country. In course there must exist some adverse exceptions, the result of
peculiar circumstances, which we shall note in their place. We must also ac-
knowledge, that we do not entirely agree with our correspondents as to the
benefits of a mild, moist, and foggy winter season, with perpetual chopping and
changing of the wind, which has had a morbid effect on the human constitution in
many parts, and which has encouraged a premature and rank vegetation of the
wheat crop, detracting, it is to be apprehended, too much from the seminal virtues
of the root. A crop, superabundant in straw, is seldom equally so in corn. If the
greatest breadths of wheat, both autumnal, and in the north, and some parts of
the north-west, of spring wheat, ever sown in Britain, can command plenty, it
is probable the next harvest will produce it. To say a word or two on that con-
venient professional humbug, cholera morbus, our ancient acquaintance, we have
not had a single case from the country, though plenty of other atmospheric dis-
eases from different counties — sore throats, coughs, intermittents. Indigenous
cholera has been immemorially periodical in this country, never contagious, but, as
the doctors style it, spordatic, or locally infectious ; generally of atmospheric
origin, but too often produced by starvation and neglect.

The wheats, clovers, and grasses, natural and artificial, are all universally for-
ward, promising very early spring food for all kinds of stock. It is said, however,
that the mild white frosts, which have prevailed through part of the last and
present month, have in some degree checked, beneficially, an over luxuriance.
The winter tare?, though yet to appearance a full crop, are said to have expe-
rienced some change of colour from these frosts, an effect which we have not
witnessed. No doubt, however, but their retarding fruit vegetation will prove a
step towards the security of that crop ; for it was said a week or two since, in
some of the earliest districts, that the bud had not then made its appearance. But
the most important effect of those frosts, when accompanied by dry weather, has
been experienced in the heavy clay lands, rendering them loose and pliable, and
fit for the even early reception of the spring seed, which, without such aid,
must have proved disadvantageously late. Indeed, the land has turned up well
for all the crops; little or no extra expense of culture has been incurred, and
many farmers boast they have scarcely lost a day throughout the season.

As to unfavourable exceptions, the most remarkable were those which we heard
of from Oxfordshire and Beds, where they had previously been congratulating
themselves on the best lenten season within memory. In the first they had a
heavy rain of twenty-four hours' continuance, about the middle of the present
month, which consequently put a stop to all immediate culture of the heavy
lands, until the only remedy of frost or drought should present. Nearly at the
same period, in B'eds, they had the heaviest fall of rain and snow, continuing
through a similar period, which had been experienced throughout the winter,
producing the greatest floods in both districts, and laying their meadows and low
grounds completely under water. We cannot help noticing again, that which old
Marshall would have styled a difference of cUmature. We really have not been
overdone with that dry weather in Middlesex, which has been so much vaunted
in other districts. We had constant fogs until the first March breezes, at no
rate early, dispelled them ; and those fogs appeared to be the substitutes for rain,
and generally convertible into rain. As to that article above price, MARCH DUST,
its first appearance in any great quantity seems to have been on the 24th, desert-
ing us, within two days, with no very satisfactory promise of return.

After all these objections, however, which we have been compelled to urge, the
present spring seed season, conclude whenever it may, will, taken all in all, be
among the earliest on record. As to the mode in which it has been conducted ;
that probably has been the best within the farmer's power, considering the de-
pressed situation of too many of that class; though there are some, even many,
who, by their own shewing, are successful. We have lately been agreeably

488 Agricultural Report. [APRIL,

surprised by very flattering accounts of farming, from Cdrnwall, whence we least
expected such, as a county, in our opinion, too far divided from the best agricul-
tural instructions and examples. We have been far less agreeably surprised by
accounts from a very different and nearer quarter, of the stock of weeds, living,
increasing, and multiplying in the land. Though the letters be before us, we are
actually ashamed to repeat the contents. One friend, from whom we expected better
things (we trust he will excuse us), writes with much gravity, that his only reason
for drilling is to save two or three shillings per acre in seed. That being all, he had
better stick to his broadcast. It is said now, that farmers, desperate and hopeless,
manage their concerns on the spur of immediate exigency, wisely leaving the fu-
ture to shift for itself. In pursuance, their favourite crop is wheat ; which they
cast upon any tilts affording the best prospect of a crop.

The barley and potatoe lands, yet unfinished, are in a course of operation, and
the red and white turnip soils are in a very forward state. The old story on
HOOKS, is again current in the woodlands. It is said, they are doing great da-
mage to the early sown barley which is above ground, there having been no
frosts, during several seasons to reduce their numbers ; and there seems to be no
other remedy than a gunner in every exposed field. In truth, there are men
enough out of employ. We have heard from several quarters of the gout in wheat,
which some persons lately have styled a new disease. It is, nevertheless, much
older than ourselves, and generally appears in rank overgrown wheats, the gouty
plants with their broad leaves and large stem more resembling oats than wheat.
The ancient practice of eating down too luxuriant wheat, to the very last blade, by
folding sheep, has been frequently recurred to, during the present season. We
have often known both heavy cattle and sheep employed in this business : an ex-
ample which we never dared to follow.

As usual, in one quarter, turnips have continued useful to the last, in others they
have been rather expeditious in hastening to the seed stem. Sheep and cat-
tle food is universally plentiful, with no probability of its being otherwise during
the present spring. Generally, graziers complain that turnip feeding has not been
remunerative through the late season, from the early luxuriance of the plant occa-
sioning too great exhaustion of the root. Wool is said again to have become a
drug. Of hops, we know nothing at present. Clover and sainfoin seed are scarce
and dear ; the case of several other seeds. Import then must be the farmer's re-
source. As to live stock, fat or store, at our fairs and markets, an abundant plenty
continues the order of the day. The rot in sheep seems flitting out of recollec-
tion ; and this year's lambing season, on the whole, has been successful. Never-
theless, many, both ewes and lambs, have been lost through the severity or insa-
lubrity of the season, and the too well known want of care in British flock masters :
many heifers have slipped their calves.

A new and additionally horrible trait has lately come abroad, on the subject of
INCENDIARISM. The women, in several instances, in the western counties, have
proved the instigators of their husbands, to this most detestable act ! and in various
instances, have been strongly suspected of actual perpetration. An inhabitant of
Berks, or Beds, cannot retire to rest without the awful dread of having his whole
property, family and animals, exposed to the risk of being consumed by fire, before
the morning's dawn. The least pretence of dissatisfaction, just or otherwise, is now
sufficient — comply, or we fire your premises. We charge the whole of this na-
tional disgrace, as we ever did, on the apathy and lukewarmness of the magis-
tracy.

Smilhfald.—Heef, 3s. 2d. to 4s Mutton, 4s. to 4s. 10d.— Veal, 4s. Cd. to

5s. 4d — Pork, 4s. 4d. to 5s. 2d. best dairy, 5s. 8d Rough fat, 2s. 8d.

Corn Exchange. — Wheat, 40s. to 74s. — Barley, 24s. to 38s — Oats, 15s. to 27s.

The London, 41b. loaf, lOd — Hay, 55s. to 86s.— Clover ditto, G5s. to 115s.—
Straw 28s. 30s. to 40s.

Coal Exchange — Coals, in the Pool, per ton, 14s. to 22s. Gd.
Middlesex, March 2Gth.

MAY, 1832.

CONTENTS.

I. Memoir .... . 491

II. Address to the Statue of Mr. Pitt . . . 495

III. Taxes on Knowledge . . . 495

IV. The Seals. By the Author of the Hunchback . . 499
V. Original Autograph Letters . . . . 500

VI. The Fresh-Water Whale , . . .503

VII. The Young Poet ..... 510

VIII. The two Professors — A glance at the Quarterly and Blackwood . 511

IX. Sonnet—To a Dead Leaf .... .520

X. Cicero's Work on the Republic .... 521

XL Windlass Hall . . . . . 528

XII. On the Military Resources of the Austrian Empire. . . 533

XIII. Legal Monopoly . . . . . 538

XIV. The Galley Slaves . ... 542
XV. Pericles -A Tale of Greece .... .547

XVI. The Fairy Morgana's Wedding . . . .555

XVII. The Little Great, and the Great Little . . . 557

XVIII. The Rights of Dramatists . . . .559

XIX. Sonnet . . . . . . 565

XX. The Reigning Vice . . . . .566

XXI. Rambles in Germany . . . . 569

XXII. The Inconveniences of an Independence . . .572

XXIII. A Conversation with the Double-sighted Youth of the Egyptian Hall 577

XXIV. Notes for the Month . ... 584
XXV. The Surrey Zoological Gardens . . . . 590

XXVI. Monthly Review of Literature . . . .593

XXVII. Works in the Press, and New Publications . . .597

XXVIII. Monthly Magazine Agricultural Report . . 599

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

THE author of the Corn Law Rhymes is a man of fine and striking genius ; it is
his misfortune, therefore, to be followed by a race of imitators, who content them-
selves with tracking his poetical footsteps at as respectful a distance as possible. It
has been our fate, during the past two months, to receive poems, from eminent un-
known authors, on subjects connected with every possible branch of mechanical
science, and on every topic that foreign and domestic policy can suggest. We have
had Hymns to Hydraulic Engines, and Lyrical Essays on Levers. Mr. Sadler's
Factory Regulation Bill seems to have aroused half the poetical imagination of the
country ; and the Duke of Buckingham's unborn Reform Bill has cast its shadow
before 'in the shape of as much nonsense as his Grace could conveniently talk in a
whole session. The March of Truth has set at least a hundred lyres at work ; and
the last new-invented pulley has acted upon more chords than the patentee
imagined. We had intended to have gratified our contributors and surprised the
public, with a selection from these poetical helps to science and morality ; but we
must for the present leave the Population and Political Economy poets in the shade,
and give only a few lines of one of the ninety-seven odes and oddities that have
sprung from the recent Insurrection at Jamaica.

' View the slave— he spies his master —

See him cringing at the sight, —
Lashed to make him labour faster,

Answer — tell me — is this right 1
• Does a noble-minded nation

Treat a black man as a brute 1
Is the negro no relation —

Sprang he not from Adam's root ?
Yes, I hail the hour of freedom

For the British and their slaves ;
Let their ransom be agreed on

With the money-making knaves.
Then, in truth, will Freedom shed her

Halo round your mighty name —
Let unswerving justice spread her

Wings o'er black and white the same'.'

This,.though not first-rate poetry, is better than the Birth-day Odes, and Blockhead-
isms to Britannia, which the Pyes and Whiteheads were wont to edify the world with.

For the Address to a Steam-Engine on the premises of Mr. Clowes, in Stamford
Street, we cannot find space ; but we are pleased with it for one reason at least —
that it has suggested to us a very profitable and pleasurable termination to these
unimportant remarks, in an Apologue which we here proceed to copy. It is, if we
mistake not, from the pen of Mr. Leigh Hunt, which will especially recommend it ;
it treats of that same PRINTING BY STEAM, which has just brought it to our recol-
lection ; and above all, it is in our estimation, as beautiful in a poetical as in a phi-
losophical sense. Here, then, is Leigh Hunt's Apologue on Printing by Steam.

During a wonderful period of the world, the kings of the earth leagued themselves

together to destroy all opposition, to root out, if they could, the very thoughts of man-
kind. Inquisition was made for blood. The ears of the grovelling lay in wait for every
murmur. On a sudden, during this great hour of danger, there arose in a hundred parts
of the world, a cry, to which the cry of the Blatant Beast was as a Whisper. It pro.
ceeded from the wonderful multiplication of an extraordinary Creature, which had already
turned the cheeks of the tyrants pallid. It groaned and it grew loud . it spoke with a
hundred tongues : it grew fervidly on the ear, like the noise of a million of wheels. And
the sound of a million of wheels was in it, together with other marvellous and awful
voices. There was the sharpening of swords, the braying of trumpets, the neighing of
war-horses, the laughter of solemn voices, the rushing by of lights, the movement of
impatient feet, a tread as if the world were coming. And ever and anon there were pauses
with " a still small voice," which made a trembling in the night-time ; but still the glow-
ing sound of the wheels renewed itself; gathering early towards the morning. — And when
you came up to one of these creatures, you saw, with fear and reverence, it's mighty con-
formation, being like wheels indeed, and a great vapour. And ever and anon the vapour
boiled, and the wheels went rolling, and the creature threw out of its mouth visible words,
that fell into the air by millions, and spoke to the uttermost parts of the earth. And the
nations, (for it was a loving though a fearful Creature) fed upon its words like the air
they breathed : and the Monarchs paused, for they knew tlieir masters.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES, LETTRES.
VOL. XIII.] MAY, 1832." [No. 77.

MEMOIR OF JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

WE have the pleasure, this month, of being able to present our readers,
not only with a portrait of this interesting person, whose fine genius is
nightly warming the hearts of the public, but with some particulars,
hitherto unknown, respecting his life and writings. Mr. Knowles is one
of those men, the cordial and domestic turn of whose faculties gives
people a more than ordinary desire to know him like an acquaintance ;
and perhaps a better idea of him will be derived from our portrait and
account, than is afforded even by his appearance on the stage, where he
has to act the part of another, to strain his voice, and to disguise his
person and manners.

James Sheridan Knowles, who must now be about forty-six, or forty-
seven years old (for we have forgotten to inquire the precise number) was
born in the city of Cork, and is the son of Mr. Knowles, a teacher of elo-
cution, formerly one of the masters of the celebrated school at Belfast,
and related to a race whose schoolmasters and elocutionists terminated in
producing another dramatic genius in a different line, the late eminent
Brinsley Sheridan. Mr. Knowles's father, and the author of the
" School for Scandal," were cousins, we believe, in the first degree.
Sheridan's father was an actor and a teacher of elocution ; his grand-
father was the celebrated friend of Swift, Thomas Sheridan, of punning,
classical, and careless memory ; — a genius for a rainy day ; — always in dif-
ficulties, and always merry. Hence came the wits and beauties, who
have moved in the polite circles of modern times, and have restored the
line to its family honours. Mr. Knowles has added a collateral grace, of
a very rare and un- Sheridan-like description, — that of a genius for the
serious drama, full of faith in the good and beautiful, and good upon that
account.

M.M. New Series. Vol. XIII. No. 77. 2 L 2

492 Memoir of James Sheridan Knowles. [MAY,

Our author was sent to England at eight years of age, and educated
there, which accounts for his betraying so little of the Irish tongue, con-
sidering the time he has spent among his countrymen. The dramatic
instinct manifested itself in him at the age of twelve, when, being con-
nected with a juvenile company of private actors, the idea of writing
a play for himself, first occurred to him. We know not what became
of it. This was followed by an opera, founded on the history of the
Chevalier de Grillon, and given to Richardson, the friend of Sheridan,
by whom, or betwixt whom, it was lost. At fourteen Mr. Knowles was
the author of a little song, of which many who know it well will be glad
to learn to whom they are indebted for it. It is entitled the Welsh Harper,
and begins, " Over the sunny hills I stray." At sixteen, he wrote a
tragedy in five acts, called the Spanish Story, which is still in existence j
at twenty-four, Hersilia, a play which never appeared, and was given to
Tom Sheridan -, and at twenty-six, another called the Gipsey, which was
acted at Waterford, Kean playing the hero. Kean told Mr. Knowles after-
wards that " he would have given any thing to know where he was, in
order that he might have used it for his first appearance in London." The
Gipsey was succeeded by Brien Boroighme, an alteration from a piece by
a Mr. Mara, which had extraordinary success in Belfast, and brought
hundreds to the theatre. The next play in order of composition (for
Virginius was not written before it, as report has given out) was Cains
Gracchus, performed in the same town, and subsequently in London — after
Virginius. Beautiful Virginius came next, the subject suggested by Mr.
Kean., and not, as is commonly supposed, by Mr. Macready. Mr. Mac-
ready performed the principal character so well, and has so established his
reputation for excellence in domestic tenderness, that the supposition was
natural enough, especially as nobody knew that Mr. Kean had ever seen
the play. Perhaps the report partly originated in the fact, that Mr.
Macready did suggest the subject of the play that followed, — that of Wil-
liam Tell. It is very honourable to those two actors, that they thought
of subjects so good, and on the side of liberty ; especially as this was
before the arrival of the Glorious Three Days, which gave such a won-
derful-turn to things, and made the side of liberty the sunny side of the
political world. William 7e// was followed by the Beggar's Daughter of
Bethnal Green — another failure, to which, however, we owe the piece
which is now so triumphant. Then came Alfred, which succeeded; and
then the Hunchback, which is succeeding now, and for ever.

Mr. Knowles was intended for the medical profession, and studied for
it -j but the instinct of genius drew him more and more towards the stage

832.] Memoir of James Sheridan Knowles. 493

He became a teacher of elocution ; he was an actor for three years, in Ire-
land ; and, finally, he has added a name to the list of those extraordinary
men, who so remarkably abounded on the stage at one time, as combiners of
acting with authorship. It will have been seen, by the above account of
his plays, that, like all other fine and useful writers, he has not been without
his helps of experience and trouble : and he has had others. He delights
to call to mind the acquaintance he made, when a boy, with the late Mr.
Hazlitt, and the great good done him by that admirable critic, and good-
hearted, though irritable man. Mr. Hazlitt took a liking to him, gave
him the best advice, quoted passages for him from the best writers, and
showed him how superior nature was to art, and what a capital thing it was
to have faith in her. The young dramatist also became acquainted with Mr.
Lamb, another admirable humanist, whom no man of letters ever knew
without being the better for it. Mr. Hazlitt pointed out to his earliest notice,
as an instance of clear and elegant writing, a passage in Mr. Lamb's " John
Woodville," about a stag ; we know not whether that, in which the stag is
pictured as making " a dancing shadow of his horns in the water," or the
other passage, in which there is a beautiful comparison of the shyness of
deer with " bashful younkers in society." Mr. Knowles, however, never
*' studied" the old masters in the drama ; indeed he has said that, with
the exception of Shakspeare, he purposely avoided them, when he com-
menced writing, that his ideas might be unshackled.

But what did Mr. Knowles as much good perhaps, as any thing else in
Mr. Hazlitt's society, was that spirit of self- forge tfulness, and equality of
intercourse, which all young people, who recollect that great writer, are so
thankful to remember. He put himself on a level with him, listened to
his arguments, as if they were those of a grown man, and answered them
as if he valued them accordingly j and he knew this was wise for himself
too, as well as for the boy; since childhood in its unhampered and
natural wisdom, often says things capable of suggesting light to wisdom
full grown. Besides, Mr. Hazlitt knew how to love the beauty of a child'
mind, and to live with it in its primeval world. Mr. Knowles knew him
long, and may be said, in some measure, to have grown up under his
mind. He has mentioned him in private, as having been a sort of " mental
father." We must not forget that Mr. Hazlitt introduced him to Cole-
ridge, who read him one of his fine extemporaneous lectures on poetry
and amazed him by the simplicity of another great mind, and the interest
he took in talking with a little boy. Among his recollections of Hazlett
livelier passages are not wanted, illustrative of other parts of his friend's
character. The bashful and irritable metaphysician, who was always

494 Memoir of James Sheridan Knowles. [MAY,

misgiving himself for his want of address, took it in his head once to
study rope-dancing, and actually had a lance-wood pole fitted up in his room
on which the future dramatist, we believe, practised with him. The boy
once sat to him for his picture (for Mr. Hazlitt originally intended him-
self for a painter,) and perplexed him with the unmarked rotundity of his
little visage. " Hang your fat cheeks!" cried the impatient artist: —
" frown, James."

It is worth while to dilate a little upon the origin of Virginius. Mr.
Knowles, finding great difficulty in getting up any thing at the London
theatres, had laid aside the pen for several years, when meeting Mr. Kean,
at Glasgow, that great actor said, that if he would write a play in which
he could perform the principal part, he would bring it out -, and he sug-
gested to him the story of Virginius. The piece, however, was transferred
to Covent Garden, because another on the same subject had been previ-
ously received at Drury Lane, and, after all, it first came out at Glasgow,
the part of Virginius being performed with great applause by Mr. Cooper.
A friend of Mr. Macready's sent him an account of the play : he requested
to see it in the manuscript, read it, and wrote a highly flattering letter to
the author, the consequence of which was an acquaintance between them,
and the appearance of this pathetic tragedian in his most applauded
character.

All these circumstances contributed to our author's familiarity with life
and the stage, and it is an honour to his energies to add, that the pro-
foundest of all teachers has not been wanting to him, — adversity.

Mr. Knowles is married, and has a family, we believe, of six children^
He is somewhat under the middle height, stout, and well-built, with a
pleasant, ardent, and manly aspect, and a demeanour with a cast of rough-
ness in it, but nothing clownish or ill-bred : it is all cordiality and good-
nature, with a relish, as well as a crust upon it, of old port. Mr. Knowles
squeezes a hand with right friendly ferocity, and is famous among his
friends for the happy buoyancy, as well as the vigour, of his feelings. He
is not so good an actor as he is an author: — none of his extraordinary
class have been : it would have been too much fame for the same man : —
but his acting is far from being common-place. So much has been said
of his merit as a writer, elsewhere, that we shall not add any thing on the
subject in this hasty sketch. Suffice it to say, that we have the good for-
tune to write in his character the two best praises that can be given to
any one — he is an admirable writer, and a good man.

1832.] [-495 ]

ADDRESS TO THE STATUE OF MR. PITT, IN HANOVER-SQUARE.

PROUD Statue of a Statesman !— in his time

As great as auy little soul can be;
A most gigantic dwarf — a thing sublime,

Yet insignificant exceedingly.

I come to thee, O Statue ! — lately set

On high, to let this ancient truth be shewn,

That when a famished people bread would get,
The Tories always proffer them — a stone :

To thee I come — thou Weatherer of the Storm,

Thou stationary Pilot to St. George's ;
I fain would know thy notions of Reform,

And of corruption's daily-dying orgies !

Thou sure can'st speak : heads, innocent as thine
Of brains, are heard to speak whole nights together ;

And thou should' st feel ; for near thee, I opine,
Hearts no less hard now flutter like a feather.

Some service thou should' st render us, since thou

Art all we ever got, or e'er shall get —
Except the glory — somewhat tarnished now —

For that pecuniary plague, the Debt.

Then, Statue! O, for once be patriotic ;

Thou art the likeness of a rare magician,
Who moulded peers from commoners chaotic,

And made plebeian people quite patrician.

The prince of peer-makers, who scorning detail,

With barons, earls, and viscounts, crammed the nation;

Who wrote above his door — " Lords wholesale, retail,
And"— would that I could add—" for exportation."

A sort of marble moral to the story

Thy master left, be thou his country's friend ;

Quick — emulate the Spanish statue's glory :
Start from thy pedestal ! descend, descend !

As Guzman's stony image to the Don,
Go thou at once to that delinquent, Grey ;

Thy chiselled hand his shoulder place upon,
But mind— be cautious, or he'll slip away.

Then teach him wisdom triple and quadruple ;

Teach him to trust no more to steps of sand ;
Teach him to make some sturdy peers, sans scruple :

There's much of raw material in the land.

Say, Statue, say, he'll want them soon or later ;

Say that some twenty might secure redress ;
That if he will not make the number greater,

The nation may resolve — to make it less !

Thy task complete, O Statue, it were fit

That thou should'st be Mac-Adamized ; this praise

Would then be thine — more useful far than Pitt —
'Twas thine, not his, to mend the public ways.

[496 ] [MAY,

TAXES ON KNOWLEDGE.

THE Ministers have acted somewhat shabbily with regard to the TAXES
ON KNOWLEDGE. After all their implied pledges, the Six Acts still dis-
grace the Statute Book. The tax on paper is still in being, and, a neces-
sary consequence, the manufacturer is still subjected to the vexatious
constraints of the excise regulations, to the domiciliary visits of the
excise officer, — and pleasanter still, to the trouble and expense, and dis~
credit * of excise informations, to say nothing of the effect of the tax
upon the price of books, upon the remuneration of the author, and the
profits of the publisher. A duty of one hundred per cent, is yet levied
upon newspapers ; and the book trade in common with every man who
is desirous of selling or buying, is still subjected to a tax of from one to
two hundred per cent, upon advertisements. As regards the gentlemen of
the Weekly Press, the Whigs have acted with less fairness than the Tories.
Those worthies protected those whom they taxed. The present Ministry
not only narrow the market of the fair trader, but they allow smugglers of
every grade to vend their contraband articles under his very eyes.

The state of the revenue is the excuse made by Lord Althorpe. Let
us examine its validity. The sum produced by all the taxes levied, either
directly or indirectly upon literature, amounts to about one million and a
quarter, f Lord Althorpe has remitted two millions. Had the heaviest and

* We do not allude to the intentional smuggling, but to formal or accidental
violations of the complicated and contradictory laws ivhich direct how paper shall
be made.

The following is a statement of the amounts respectively produced in 1830, in
Great Britain and Ireland. The documents for last year are not yet printed.

TAXES ON KNOWLEDGE.
EXCISE

Paper £'687, 808

STAMPS

Newspapers and Supplements, and Papers for Advertisements, 440, 027

Advertisements 173,819

Almanacks 27,256

Pamphlets 1,034

CUSTOMS

Rags, &c. for Paper 2, 312

Books (foreign, or which originally published in this country,

have not been reprinted for twenty years 11,810

Paper 1,325

Quills i 4,252

£1,349,643

The duties on the three last are imposed with a view to protection rather than
revenue. Of course as long as we tax our own manufacturer he is entitled to
protection. Though Quills scarcely come under this head. They are part and
parcel of the Corn Laws.

TAXES REMITTED BY THE PRESENT MINISTERS.

Coals and Culm £958, 299

Slates 35,573

Printed Calicoes and Oil Cloths 500, 000

Candles 482,413

£1,976,285

1832.] Taxes on Knowledge. 497

most mischievous of these taxes — the duty on newspapers and advertise-
ments— been respectively reduced from 3±d. to Id., and from 3s. 6d. to Is.,
without any increase taking place in the circulation of newspapers, or the
number of advertisements, the loss to the revenue would have been some
450, OOO/., or 32,000/. less than the candle tax produced. Had the duty
on newspapers, advertisements, pamphlets, and almanacks, been totally
repealed, the loss to the revenue would not have been one third of the
sum actually remitted. These remissions, too, were final, leaving practi-
cally no point for the revenue to fall back upon. The consumption of
coals and candles might indefinitely increase without producing any
benefit to the public income worth speaking of. But had the duties on
newspapers, &c. been repealed, the revenue would have had another
source of supply in the increased produce of the tax upon paper and
pasteboard, consequent upon the increased consumption of books, both
great and litcle.

The remission of the newspaper and advertisement duties was not,
however, asked for 5 and it may be questioned whether any reduction
(excepting the one talked of by Lord Althorpe) would not rather increase
than diminish the revenue. Even in commodities where appetite is less
likely to grow by what it feeds on, this result invariably follows a bold
reduction. The duty on coffee was lowered from 2s. to 6d. per pound. ;
the consumption immediately increased ninefold ; and the produce of the
duty was more than double. The tax on Irish spirits was reduced from
5s. to 2s. a gallon ; and, again, the produce of the duty was more than
doubled. To come to points more germane to the question. Three or
four thousand was deemed an extraordinary circulation for a volume of
Lord Byron's poetry, at 14s. or 15s. The price is reduced to 5s. ; the
circulation is quintupled. In England, with a duty of 3s. 6cL, the num-
ber of advertisements is about one million per annum. In America, with
no duty, it is ten millions per annum. In England, with a duty of one
hundred per cent., daily journals are confined to the metropolis, In
America almost every town of 8000 or 10,000 inhabitants has its daily
paper. With all these facts before us, and there are many others equally
conclusive, though not perhaps so striking, it seems clear, that a duty of

Of these taxes the coal duty was most, properly remitted. Owing, however, to
the mode in which it was effected, the public reaped little advantage from it for
nine months, whilst the revenue lost about 700,000/. (It may be questioned whether
the prohibition of using inland carried coals in London must not be removed before
the effects of the monopoly can be put an end to, and the public be supplied with
fuel at the cheapest rate for which it can be produced.) The drawback on printed
goods created much practical inconvenience and expense ; but why select the candle
tax ? It is only about one half the year that the article is necessary to the poor ;
the consumption of the commodity is not likely to be much increased by its cheap-
ness ; the duty only added some fifteen per cent, to the cost of the article, and it
was almost the only one where any distinction was made between rich and poor,
the duty on tallow candles being Id. per lb., on wax 2^d. There was also a prac-
tical objection to its repeal at present. The principal raw material used .in the
manufacture of soap is the same as that used for the making of candles. Whilst
each manufacturer was under the surveillance of the excise officer a candlemaker
could not engage in an illicit trade without the prospect of immediate detection.
At present this check is removed, and the soapmakers say that they are fighting at
odds, and that smuggling is more extensively carried on than it was before. The
duty on soap is upwards of one hundred per cent.

498 Taxes on Knowledge. [MAY

Id., or an ad valorem tax of five-and-twenty per cent, on newspapers, and
a charge of 6d. or 1 s. on advertisements, so far from causing a loss to
to the public income, may reasonably be proposed as a source of revenue.
Why government should, under any circumstances, persist in maintain-
ing the duty on rags, pamphlets, and almanacks, (30,000/.) it is impos-
sible to conceive.

The apathy of the public generally upon this subject, may arise from
their supposing it a question which merely concerns newspapers. A
great, and it may perhaps turn out to be a mischievous, mistake. The
interest of several journals rather lies the other way. A reduction of the
duty would increase the demand, but it would also increase the competi-
tion, and perhaps in a greater ratio. Higher, at least more various
talents must be employed, greater exertions must be made in the different
departments, and more knowledge must be poured into daily, and
especially into weekly, journals. More regard to truth must be paid to
the narration, more taste and discrimination exercised in the selection of
"news," and a considerable improvement take place in the* system of
reporting. Those who only see what is done, are astonished, and not
without reason, at the mechanical perfection to which it is carried.
Those who know what is left undone, continually regret its deficiencies.
On matters of general interest the reports are well, though partially and
capriciously, done. But questions where knowledge is required, both to
comprehend the subject, and appreciate its importance, are slubbered over
or omitted. When the reporters cannot understand a man, they profess
not to hear him ; when they do not appreciate a subject, they cursorily
dismiss it. Something, too, is wanted on the score of selection and
fidelity. Spirit, and the graphic effect which results from a description of
the by-play, is very rarely attempted. The latter part of these remarks
more especially apply to legal reports.

But, in reality, the question is not so much between journalists and
their readers, as it is the concern of every man who has any thing to lose.
To stop the circulation of the cheap papers would be very difficult, and is,
perhaps, impossible. The risk of considerable loss and inconvenience,
.the certainty of very little profit, and the disrepute attached to an evasion
of the law, throws these journals into the hands of men both poor and
ignorant, and, as a necessary consequence of the latter, rash and violent in
their views. We do not here allude to merely political notions, but to
opinions which strike at the institution of property, and at the foundation
of all social order. With the majority of the untaxed papers the most
pernicious doctrines are constantly advocated ; not only is the Debt a
doomed thing — " the boroughmongers borrowed, let the boroughmongers
pay j" not only are rent and tithes condemned, upon the principle that
the community has an inherent right of property in the soil ; but the in-
stitution of property itself is treated as the source of all our social evils,
and an equal division of wealth recommended as their only remedy. The
mischievous tendency of such doctrines upon the minds of the lower
classes — the irresistible majority, if they be stimulated to action — it is
needless to dilate upon ; but totally to put down the papers in which they
are disseminated would be very difficult, whilst popular opinion is opposed
to the law, and to check the oral dissemination of the doctrines would be
impossible. But there is an easy way to render them innoxious. Permit
the circulation of a remedy at as cheap a rate as we do the poison, and

1832.] The Seals. 499

there will be no fear of the result. The laws which regulate the distri-
bution of wealth, which govern the rate of wages, and which indissolubly
bind up the interest of the workmen with that of their masters, are capable
of clear and popular exposition. They only require a fair field and
no favour. Magna est VEBITAS et prcevalebit, if Government does not
persist in stopping its circulation. Mr. Buiwer, in whose hands the ques-
tion at present rests, will, by effecting the Repeal, render another and
an essential service of literature.

THE SEALS.

Written at the suggestion of a Lover who inferred the decline of his Mistress's
affections from her changing the seals of her letters.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE HUNCHBACK.
I.

You 've changed the seal — you 've changed it thrice !

Your first* implied you loved ;
How welcome was the dear device,

A thousand kisses proved.

Your nextf was love — it spoke the flame,
Yet scarce so plain methought ;

I kiss'd it, wishing it the same
Your first sweet letter brought.

The second change^ was change indeed !

To friendship ! — Judge my bliss ! —
And did I kiss that seal ?— I did !—

But 'twas a farewell kiss !

The third § — nor love, nor friendship ! — There
Indeed love's dream should end ;

As coldest stranger better far
Than lover turn'd to friend !

No kiss I gave that seal — no name —
Still dear— of thine it bore ;

The signet, whence the impress came-,
Perhaps a rival wore !

I smiled to think 'twas so — 'twas strange !

And have such cause to sigh ;
How couldst thou — fairest creature — change ?

O, wherefore could not I !

* The sun-flower. t " Tho' lost to sight, to memory dear."

May the wings of friendship never moult a feather !" § A crest withe

without initials.

[ 500 ] [MAY,

ORIGINAL AUTOGRAPH LETTERS.

[!N 1806, the writer of this note was residing at Brussels. At that period
a fashion prevailed among ladies of collecting autographs. Madame
Guilleminot, sister-in-law of the well-known General, applied to a sister
of Napoleon, with whom she was on terms of intimacy, to request a few
" Autographs." The Princess mentioned the circumstance to Cambaceres,
the Chancellor of the empire, \vho gave orders to the keeper of the state
papers to send a quantity to Brussels. The writer was present when an im-
mense package of papers arrived for Madame Guilleminot from Paris. He
was desired by this lady to select those letters which appeared the most
interesting. This task he performed, and was permitted to copy all those
papers which might be deemed worthy of publicity at some1 future period.
Several hundred letters were copied, of which the three subjoined are
specimens. Many of these are in English, and those in French are
literally translated. It may be asked, how such various documents came
into the government archives ? This question can only be solved by sup-
posing— a very natural hypothesis — that the Bureau Noir of the police
had unsealed a great many of the letters, and had not taken the trouble
either to send them, when they were found to contain no dangerous
political intelligence, to the proper owners, — or even to burn them, a
circumstance of by no means urifrequent occurrence. The extremely
curious epistle of Marat, was probably found among the papers of the
republican some months after his death, when his name became a term
of opprobium among the French. In the collection there are two other
English letters, and several French ones from this gentle creature. The
letter from Beaumarchais, the author of Figaro, and the Barber of Seville,
in which he describes a visit to that eccentric nobleman, Lauraguais, is a
ludicrous sketch. Some letters from Africa, of which there are several, give
a faithful and interesting account, somewhat a la Mary Montague, of the
inhabitants of Algiers, with curious particulars respecting the harem of
the Dey, of which this lady was an inmate. These, however, 1 must
defer.— W. J.]

* From Marat to Mr. William Daly.

" My dear Mr. Daly, " Dec.

*' I promised that at my arrival at Paris that I would write you. I
would prefer to address you in French, as I am not perfect in your
language ; but as some of our friends, to whom you shall show this
letter, do not know the French, and as I wish most ardently to be called
to their remembrance, I have resolved to make an effort in order that I

* This letter is given verbatim. It hears no other date except " Dec. ;" but was
probably written between 1780 and 1786. Marat had in that interval been in
England. From the number of erasures it is evident this was the original rough
copy, and appears to have cost some lahour in composing. The character of the
writer is sufficiently well known to those acquainted with the annals of the French
revolution. He not only voted for the death of the king, but actually proposed
that the body should be divided into 112 parts, and sent to every department in
France. He also wished that all persons beyond a certain age should be put to
death, in order that the country might be purified. The miscreant was at length
stabbed while in his bath by a beautiful female named Charlotte Corday, who had
travelled from the south of France to Paris for this express purpose.

183*2.] Original Autograph Letters. 501

may thereby show to you and to them how much I have respect, esteem,
and love for you all. I shall never forget your kindnesses — they are im-
pressed in my heart, and you shall always find me grateful. I have re-
mitted your letter to Mr. Dubois, that I find a very worthy and amiable
man. I told him that I should be enchanted to have his assistance in the
studies I pursue, but unfortunately he is on the point to return to his
native town, Bordeaux. This will be for me a very great loss, as, after
the short conversation that I have had with him, it was easy to discover
that he is a person of great science, above all in the branch which I cul-
tivate, anatomy. If you come to Paris you will find me in my ancient
dwelling, where you made me a visit last time, but my apartment is now
more commodious, as I have taken two other large rooms, which I have
the intention to destine entirely to dissection. Be persuaded of one
thing, my dear friend, unless that a man makes many and daily experi-
ments upon living bodies, he shall never become skilful or high in this art.
I can procure as many dead from the hospitals as I want, and for very
little money ; but in order not to spend too much in living- animals, I
have made an arrangement with a butcher in our quarter, that will
procure me sheep, calves, pigs, and even oxen, if I should want them.
According to the damage I shall have done to the flesh, I must pay in
proportion, as he shall take all back. I am afraid you should not be able
to make so satisfactory an arrangement in your town. Paris gives me,
without doubt, great facilities to study, and I advise and invite you to
come here. Your great talents will be to me. of an immense succour
in the work I prepare to be published next year. You say that you do
not love to see poor innocent animals suffer from the scalpel ; my heart is
as tender as yours, and I likewise do not love to make a creature suffer, but
it will be impossible to understand the secret, thorny, and now inexplicable
wonders of the human body, unless that you try to catch nature at her work,
and this cannot be done if you do not a little evil to obtain a great good,
and thereby be benefactors to the human race ; in the muscles and vari-
ous properties of the blood I have made some important discoveries, but I
should never have succeeded, unless I had cut off the heads and limbs of
a great number of animals. At first, I avow, that it gave me much pain,
but by little and little I have accustomed myself and I console myself
with the idea, 'that what I do is for the good of mankind. If you live
many years — which I pray heaven to accord you — you shall see the study
upon living animals universally followed, and in England and in France.
We must study nature in all its movements : if I was a lawgiver, I would
propose, for the good of my country and of the world, that those criminals
which were condemned to death should have a choice such as this — to
undergo some operation upon their bodies which might perhaps cause them
to die, but if the operation succeeded, and that the man lived, then he
should be, according to the case, or pardoned, or the punishment miti-
gated by banishment or imprisonment. Persons have assured me that
an Italian prince followed this principle in order to find antidotes for
poisons, and he succeeded so well that he discovered remedies for the
most deadly. But I must terminate : I embrace you with the sincerest
sentiments of esteem and friendship.

« MARAT."

502 Original Autograph Letters. [MAY,

From Beaumarchais to the Duke d'Aremberg.

11 Paris [no date — probably about 1780.]
(The commencement omitted as destitute of interest.)

" According to promise, I called, my dear Duke, upon Lauraguais.*
On my entrance he rose, and without giving me time to let him know the
nature of my affair, he exclaimed, ' Come what will, debts of honour, as
•well as dishonourable debts — must all share the same fate.' I mentioned
your name. ' D'Aremberg,' continued the facetious fellow, ' behaved
very kindly to me, but he must come in with the other creditors, and a
poor dividend, alas ! he will obtain. You have, of course, heard of my
bankruptcy ; my man of business tells me that it exceeds five millions
(200,000/.), and that, when all my affairs are well settled, which he thinks
will take up two or three years, my creditors may perhaps receive 2 \ per
cent, on the amount of their bills. I owe D'Aremberg 40,000 livres : he
has large estates in Germany and Flanders, and I am told that his grand
veneur is unfit for the situation he holds. I will, if the Duke accepts of
my services, engage with him, and I do not think there are many persons
in Europe who can compete with me in the knowledge of horses, dogs,
and every thing appertaining to the chase. Eight thousand livres must
be my annual salary, and in five years we should be quits : propose the
plan to him ; he cannot fail to be delighted with my offer.' I smiled at
the suggestion — ' Aye, aye,' continued the loquacious nobleman, ' I fear
you entertain doubts as to my qualifications; why, sir, I can assure you
that thousands of persons who have visited me at Manicamp can vouch
for my superior skill in these matters. Every groom, jockey, and horse in
my possession came from England, and my friend Dorset could not boast
of a finer stud. The last horse I purchased cost me one thousand guineas,
the highest sum ever paid for a racer, but I was nearly off the bargain,
because I made the owner give me a receipt for nine hundred and ninety-
nine guineas and twenty shillings, as I was determined to avoid the round
numbers of 1000. But now the only treasure that remains to me is this'
—pointing to a ring on his finger — « a treasure which no earthly power
shall prevail upon me to part with. It enables me to bear up with all
my misfortunes — it is my sole consolation : this, sir, is my wife — my be-
loved wife !' I thought of the refuge for lunatics, and my countenance
probably expressed my feelings. ' No, sir, I am not mad ; this ring, or
rather part of it, was once a beautiful and amiable woman : she rendered
me, during her life-time, the happiest of mortals, and when her soul winged
its flight to the celestial regions, I was determined that so much beauty
and loveliness should not become the prey of vile reptiles. I applied to
Vanderberg, the chemist, who, having placed the remains in a sheet of
Asbestos, it was committed to the flames, and reduced by violent heat to
a small quantity of powder, which afterwards, by some chemical prepara-
tion, was converted into a blue vitrified substance : here it is, sir, set in a
gold ring — the very quintessence of my adorable partner !" At this mo-
ment some person was announced ; I took my hat, and wished Lauraguais
a good morning."

* The Duke de Lauraguais was one of the most eccentric and profligate noblemen who
li'.ed before the Revolution, He was remarkable for his Anglomania, his extravagance
and his scandalous amours. He became a bankrupt to an enormous amount. On hear-
ing that a receiver-general had failed for nearly a million, he exclaimed in a public cof-
fee-room, " Only think of the horrid circumstance ! My name was upon the lips of every
one, and now, alas ! I shall be forgotten, a receiver- general having failed for twice the sum
I owe ! "

1832.] [ 503 ]

THE FRESH WATER WHALE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " THKEE COURSES AND A DESSERT."

" FASHIONABLE MOVEMENTS. — The bog of Kilmacuddy to meet his Majesty." — John
Bull Newspaper, Aug. 1821.

THE widow of Blundus O'Rindan, at her decease, bequeathed the whole
of the property which that worthy old man had left her, to his nephew
and namesake, and to her own niece Luckless O'Carroll, share and share
alike. The nephew had been born somewhere about Knocklofty, but
what had become of Blundus since he saw the light nobody well knew.
True it was though, that he found out when his aunt died, and what she
had left him : so, within a week after her wake, who should give Luckie
O'Carrol a tap on her shoulder, there where she was milking the late Mrs.
O'Carrol's cows in the moat, but himself? — Luckless, — or Luckie, as
she was usually called, with a view to destroy the bad omen of her bap-
tismal,— had been living for many's the year with her aunt ; so, as soon
as Blundus made known who he was, she took him into the house -} but,
by a back way, because of his rags ; not noticing them though, or letting
him know it was a back way, for Luckie had a good heart in her prim
little body, and Blundus, though mighty proud-spoken, and in bad condi-
tion, she couldn't but see was handsome, and not above thirty.

When they'd got in, the first thing she did, was to persuade him to
try on the last new suit bought by her uncle, which, since his death, had
been enshrined in lavender ; and, when he was in it, she coaxed him not
to think of taking it off again, because it became him so well, and nobody
had such a right to it. Then she brought in her two men, and her old
woman, and a piper that was warming himself; and, telling them who he
was, got out the whiskey. For six days Blundus condescended to be
drunk with the two men, the old woman, and the piper, while little Luckie
did the work, and kept things going on as they should do. On the
morning of the seventh, after giving him a pigrgin of spring water to quench
the fire in his throat, she told him it was time to be sensible, and set
about dividing that their poor aunt had left them. On this point,
because Blundus had bragged, while he was drunk, to the piper, of his
'cuteness and scholarship, she'd somehow expected what wouldn't have
been pleasant : but she was wrong. — •' The money and goods," says he,
" Miss Luckless, we'll have as well as we can : you'll take the cows, and
I'll have the horse and the whiskey, and, may be, a pig or two : of course
we couldn't quarrel about such trifles. But I'm firm and fixed in this : — -
We'll go to law unless I get the patrimonial part of the property, the
hereditary estate of the O'Rindaris — as it was before my father sould his
rights to your uncle, for no better than a mess of pottage — the Township
of Fidlimid, as it anciently was called, and shall be again."

" And what will I have?" asked Luckie.

u You'll get for your share of that which is'nt moveable," replied
Blundus, " the nice bit of a farm, here we are, in the bog, Miss O'Carrol.
If you don't like the habitation, I'll claim as heir at law, and, may be,
dispute the title of my venerated namesake, and the will of his widow."

Luckie thought he must surely be mad ; but not being able to bring
him to her opinion, for he was terrifically argumentative, she quietly

,504 The Fresh Water Whale. [MAY,

agreed, at last, to the division he had insisted on making, which, within a
week was carried into effect. Luckie's share may be described as a bit
of leasehold, — small, it is true, but fat and mellow as good soil could be
made by care and manure, where the last O'Rindan, and his widow after
him, had lived and flourished in a good stone house, from the day they
were married. The township of Fidlimid, which— after inspection, delibe-
ration, and much consultation with the two men, the old woman, the
piper, and a couple of beggars who had dropped in while the whiskey
was about, — all of whom he took away with him — Blundus had persisted
in having, was a desert promontory, without a bush or any thing else
upon it, but the trumpery gable end of an old castle, bad in its best days,
and now in ruins. The township cut a river that rose from the bog in
two j and the waters in front and on both sides of it, had for ages been
encroaching upon its boundaries, and occasionally overflowing its entire
surface. A worn-out mariner, who lived close at hand, called it a flying
fish, because it was about as often above as under the stream. Long
before the death of Mrs. Rindan, notwithstanding its former glory, and
its rights of custom and poundage for wares and merchandize, wrecks,
flatsome and jetsome, waifes, straies, goods left and forsaken, tithe-fish,
keelage, anchorage, and other emoluments, profits, and advantages, it had
become just good for nothing, but to ride races upon; being, with the
exception of those ruins which had once been a contemptible castle,, flat
and bare as a new board.

Thither, however, with his whiskey, horse, pigs, a few articles of fur-
niture, the two men, the old woman, the piper, and the beggars, did
Blundus O'Rindan joyfully retire. As somebody says, "he slept all day,
and did no other work ;" living, according to his own ideas of feudal
pomp, as long as the money and things he had brought away with him
lasted. Then, one by one, his retinue fell off; and, at last, he was left by
himself, to do as well as he could. One morning while he was out, not
earlier, but later than usual, in hopes, perhaps, of seeing the whale, which,
according to tradition, was to be thrown upon and enrich his township for
ever, who should he see but Luckie O'Carrol, who had been doing well
at the bit of a farm in the bog this while, trotting up to him on Meggie,
the mare nag she used to ride to market.

" Cousin Luckie," said Blundus, " may be it's the morning air that does
it, but I never saw you look so handsome ; and if I was'nt the head of the
O'Rindans and you the reverse" —

" There's no one betwixt us," interrupted Luckie.

" That's true : but I couldn't think of tying the family neck and heels,
as it would be, if I married you, Luckie.

" You've been doing worse than that this many a day, Sir, spending
all you had upon trash, and" —

" Miss Luckless O'Carroll" —

"Oh ! Sir ! I'll speak out my mind for oncej and it's not long I'll
trouble you" —

" The honour of the O'Rindans" —

" Ah ! that's a fine thing, and so is butter ; but I know of a better
thing to melt even that butter ; and it would be well for you to be
digging trenches for a potatoe crop, instead of looking out, as you are,
for the whale that won't come.*'

"Miss O'Carroll, since the division I've borrowed money and goods of
you, it's true" —

1832.] The Fresh Water Whale. 505

" You may say that, and have pulled me back half-way every step I
got forward."

" Still I'am not to be insulted in my own township, even by a female,
and one whom I regard."

"You shouldn't, Blundus — no, not by any one — if Luckie O'Carrol
had her will : but you're just a lost man, and I'm going to leave you."

" It's joking you are, Luckie."

" Maybe it is : but you'll find this is the last time we'll joke together,
Blundus. The writings are drawn out, and I'm now riding twenty miles
to get my money. I've sold the farm, with all that's on it ; and to-
morrow Thady Purcell takes possession."

" Without my leave ? And I, the head of the family, here close at
hand ! Couldn't you pay me the compliment of saying — Oh ! Miss
Luckless, I'm done with you !*'

" Don't go from me in anger !"

" I will— I can't help it."

" Dear Blundus" —

"Not a word more — I never felt just this way I do now before/'

" I'll see you again to-morrow, Blundus, when you'll be in a better
humour, maybe. There's signs of a bad storm at the change o' the
moon to-night, so I'll sleep at Maurice Cavanagh's, and be back in the
morning with Thady."

" Curse Thady ! Miss Luckless, I'll not hear of him."

So saying, Blundus stalked off; after having strode on about three score
yards, he turned half round, but seeing Luckie and her mare stand
gazing after him, he made a passionate and contemptuous gesture, and
resumed his course. " E' then," said Luckie, curling up her lip, and
trying to retain the tear in her eye, " if it's so I'm treated by you,
Blundus — ." Without finishing what she had thus began, she very
unjustifiably laid her switch over the nag's shoulder, which soon carried
her off to some distance. On getting to the top of the hill that over-
looked the township, she gave a glance back to see where Blundus had
gone : there he stood, within a yard or so of where he had misdemeaned
himself. Both at once kissed hands j and, with a light heart, away
trotted Luckie.

It was a horrible night, sure enough : but by the break of day she was
up, arid, soon after sunrise back she came, with' her money safe in a bag,
to give Thady Purcell possession. There was the bog, and the river, and
the two-headed hill of Bally-linch just as she had left it ; but where was
her farm ? After hunting up and down, — here, there, and every where, —
she turned white as alabaster, and telling Thady she could not find it,
rode away, without well knowing what she did, to the township. As for
Blundus, he had been roused up in the black of the night, by a noise,
which he knew, from experience, signified that the river was playing at
leap-frog over his township. Of course he got up ; but found it so dark,
that — after putting on what clothes he had, which were not many enough
to be much mislaid — on taking the blanket out of the hole that served him
for a window, he could not see a foot from his nose. The waters were
roaring and rushing fearfully about, and above the wind's howl, he fancied
he heard the keen shriek of a woman. Bursting at once backwards,
through a mud wall, with which one of his followers had long ago mended
his castle, he found himself floundering in an element betwixt mud and

M.M. New Series. Vol. XIII. No. 77. 2 M

506 The Fresh Water Whale. [MAY,

and water, but much worse than either. Getting out of that as soon as
he was able, he made off to a place, whereabouts he thought he would
find the big stone used for mounting his horse, when he had one ; but
just as he had reached it, a wave came betwixt his legs and glode off
with him, until he did not know if he was still on his township or in the
broad bed of the river. It was lucky for him he had learned to swim
before he got lazy } so striking out with an energy of which he did not
think himself capable, he floated on bravely, and in a few minutes
caught a large hog's trough. Bestriding his prize, he went with the
stream, and, by-and-by, bearing a small pig, wh'ch he had clutched up
in his passage, from among many that were hovering about their old
friend, the trough, he succeeded in reaching a harbour.

" Here I am," said he, after he had landed a minute or so, " but where it is
1 am, I don't know at all. Here's grass three inches high, and there isn't
the shadow of a blade on my township. Eh ! what's that now, I'd like to
know ! Though high and dry, I don't feel on terra firma, Such a see-saw
and jolt as that is more than suspicious — may be this is the whale I'm
upon — the whale that's to enrich my dominions for ever. But no, 1 can't
think that, because o' the grass. Faith then, O'Rindan, its puzzled you
are, and no blame to you 1"

After putting the pig under the trough — meaning, if the facts of the
case would at all bear him out, to claim both as wreckage, by virtue of his
right thereto, flatsome and jetsome — he lay down to ponder, but soon fell
asleep. On awaking, he found the sun up, and that he had been reposing
with his head on the hog's trough, in a field which he could not but think
he had seen somewhere else. Cows were lowing, hens cackling, and two or
three people in loud and anxious discourse within a short distance. The
ducks, by their noise, seemed to have had a jubilee ; but the pig under the
trough clearly did not like what had happened. A blackbird was building
in a bush beside him, whistling as he worked 5 the primrose-winged butter-
flies were flapping about, or basking on broad leaves, that hung hot and
uneasy towards the east ; the bees were breakfasting in buttercups j the
lark, busy with his morning carrol, was fluttering as if about to fall, from
the rosy flakes of clouds that chased one another throughthe blue heavens j
the dew-drops were still clinging to the gossamer in the shade j the field-
flowers that close at sunset, had almost, but not quite, been coaxed to open
their verdant casket j a thousand flies were contributing small snatches
of song to a general chorus j in short, Mister Day was not only wide
awake, but shaved, dressed, and powdered for business.

Within a stone's throw was a cottage, nearly smothered with roses. —
At first, Blundus thought that he had been drowned in trying to save his
probable property, the pig, and got into paradise ; but on reflecting for
a moment — hearing, as he did, the tones of a passionate dairy-maid, he
banished that idea, and did not know what to think. By-and-by he got
up, and began to stroll stealthily about, like one who was a trespasser,
notwithstanding he felt sure that the objects about him were perfectly
familiar, though he could not, for the life of him, recollect where they were,
or to whom they belonged. At last he came to the conclusion that he
was upon Luckie O'Carrol's small morsel of a farm on the brink of the bog ;
but how he got there he was at a loss to know, and his heart chuckled
when he saw his cousin galloping towards him.

" Blundus," said she, throwing herself from Meggie, her nag, and rushing

1832.] The Fresh Water Whale. 507

into his amis, '* poor Luckie is mad, or the world's at an end ! I'd lost
my little farm, and find it, shorn of naught but its margin, here, entire
upon your township !"

" Oh ! shades of my ancestors !" exclaimed O'Rindan, almost uncon-
sciously, " I see through it all in a moment. The fertile little farm,
knowing it belonged to the head of the family, has floated away down the
stream, taking advantage of last night's convulsion, and been landed by the
waters, plump upon my flat and barren, but illustrious domain. This —
this is the whale, by which the township of Fidlimid is to be for ever
enriched."

" Blundus," said Luckless, starting from his bosom, " your meaness almost
makes me hate you. If the farm has left its anchorage, it's still mine, you
know, or tis to whom I've sold it."

" Why so, Miss Luckless," replied Blundus ; " whatsoever comes hither,
in the shape of wreckage, flatsome or jetsome, pertains to the lord of
the township, by special grant from the Crown ; and I am he, I suspect."

" You couldn't wrong me, Blundus ; cousin Blundus, could you ? " " Not
for the world, Miss Luckless ; but if I had a plant worth millions, don't
you see, and a bird carried away a seed, and dropped it in your ground,
you'd think it hard and unjust of me to claim the produce ; wouldn't you
now ? Just so it would be if you questioned my right to a few acres of
yours j acres, that Providence, to which we all should bow meekly, and as
becomes mortals, by means of a stream, has cast upon my property."

" Ah ! man ! don't think to flummery me that way. I've a tack, to the
tune of thirty years, of the farm ; and of course I'll uphold it. !"

" True, Luckie, you've a lease of certain land, but not with the same
'butments and boundaries as this."

" What's that you're saying, Blundus ?"

" It's this, Luckie ; — have you tack of any thing, bounded on the north
by the butt-end of Fidlimid castle 5 on the south ? " —

" You'll give me my land, though, Blundus, I think."

" Suppose I did, how could you take it ; you wouldn't expect I'd
allow you to leave it here on my township. Answer me this, Luckie ; —
hadn't I a tract of country here yesterday? You know I had. But where
is it now, eh ? Hasn't your dirty bit of a farm come down and covered
the most of it up for me. What right had your land to be trespassing on
my premises? Who gave it leave? Did I invite it, or coax it? I'll
engage I didn't. Where am I to look for my estate but here where I left
it ? Is the township mine ?"

" No doubt o' that, Sir."

" Then know, Luckie, according to law, whosoever hath the land owns
all above it, up to the broad sky. Think o' that, Luckie. So that with-
out taking advantage of my grant, by which I have an indefeasible right
to all waifs, straies — "

" Oh, Blundus, don't break my heart with your hard words; what you
say sounds right enough ; but by the same token, I know, it's wronging
me you are."

" The courts are open to you."

" Is it law you mean ? Faith, then, when a counsellor sees the sight
of Luckie O'Carrol's money. — No, Blundus."

" But I'd rather you'd bring your suit ; I'd wish you to be satisfied ;
quite entirely, Miss O'Carrol ; — I couldn't be aisy if you wern't satisfied/'

2 M 2

508 The Fresh Water Whale. [MAY,

" Well, no matter; maybe I am, I was going to say; and what's more,
I will say, it's hard for Providence to take the butter off my bread, and
plaster it upon yours, just so. But I'll be content, and think all things is
for the best. You're welcome to the place, Blundus ; but if it was any
but yourself that took it this way, we'd see. I'll now go give back his
money to Thady Purcell, and then" —

" You don't mean to say he's paid you ? If you do, it strikes me,
cousin, you've just a right to tell him" —

" Thady, boy, there's your money ; that's all I've a right to tell him ;
and I know it. You've bad thoughts in your head, Blundus ; so, for fear
o» your persuading me out o' my conscience, I'll stop my ears, if you
speak a word more about him."

" But don't you see, Luckie, if he bought" —

" Oh ! hubbaboo, man, I won't hear you. But before 1 go, I'll say
again, you're welcome to my land, since you'll condescend to take it."

" But you needn't leave it, because its mine ; you shall be the mistress,
Luckie."

" Suppose you brought home a wife by-and-by."

" Maybe I might, who knows ? There's proud O'Conner's daughter,
now that my township is fertilized" —

" E' then, if you married her, Blundus, I'd go to law with you in good
earnest, and sell my life itself to get my rights. No, Blundus, I'll not
darken your door ; but what I'm to do I don't know. I think I'll go
marry ould Murphy, or Jack Darrigan, or Nick England, or one of them,
that's been bothering me so !"

" If you did then, cousin, — if you could demean yourself, — you that's
next kin to an O'Rindan."

" So you've sworn often ; and its true for you, Blundus, as they say of
you, — you're the dog in the manger. But, na bocklish ! Since it
wouldn't plaze you, I'll keep single, so I will ; and if you'll lend me the
loan of a slip of your township that my land hasn't reached, above there
beyond your castle, you'll see I'll get on."

" What you ask, I couldn't refuse. But, do you mark ; — you'll take it
as my tributary and peppercorn tenant, for I'll not part with my rights and
emoluments of wreckage, keelage, anchorage"—

" You don't expect another whale, do you ?"

" What harm, then, if I did ? O'Conner's land lies awkward, now that
the bog's in motion ; I think I must make room for it. This that is come
mayn't be the whole o' my promised Canaan." " But," added he,
gently drawing Luckless into his arms, " we'll kiss and be cousins, for all
this that has happened, — won't we Luckie ?"

" VVe will," replied Luckie, " as long as you'll let us."

" Faith, Luckie ! you feel and look as if you ought to go with the
farm."

" You'll give me a couple of pigs, Blundus ?"

" In course, darling."

" And maybe a calf?"

" By this other kiss I will."

" And why not a cow? Sure you wouldn't feel the loss of her."

" Nay, nay ! if its cows you're coming to," said Blundus, withdrawing
from the protracted and somewhat tender embrace into which he had been
betrayed, " if its cows you're coming to, Miss O'Carrol— "

1832.] The Fresh Water Whale. 509

" Faith, then, now I think of it," interrupted Luckie, " all four o1
them are mine, allowing you your full rights as king o' the township. At
the worst, they are but cattle strayed."

" That's it. Luckie ; and a bad worst for you, it is. They come under
the word < straies,' that stands in my charter. And, maybe, was I to give
you the pigs and the calf" —

" If I don't go at once, I see you'll argue me out o' them again. So
God be with you, Blundus, until I see you again, which won't be often,
unless you're sick, or send for me."

So saying, Luckie mounted her little nag, and cantered away in quest
of Thady Purcell, to whom, on coming up with him, she gave back his
money, telling him never to part with it on so slippery a security as bog-
land again. In ten minutes more, with little or no help, she had got her
two pigs, and her calf, and taken possession of that slip of township
which Blundus had agreed she should have; where for the present we
will leave her.

The first steps which O'Rindan took, on entering into possession of his
whale, was to secure it against a reaction, or future attack from that
element which had borne it to the township. On this point he was so
anxious, that he did nothing for a year but peg it down by means of long
poles, inserted at short intervals, to the hard and barren ground beneath
it. Meantime, the crops went to ruin ; the sties, the stalls, and the
poultry yard, lost the whole of their tenants ; and in the course of three
years, Blundus found himself alone on the farm, which had become
almost as desolate as the township of Fidlimid was, prior to the stranding
of its predicted whale. At length, being over head and ears in debt, and
without a moveable left for which he could get the value of a glass of
whiskey, after a fierce struggle with his pride, he offered to sell the whole
of his domain, with the exception of the broken-down castle, and his
rights of custom and poundage, wrecks, flatsome and jetsome, waifs,
straies, tithe-fish, and so forth. But no one would become a purchaser; —
some doubting the validity of his title as to Luckie O'Carrol's land ; and
others fearing, in spite of his vehement protestations about having safely
pegged it to the township, that one day or other it might perform an act
of retributive justice, and swim away back to its place in the bog, carrying
a slice of his indisputable property tacked to its tail.

From bad came worse ; and by-and-by two men were seen walking
down to the township, who did not come back as they went, for betwixt
them was Blundus. He had shewed them his charter, and convinced
them by the clearest arguments in the world, that they had no right to
capture him for debt, as they wished to do, or any thing short of mis-
prision of treason, within the boundaries of his own territory. The
two men, however, were so irrational as to carry him off to prison, where
he lay for more than a month, with the worst of companions, namely his
own bad and bitter thoughts. At last a friend came to see him ; you will
guess it was Luckie O'Carrol. All this time she had been toiling and
doing well, on the slip of ground Blundus had lent her ; it was now green
as a leek, and fat living things had long been seen on it in plenty. When
she entered the cell, her cheek was not pale, nor her eye dull, nor her
look woe-begone, but rather the reverse : Blundus, however, dim as the
light was, saw that sorrow, or something else, had wrought a fearful
change in her. She was evidently flushed with strong excitement. Blun-

510 The Young Poet. [MAY,

dus asked her to sit down, but with a laugh that did not become her she
refused.

" It's not a place," said she, " for the likes o'me, that's next kin to an
O'Rindan, to sit in ; nor shall the O'Rindan himself sit in it again. I 've
sould off all I had, Blundus."

" You didn't do well then, Luckie, it's the beginning of bad luck to
you."

" Bad may follow it, but good must come of it," said Luckie, " since
it's to put you there where you should be, with a free foot, and clear o*
the world, on your township again ; I've brought the money."

Blundus, however, much as he wished to get out, was too proud to
touch a penny of it. Luckie said it was not to purchase his love, but his
liberty ; that he might marry O'Connor's daughter, or what other he
pleased, while she would go far away, and never bother him again. But
all would not do. He condescended to confess, that he had found out
long ago he half loved her, that now he felt sure he did so entirely : but
nothing, he added, could bring him to think of making her his wife —
forlorn and destitute as he was — after he had as good as rejected her in
the days when he flourished upon the wreck of her ruin. So Luckie went
away hopeless and heart-broken. The life that was left in her did not
last long; and«by-and-by news was brought Blundus that she had blessed
him — no one could tell why — with her last breath, and felt glad to die ;
because, though he would not be beholden to her when living, he could
not find any excuse for rejecting the means of obtaining his liberty from
one in the grave. Blundus took what she had left him — it was the little
all she had in the world — and came out of prison, as those who first saw
him said, a changed man. Without turning to the right or the left, he
went straight from the door down to the river side, where he laid out
what remained of Luckie O'Carrol's bequest, after paying his debts, in
buying a bit of a barge, which, brimful of earth, he was soon after noticed
rowing with all his might up the course of the stream. It is supposed
remorse had come over him, and he had made a vow ; but be this as it
might, Blundus for certain passed the rest of his life a lone and silent
man, unseen by day, and employed all night in the hopeless and endless
task of boating his whale, piecemeal, back to the bog.

W. C.

THE YOUNG POET.

You had not thought to see his flashing eye,
Or his full voice attuned by nririh to hear,
That ever care could come his dwelling- near

Or fancied sorrow~\vake one passing sigh : —

Yet he was tull of dreams, — he loved to He
On a still morning by the ebbing sea,
Or in the winter moonlight lone to be

Gazing intensely on the frosty sky ; —

He loved the tomh-stone rhyme, the minstrel's tale,

And the wild wanderings of the legend lay,

So burned his sonl in fantasies away
Too fierce a spirit for a form so frail ; —

Ahove his dust, is one bright line impressed,
" A gifted one lies here — Pray, stranger lor his rest! "

1832.] [ 511 ]

THE TWO PROFESSORS A GLANCE AT THE QUARTERLY AND

BLACKWOOD.

WE believe Miss Fanny Kemble to be a young lady of a certain delicacy
of mind and sensibility of feeling; and we know very well that upon
such minds the operation of pernicious praise, like that which it has been
deemed most expedient in particular quarters to lavish upon " Francis the
First," is likely to prove doubly and directly fatal. Take a solemn cox-
comb who has just wreaked his wretched poetry upon the public j take
him, we say, if you please — slap him on the shoulder familiarly — pat him
patronizingly on that globular excrescence which he fondly conceives to
be a head, or take him by the button in confidence, and communicate to
his private ear your belief that he is a second Milton or an improved
Shakspeare ; so shall you cause such extremity of folly to be enacted by
the dunce, as must needs furnish eternal laughter to the side-shakers -, but,
for the muses' sake, forbear to mislead a clever and amiable girl into the
notion that she has all but effected that, of which her whole life may be
vainly spent in the accomplishment j and that she has already done some-
thing, which we sincerely hope she may, after much labour and study, be
enabled to perform.

We must here be permitted to take one or two retrospective glances,
suggested by the extraordinarily, exact, and concurrent manner in which
certain critics have jumped upon this occasion. When such people do
agree, their unanimity is not wonderful j and we shall attempt to show,
that the only real cause of surprise is, that the mystery has not been seen
through long ago. We are not sorry, therefore, to take up Miss Kemble's
Tragedy now, because it supplies us with a sling with which we shall be
enabled to " kill two birds with one stone ; " or, at all events, to launch
our pebble at a brace of poetical and panegyrical professors with as much
directness and vigour as we can employ. It is not a crow we have to
pick with these gentlemen ; that were, indeed, an insufficient type to
represent the enormous bird which we purpose to disfledge between us —
a bird that has too long drank the life-blood of our literature, and gorged
itself to satiety upon the mangled flesh of its victims.

To be plain j we have been urged to this work by a conviction that the
present state of criticism, so far as poetry is concerned, is such as impera-
tively calls for an exposure of the system whereby it is upheld ; and demands
from us, not a mere disclaimer of participation, not a merely qualified
reprehension, but an honest and fearless denunciation of it. We say then,
without further ceremony, that the two works to wnich we shall at this
time more particularly apply ourselves — the Quarterly Review and Black-
wood's Magazine — have, at least of late years, for purposes best known
to themselves, but also pretty well known to others, studiously abstained
from the criticism of any one poetical work possessing real merit -, that
they have held up to praise and admiration works which all the world,
except themselves and their minor crew of associates, saw and felt upon
the instant to be the most helpless trash ; and that they have (to speak
tenderly and within compass) preferred to consult their own convenience
and advantage, rather than to fulfil the understood pledges given to the
public, upon the faith of which alone, they exist, or deserve to exist.

Let us take a short glance at the Quarterly Review. Every one is by
this time pretty well acquainted with the character of that publication

51<2 The Two Professors. [MAY,

during the superintendence of the waspish and malignant Gifford. It was
all very well, because it was all very safe and convenient, at that period,
to maintain the aristocratical system, and to attempt to hoodwink the
people by as popular and plausible a setting forth of the tory tactics as
was practicable or pleasant. It was all very well for Mr. Gifford, with
his tongue in his cheek and his pen in his hand, — that pen urged forward
by the government upon one question — held back by Mr. Canning upon
another — swayed and directed this way and that way by Mr. Murray — it
was all very well in that crafty old commentator to strive to sneer away
the reputation of the honest, and to deprecate the ability of his superiors j
there is a time for all things, and this was the time for the thing — Gifford.
It was all very well for Mr. Southey, with a sanctified air and the smirk
ot a Pharisee, to thank God that he was not as other men are, seeing that
he was what other men would hardly desire to be j it was all very well
for Mr. Croker to have his swing and to turn his summerset in his own
way, and at his own discretion, — but it will not do now. Since the acces-
sion of Mr. Lockhart the Quarterly has been in a bad way. It is true,
it has its tricks still. " It lisps, it ambles, and nicknames God's crea-
tures," but it is only laughed at for its pains. It raves and hath much
wrath, but is encountered with silent contempt. Even its old friends- —
<c the great overpaid" — the sinecurists or expectants, shake their heads
and sip their wine in silence. The truth is, the day of the Quarterly is
gone by for ever, and the whole pestilent crew that sat whetting their
tusks and sharpening their fangs under the secure shadow of its influence,
are gone their ways to prey elsewhere in a more private and, perhaps, a
less profitable direction. Verily, their teeth are drawn, and their nails
pared, and there is no venom remaining in them.

It is worthy of enquiry, what w7as the tenor of the Quarterly's criticism
at that period — nay, what has it been up to the present time ? Has it
upon any one occasion introduced to the public, or assisted in bringing
into notice, any one individual, to whose productions genius may fairly and
honorably be attributed ? No. Has it discovered any anxiety to make
reparation for former neglect, by a late, but full, ample, and satisfactory
acknowledgment of error and remissness ? No. Has it recorded its
sympathy with genius, its admiration of intellectual greatness, save where
it had been long ago confessed and allowed ? No.

We know very well, and a sad reflection it is, that

— " Nations slowly wise and meanly just,
To buried merit raise the tardy bust."

But what has the Quarterly done for living merit ? What bust has it
raised to the living or to the dead, that might not be exceeded in truth of
expression by a carving on a cherry-stone, and in vigour of outline by
the profile of a cheese-paring ? True, indeed, it is, that, conscious of
its many delinquencies, and errors both of commission and omission, the
Quarterly Review has latterly cast its one eye with much piercing expres-
sion over the expanse of English poetical literature ; and not being able
to find any thing or body in the heavens above, or in the earth beneath,
it has been fain to resort to the waters under the earth ; and brooding on
the banks of Lethe for a space, with an easy leap dived to the bottom,
and succeeded in plucking up drowned genius, by the shoulder-knot, in
the corporeal presence of Mr. John Jones, and in bringing to light the
" buried merit" of Miss Mary Colling, with a pair of blue worstead hose

1832.] The Two Professors. 513

and a bunch of keys at her girdle — the very daughter of " Old Square,"
in Spencer's Fairy Queen.

But we shall be told that Lord Byron, forsooth, is an evidence of the
impartial manner in which the Quarterly Review exercised its functions.
We shall not admit the plea. If it prove any thing, it only proves the
slavish subserviency of that publication. In the first place, Mr. Murray
was Lord Byron's publisher — of itself a very sufficient reason for praising
him. In the second place, Lord Byron was altogether too much a man
of the world to neglect an opportunity of standing well with Mr. Gifford,
the then editor, whom there can be no doubt that he flattered in a some-
what gross and unsparing manner j and, lastly, Gifford very well knew
that Lord Byron's political principles, (so far as they might be considered
convictions of his own,) were absurd, childish, and inconsistent j adopted
without much reflection and maintained altogether without skill, judg-
ment, or temper. That cunning old Volpine saw pretty clearly that Lord
Byron was at heart as much an aristocrat as any man breathing, and was
not apprehensive that the peer, were he so disposed, could do much harm
to what are termed " existing institutions." And he praised him accord-
ingly, and, it must be confessed, without much scruple. He laid it on,
as Congreve says, " with a trowel," and succeeded in building up a reputa-
tion which we do not hesitate to say was in a great measure unearned,
and will, in a few years, be, in a small degree, diminished and impaired.
But where was the criticism all this while ? His lordship swallowed the
praise, Mr. Murray devoured the pudding, but the public in the mean-
while " looked up and were not fed." It was not the cue of the Quarterly
just at that precise moment to meddle in the way of criticism with Lord
Byron. It was not disposed to do so — there were reasons for it. It was
like Hull's dog in the proverb, " who was so lazy that he leaned his head
against the wall when he wanted to bark 5" but, unlike that sedentary
cur, it did not bark, after all.

Not so, however, when it had men to deal with where aristocratical
pretensions were naught; and also, it was conceived, might be assailed
with impunity, even though that impunity were the wages of contempt.
Then, indeed,

" Punishment, the drudgery for devils,"

was light work for the Quarterly. Then it spat its venom fluently
enough, but it is rather dry in the throat and husky of articulation now.
At that time, far inferior poets to Mr. Milman (and we do not wish to
speak contemptuously of the Oxford Professor) were lauded to the third
heaven by the same pen (the geese of Lincolnshire can testify that it was
a goose quill) that scribbled libel and calumny, and raked up old school
stories against Percy Shelley ; and does the Quarterly imagine that this
shall be forgotten hastily? But why should we cudgel such a bepus,
or kick so vaunting a bobadil as the Quarterly Review? It were but
the waste of walking-stick and the destruction of shoe-leather 5 we have
no doubt, however, that its unhappy victims will, one day or the other,
be brought to their senses. John Jones will be convinced, when he
receives a deputation conveying a vote of thanks from the trunk-makers,
that Mr. Southey's recommendation was mere moonshine; and that his
lucubrations have been an entire waste of midnight taper and supple-
mentary candle. He will be aware that the most convenient privilege of
genius is the excuse it affords for scratching the head and not paying

514 The Two Professors. [MAY,

the debts j but as Mr. Jones wears a highly respectable wig, and is too
sedate and prudent to be in any one's books but his own, this will be
but a sorry consolation.

Mary Colling will, for her part, we are equally sure, be in due time
made conscious that it is far more pleasant to be employed in the hem-
stitch than to be boggling at a hemistic ; and as she fancies that " the
flowers talk to her," we should not be at all surprised if some plain peony,
with its leaves a-kimbo, should embrace an opportunity of telling her its
mind, to the effect that she had for better give the Muses warning j and
that if she will needs cultivate poetry, the odds are just nine to one that
she makes nothing of it.

We have thought all along, that is, for many years past, that Black-
wood's Magazine has taken credit to itself for quite as much talent, and,
to speak fairly, has been allowed by a great many to maintain at
least as much influence as it deserves aud possesses. In our opinion,
indeed, the talent displayed in that publication has been somewhat over-
rated, and its influence exaggerated prodigiously. But whatever they
may have been, we rather imagine that both are on the decline now, and
we rejoice at it. We cannot agree in the view it pleases to take of liter-
ary and philosophical matters; we do not like the spirit in which a great
portion of it is written, and we detest most cordially its politics. We
suspect that the novelty of its mode of handling its adversaries was ori-
ginally its chief recommendation. We all know the appetite displayed
by a certain portion of " the reading public/' for every thing that is bad
in taste, villanous in spirit, and detestable in intention. It was inferred,
rather hastily, that the entire absence of the same kind of wit and
humour on the part of those opposed to it, was at once an evidence of
their want of capacity to repel and resist, its attacks; and its admirers
were fain to believe that their silence was the effect of confusion, and not
the result of contempt. But this sort of thing has been of late years a
little better understood. It has been discovered long ago, that (although
Blackwood was by no means a bad hand at it) the peculiar wit which
consists in making mouths, the withering sarcasm of personal allusion,
and the bestowal of nick-names, can be infinitely better done on this side
of the Tweed. If a gentle knight, disdaining the tournament and the fa-
vour of his lady-love, will perversely descend from his steed and enter the
lists, by way of amateur, to play upon the salt-box, or to grin through a
horse-collar, he must not be surprised or offended if some knavish merry-
andrew or inspired clodpoie bear away the prize triumphantly. And
thus it has been with Blackwood's Magazine; to that work alone, such
influence it assuredly has obtained, is to be ascribed the existence of the
filthy and abominable trash circulated weekly in some of the Sunday
newspapers. There is its legitimate triumph ; there you shall see, carried
out, we admit, to its fullest extent, the delightful humour, the graceful
wit that sticks at nothing, certainly not at truth, in the consummation of
its fabulous realities. There you shall behold the weekly result of labour
undergone by the toiling slaves,

"Who fetch and carry nonsense up and down."

There you may mark the gleanings of the ear-primer, or frequenter of key-
holes ; and anon admire the mangled remains of a reputation, or the
exhumed imperfections of the dead.

1832.] The Two Professors. 515

Do we ascribe all this to Hlackwood ? We do not, But we repeat, that
Blackwood's Magazine furnished the grand outline of all this, and more :
and that to this work is to be traced the source and spring of all the flippant
remark, personal allusion, and coarse invective — all the reckless and " per
fas aut nefas" swagger which it has only put aside, now that it has dis-
covered the superior qualifications of its somewhile admiring imitators,
but, at length, worthy competitors, if not successful rivals.

We do not think it likely that we shall have much more from Black-
wood's Magazine of that kind of easily spoken, but hardly believed, profes-
sion of sympathy with the people, and filial regard for " things as they
are" and " all that." It was easy, at one time, to discourse with animation
about " the wooden walls of old England" — and to unfurl with much
seeming fervour

" The flag that hrav'd a thousand years
The battle and the breeze,"

and to ring the changes upon the oft repeated, and at last, thank Heaven !
worn out professions, by which the English people have been deceived and
betrayed. This after-dinner enthusiasm will go down no longer j and we
shall soon have an opportunity of judging how far Blackwood's Magazine
is sincere in its admiration of" existing institutions" and " things as they
are." The lick-spittle flattery and flat-faced prostration of one who could
consent to panegyrize a Castlereagh, is hardly the sort of thing to be
attended to with much respect now-a-days.

It was, if we mistake not, Black wood's Magazine that took much credit to
itself in that it had exterminated what it was pleased to call" the cockney
school." Let us see who were the leaders of that school. The late Mr.
Hazlitt, Mr. Leigh Hunt, and the late Mr. Keats. We say nothing of
their faults and affectations, and of Mr Hunt we shall say nothing whatever.
May it be his way to despise the base attack sand dastardly malignity of his
enemies. But will Blackwood's Magazine now deny the acknowledged powers
of Hazlitt, and will it presume to say that Keats was not a man of genius ?
It is, certainly, " beautiful exceedingly," to hear Professor Wilson with a
grave face denounce the affectation of " the cockney school." It is true
that Professor Wilson did once praise Mr. Shelley in a review of " The
Revolt of Islam," but no less certain that he took many after opportunities
of sneering at him. And does the Professor, now that ten or twelve
years are elapsed, conceive that the Isle of Palms " is so fine a poem as
Alastor : " if so, God help the man's ignorance and amend his taste. The
world, by this time, are pretty well agreed that Shelley to Wilson is
" Hyperion to a Satyr j " a Satyr that, far from wonderment at the
phenomenon, can himself blow hot and cold with the same breath. But
Mr. Wilson, it must be confessed, is far better qualified to judge of and
appreciate the merits of Mr. Robert Montgomery ; and " the Omnipre-
sence of the Deity " is, in his estimation, and, we doubt not, in the opinion
of many of his readers, not to mention the private conviction of the
author, a far fairer flower than " Adonis " or " Hyperion."

There is another worthy gentleman connected with Blackwood's Maga-
zine, to whose superior learning and taste that publication has been
much indebted. This learned Theban, in the course of his researches, has
made many wonderful discoveries. For instance, the world in future is
to take it for granted that Dr. Bentley was an aimable character, univer-
sally beloved by his friends, and scrupulously conscientious in his deal-

516 The Two Professors. [MAY,

ings. There is also no question that Dr. Parr was but an indifferent
scholar, that Junius was a poor creature, that Richard Brinsley Sheridan
was " a fellow of infinite dulness," and that Goethe was " an old hum-
bug ! " O laughter ! where is thy sleeve ? Truly, too much learning
hath made Mr. De Quincy mad, or he bears a very near resemblance to
that Bristol alderman, who, by his own showing1, was wont to secretly
retire to a private summer-house, and to read for hours together " and
nobody never the wiser."

And it is to a magazine, so conducted, that the public is to look up for
impartial and enlightened criticism ! A magazine that can waste twenty
pages upon a Robert Montgomery, and be utterly silent with the " Corn
Law Rhymes," and the " Village Patriarch" lying on its table ! A
magazine that is never wanting when ignorance, insolence, and scurrility
are in need of a good word — a magazine with its Professor Wilson to
babble nauseous trash, and mischievous and wicked nonsense, about some
" Ode to the Holy Alliance," by a lord who happens to feel lyrical ; but
will take care to be as mute as Hippocrates — as mum as a mourner in
the rear of a funeral, when " one of the people" speaks out with a voice
of inspiration.

And now let us turn to Miss Kemble's tragedy. With much sorrow
(for we would willingly be among the troop of admirers " to help the
show" with our presence, and to aid the excitement by our vociferation)
we must say, that " Francis the First" is just such a clever, dull, vexatious
sort of a thing (not a play, unless Miss Kemble will have it so) as a young
lady of more than ordinary talents might — ought, perhaps, to have written ;
but precisely the work she should never have published. We say this,
advisedly ; in spite of the admiration expressed by Miss Joanna Baillie.
What is this boasted performance, after all ? We hesitate not to affirm
(and this, too, in the teeth of the fawners) that there is not an act — one
scene — one passage — a single line, which an honest and unprejudiced man
can lay his hand upon and say, " this is genius."

And here we wish to guard ourselves against any suspicion of hostility
to Miss Kemble. What motive, indeed, can be supposed to actuate us,
but an anxious desire to keep literally " a clear stage and no favour j"
and if we express ourselves rather warmly, it does not arise from any
wish of ours to hurt the young lady's feelings, but it is the necessary and
unavoidable consequence of the gross and shameful flattery of her inve-
terate friends.

In the first place, her performance, quasi a play, is a very bad one. It
does not hang well together. There is no plot leading to one catastrophe.
There is no interest in the situations. There is no marked delineation of
character. These are all very grievous indications in a tragedy. The
play, moreover, is overloaded with dull and unnecessary tattle about
nothing — leading to nothing ; and wherefore this fifth act, occupied by
the braggart speeches of those u runaway curs of Pavia ?" The truth is,
a mere jumble of events is substituted for an artful evolution of circum-
stances leading to some definite and conclusive end.

The characters, we have said, are not very ingeniously drawn. Francis
the First, is clearly intended to represent a gallant gentleman, hurried
away by passion to the commission of a sentimental crime, for which he
would afterwards fain make reparation ; instead of which, we are presented
to a selfish, cold-blooded voluptuary, content to gratify habitual vices at

1832.] The Two Professors. 517

any rate, and to take every advantage of the impunity with which his rank
as a king invests him. The Constable De Bourbon is not much better.
No one can possibly take any interest in such a being. A blustering
headstrong fool, whom Miss Kemble is willing to believe a very tine
fellow. The Queen Mother is a coarse old woman, evidently fond of a
private dram, and addicted to swearing, and other violent excitement.
As for the monk Gonzales, we have had the pleasure of meeting him
before, many times, — years ago, when we were a boy, — at private corri-
dors, and in the subterranean dungeon. He looks as well and mysterious
as ever, and that is all we can say of him. And the young ladies ? — they
are made to the usual pattern of modern historical novel and intensely
interesting fiction ; but resemble nothing on earth so much as certain little
paper ladies, which we have seen in the delighted possession of children ;
as stiff as starch can make them at one moment, and anon, by the warmth
of the hand, made to assume contorted shapes, and to undergo grotesque
evolutions.

There has been much and attentive study of Shakspeare on the part of
Miss Kemble. Now, had she but given us a little of his spirit, we should
have been grateful indeed j but when she only presents us with a button
taken from his doublet, or a point not very dexterously purloined from
his hose, we feel ourselves rather in the mood of complaint than with
much desire to extol.

A man under the influence of such loveliness as Miss Kemble describes
in one or two passages, could not particularise each item of perfection
with the minute accuracy of an auctioneer. Shakspeare says

" See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand,"

not " See how she leans her fair cheek upon her white hand," which is m
the spirit of Miss Kemble's description.

And now we must enter our strong protest against the affectation of
employing old modes of expression and obsolete words, (her admirers call it
Shaksperian,) to which our fair young authoress seems especially prone.
Let us have no more swearing " By this light," " By this glad light,"
'•'By this living light," " By'r Lady," "By my fay," and so on, to very weari-
ness j it is far better to leave the line imperfect than to eke it out by
such means, And also, we could wish Miss Kemble to eschew the evil of
these ; " An she were fair," " An it were not," "Sith," " For the which,"
" passing strange," " Trow," and many others. The following, also, are
old acquaintances, but no friends of ours : —

' He started back as though a serpent stung him."

' Is like the sun-shine of a summer day."

' And more in sorrow, as I believe, than anger." '

' It nods unto its ruin."

' All pomp and circumstance."

* The still small voice," &c.

These are evidences of Miss Kemble's reading, but by no means proofs of
her original genius.

We shall not dwell upon many passages written obviously with a perfect
recollection of the only great dramatic author whom, so far as we can
judge, Miss Kemble has hitherto studied ; nor is it necessary to point out
the scene from " Measure for Measure," which she has, not very well,
paraphrased. We shall hope that a contemplation of the works of that
wonderful man will impress our fair authoress with that humility which

518 The Two Professors. [MAY,

is the best preparation for the achievement of great works ; and, at the
same time, supply her with a standard by which she will be enabled to
measure her own productions, and to render them worthy of herself and of
the stage, which she so highly and eminently adorns.

Mr. Millman, however, would seem to intimate that no such prepara-
tion is necessary, and that his young friend has already displayed " all
but unrivalled talents," in a province confessedly the most arduous that
can lie before the ambition of a poet ; and in confirmation of his opinion,
he indulges us with a satiety of extracts -,—

" Now this, now that, he tasteth daintily,"

and serves up his delicacies with an approving smile. But, first, he says,
" The most remarkable characteristic, however, of the tragedy before us,
is its total and disdainful want of conformity to the present state of the
stage. Far from accommodating itself with servile docility to the taste of
the day, and displaying the wise tact which might be acquired by fami-
liarity with the incidents and situations — with the tone and manner of
composition which produce the strongest effect on a modern audience,
the tragedy of ' Francis the First' is conceived in the spirit, and con-
ducted on the plan of a far different period."

The question is, whether the tragedy of " Francis the First," be such
an one as, in its present shape, would have been acceptable to an enlightened
audience in any age ; and if it be not, we humbly conceive that it is
" conducted on a plan " which ought not to be followed, and " conceived in
a spirit" not likely to give birth to any play that is conceived worth yawning
at. He avers, likewise, that there is " so much Shaksperianism in the
conception, as to afford a remarkable indication of the able school in
which the young authoress has studied, and the high models which, with
courage, in the present day, fairly to be called originality, she has dared
to set before her."

This cant is so common, that we have no longer cheeks that will be
moved by it. During the last twenty years, we have had many Shak-
sperian dramatists (Mr. Millman is one of them) now, alas ! such is the
fate of genius, utterly forgotten.

" We must acknowledge," says he, " that while reading the tragedy of
which we have thus freely spoken, we have frequently paused to ask,
whether this could be the conception of a young girl, hardly ripening into
womanhood ?"

He paused to ask? May we ask, without pausing, to whom he
addressed himself for information. Mr. Charles Kemble was at his
elbow ? — No. We will vouch for it, Mr. Millman knew nothing of the
matter — was entirely ignorant of all the circumstances attending the com-
position of the play ; as ignorant, we believe, as Mr. Croker of the locality
of Russell-square. He concludes his review thus : — " She must not be
content with the fame of the most extraordinary work which has ever
been produced by a female at her age." And, again — " with having
sprung at once to the present rank, not only of living actors, but of
modern dramatists."

We must now tell Mr. Millman, that had he been the sincere friend of
Miss Kemble, he had never written this review. He would have felt it
to be his duty to speak plainly, honestly, yet, withal, in kindness j —
" Entire affection scorneth nicer hands."

1832.] The Two Professors. 519

But these are not considerations that weigh with our Quarterly Re-
viewer.

But Professor Wilson would not for the world lag behind his brother bard
in the ambling strife of panegyric. He sets off, indeed, rather awkwardly ;
but in spite of sundry capricious caracoles and curvettings, he contrives
to beat the other hollow long before the conclusion of the race. He then
gets upon a platform, as it were, and rearing into the air a huge trumpet,
shouts to this effect, with a kind of Bartholomew-fair emphasis : —

" It has been published, and it has been performed j and already the
public voice has declared that it is, not only for one so young, but in itself,
a great achievement."

He forthwith falls into unmerciful extraction of passages from the
play ; and coming at length to a rather spirited scene, (the only one in the
tragedy,) breaks out into open admiration, whereof the following is the
climax : —

" Nor do we hesitate to say, that in dramatic power and effect it is
equal, if not superior, to any thing in our language since the old masters."

We do not know what Professor Wilson hesitates to say, but of his
review of Miss Fanny Kemble's tragedy of Francis the First, " we do
not hesitate to say, that in impotent twaddle and solemn nonsense, it is
equal, if not superior, to any thing in our language since the old mis-
tresses,"— our venerable aunts and ancient grandmothers.

It would be useless to argue with Mr. Wilson about the merits of this
" admirable production :" that would be in other words avowing our
belief that his praise of the performance is sincere, which we do not
believe. He knows better, we think, than to rate " Francis the First"
one tenth so highly as he would fain urge us to suppose j and, no doubt,
he will laugh heartily at our simplicity and want of penetration. But
what the deuce does he mean by this ? This is carrying the joke rather
too far. — " But the prime merit of the play is the composition. We mean
thereby the language and the versification. The structure of both is
admirable, quite after the immortal fashion of the great old masters "

The old masters again ! We depute a gross of hyenas to laugh in one
stud, while we expose the audacious impudence of this assertion. Sup-
pose, by way of remote illustration, some well-pleased sign-painter, whose
shapeless daub of vermilion is no more like the red cow intended to be
pourtrayed, than the Red Sea. Suppose this artless artist to be told,
that his monstrous conception is like the " great old masters j" it were
natural to enquire, after decent gravity had been restored to the exhausted
muscles, to which of the old masters it bore any affinity. Just so in the
present case, to which of the old masters, we beg to ask Mr. Wilson,
does this play bear any resemblance ? We need scarcely inform him,
that the language and versification of the old masters are essentially dis-
tinct and various. Marlowe is no more like Chapman or Connor, than a
leopard is like a wild boar ; nay, Beaumont, and Fletcher, and Shakspeare,
are remarkably unlike each other in both particulars, while Massinger is
equally apart from the three.

Nor is the Professor more honest in his review of the characters in the
play He cannot make up his mind to admire their consistency altogether,
and yet he is loth to say so. " The character of the Queen Mother is
strongly, and, we dare say, truly drawn out," &c. And again : " Great
power is displayed in the character of Gonzales, but we fear it is not a

520 To a Dead Leaf. [MAY,

character lit to figure in the legitimate drama. We presume not to
4f say what is natural or not natural in such a passion as revenge." And
thus he states his objections very humbly, qualifying the whole with —
" But this may be a mistake of ours, or a misconception."

It is a mistake of Mr. Wilson's, if he supposes that this species of
criticism will be received as heretofore. Let Mr. Wilson be reminded,
that he is not so young as he was twenty years ago j and that since his
time, a new race of men has sprung up, who will neither be exalted by
his flattery, nor intimidated by his wrath. His day is going by — or if he
think that he can still wield the knout as vigorously as ever, he may per-
chance find, to use a vulgar saying, that " that is a game at which two
can play :" and if he will not learn wisdom for the time to come, he
may, perhaps, be taught moderation, if not be chastised into humility.

With Miss Kemble a word or two, and we have done. Let her not be
elated by the empty praises of these professors. We beg to inform her, that
a few years ago, these were thought like the " old masters/' and wore
the bays with much complacency : but where is their reputation now ?
" Their sound is gone out," and will not " be back again presently."

Miss Kemble possesses talents and capabilities which demand much
care, and require more cultivation. Let her relinquish the conversation
and company of literary lords and ladies, and

" The mob of gentlemen who write with ease."

Let her pursue steadily, and for its own sake, the great object of her
ambition ; and she may at last, perhaps, succeed/ But we implore her to
despise, as something worse than unkindness, and far more fatal than
splenetic hyper- criticism, the fluent praise, the empty admiration, the —
shall we be plain ? — the canting humbug of the Quarterly Review and
Blackwood's Magazine.

SONNET.

TO A DEAD LEAF.

WAN leaf, that on yon broad umbrageous tree,

Erst in a dark and sunless solitude,

Mid choking weeds and branching underwood,

Wert doomed unnoticed and unknown to be ;

How do our fortunes and our fates agree;

My destiny, how clearly understood,

When, in the day-dream of a pensive mood,

I, fondly sad, compare myself with thee.

The sun hath never reach'd thee, thou hast hung,

Ev'n thine own light and shadow, unreliev'd ;

The biting worm thy tender fibres wrung

Untimely, and thine early bloom bereav'd ; —

And now thou 'rt dead, and shaken back to ea,rth,

This moral of thy fate is all thy worth !

1832.] [ 521 ]

CICERO S WORK ON THE REPUBLIC.

CICERO'S work on the Republic was discovered in the year 1820, in
the Vatican Library, at Rome, by the indefatigable librarian Angelo
Maio. Its loss w^is deeply deplored at the revival of learning in Europe,
when the most diligent investigations were made for its discovery, but
without any success. The scholars of that age had conceived the
highest idea of its excellence, not only from the opinion which Cicero
has himself expressed in his writings, but also from the praises bestowed
upon it by all the ancients, from the time of Seneca to that of Macrobius ;
in fact, till the barbarians from the north destroyed all vestiges of litera-
ture and the fine arts. The orator himself, in his letters and philosophi-
cal works, repeatedly* speaks of it in terms, which lead us to suppose
that he considered it his master-piece. Seneca declares that the book is
useful to every one,f and that " neither the philologian, the grammarian,
nor the philosopher, can ever take up the work of Cicero on the Repub-
lic, without deriving information and delight." And to these classical
authorities we may add, that Lactantius and Augustus, the renowned
fathers of the Christian church, have frequently praised it in their writ-
ings, and have quoted it at considerable length. ;£

As the loss of the work was greatly lamented, so its discovery
has delighted all the literati of Europe. It has been translated into
French by M. Villemain, a member of the French Academy. In Ger-
many, the original has passed through several editions ; it has been
translated into the vernacular language by J. M. Pierre ;§ and a treatise||
has been published in that country, which discusses with great ability
its political maxims. We state these facts simply to shew the great im-
portance attached to it by the learned of our own time.

But this work of Cicero is more eminently adapted to be useful at
this eventful period, when a principle of change is pervading all classes
of society, when governments appear to be rocking from their very
foundations, and the whole world seems agitated by one great shock
of political excitement. Cicero was as eminent for his patriotism, as he
was for his philosophy, and added to the loftiest of souls one of the
most penetrating geniuses that ever adorned humanity. He lived, too,
in the most troubled times of Roman history, in times replete with
revolutions of every kind ; and in this work on the Republic, he has
transmitted to posterity the reflections formed from a long series of ob-
servations, to serve as a beacon to future governments, to warn them of
the evils ever attending misrule, and to teach them the only means by
which the happiness and prosperity of a state can be established and
secured.

* See Cicero ad Famil. ix. 2. Ad Quintum, III. 5. Tuscul. Qusest. IV. 1.
De Leg. I. 9, III. 3, &c. &c.

f Seneca, Epist CVIII.

$ See Lactant. Instit. V. 12. August. Civit. Dei, lib. XV. et passim.

§ This translation is not such as we might have anticipated from the other lite-
rary productions of Germany ; being little better than a poor Germanization of the
French version, by Villemain — a work which, though superior in point of accuracy
to most of the French translations, is yet not entirely free from the taint of laxity,
and affected finesse.

|l See Zacharise Staatswissenchafliche Betrachtungen, iiber Cicero's werk vom
Staate.

M.M. New Series. Vol. XIII. No. 77. 2 N

522 Cicero '* Work on the Republic. [MAY,

And since it forms part of the plan of the Monthly, to disseminate the
truest political principles,, a portion of its pages cannot be better filled
than in giving extracts from this work of Tally's, accompanied by such
reflections as the original may suggest. It has never been translated
into English,* and, therefore its perusal is confined to the select few
who have time to devote themselves to such pursuits ; which further in-
duced us to suppose that a translation of some parts would not be unac-
ceptable.

It has been already stated, that it was discovered in the Vatican
Library, at Rome. The manuscript, however, is so defaced, that many
sentences and even pages, are illegible, and we have to lament the
entire loss of some parts. Yet we admire it as we should a beautiful
specimen of Grecian sculpture, chiselled by the hands of a Phidias or a
Lysippus, which, notwithstanding the mutilations it may have received
from the violence of barbarians, and the devastations of time, still re-
tains enough of its former glory, to win our admiration, and to call forth
our sorrow at the ravages committed on its beauty. The work was
originally divided into six books ; the greater part of the first and second
remains j of the third, only a small portion ; of the fourth and fifth, but
a few fragments ; and of the sixth, the Vatican manuscript does not
contain a single trace. It was written in the form of a dialogue, in
imitation of Plato, who has composed all his writings in that style ; the
dramatis persona? are the most eminent men of Rome in the time of
Scipio, in whose gardens the conversation is supposed to be conducted.
Scipio himself is the principal speaker; all the others yield to his
opinion, and his words are lawr. It was an excellent plan for Cicero to
deliver his sentiments on the important subject of government, by the
mouth of a man so greatly revered as Scipio was, by all classes in the
state ; for men listen with more respect to the opinions of the dead, than
to the words of the living, however learned and eloquent they may be.
Nor could a better period in the history of Rome have been selected.
She had just conquered her rival, Carthage, and was herself yet uncon-
quered by luxury ; learning was beginning to be generally diffused,
and oratory to be cultivated diligently and systematically ; while
comedy, under the genius of Plautus and Terence, arrived by a rapid
growth at the highest degree of perfection which it was destined to
attain. In fact, Cicero made choice of this epoch as the most glorious
in the annals of his country ; and he selected the interlocutors of his
dialogue from among those who were illustrious by their warlike ex-
ploits and civil honours, in order that his work might receive the greater
regard and veneration, as containing the sentiments of such virtuous
patriots.

There is a kind of preface, or introduction, to the first two books, in
which Tully combats the opinion of the Epicureans, that no wise man
will ever engage in affairs of state; and proofs are given, that wise men
ought to devote themselves to the service of their country, and should
not listen to the voice of indolence and ease. An advice worthy the
attention of our English aristocracy, who are by birth the legislators
of our realm ; and who too often permit themselves to sink into repose,

* We are happy, however, to be enabled to inform our readers that a translation
of it is now preparing by a gentleman, who, by his great talents, critical acumen,
and extensive knowledge, is well qualified to execute so arduous a task.

1832.] Cicero's Work on the Republic. 523

regardless of all but themselves, and mindful only of the high duties
which devolve upon them, when there is something to be gained by their
labours. But let us hear what he says in praise of the legislator who
labours for the preservation of the public security, and who has over-
come all the allurements of pleasure and repose.

" * That citizen who, by the authority and the menaces of the laws,
induces every one to perform those things, which few indeed are per-
suaded to do by the dissertations of the philosophers, ought to be pre-
ferred to those learned sages who so eloquently demonstrate the princi-
ples which he carries into execution. For what discourse of theirs can
be so beautiful as to surpass a state well governed, laws well adminis-
tered, and society virtuously regulated ? And, as I imagine that great
and imperial cities, as Ennius calls them, are superior to hamlets and
villas, so it is likewise my opinion, that those who govern these cities
by their wisdom and their influence, are to be considered as far excell-
ing in wisdom all those speculative theorists. And since it is the great
object of our ambition to increase the power of the human race ; and
since our desires, our plans, and our labours, all tend to secure the hap-
piness of life ; and since nature herself has excited us to the enjoyment
of this pleasure, let us follow the course which has always been pursued
by the wisest and the best of men ; and never let us attend to those sig-
nals of retreat, which have sounded sufficiently high even to recall some
who had made considerable progress in their noble career.

" To such excellent and conclusive arguments, the disputants on the
other side allege the labours which must be endured in the defence of
the republic ; but this obstacle, it is answered, is easily overcome by
the diligent and the industrious, and ought to be despised, not only in
great undertakings, but even in our ordinary duties and pursuits, and,
in fact, in every common transaction of life. The perils to which an
active life is subjected are next brought forward ; but it is answered
that the fear of death is disgraceful to the brave ; who think it far more
miserable slowly to die by the decay of nature and the infirmity of
years, than to have an opportunity of being able to yield up that life
for the benefit of their country, which must sooner or later be surren-
dered to nature.

" But our antagonists think themselves most formidably eloquent and
resistless, when they enumerate the misfortunes of the most illustrious
men, and the injuries they have suffered from their ungrateful citi-
zens."

Cicero then proceeds to examine the examples instanced by his oppo-
nents, and overthrows their arguments with his accustomed eloquence.
Some of the epicureans qualify their assertion that no wise man will ever
engage in affairs of state, by saying that the wise man will not engage
in public affairs unless compelled by the perilous state of the times. He
shews the absurdity of their arguments by a beautiful simile, of which
we will attempt a translation.

" f I am often exceedingly astonished that learned men should say in
their lectures, that they cannot govern the vessel of the state on a tran-
quil sea, because they have never learnt, nor cared to learn ; and yet
that the same men should profess to direct the helm in the midst of the
most terrible tempests. They are accustomed openly to assert, and even.

* See Book I. ch. 2 and 3. t See Book L ch. 6 and 7.

524 Cicero s Work on the Republic. [MAY,

to glory much in that assertion, that they have never learnt nor ever
taught any thing on the means of establishing or preserving states ;
and they think that the knowledge of these things does not appertain to
the learned or the wise, but ought to be confined to practical politicians.
How then can they, with any consistency, promise their assistance to the
republic when at last compelled by necessity ? since they could not — a
far easier task — rule the state when unoppressed by any danger. And
admitting that a wise man of his own accord does not usually descend
to the government of the state, but that if pressed by the circumstances
of the times, he would not then refuse that duty ; yet, admitting all
this, it is still my opinion, that this science of public affairs ought on
no account to be neglected by the wise man, because he should be pre-
pared with every thing, the knowledge of which, for all he can tell,
may at some time be absolutely essential.

* * * *

And if there be still any who are influenced by the authority of philoso-
phers, let them deliberate for a short time, and listen to those who have
obtained the greatest honour and glory among the most learned of man-
kind ; and even if such have not been engaged in the actual adminis-
tration of the state, yet, since they have investigated the subject, and
written largely upon it, they ought, in my opinion, to be considered as
having performed a sort of public office. As to those seven whom the
Greeks call wise, I perceive that nearly all have been employed in public
affairs. Nor is there any thing in which the virtues of humanity approach
nearer to the attributes of Deity, than in the foundation of new states, or
in the preservation of old."

To understand properly the spirit of these sentiments, which breathe
the purest patriotism, it will be necessary for our readers to recollect
that neither the Greeks nor the Romans paid their rulers for governing
the state. With us there is some inducement to struggle for the office
of First Lord of the Treasury, or Chancellor of the Exchequer, besides
the mere love of serving our country ; and if no advantage but care,
trouble, and anxiety, resulted from the dignity, we should probably not
see so many aspirants to the government.

We now come to the dialogue itself. But here it may be proper to
give some more particular account of the object and the nature of the
work. The subject is the government of a state ; a subject which has
occupied the thoughtful of all nations, and on which ponderous tomes
have been written from remote antiquity even to the present day.
Among the ancients great attention was paid to it, both in its theory
and its practice j but the Greeks, more polished and philosophical
than the Romans, had studied it with greater assiduity than their rivals
in literature. When Athens had lost her influence as a state, she still
maintained a species of ascendancy by her learning ; and secured, by her
philosophers and her orators, the respect which her arms could never
have perpetuated.

To her groves and academies every Roman of rank resorted for his
education, and Athens might in truth be called the university of the
world. It was there that in earlier times ^Eschylus composed his tra-
gedies, and Aristophanes displayed his raillery and his wit — there
Plato had promulgated his philosophy in the gardens of the academy,
and there Demosthenes had hurled his thunders against tyranny and
oppression. We need not add that Cicero had been to Athens ; he

1832.] Cicero's Work on the Republic. 525

frequently re-visited it, and his friend Atticus, who resided there, sent
him every work of importance as soon as it was published. Among
these were doubtless many treatises on government ; but there
were two that had been long in existence, and that merited all the
admiration with which our author is known to have regarded them. It
is superfluous for us to say that we refer to Plato's Republic and Aris-
totle's Politics. The former shadowed forth the beau ideal of a perfect
republic, in which no wrong was committed, no crime perpetrated, and
where the citizens were as virtuous as gods. He adorned his subject
with the splendid imagery of a poet, and the fervent eloquence of an
orator ; yet his penetrating wisdom must have convinced him that he
was describing a thing desirable rather than possible. More, in his
Utopia, and Harrington in his Oceana, have each given their own
opinions on government through the medium of an imaginary republic
described after the manner of Plato. But the illustrious Stagyrite
pursued a totally different plan in his immortal treatise called the
Politics. For he gathered the various laws and customs of above two
hundred states ; and after a careful examination of all of them, esta-
blished his conclusions on the basis of experience. Montesquieu, in his
L' Esprit des Loix, incontestably one of the most erudite works of modern
times, evidently imitated the plan of Aristotle.

But Cicero, in his work on the Republic, which forms the third in this
glorious triumvirate, has not adopted the plan of either of the Grecian
philosophers. His object was to prove that neither monarchy, aristo-
cracy, nor democracy, unmingled with any other, but existing in a pure
simple form, is excellent ; but that a mixed form of government, com-
posed of the three elements just mentioned, is by far the best, and the
only one capable of enduring through successive ages. To support this
theory, he instances the Roman government, as completely answering
his description ; and he exhibits the methods by which Rome obtained
her mighty power ; and how, from a few huts, scattered along the banks
of the Tiber, she rose to be the mightiest of cities, and the metropolis of
the conquered world.* " I think/' says he, " I am fully persuaded, and
I therefore deliberately affirm, that no state whatever can be compared,
either in its internal constitution, or its external appearance, or in its
strict and rigid discipline, with that which has been bequeathed to us
by our fathers. I will explain its nature and superiority over all others ;
and after developing its principles, I will make it my model, and every
thing which I say on the best form of government shall have a reference
to it."

But some reader may pause to ask " what was Rome under a
mixed form of government? I thought it had been an aristocracy, or a
democracy.'' Cicero, however, tells us, that the consuls elected annu-
ally, answered to an elective monarchy, of which hef was a great advo-
cate j the senate of course represented the aristocracy ; and the people, as
their name imports, were the democracy. He was not singular in his
opinion in calling this division of power a mixed form of government.
Polybius, whose accuracy of research and philosophical genius have
always been admired, when writing on the same subject, says,J " The
three kinds of government were all found in the commonwealth
of Rome. And so even was the balance between them all, and so

See Book I. eh. 46. f See Book II. ch. 12. $ See Polyb. Book VI.

526 Cicero s Work on the Republic. MAY,

regulated the administration that resulted from their union, that it was
no easy thing, even for the Romans themselves, to determine with as-
surance, whether the entire state was to be esteemed an aristocracy, a
democracy, or a monarchy." He reasons on the subject at large, and
arrives at the same conclusion as Cicero. But we will not, at present,
pursue the arguments of Tully any further, because he himself com-
pletely proves his propositions in the work now under our consideration,
and it would be doinghim injustice to use any other language than his own.

The interlocutors in the dialogue assemble, as we have previously
stated, in the gardens of Scipio. After discussing several topics, which
our present design does not call upon us to mention, they at last
come to the subject of government. It may be necessary, however, to
premise that Cicero, by the word Republic, Respublica, does not mean to
convey the idea of a democracy, nor, in fact, of any particular kind of state
polity, but employs it to signify almost the same notion as is conveyed
by our English word commonwealth. Scipio, who is the principal actor
in the colloquy, urged by the solicitations of his friends, commences
his dissertation by defining the meaning of the word Republic or Com-
monwealth ; for he says that, in the examination of every thing, especial
care should be taken that suitable terms be used for the subject under
consideration :

* " The commonwealth is the weal of the community. But the com-
munity is not every assemblage of men collected in any manner what-
soever, but only an assemblage associated together by an agreement for
the observation of laws and for the sake of common advantages. The
first cause of this assemblage is not weakness, so much as a certain
natural desire of association. For man is not an isolated, wandering,
solitary being, but is born with such a disposition, that when living
alone with a superfluity of luxuries he sighs for the society of his fellow-
mortals."

Here we are interrupted by one of those deplorable mutilations of the
manuscript to which we have alluded, or we should doubtless have
found the origin of human society described with all the eloquence for
which the orator was so celebrated. Cicero then proceeds to state, in
the part which is now remaining, that the community must at all events
be under some government if its duration be desired.

•j- " The government must then be placed in the hands of a single
person, or of a select number of individuals ; or it must be given to the
multitude and the whole body of the people. When the supreme power
is vested in a single person we call him a king, and that form of go-
vernment a kingdom. When it is committed to a select number of in-
dividuals, the state is then said to be governed by the dictates of an
aristocracy ; but it is called a democracy when the sovereignty rests
in the people. But if men are still influenced by that bond which first
united them in society for the sake of the commonwealth, neither of these
three kinds (whichever it may be) can be said to be perfect — no — nor be
even excellent, but each is tolerable, and has some reason for a superiority
over the others. For a state appears to have some kind of established
government, whether the supreme power be vested in a wise and im-
partial king, or in an aristocracy of illustrious citizens, or in the people
itself/'

* See Book I. eh. 25. t Book I. ch. 2G.

1832.] Cicero s Work on the Republic. 527

Our readers will perceive that the point which Cicero is endeavouring
to establish, is that a state can and may exist under either of the simple
forms of government ; but that they are only tolerable, and that a mixed
kind, one compounded of all three, is infinitely to be preferred to either
of them, singly.

* " In monarchies the people are too much excluded from a share in
the public laws and councils ; in the domination of an aristocracy they
can scarcely partake of liberty, being destitute of power, and prevented
from giving their advice on public measures ; and when every thing is
conducted by themselves, however just and well regulated they may be,
yet their equality becomes unjust, since it possesses no gradations of
honour. And although the renowned Persian, Cyrus, was the justest
and wisest of kings, yet the weal of the community (for that, according
to my former definition, constitutes a commonwealth) does not appear
to me to be the great object of solicitude when the state is governed by
the caprice of a single man. And though our allies, the inhabitants of
Massilia,t are governed with the strictest justice by an aristocracy of
illustrious citizens, yet there is some appearance of servitude in that ex-
clusion of the people from power. And though the Athenians, at certain
periods in their history, performed every thing by the orders and decrees
of the people, in consequence of the abolition of the Areopagus, yet the
state lost its splendour by the want of distinct gradations in power.

" My present observations relate to those three kinds of government
when unmingled and unintermixed, and each preserving its own peculiar
qualities. Besides those effects which I have just enumerated, there are
others which are the causes of certain ruin ; since there is none of these
commonwealths without a slippery road leading down to some neigh-
bouring evil. For after contemplating that tolerable king, to use the
most appropriate epithet/or that king worthy of love (if you are desirous
that I should give him that appellation) — I mean Cyrus, I next perceive
Phalaris, J an odious monster ; to a resemblance of whose iniquities the
domination of a single individual will rapidly descend by a facile and
easy course. The aristocracy of illustrious citizens at Massilia borders
upon that oligarchy of the tyrannical thirty, which was once established
at Athens. And the very people of Athens, not to seek for other ex-
amples, having obtained the sovereign power, conducted every thing by
democratical fury.

" I am therefore inclined to think that we ought to give our warmest
approbation to a fourth kind of government, which is formed by the
mixture and union of the three others which I have just mentioned."

The reader will have been able to form, from the above extracts, some
idea of the clear, but at the same time profound, line of argumentation
which runs through this admirable and long lost treatise. There are
few compositions in existence which combine so many sources of interest.
As a relic of ancient wisdom, it serves to complete a precious chain,

* Book I. ch. 27, 28, 29.

•f- The modern Marseilles, in the South of France. It was one of the earliest
Greek colonies ; and was founded by the Phocaeans. See Justin XLIII — 3. Its
government was a complete aristocracy. See Strabo, Book V.

;£ Phalaris was the tyrant of Agrigentum. He has obtained an infamous renown
for his cruelty. Cicero has instanced him in juxta-position with Cyrus, who was
considered the model of a virtuous king, to shew that kings reigning uncontrolled
may be as just as Cyrus or as tyrannical as Phalaris.

528 Windlass Hall. [MAY,

most of the other links of which had been found, but which must
have ever remained imperfect without this. It would have been a
wonder to all ages, had the wisdom, the acute and logical intellects
of antiquity, been found not to have conceived the idea of a mixed
form of government; and the discovery that there was a theory
afloat among them, of which it was supposed they had no notion, is an
addition to our knowledge of intellectual history, and of the history of
politics and philosophy, of the highest value and importance. With
regard to the practical utility of this remarkable work, we have hap-
pily long proved the truth of its theoretical statements; and if the
spirits of the great and wise of other times are acquainted with what
is passing on the earth, Cicero must experience the same delight in
contemplating the English constitution, — (notwithstanding the corrup-
tions which the whole mind of the nation is now employed in clearing
away) — as Newton in seeing his theories established from year to year
in greater strength by the regularity of the planetary system, and
the fulfilment of the laws of light and gravitation.

A deep and painful feeling of solicitude, however, must possess the
mind of every Englishman ; and the calmest and least excited, willingly
yielding to the influence of Cicero's eloquence, will await with impa-
tience the period, when this constitution shall no longer be in danger
of degenerating into an oligarchy, and no longer retain the traces
of manifest corruption. The remaining portion of the recovered work
will be discussed in another paper.

W. S.

WINDLASS HALL.

WINDLASS HALL would be as pleasant a house as any in Kent, but for
the singular way in which it pleased nature to model the cranium of its
worthy proprietor, my excellent but eccentric old friend, Captain Wheeler,
late of the Royal Engineers. His organ of constructiveness is perhaps
the largest that any human skull ever exhibited : indeed, it is quite a
phrenological " lusus natures," and more than one disciple of the Spurz-
heim philosophy on the Continent has visited England for the sole pur-
pose of observing and studying it. In consequence of this prodigious
development, (for such it truly is,) every part of the establishment at
Windlass Hall would furnish ample materials for a course of lectures on
the science of mechanics. In fact, I was for a considerable time undeter-
mined whether I should offer the following account to the " Monthly Ma-
gazine," or reserve it for a memoir in the " Philosophical Transactions."

To begin with what are called, by a gross misnomer, the pleasure-
grounds, it is only just to acknowledge that they are laid out with great
taste j the park is a noble one, and no expense has been spared upon the
gardens, shrubberies, and orchards. Unhappily, however, the engineer
has been employed fully as much as the landscape gardener : every part
of the demesne is so full of gins, snares, man-traps, and every possible
contrivance for seizing and detaining your person, that, no matter how
warily you pick your steps, it is next to a miracle if you do not every five
minutes receive some sensible proof of the Captain's skill in practical
mechanics. You cannot step into a parterre without imminent danger of
falling into a pit ; if you walk through a meadow, and stoop to gather a

1832.] Windlass Hall. 529

primrose or a cowslip, you are almost sure to find a snake in the grass ;
if you are fatigued, and think to repose upon a rustic seat, it is ten to one
but the seat is metamorphosed into a post, the moment you touch it, and
you come rolling to the ground, " by the law of gravity," as your host
will probably inform you — when you return with torn inexpressibles to
the hall, very little in humour for his dynamical disquisitions. Fortu-
nately the Captain is a benevolent, kind-hearted man, so that few of his
devices are dangerous to life or limb ; but it has frequently occurred, that
a visitor, who has been missing at dinner, has been found at a late hour
in the evening fast locked in the embraces of some extremely ingenious
man-trap, two miles perhaps from the house. A calamity of this kind
once happened to the parson, and it has been a joke at the Hall ever
since, — " Doctor, will you take a walk in the shrubbery before dinner ?"
Upon this occasion the Captain shewed, by the haste he made to the
liberation of his captive, that his science had not extinguished his
humanity. He felt so strongly that it was no light thing for a church-
man to lose his dinner, that he actually mounted Archimedes and rode
to the rescue at full gallop. Candour, however, obliges me to add, that
the piece of mechanism in question was not one of my old friend's " chef-
d'ceuvres" and his vanity was therefore not particularly interested in the
trial of its efficacy. It was my ill-luck, about two years ago, to be taken
in a snare, on the success of which I had heard him repeatedly say, " he
was prepared to stake his reputation as an engineer." I lost my dinner,
of course, and should have passed a sharp October night in the deer-park,
but for a labourer, whom by incessant shouting I brought to my assist-
ance, and dispatched to the Hall for the author of my disaster. When
that worthy arrived, instead of the regrets and sympathies I expected, his
eyes danced with joy, and he was actually in a fever of self-congratulation j
nor could I prevail upon him to deliver me from " duress vile," until he
had fully explained to the by-standers the mechanical principles by virtue
of which — I had lost my dinner, and narrowly escaped being frozen to
death.

It is hard to say, whether the guests at the Hall experience more
annoyance from the success of the Captain's contrivances out of doors,
or from their failure within. His machines and instruments are con-
tinually going out of order owing to their extreme complexity ; and it fre-
quently happens, that just as "mechanical advantage," so he terms it, has
arrived at that point, where it is past the skill of science to carry it further,
the machinery stands stock-still, and the momentous functions of the
dairy, the laundry, and the kitchen, are suspended whole days together. No
person is qualified to serve as cook at Windlass Hall, without possessing
a tolerable knowledge of engineering. The Captain has more than once
put the following advertisement into the " Times" newspaper : —

" WANTED, by a family residing in Kent, a person qualified to serve as Cook.
" To the usual culinary abilities, he must unite a competent acquaintance with the
" principles of mechanics."

The present " chef de-cuisine" is a Frenchman, and either was, or pre-
tends to have been, educated at the Polytechnic school : and, indeed, all
his science is not too much for his situation, for I verily believe there
has not been, for the last ten years, a sirloin of beef roasted at the Hall,
without the joint assistance of all the mechanic powers. Never shall I
forget the good Captain's look of triumph on sitting down to dinner the

530 Windlass Hall. [MAT,

day he succeeded for the first time in introducing the " Gridiron-Pen-
dulum" into his kitchen. His friend, Professor Pond, had shewn him that
instrument in the Greenwich Observatory, and it immediately struck him
it might be applied as advantageously to the dressing of a chop as to the
transit of a star. "This is a banquet," he exclaimed, " worthy of Huygeus
himself," helping me, as he spoke, to a mutton cutlet, which had' been
submitted to the action of the flames at least twenty minutes longer than
the " code gourmand" warranted. To me this seemed rather feeble
evidence of the use of physics in gastronomy : Philosophy, said I to
myself, is as bad a hand at broiling a chop, as Alfred was at baking a
cake. It was obvious, however, that the Captain was of a different way
of thinking, for he could not be persuaded to touch any thing else at table
but the mutton cutlets, which Count Rumford himself could not have
distinguished from a heap of cinders, so efficiently had the Gridiron Pen-
dulum acquitted itself in its new function.

The consequences, however, of so elaborate a cooking apparatus as, by
a long series of " improvements" has been accumulated in the kitchen of
Windlass Hall, are often much more serious than the mere overbroiling
of a chop. The good old family jack, which in the days of the Captain's
father was, as I have heard, almost an example of perpetual motion, now
that it has received an accession of at least a hundred wheels, pulleys,
cranks, levers, detached-escapements, and heaven knows what, is seldom
in a rotatory condition more than three days in the week ; the r6tis are
therefore commonly deficient on the board of my gallant friend, who is
however too intrepid to allow accidents of this nature, no matter how
frequently they occur, to shake his confidence in his " Triple-Action
Jack," as he scientifically terms a machine which it is no easy matter to
prevail upon to act at all. When informed by his " chef" that any of
the cranks or levers have got out of order, he calmly answers — " Well,
Auguste, never mind it to-day ; it is merely the effect of friction j I have
a formula that will soon set it to rights ; we shall try to make out our
dinner without the sirloin." Sometimes his sister ventures to drop a hint
about a hook and string as no bad contrivance at a pinch j but she is sure
to get an angry reprimand for her pains. It is amusing — that is, it would
be amusing, if it were any less serious interest than dinner that was in
jeopardy — to observe the effect of a discussion of this nature upon the
faces of the company at the Hall : how they fall at the ominous words,
" jack out of order," " no roast beef;" how they rise and brighten at the
happy idea of the " hook and string ; " and how they fall lower than ever
and grow dark as Erebus, when, with a look of lightning and voice of
thunder, the Captain spurns the proposition, as an insult to himself and a
blasphemy against mechanical science. This effect is particularly comic
at times, when the inclemency of the weather or other circumstances
render escape from the hall imprudent. The parson, however, defies all
dangers ; he is certain, whenever the jack is out of order, to have a child
to christen, or some other pastoral duty to perform in a distant part of
the parish.

Breakfast affords the Captain much less scope than dinner for the dis-
play of his talents j but still the chances against the success of the former
meal are far from being inconsiderable. The self-replenishing tea-distiller
may refuse to perform any one of its various functions, in which case a cup
of tea is out of the question, the vulgar utensil for making that delicious

1832.] Windlass Hall. . 531

beverage having been long-since proscribed from the Hall 5 or the high-
pressure coffee-percolator may happen to burst, in which event you are
well off indeed, if the loss of your coffee is the utmost extent of your suf-
ferings. When I was last at the Hall, a young lady was nearly scalded to
death in consequence of that accident having occurred. The Captain was
exceedingly distressed, and immediately dismissed the servant who, it
appeared, by neglecting to dispose the safety-valve properly, had occa-
sioned the explosion. " I never could make that fellow," he said,
" understand the properties of elastic fluids." But coffee is not always
a certainty, even when the steam-engine is in the best possible order. A
pair of squirrels, kept solely for the purpose, grind all the coffee that is
used in the establishment. In general these nimble little animals having
no object of course but their own divertisement, keep the mill turning
and the family well supplied ; but should they chance on any occasion to
be idle or indisposed, you are sure to feel the effects of it at breakfast,
particularly if you are as partial to the Mocha berry as I am.

It is one of the peculiarities of my gallant friend, that he cannot bear to
hear the most ordinary household utensil called by its vernacular name, if
it is practicable to give it a scientific one. I believe few persons are more
intimate with him than I am $ yet I would not for fifty guineas undertake
to call the " high-pressure coffee-percolator" a coffee-pot. One day that
he took me with him to inspect the offices, he was accosted by his groom,
who mentioned amongst other matters that the pump in the stable-yard
was out of order. I was struck by the bitterness of manner with which
he received this information -, and ascribed it to the failure of an extraor-
dinarily subtile piece of mechanism, which I was aware he had substituted
for the common piston and sucker ; — but I was mistaken : as soon as
the groom was out of hearing, he burst out with — " Pump, pump — the
fellow will never call it anything but pump ; often as I have dinned it
into his ears, I never can get him to say hydraulic engine ; no, nothing
will do but pump, pump, pump : " — then, after a pause of a few seconds,
he added ; " I do not want him to comprehend it : there is not such an
engine for raising water in the three kingdoms : but he might call it by
its proper name — no, no j nothing will serve him but pump." To illus-
trate the value of this unrivalled " engine for raising water," as the
Captain was pleased to style it, it is enough to say that the water which
supplied the house and offices was generally brought upon the heads of
the servants from a well at least half-a-mile from the hall. Often, under
the broiling suns of July and August, have I heard them make bitter
complaints upon this subject ; and many a longing eye have I seen them
turn to the common pumps of the farmers in the neighbourhood, any one
of which I suspect the unscientific dogs would gladly have taken in
exchange for the "hydraulic engine" in the stable-yard, which after all
had but one fault : it did not raise water.

It is but just, however, to state that some of the Captain's inventions
are useful as well as ingenious. The most popular amongst his friends
is his " Dressing Barometer." This instrument, which hangs in the
breakfast-parlour, instead of being graduated in the usual way, is marked
with the changes of apparel appropriate to every variation of season or
weather ; for instance, Russia duck, cloak, great-coat, dread-nought, &c. ;
then, on the female side, pelisse, boa, shawl, parasol, pattens, &c., j
so that by a glance at the instrument, previous to setting out on a walk

532 Windlass Hall. [MAY,

or a ride, one is enabled to provide against every vicissitude of the weather,
an advantage of no common value in such a mutable and capricious cli-
mate as ours. This is called at the Hall, making your toilette at the
Captain's glass ; and nothing is more usual than to hear it observed —
" The glass is down to great-coat and umbrella," or *' It is up to Russia
duck." My poor old friend ! I do not suppose Torricelli valued himself
so much on the original invention of the barometer, as the Captain does
upon this application of it.

Nor can I avoid mentioning with applause an apparatus which he calls
his " Antiphlogistic Ladder," by means of which, should the Hall ever
happen to take fire, he can descend from the windows of his bed-room to
the ground — a height of some fifty or sixty feet — with as much ease as
by the staircase ; avoiding at the same time the annoyance (incidental on
such occasions to the use of the common ladder) of being roasted by the
flames as they burst out of the lower stories. Of this contrivance he is so
vain-glorious, that I fear he is not so grateful as he ought to be to Divine
Providence, for having never as yet vouchsafed him an opportunity
for putting its utility to the test. It has had, however, every trial but
the fiery one. The only time it was ever my fortune to witness its " mo-
dus operandi," was under circumstances the very reverse of those for
which it was intended. It was upon a wet night in February -} and the
rain, it seems, having penetrated into the Captain's quarters, the thought
suddenly rushed into his mind that the " Antiphlogistic Ladder " might
be made as available as a means of escape from flood as from fire 5 ac-
cordingly down he came, trundling, in a thing that resembled a bucket,
along the side of the house, actually saturated by the water which fell
from the eaves and spouts in torrents, and shouting as he descended —
" An extension of the principle j an extension of the principle !" My
bed-room being immediately under his, the working of the ropes and
pulleys, with the exclamations that accompanied every step of the opera-
tion, did not fail to awaken me 5 and having no doubt but that the Hall
was at length on fire, I flung open the window, and calling to the Captain
as he passed, asked him in Heaven's name what was the matter —where
had the flames broken out ? The only reply I could extract, was, " An
extension of the principle; an extension of the principle !" This, however,
was enough for one who knew his habits so well as I did 5 I saw at once
that, rough as the night was, my good old friend was enjoying a ride on
his hobby — so I pulled down the window, and returned to bed.

It is interesting to observe how the ruling propensity of the Captain's
mind colours every part of his conduct, not only in his private, but in his
public capacity. As a magistrate, he is continually exposing himself to
the ridicule of the " quorum," by the occasions which he takes of exhi-
biting his mechanical turn, even in the administration of justice. In
criminal cases he is always for the punishment of the tread-mill, which, he
observes, is an elegant application of the principles of natural philosophy
to jurisprudence. When a poacher is brought before him, he investigates
rigorously the manner in which the fellow has killed or taken the game j
and if he finds that he has employed any novel or ingenious device, he is
never known to pronounce a severe sentence. A peasant who catches a
hare in a trap of his own construction will, perhaps, be dismissed with a
lectureon the misapplication of the noble talents God has given him ; but
let him be convicted of knocking the animal down with a stick, and he is

1832.] On the Military Resources of the Austrian Empire. 533

sure to undergo the heaviest penalty of the law. During the recent dis-
turbances in his county, the indignation of the Captain against the
machine-breakers knew no bounds -, any other outrage was pardonable ;
there might be some excuse for burning corn-stacks, hay-ricks, and
farm-houses j but the man who had the heart to demolish a thrashing-
machine was a monster, who disgraced humanity, lllnatured persons
said that the Captain showed more alacrity in detecting or punishing
offenders of this class, than he evinced in cases where life and limb had
been outraged. This I believe to be a foul calumny j for I know my
gallant old friend to be a humane man ; at the same time, I make no
doubt that his passion for mechanism transported him occasionally into
an unwarrantable degree of severity towards the deluded machine-breakers
of Kent. It may be supposed that the farming implements of Windlass
Hall were peculiarly the objects of attack, during the turbulent period I
allude to ; the contrary, however, was the case, and for the two following
reasons : — first, the absolutely impervious state of the demense, which, to
meet the emergency, was literally studded all over with gins, traps,
and pitfalls, of the most treacherous and malignant kinds ; there was a
spring-gun in every bush, and a snake under every blade of grass ; in fact,
it was impossible, during the disturbances, to stir more than three yards
from the Hall without the hazard of losing a leg or an arm. The second
reason was, that though the machinery of the Captain's farm was far the
most elaborate of any in the county, still it was only in theory that it worked
well ; it was too complex and delicate to have equal success in practice j the
consequence of which was, that there was more manual labour employed
on the lands of Windlass Hall, than on any other estate perhaps in all
England ; and it was observable, that the demand for labourers increased
with every new " improvement" introduced.

The Captain is at present in France. His object is to be an eye-witness
of the manner in which the " guillotine" works in that country 5 for it is
one of his favourite projects to introduce that scientific mode of execution
into England. He considers it downright barbarism to- put an intellectual
being, like man, out of the world, by so unphilosophical a process as the
gallows ; and it is natural he should be of this opinion, for we have seen
that he thinks it derogatory to the dignity even of a sirloin of beef, to be
suspended before the fire by a simple " hook and string."

In the postscript of his last letter, he tells me that he has invented a
new cork leg, upon improved principles. I am sorry to hear it, for he
will certainly not be as careful to avoid falls as hitherto. 8.

ON THE MILITARY RESOURCES OF THE AUSTRIAN EMPIRE.

AFTER fifty-six Protrocols the ratification of the Belgian treaty is
definitively postponed, and dark clouds are again collecting around the
political horizon of Europe. The moment is arrived, says the movement
party, when France should subdue the North of Africa — re-unite Belgium
— deliver Piedmont and Italy from the Austrian yoke, and raise the
banner of the constitution in the Spanish Peninsula. The firm hand
with which Cassimer Perrier has held the reins of government, has
hitherto compressed this impetuous spirit of continental change j but
will he be able to achieve what even the genius and power of Napoleon

534 O» the Military Resources of the Austrian Empire. MAY,

was inadequate to ? The combinations of diplomacy may avert for some
time longer the general " bouleversement," but war is inevitable, and the
power on whom its thunderbolts will burst with greatest fury, is Austria.

The French revolution had absorbed the Netherlands and Holland —
crushed the empire of Germany, and out of the spoils of Poland it had
constituted the duchy of Warsaw to watch the movements of Russia. At
the close of the war, which had raged with little interruption for more than
twenty years, the states of Europe could not be restored to the condition
in which they had been before the commencement of the tremendous and
protracted struggle. Many establishments in that long and dangerous
interval being wholly overthrown, many boundaries of countries had
been removed in the ravages of hostile aggression ; the negociators,
therefore, while they laboured to reconstruct the federative policy of the
European continent as much as possible, on the " status ante bellum,"
were compelled to introduce various changes, that their arrangements
might be accommodated to the existing state of Europe. While Prussia
received large accessions of territory on the Rhine and from dismembered
Saxony, Austria, for the loss of her portion of Poland ceded to Russia,
and the Netherlands incorporated with Holland, found compensation in
immense acquisitions in Italy, besides a large portion of the Bavarian
kingdom, the Tyrol, &c.

The sacrifices of this country during this eventful period were tremen-
dous. For twenty-five years she had continued with unwearied pertinacity
a warfare not without honour j and though often defeated in the field, the
glorious days of Aspern and Wagram fully re-established the reputation
of her armies ; and by her timely intervention in 1813, she gave the last
death-blow to the power of Napoleon. At that period the extraordinary
resources of his genius had repaired the disasters of the Russian campaign -}
he was still in possession of nearly the whole of the Prussian monarchy,
and of the strong post of Dantzig; the allied armies, disorganized by the
defeats of Grosberri and Bautzen, had nothing to oppose to his over-
whelming masses ; the star of the conqueror of Marengo again burst forth
in all its brightness. At this critical moment, when the destinies of
Europe were in the balance, Austria joined the coalition j and skilfully
availing herself of her proximity to Saxony, where Napoleon had concen-
trated his forces, she was enabled to operate immediately in the rear of
his front of operations upon the Elbe, and threw two hundred thousand
men into the scale with an almost certainty of success. The empire of
Italy, and her ancient influence in Germany, lost by fifteen years of
reverses and disasters, were both re-conquered in two months. An
equally favourable opportunity for a successful intervention had presented
itself to this power in 1807. Bonaparte had crossed the Vistula, and
pushed his advance under the walls of Kcenigsberg, having Austria in
his rear and the whole Russian Empire in his front. Had the Aus-
trian cabinet known how to profit by their geographical position, and
caused an army of one hundred thousand men to debouch from Bohemia
upon the Oder, the power of Napoleon would have been at an end, and in all
probability his army would 'not have succeeded in cutting its way back to
the Rhine : but she preferred waiting till she had raised her army to four
hundred thousand men, and two years after she assumed the offensive,
she was conquered; whilst, with one hundred thousand men at the period

1832.] On the Military Resources of the Austrian Empire. 535

we have mentioned, she might have decided the fate of Europe. By the
diplomatic arrangements of the Congress of Vienna, Austria acquired a
compact geographical "arrondisement" of kingdoms and provinces, with
a considerable line of sea coasts, containing upwards of thirty millions of
inhabitants — an empire which, if its interests were well understood and its
resources fully developed, might prove a match for the most powerful on
the continent. Yet, from the blind fatuity of its government, this country
is daily impoverished 5 while, owing to a defective military system, her
armies have been almost constantly beaten in the field, and captured like
herds of cattle. To what causes are we to attribute the continued disasters
of this power, whose army as a body is as much superior to the French,
as the French soldier is individually superior to the Austrian ? We shall
answer this question in the words of the Archduke Charles — " Austria
was worsted because the operations of her adversary were based upon a
well combined system of fortresses, a careful survey of the whole theatre
of war, and the direction to one ' but ' of the force employed, to which
she had only to oppose the bravery and superior organization of her
army, and some splendid, though insulated triumphs of her generals."

It has been the fashion to attribute the disasters of the Austrian armies
to the Aulic Council, and it must be confessed, that a general, whose genius
and arm is fettered by the plans of a military board at a distance from the
theatre of operations, must contend to a disadvantage with an adversary
more favourably circumstanced ; but the evil, we suspect, lies much deeper ;
several essential conditions concur in the perfection of an army : — a good
recruiting system — a good formation — a well organized system of national
reserves — strict discipline, without being humiliating to the soldier — a
well combined system of rewards and promotion — a scientific corps of
artillery and engineers — and lastly, a staff capable of availing itself of all
these elements, the organization of which corresponds with the instruc-
tion of its officers. In this last essential, the Austrian army is miserably
deficient ; it is a body without a soul. The Imperial generals were con-
stantly out-strategised : when a new system of warfare had been intro-
duced, they continued to manoeuvre, " a la Daun ;" and while the object
of the French was to attain their end, "coute qui coute," the old-fashioned
system of the Cordon betrayed the Austrian commanders into the dan-
gerous practice of dividing and subdividing their forces. With a view of
covering a line of frontiers, they found themselves unequal to maintain
the few points it was important to preserve ; and while they were. uselessly
garrisoning every village, were obliged, after a series of disasters, to aban-
don whole provinces to the enemy. It was by an obstinate adherence to
this cautious system, in opposition to the " en avant tactique" of Napoleon,
that we must look for the true cause of their defeats. In 1796, by acting
upon the single line, he defeated in detail the corps of Bosera and Alvinzi.
In 1805 he annihilated the army of Mack ere the Russians under Kouto-
zoff, advancing through Moravia, could effect their junction. And again
at Wagram, the Archduke Charles, by acting on two exterior lines against
the single line of his adversary, failed, owing to the non-cooperation of
the Archduke John. In fact, it is a deviation from the fundamental prin-
ciples of the science of war, to act with detached corps that have no com-
munication with each other, against an enemy whose forces are centralized

536 On the Military Resources of the Austrian Empire. MAY,

and whose communications are easy, Hohenlinden was another example,
that should have taught them the danger of violating this principle.

The following is the effective state of the armies of the Austrian
Empire on the Peace establishment :

INFANTRY.

30 Battalions, Grenadiers . 800 strong . . 24,000

64 Regiments, each 3 battalions 800 do. . . 153,600

17 do. Barmat Infantry 3 battalions 800 do. . . 40,800

8 Battalions, Jagers (rifles; . 800 do. . . 6,400

Artillery and Engineers .... 224,800
5 Regiments 20,000

CAVALRY.

12 Regiments, Hussars . . 800 strong . 9,600

8 do. Cuirassiers . . 800 do. . 6,400

8 do. Dragoons . . 800 do. . 6,400

4 do. Uhlans ... 800 do. . 3,200 26,600

Grand total . 270,400

100,000 of this force is at present stationed in Italy j 10,000 in Hun-
gary and on the Turkish frontier ; and the remainder in the German
Provinces ; the regiments in each province are under the command of a
Commandant-General who makes a report to the Hhof Kreigrath.

To this body, in time of war, is added the Landwehr 120,000, who serve
as regular soldiers, and the Hungarian insurrectionary army of 50,000. On
the present peace establishment, the army, as we have shewn, amounts to
270,000 men, but on the slightest emergency, it could with ease be aug-
mented to 650,000. These troops are raised by conscription from the
Polish, Italian, and German provinces ; the term of service is fourteen
years. When discharged from the line, the soldier joins the Landwehr.
Hungary, by her constitution, is exempted from this law. The Hunga-
rian regiments are levied and filled up by recruits enlisted voluntarily and
for life. In this service, the soldier is still subject to corporeal punishment
and the guntlope.

The pay of an Austrian private is six kreutzers, about two-pence
English, from which deductions are made for his daily ration of half a
pound of meat, and for every thing else with which he is provided. The
grenadiers, cavalry, and artillery, have from eight to ten kreutzers per
diem.

* The Austrian formation is in three ranks, the tallest men in front, and the best shots
in the rear ; the sizing, central and by divisions. The arrangement of the battalion is
different from that of other services, in every division. One Captain and Captain-Lieutenant
is in the first rank, and the remaining officers in the supernumerary rank. Another dis-
tinguishing feature is, that every zuge or division, is marked on its right and left by a file
of officers, Serjeants, and corporals, who remain constantly posted on the same flank ;
those of the rear rank stepping into the second to give room to those in the supernumerary,
to replace them when the battalion breaks into column, in which case the zuge is lined by
a complete file of officers and non-commissioned officers. Each company is composed of
four zuge.— Exercier Reglementfur die Kaeserlich Konegliche Infanterie.

1832.] On the Military Resources of the Austrian Empire.
The monthly pay of the officers is as follows :

137

£ s. d.

s. d.

2 2

0

Lt. Colonel

15

0

0

2 8

0

Colonel .

. 30

0

0

2 18

0

3 12

7 8

0

o

Lt. General
General .

. 800
. 1000

0
0

0 a-year
0 do.

10 0

-0

Marshal

. 1600

0

0 do.

Ensign

2d Lieutenant

1st Ditto .

2d Captain .

1st Ditto .

Major

The officers of the staff, from the rank of major, upwards, have horse-
rations, according to their rank.

To compensate in some degree for this reduced scale of pay, the
lodgings of the Austrian officer are paid by the government at half price —
his rations are delivered to him at the same rate — and the theatres are
open to him for about a third of the usual price of admission, to which
may be added fuel, and half a loaf of bread of very inferior quality. Not-
withstanding these allowances, the condition of the subaltern, who has no
resources of his own, in spite of the low price of all the necessaries of life,
is most miserable j so slow is the promotion, that an Austrian officer may
linger away a life without distinction. In this service the crack regiments
of infantry rank much before the cavalry, and have more men of family
and fortune among the officers.

The composition of the Austrian army is magnificent ; the Hungarian
grenadiers are remarkably fine men, — they display not the iron hardihood
of frame of the Russian Imperial Guard, neither have they that smartness
under arms which marks the Prussian, or the animated intelligence of
look of the soldiers of France, but they are very warlike ; a veteran look
marked by the bivouac, stature tall, limbs large — as the spectator contem-
plates their iron formation, he wonders that these men could ever have
been beaten. The cavalry of this power has always been distinguished ;
the Hungarian hussars rank first among the light cavalry of Europe,
while the heavy cavalry is unrivalled for a matchless union of size, weight,
and activity. When Murat, at the battle of Lusig-, made a desperate
effort at the head of the French cavalry to retrieve the fortune of the day,
he was borne back by a " charge en muraile" of six regiments of Austrian
cuirassiers -, in fact, nothing can be superior to the organization and
equitation of the Austrian cavalry.

With the exception of the Hungarian regiments, the uniforms of the
army would sadly disappoint the military dandy j the " tenue" of the
artillery in particular, is painfully unmartial — a drab-coloured coat with a
red collar, white breeches, and boots " a la Suwarof," with a hat half
" bourgeois," half military, surmounted by a green plume, is the very
antithesis of a martial costume. But the science and instruction of this
corps is on a par with that of the artillery of any power on the continent.
The material of the Austrian equipages, compared with our own, is
clumsy and heavy. There is one feature in the army which distinguishes
it from all others, the bands j in some corps there are from eighty to ninety
musicians. — A celebrated German professor, who was present at Dresden
at the first representation of the " Olempia " of Spontini, on being asked
what he thought of it, replied — " The march of an Austrian band is
worth the whole opera." In fact, the effect of these bands is perfectly

M.M. New Series. Vol. XIII. No. 77. 2 O

538 Legal Monopoly. [MAY,

electrifying. Moderate as is the rate of pay in this service, it is double
that of the Russian soldier.

Divided into many kingdoms, separated by jealousy, manners, and
inveterate and antiquated prejudices, this empire appears to contain within
itself the seeds of its own destruction. The events of the three days of
July, have vibrated even in this country, in spite of the vigilance of
Metternich ; the Hungarian, the Pole, the Bohemian, and the Tyrolian,
brood over the recollection of their former freedom, and of their violated
constitutions j — in short, the Austrian empire may be likened to a slum-
bering volcano ; and the Emperor Francis, as he casts his eye over the
map of his extensive dominions, may, like Louis XV. of France, exclaim —
" Ceci durera autant que moi, mais je plains mon successeur."

LEGAL MONOPOLY.

OUR best thanks are due to the Common Law Commissioners for the
wise and humane alterations they recommend in the report that has lately
been laid before the legislature. The beneficial effects of their labours are
already perceived, for their inquiries have infused into the very judges
themselves an energy, as meritorious as it is rare. My Lord Tenterden has
introduced into the House of Lords a bill for the purpose of assimilating
the practice of the Common Law Courts ; and the Lord Chancellor has laid
the report of the Common Law Commissioners before the Peers, having
favourably commented upon the legal improvements therein proposed.
Though at a late hour, it is reviving, and novel in the annals of reforma-
tion, to rind judges becoming the voluntary channels to facilitate the
current of necessary improvement.

These steps are some of the many which ought to have been taken
long ago, and their objects might have been accomplished by any mem-
ber of the legislature at all acquainted with the numerous inconsistencies,
which that innovator, Time, has left throughout the various books of
practice clearly displayed to view. But however capable judges may be,
by their knowledge and authority, to agitate questions of vital interest to
the community, they have hitherto been most remiss in proposing alte-
rations in laws, or their practice. It is with as much surprise as
satisfaction, therefore, that we see the Lord Chancellor, and Lord Ten-
terden, putting their shoulders to the wheel. Within the last twelve
months we have had two or three sets of new rules and orders from the
bench of judges, and now the Chief Justice steps forward with his bill to
assimilate the practice of the Courts.

These alterations afford but very slight benefits to the Public, though
they will tend materially to simplify the practice of the laws to the Pro-
fession. So much indeed does this last object seem to be the chief aim
of their lordships, that we have been driven to ask ourselves, — whether
laws are made, and justice administered, for the benefit of lawyers, or
the interests of the public ? And taking for our premise, the indifference
of the judges to abuses, their patronage, the unjust practices they coun-
tenance, the excessive emoluments received by their dependents — together
with the outcry at every effort to cheapen law, raised by those classes of
men who are the mere instruments to effect adjustments between parties,

183-2.] Legal Monopoly. 539

or a restitution of rights, — we should conclude most logically, that the
benefit of the community was quite a secondary consideration in the
administration of justice. Nevertheless, a general shout has been made
at the slight reduction of fees which the new rules have caused ; and
frequently have we heard it said, that no respectable man will in future
find it worth while to follow the profession of an attorney. We sincerely
hope that some may be deterred from entering a profession in which
there are by far too many already ; inasmuch as competition here, not
only does not effect, with respect to charges, any moderating result, but
is often pushed by the greedy to grasping and plunder. But we dispute
the assertion. Our opinion is, that those only who become the worst
members of the profession will be deterred, — those alone who look to
thrive by corruption. To the honest man, all changes for the general
good must be pleasurable, in a moral sense, and, we believe, advantageous
in a pecuniary one : but if the practitioner who lives by honourable
means be injured by alterations which promote the public interests, let
honest industry be directed to some other and more profitable occupation ; —
fiat jus titia, mat ccelum. But we again differ with those who argue that
an abatement in fees will injure the profession generally. A diminution
in law expenses will increase the number of actions, and will materially
tend, by removing the stigma which the black sheep of the law have won
for the profession, to revive a beneficial confidence in the public estima-
tion. We love justice, and resort to her if she be at hand. The first
step towards the success of the members of the law, we conceive, is to
establish their character for honour and honesty ; and this is not to be
won by the law's delay, or the insolence of office, but by administering
justice as cheaply and speedily as practicable. But granting this would not
be so, will you openly sanction general plunder for individual thrift ? Let
us hope that the clamours of the interested few, therefore, will fail to
retard a just and necessary reform. The complaints of which we speak, un-
fortunately for the public, have not sprung from the smart of blows hitherto
received, but at what they feared must follow — which reminds us of the
bawlings of a child who is anticipating a whipping. The extortionists
are not merely detected, but exposed — weighed, and their mounted scale
has kicked the beam. Doubtless, they see and dread the impending sword
of justice (it should be of retribution) suspended above them ; they have
raised an artful yell to excite compassion, and too well have they succeeded
in at least retarding the stroke. But now let us attend to the words of
the Lord Chancellor, who stated in the House of Lords, on the 6th of
March last, that the Common Law Commissioners had recommended
that some means should be adopted, by which plaintiffs might recover
debts under sixty pounds by a cheaper, and of course more speedy
process, than any which now exists. This measure, if carried into execu-
tion, would produce incalculable good. We would ask any one, excepting
those blinded by folly and interest, if it be not monstrous, that in the
great metropolis of a commercial country like this, to recover a sum of
two or three pounds, fifty or sixty pounds costs may be, and mostly are,
incurred j this is no imaginary case, but one of daily occurrence. We
witnessed, with a melancholy irritation, during the last sittings of the
Court of King's Bench, several actions brought to recover like trivial
amounts. The valuable time of the Chief Justice of England is consumed
in a paltry matter that could be equally well adjusted by a commission of

2 O 2

540 Legal Monopoly. [MAY,

the Court of Conscience. By decreasing the costs on small debts, this
evil would be entirely removed. Now, if the defendant in an action at
law be a poor man, he necessarily goes to prison, — if the plaintiff be also
too poor to pay his attorney the extravagant costs of sixty pounds for
failing to recover the said debt of two or three, he may be cast
into prison also. Without digressing here to animadvert on so absurd a
system, as that which allows the useful members of a community, at the
will of an individual, to be thus at once thrown into disgrace and misery,
for an attempt to recover a just debt ; we would merely ask, if this be
not a law of remedy as ridiculous as it is wicked, which allows any man,
not excepting law officers, for bills of costs, so to prey upon his confiding
and industrious fellow citizen, or to reduce him to beggary, to paralyze
his efforts, and cast him a burthen on the state.

Whether the resistance to a demand be righteous or malicious, it is too
much that the consequences of a failure on either side should admit of a
thirty-fold punishment, or the horrors and ruinous effects of several
months' incarceration. It may be that it is the plaintiff who fails to prove
his claim, and this happens frequently through the chicanery of the
attorney, who purposely neglects to inquire about the proofs of the case
till the chief expenses have been incurred, and omits to inform the
ignorant creditor that he must establish his claim by the testimony of one
or more witnesses. It might be, and often is, in the power of an honest
debtor to raise the original demand, but that has become a mere nothing
when legal proceedings have been commenced. Debtor or creditor may,
by pledging or selling his goods, be able to raise a moderate sum for
costs, say five or ten pounds ; or they may wring from the humanity of
their friends some further assistance : and these means are daily resorted
to. But it too often happens, that after every effort of the unfor-
tunate victim of exorbitant costs, he is still retained a prisoner ; he
cannot scrape together all, or perhaps half the enormous amount of sixty
pounds, and he suffers one of the severest penalties the law can inflict,
for attempting to recover the wages of his honest industry ! Is not this
law as impolitic as it is cruel ? It has become proverbial, indeed, that
you had better suffer wrong than go to law ! Should this be so ? Is it
not revolting to all notions of right and common sense ? Justice surely
was not entrusted with a sword to inflict destruction upon all who
approach her. She also holds the scales, and is blinded. Alas ! how few
of these abstract attributes should we award the goddess, were we to
characterize her from our practical experience.

We may be reminded that there is a Marshalsea, or Palace Court, where
actions for sums under fifty pounds may be brought, and for one-third of
the cost incurred in actions commenced in the courts at Westminster Hall.
We answer, that we are aware, though many of our readers may not be,
of the existence of such a Court, and that the average bill of costs to a
defendant is from about sixteen to twenty pounds ; but even this sum is
far too large, and, as we shall shew, scandalously unnecessary, and fraught
with extortion. Attornies there are, and, we believe, respectable men too,
who are found to practice in this Court, low, comparatively speaking, as
the fees are, which fact affords a complete answer to those who say de-
creased fees would not adequately re numerate professional men for their
trouble; and these practitioners, however incredible it may appear, posi-
tively pay large sums of money to be admitted to practice there. They also

1832.] Legal Monopoly. 541

love the business so much, that they monopolise it all j yet, all the business of
this great metropolis that flows into this channel, is shared among six attor-
nies and one or two agents, who pay very considerable salaries for being
allowed to practice in the name of one of the six. The inconvenience to
the public, as well as the hardship of being obliged to resort to one of
these legal monopolists, could any plaintiff have recourse to the less of
two evils, must be very obvious; what is more revolting, if possible, the
barristers of this Court, to the number of but four, exclude all competition ;
because they pay on an average, we are informed, about four thousand
pounds for the tenure of their situations — for the exclusive privilege of
holding all briefs, and exacting fees upon every action brought into that
Court; so that you cannot choose either counsel or attorney, but must put
up with such as the monopoly can produce, be they never so inefficient.
Two of these barristers, upon each side, must be feed before you can intro-
duce one of your own choice. We dare not trust ourselves to comment
upon these facts. That cheap law, and a summary means of recovering
small debts are incalculable advantages to a trading people, no one can
dispute ; and the existence of this court is useful as an illustration of what
may be done : even this slight consideration of its malpractices affords
ample proof that such a thing as administering cheap justice is possible.
For our parts, — we are at a loss to account for so glaring- a species of
traffic in the hard earnings of the indigent and the suffering. We
have often uttered complaints loud and deep, but party interest has been
hitherto overpowering. Before we conclude, we cannot help noticing
the persevering demand of compensation made by these monopolists for
the losses they may sustain by any change, the difficulty of satisfying
which, perhaps, is one cause, among others, of the continuation of these
evils. We say, if men are bold and callous enough to enter upon such a
system of exaction, and hesitate not at plunder to live in luxury, let them
adventure with the risks always attendant upon unjust dealings ; but we
should add, that it would be more prudent to sacrifice to the nest of hornets
the honeycomb of the industrious, than be eternally harassed by their
sting ; dole them out some renumeration, if it must be so, but by no means
let them continue to wrench from the poor, the injured, or the unfortunate,
their whole substance, by such scandalous indirection. In fact the evil
has grown so enormous, that it must, ultimately, remedy itself. We
would propose that the fees upon actions instituted in the Courts
of King's Bench, Exchequer, and Common Pleas, be reduced to fair
renumerative rates upon debts under sixty pounds, as recommended
by the Common Law Commissioners $ that such actions be tried by
one of the puisne judges j and allow the Palace Court, and other like
monopolies, to remain entirely disregarded. Could any monopolizer have
the effrontary to ask renumeration for the beneficial effects produced to the
public by regulations or legislatorial enactments, touching the chief courts
only ? The city has its Court of Requests for the recovery of debts
amounting to five pounds, where many actions are determined in the course
of a morning ; why should not other parts of the metropolis possess a like
advantage ? If the costs in the Marshelsea Court, for the recovery of debts
amounting to fifty pounds, be but twenty or under, with all the un weeded
powers of the monopolists, in the absence too of all interference, may we
not reasonably expect that one half, or even a less sum, would be a suffi-
cient remuneration ? — when bribes are unnecessary, court fees are not taken,

542 The Galley Slaves. [MAT,

and the abominations of wicked patronage and the practice of selling
places, are discontinued ? There is no honest reason for not throwing
open allCourts of Law to all parts of the profession. Justice is the inalien-
able indefeasible right of humanity j honour, reason, and the general good,
call aloud for the abolition of the whole system, which encourages and
legalizes plunder, and which has so long existed, to the disgrace of a
civilized people.

Let their lordships, then, who now seem disposed to effect some change,
direct their efforts towards purifying these corrupt sources ; let them
look to the facts here stated, and those within their own information, and
assist in the cause of the world ; let their lordships do this, and they will
earn, not only our applause, the praises of the upright in the profession
of which they are chief ornaments, but the lasting gratitude of mankind.

R.T.

THE GALLEY SLAVES.

THERE are few books more interesting than Vidocq's Memoirs. I own
they possessed my imagination strongly for the time, and proved the
impelling cause which drove me into those unvisited scenes of foreign
life, the Criminal Court, that of the Police Correctionelle, and the prisons.
Above all, my attention, if not interest, was drawn to those unhappy
beings, theforcafs or galley slaves, whose lot, though unseparated from
their parent soil, is still far more to be commiserated than that of our
expatriated convicts.

About a mile distant from one of the southern barriers of Paris, a
palace was built during our Henry ihe Sixth's brief and precarious pos-
session of French royalty, by the Bishop of Winchester. It was known
by the name of Winchester, of which, however, the French kept continu-
ally clipping and changing the consonants, until the Anglo-Saxon Win-
chester dwindled into the French appellation of Bic£tre. The Bishop's
old palace was treated as unceremoniously as his name, being burnt in
some of the civil wars. But there is this advantage in a sumptuous
edifice, that its very ruins suggest the thought and supply the means of
rebuilding it. Bicetre, accordingly, reared its head, and is now a straggling
mass of building, containing a mad-house, a poor-house, an hospital, and
a prison.

To see it is a matter of trifling difficulty, except on one particular day —
that devoted to the rivetting of the chaine. A surgeon, however, belong-
ing to the establishment, promised to procure rne admission, and on
receiving his summons, I started one forenoon for Bicetre. Mortifying news
awaited my arrival. The convicts had plotted a general insurrection and
escape, which was to have taken place on the preceding night. It had
been discovered in time, however, and such precautions taken, as completely
prevented even the attempt. The chief of these precautions appeared in
half a regiment of troops, that had bivouacked all night in the square
adjoining the prison, and were still some lying, some loitering about.
Strict orders had been issued, that no strangers should be admitted to
witness the ceremony of rivetting ; and the turnkeys and gaolers, in
appearance not yet recovered from the alarm of the preceding evening,

1832.] The Galley Slaves. 543

refused to listen to either bribe, menace, or solicitation. It was confound-
edly vexatious. Whilst expostulating with the turnkey, I caught a
glimpse through a barred window of the interior court, athwart which
the chains lay extended, whilst in one railed off even from this the con-
victs were crowded, marching round and round — precaution forbade their
remaining still — and uttering from time to time such yells and impreca-
tions as might deafen and appal a Mohawk. " I have caught a glimpse
at least," thought I, as we were unceremoniously turned out.

My friend, the surgeon, bade us, however, not despair. When the man
of influence arrived he hoped to prevail ; and in the mean time he led us
to view the other curiosities of Bicetre. There was the well, the kitchen,
the anatomical theatre. The courts were crowded with aged paupers,
who each well knew that his carcase would undergo what laceration the
scalpel of my friend and his comrades chose to inflict upon it. But the
thought seemed not to affect them so much as it did us. Methought the
business of dissecting dead subjects might have been carried on more
remote from the living candidates j but I was wrong, for mystery and
secrecy always beget fear.

The mad-house was another curiosity. It contains many whose brain
the revolution of July, 1830, had turned. One man, a fine youth, had
travelled on foot from a distant part of the kingdom, to shed his blood as
a sacrifice to the memory of Napoleon. He gave his last franc to obtain
admission within the pillar of the Place Vendome, and when there opened
the veins of both his arms, crying out, " I offer the blood of the brave to
the manes of Napoleon." His rolling black eye was now contrasted with
a face pale as death. He had lost so much blood that few hopes were
entertained of his recovery.

But by far the most curious patient of the mad-house, was a young man
who imagined himself to be a woman. He was handsome, but not femi-
nine in appearance. He adored a little mirror, with which he was grati-
fied. Rags of all colours were his delight ; and he had made a precious
collection. His coquetry was evident ; and he answered pertinently all
questions, never belying at the same time his fixed opinion, that he was
endowed with a maiden's charms.

We looked over the book of reports, and found seven-eighths of the
female patients to have become deranged from love ; whilst, with the
majority of the males, the hallucination proceeded from disappointments
of ambition. Surprised, I could make out no case of a religious maniac j
glad, I could discover none of a student.

We now returned to machinations for the purpose of entering the for-
bidden prison. Aprons were handed us, not unlike a barber's. They
were surgeons' aprons, always worn by those of the establishment when
on duty. Might not then the'barbers' aprons be a tradition of the barber-
surgeons ? I refrained from asking the question in that company. The
scheme was, that we should pass for Carabins — such is the nickname of
French students in chirurgery — and in this quality demand admission,
The Cerberus of the prison grinned at the deceit, but wearied and amused
by our importunities, he actually opened the quicket and admitted us.
There are two grated doors of this kind, one always locked whilst the
other is opened. In an instant we were in Pandemonium.

The buildings, which surrounded and formed the courts, evidently the
oldest and strongest of Bicetre, harmonised in dinginess with the scene.—

.- ?T,

544 The Galley Slaves. [MAY,

At every barred window, and these were numerous, about a dozen ruffianly
beads were thrust together, to regard the chains of their companions. —
What a study of physiognomy ! The murderer's scowl was there, by the
side of the laughing countenance of the vagabond, whose shouts and jokes
formed a kind of tenor to the muttered imprecations of the other. Here
and there was protruded the fine, open, high-fronted head, — pale, striking,
features, and dark looks, of some felon of intellect and natural superiority ;
whilst by his side, ignominy looked stupidly and maliciously on. A
handsome little fellow at one of the grates, was dressing his hair un-
conciously with most agitated fingers, evidently affected by the scene.
Our question of "What are you in for ?" aroused him. " False signing
a billet of twenty thousand francs," replied he, with a shrug and a smile.
" And he, your neighbour ?" asked we cautiously, concerning one of a fine,
thoughtful, philosophic, and passionate countenance. " Ha ! you may ask
— he gave his mistress a potion, for the purpose of merely seducing her,
and it turned out to be poison — a carabin like yourselves." But these
made no part of the chaine.

The convicts destined for this operation were kept in movement
round a post in an adjoining court, and were shouting, rarely in intelli-
gible language, to their companions. Joy was the universal tone, and a
sniviller ran imminent danger. One poor fellow I remarked holding down
his head, when he was saluted with a kick from him who followed, and
the objurgation, Tu esforpat, toi, heim ? — " You a convict, and durst be
sad." These men were all unmanacled. Methought a general rush on
their part both practicable and formidable. One half must have perished,
and the other half might have escaped.

They were now marched out from the inner court in batches of thirty
at a time, drawn up in rank, stripped, and examined with such rigid scru-
tiny as I dare not precise. They were then marched and placed along one
of the extended chains, and made to sit down, resting it in their laps. A
square fetter was then fitted and placed around the neck of each. In this,
before, some detached links from the chain were placed, whilst a huge
smith proceeded to rivet each from behind. Fixing a kind of movable
anvil behind the convict's back, the fetter that encircled his neck was
brought with its joint upon it, and half a dozen blows of the sledge
riveted the captive inextrically to the main chain and to his twenty-nine
comrades. The smith must be adroit at his task, and the convict steady
in his position j for, as the fetter is tight round the neck, the hammer, in
its blow, must pass within a quarter of an inch of his skull, and a wince
on his part might prove fatal. This, indeed, is the trying moment, when
the stoutest cheek is blanched. The sturdiest frame, shaken by the blows
of the sledge, then betrays emotion, and tears of penitence are at that
moment almost always seen to fall. On sitting down, each had in gene-
ral an air of bravado, produced in a great measure by the regards of the
seemingly more hardened ruffians from the windows. Under the riveting
there was no smile ; whilst after it, apathy was affected or resumed, each
endeavouring to make his iron collar as supportable and comfortable as
possible,by enveloping it in a handkerchief, and guaranteeing the neck from
its chill or galling.

When the chaine was completed, its wearers were made to stand up.
They formed themselves in couples, the chain running betwixt two ranks,
and they walked round the yard to take their first lesson in their galling

1832.] The Galley Slaves. 545

exercise. They are thus fettered together till they reach Brest or Toulon.
The choice is left to them of walking or being carried in carts, more pro-
vender being given to those who make the journey on foot.

The only part of their habiliments, which seemed left to themselves to
provide, was a covering for the head, the red or green cap being given
them only upon entering the bagne. For their journey, some of the fellows
had provided themselves with strange head-gear, mostly made of straw ;
one had a three-cocked hat ; others, one of all kinds of outre" shapes. A
prime vagabond had woven for himself a complete and magnificent tiara,
precisely like the Roman Pontiff's in form, and surmounted by a cross.
This was the Pope, the Pope of the Chaine, and I never heard a shout so
appalling, as that with which his appearance was welcomed by the pri-
soners from the windows of the building. They danced, they yelled, tore
and tumbled over each other in the most exuberant delight, thrusting
their crowded heads and distorted features almost through the gratings.
I have gleaned from it quite an idea of a scene of merriment and exulta-
tion below.

The said Pope was a very extraordinary fellow: a slight fair form,
pointed features, and eyes that were penetrating, despite their common
shade of grey. He was called Champenois, his real name unknown, not
more than three-and-twenty, and the Lieutenant of the Chaine said, one of
the most talented and extraordinary characters that he had ever met with.
He had been the prime mover of the intended insurrection, but with-
out a proof against him, except his universal authority, unusual in so
young a thief. His physiognomy was one, which it required not a second
look in order to remember for ever.

Another figure struck me, not so much as singular in itself, as in con-
trast with those around. It struck me as that of an English cabin-boy,
a pale, freckled, ill-conditioned lad. On following the calling over of
the register in roll, I found my conjecture too true. He was an unfor-
tunate young sailor, a native of England, guilty of some misdemeanour,
and by name Aikin. He understood not a word of French, but protested
with a shake of his head against his being English j patriotism had in him
outlived honesty and self-respect. I spoke to him in English : he wept,
but would not reply, puckering up his poor lips in all the agony of his
desolate condition. I was glad to remark the humanity with which he had
been chained to a prisoner, pensive and downcast like himself.

There were some cases certainly hard j one or two for resisting the
gen-d?armerie in a riot at Rouen. To transport a rioter, unless under
aggravated circumstances, is grievous enough -, but after the revolution
of July, that hallowed riot, to make a galley-slave of a brave for
resisting the police, must have been at least surprising to him. The tri-
bunal no doubt felt the necessity of severity 5 and; we acknowledged it all
in deploring the degradation of these poor devils for an act, which in so
many thousand others was, at the moment, extolled to the skies as the
acm6 of heroism. But justice hath her lottery- wheel as well as fortune.

As the last chaine was completing, an ecclesiastic went round to collect
money of the visitors. But as there were few, so were the offerings.
The convicts at the same time produced the fruits of their ingenuity in
straw work-boxes, needle-cases, carved ivory and wood. The guardians,
to do them justice, seemed humane. The lieutenant of the chaine
himself could not have been the ruffian, such as Vidocq represents the

546 Tke Galley Slaves. [MAY,

Argousin to be. He had an honest countenance. And yet it was disagree-
able to see the military uniform on such a man — it was truly degrading to
the soldier's profession.

The bagne at Toulon, the destination of the members of the chaine,
was respectably peopled when I visited it some years ago. It contained
amongst others, Sarrazin, a famous general, who had deserted to us from
Buonaparte, and whose works on the Spanish and other campaigns, are still
read with interest. The general had caught the inexcusable habit of
marrying a wife in each town wherein he was quartered, and was sent to
the gallies for trigint agamy. They boasted a bishop too amongst the
convicts at Toulon, a merry little fellow, that bore his fate gaily, and who
still contrived to exercise a kind of spiritual supremacy over his unfor-
tunate comrades.

The ingenuity and hardihood of these men is surprising. Despite the
vigilance, the ramparts, the fetters, and the logs, they escape hourly and
daily 5 — at what risk is manifest from the regulations, by which three
cannon shots always announce the disappearance of a convict, serving to
warn the peasants, and call them to earn the handsome reward given to
whoever arrests one of the branded fugitives. They are easily recognized
by the halt in one limb ; as they are wont to drag after them that which
has been accustomed to the bullet.

The only pursuits that seem to pervade the bagne, are those of eating
and dying: with the exception of escape, all others are denied. And
those who have given up the latter hope, confine their thoughts either to
bettering their meagre fare of beans, or to getting rid of existence in the
most advantageous way. It is remarkable and degrading to observe the
utmost human ingenuity and industry employed, in order to procure a dish
of potatoes fried in grease once in the week. Yet such is the luxury of a
format, and he must labour for it harder than even an Hibernian peasant,
or a poet of the same line.

The more philosophic, who scorn the luxury of potatoes, and with it
the life that affords no other, meditate how best to get rid of existence j
and this they effect almost ever in one way ; viz., by killing their most
obnoxious keeper, and thus earning the guillotine.

It is a frequent scene in the bagne, that of an execution. It occurs
every week or fortnight. All the convicts are obliged to attend, for the
purpose of striking them with terror, and working contrition and good
behaviour in them. Alas ! it is a huge mistake. For these days are of
all others days of fete to them. Their countenances are marked by
universal joy, and they shout congratulations, not condolences, to their
comrade about to perish. Death to them is indeed an escape. Its cere-
mony is to them a marriage feast : and decapitation, what a black job was
to Lord Portsmouth, — the only variety and excitement that could give a
spur to their heavy and painful existence.

Speak as we may against the pains of death, this is worse, not only
physically but morally ; for it degrades humanity far lower than is con-
ceiveable. The French have an idea that they can imitate the American
mode of punishment by solitary confinement. This again will be still
worse than the galleys j since religious consolation can alone redeem or
ameliorate man in this state of durance -, and as this makes no part of the
French system, I cannot help thinking the guillotine more merciful, than
either their bagne or their solitary cells. C.

1832.] [ 547 ]

PERICLES — A TALE OF GREECE.*

THE scene of our tale is a place known to all by name, and endeared to
most by numberless pleasing associations — Athens ! Sublime sound ! —
all-expressive name ! Personification of all that is great and glorious !
Embodiment of all perfections ! Here Theseus reigned, here Homer
sung, here Phidias and Apelles painted, here thundered the first of orators,
and here the groves of Academus resounded with the instructions of
Plato j and here were fought the greatest battles that ever engaged the
warrior's sword, or the historian's pen.

The date of our story is referred to that period in the history of Greece
which has been termed par excellence the age of Pericles j when Greece
in general was enjoying the highest prosperity, and the star of Athens was
at its culminating point j when Greece was the greatest country in the
civilised world, and Athens the greatest city in Greece. The Persian
power had been reduced by the efforts of the valorous and patriotic Cimon
to a state, if not of subjection, at least of fear $ the rival Sparta had sus-
tained no inconsiderable shock from the same dreaded sword ; the Athenians
had carried their arms successfully against the cities of the continent and the
islands of the sea; and, by putting into execution the splendid schemes of
Themistocles, had acquired a maritime power superior to that of any other
nation, and Athens now ruled the ascendant of the Hellenic world.

Pericles had since his supremacy made considerable innovations on the
exclusive parts of Solon's constitution, and, by diminishing the power of
the Areopagus, formerly esteemed a most venerable and divine institution —
an institution too sacred for its members to meet under a common roof —
too sacred for its deliberations to be conducted under any other covert
but the wide canopy of heaven — by diminishing the power of this court,
he had introduced the lowest order of people to an equal share of power
with the nobles ; and had thus brought in a more confirmed and radical
democracy than had ever existed before, and verified the apparently para-
doxical assertion of Aristotle, that " democracy and tyranny are closely
allied" — for the people had now the chief power in the state and acted
without the least controul or restraint j though the old families of the
nobility still looked on these newly constituted legislators as lawless
invaders, and usurpers of their rightful province.

This brief outline of the state of things in Greece, and of the political
relations in which the two dominant nations of the Peloponnesus stood to
each other, it seemed necessary to prefix to our narrative, that no reference
or allusion might be misunderstood for want of such illustration.

It was one of those evenings in the month of Hecatombacon, (answering
to the latter part of our June and the beginning of July,) when the sun, as
if conscious of having fulfilled his diurnal office, and yet reluctant to leave
the sphere of earth, declines behind the distant hills 5 when everything is
still, through all nature — it was on such an evening as this, that two
young Greeks were rowing down the silver-streaming Cephisus, with
that air of luxuriant carelessness and negligence, which usually attaches

* Translated from the original Greek ; a MS. copy of which (the only one extant) has
recently been sent to us by a member of the distinguished Italian Society, the Arcadians.
It appears to have been written by a native of Athens, some time after the date of the
events it records. — ED.

548 Pericles — A Tale of Greece. [MAY,

to those whom pleasure alone has induced to ply the oar — now vigo-
rously urging the skiff over the waters — now fondly disporting with
their gentle ripples — now resting in calmy ease to listen, so to speak, to
the pervading stillness, — and now expressing the feelings inspired by the
scene, and sentimentalising alternately. But Polidorus, for such was the
name of the elder, perceiving that a storm was gathering, though he
imagined that their excursion was not likely to be interrupted for some
time, recommended returning towards the Piraeus, a proposal to which the
other readily agreed. Before, however, they had advanced far, the signs
of the tempest became gradually more terrific. Large thick raindrops
began to fall, each seeming but the presage of a greater j the wind, which
had been calm during the whole day, began to rise, though yet it seemed
but " the murmuring prelude of the ruder gale j"* the stream itself, which
generally resembled a river of crystal, began to assume) a darker hue, as
if in sympathy with the black and blackening clouds, which now enveloped
the whole hemisphere. Induced, or rather compelled, by these appearances,
they resolved to take the first opportunity of going ashore $ and it was not
long ere they were able to gain the bank in spite of the opposing gale. —
The place which they chose for landing, was within a mile of the Areo-
pagus, a scene of course of universal attraction. They had proceeded
only a little distance from the bank, when they were unexpectedly accosted
by an Athenian, who, from his being advanced in years and appearing
exhausted no less by cares than by age, excited in them no common interest.
He asked them whether they were on their way to the hill of Mars :

" No," replied Euphilus, " we had no intention of attending the Council
to-night, but if you have any desire to visit it, we will not object to ac-
company you."

The old Athenian felt himself highly flattered by the attention of the
two youths, and gladly accepted their ready offer. They had not pro-
ceeded many steps, however, before Polidorus inquired what cause of so
great interest was to be tried to-night before the Upper Council, that
such crowds were flocking to the place. The old man, both indignant
and surprised at the ignorance of his new companion, replied in a vehe-
ment tone of voice, almost regaining the vigour of youth : " What ! an
inhabitant of Athens, an inhabitant of Greece, an inhabitant of the world,
and not know the cause which is to be tried this night before the sacred
judicature of the Areopagus, the most momentous to the rights of the
citizens and to the honour of the state ?"

" Sire," replied Polidorus, in a tone of conciliation, " we have been for
the last three years absent from Athens, and travelling in different parts
of Asia and Libya, and returned only a few days since, so that you cannot
be surprised at our want of acquaintance with the minutia?, of the Athe-
nian courts."

" Well, indeed," said the man of years, " may I excuse your ignorance
of a point which, had you been in Athens, could not have been unknown
to you. But as you are anxious to know the cause of so great a conflu-
ence of people to-day from all parts, I will inform you. About three
years since, it was currently reported in Athens, that Cleon, a man who
had rendered vast services to the state, had been murdered. An inquiry

* " To tyiQvpifyv rov avefMOv Trpooifuoi' ;" the idea is so precisely identical with that of
the Author of the " Corsair," that we could not forbear translating it, by the quotation.

1832.] Pericles— -A Tale of Greece. 549

into the matter was immediately instituted, which confirmed, beyond a
doubt, the general suspicion, and it was the verdict of Hippocrates upon
an examination of the body, that he had been poisoned, though every
attempt at discovering the perpetrator of the murder proved entirely fruit-
less. No accuser was found -, and none appeared sufficiently suspicious
to justify a state prosecution. But a few days since, a youth, actuated
less by patriotism, than by a low ambition of applause, brought a formal
accusation against my son before the Upper Council; — an accusation,
indeed, totally groundless, though alas ! too commonly accredited ; and
he is now enduring the rigours of imprisonment till the cause be
decided."

" The name," interrupted Euphilus, " of the person, with whose com-
pany we are now honoured, is unknown to us."

" The name," replied the veteran, " which I have the honour to bear, is
Glauco, and that of my son is Anticles ; and this night is the fate of our
house to be decided."

" And what is expected," said Polidorus, " to be the issue of the trial ?"
" The issue/' replied Glauco in a voice of despondency, " none can
foretel : corruption has been introduced even within the sacred pale of
the senate, and even their decisions upon cases of life and death are gene-
rally the result of popular prejudice or personal pique. So changed are
the times."

Scarcely had he uttered these words, when the Areopagus appearing at
a little distance, the immense crowds of people congregated around the
spot, and the gloomy and threatening aspect of the clouds, which seemed
to spread a sable mantle over the moonless prospect, turned the conver-
sation to other topics. By the time they arrived at the senate ground,*
the storm had acquired additional fury, and the heavy showers of rain,
together with the "flashings of lightning and the peals of thunder, seemed
but the demonstrations of the indignation of the gods at the present trial,
and a terrific warning to the Areopagites to vote according to the dictates
of truth, and not to the impulse of passion or of prejudice. The court was
sitting in full-assembled conclave, transacting some preliminary business
which had been brought before them. But it was not long ere the coming
on of the case of Anticles was preceded by the administering of oaths
to the parties in the cause. The accuser swore that he was related
to the deceased person ,f and that the prisoner was the author of his
death, and confirmed his oath with the most direful imprecations, calling
for destruction upon himself and his whole house and family, if his oath
were false. And a sudden tremour overcame Glauco, when he heard the
accuser of his son preface his accusation with such horrible signs of con-
fidence, and Polidorus perceived him shake with an involuntary shudder,
and seize convulsively the rope, which encircled the court and kept back
the throng, as he uttered the last words of the the imprecation, oXoi^v.
The accused swore with equal confidence, and as direful imprecations,
that he was innocent of the crime alleged against him. The accuser
and the accused were then placed opposite each other on two silver
stools, the first on the Stool of Injury ,1 the other upon the Stool of
Innocence ;\\ whence, after the preliminary formulae, Anticles was to address

* There was no senate-house ; the court met in the open air.

t None but relations were allowed to prosecute for the murder of the deceased.

\ This was called vfyis. || The stool on which the prisoner stood was called

550 Pericles— A Tale of Greece. [MAY

to the prosecutor (Eugenes) his defence from the charge which he had
before preferred against him. Eugenes had on a former occasion stated
his grounds for prosecuting Anticles, and advanced all the arguments
which he could urge in his support.

The time was now come, when the fate of the son of Glauco was to be
decided. The arguments of Eugenes had been powerful, and almost con-
vincing, though the judges had still a latent presentiment of the discovery
of the innocence of Anticles. The look of deep solicitude and suspense
which marked every feature of the veteran parent, was attentively ob-
served by Polidorns, who watched every movement he unconsciously
made with a scrutinizing eye, that seemed to look through that which
others did but look upon. Silence, like a heavy cloud, gathered over the
multitude. Interest and anxious expectation sat on every countenance j
and the whole assembly, judges and spectators, seemed to wait longingly
for the first words of the accused, as being either the knell of death to
the favourite of Athens, or a " sweet bodement" of future prosperity. The
feeling was evidently reciprocal. For when Anticles began to speak, he
seemed to utter his words with diffidence, which might arise, however,
either from apprehension of defeat, or from awe inspired at the pre-
sence of so august and venerable a syjiod. The speech which he made
in his defence, it would be impossible to give in his own words ; the sub-
stance, however, we will endeavour to preserve. Anticles was now in the
greenest prime of youth j he was tall, elegant, of manly gait, and a
countenance full of intellect and benevolence. Standing erect, in a pos-
ture at once of dignity and resolution, on the silver stool allotted to him,
the Stool of Innocence, he began his oration in a manner which in less
democratic times would not have been permitted, and used throughout
all the aids of Mercury and of Peitho, to support and enforce the truth of
his assertions.

" Ye judges, I implore you by the gods and goddesses, both supernal
and infernal, by the olive-bearing Athene, tutelar deity of this city, by the
purple-vested Ares, from whom this august assembly derives its name, by
Themis, goddess of equity, I implore you to adhere to truth ; by the im-
mortal Solon, the founder of this court, and by the universal justice of
your decisions j by my own innocence, by your safety, in one word, by
the life of myself, of all before me, and of the whole state, I implore
you to give an impartial hearing to my statements. Of the crime with
which I have been charged, I am perfectly innocent. I neither am, nor
know, nor even suspect, the author of the murder ; and whether it is an
ungrounded, but sincere belief, or a malicious device for bringing himself
into notice, that has prompted Eugenes to this accusation, I pretend not
to determine. I wish not to conceal that at the time of Cleon's death
I was acquainted with many circumstances relative to him and his family,
and of the extent of my information you shall yourselves have the means
of judging.*

* Here, we suppose, followed an account of his acquaintance with Cleon, and of the
peculiar points which he concluded had given rise to the unfounded allegations of Eugenes.
But there are unfortunately some pages of the manuscript lost in this place. What follows
seems to be the peroration of his speech.

1832.] Pericles— A Tale of Greece. 551

" Of the character of my accuser I will not speak. His intentions may
be of the most virtuous nature, but he is mistaken. And if, (may the gods
avert it !) you pass the sentence of death against me, it will not be
long ere the anger of the gods will overwhelm you with direful revenge,
for aggravating the offence of the murderer by the execution of an inno-
cent man ! No -, nor will it be long ere you discover the real author of
the crime, for in the words of the poet —

" No groundless charge doth e'er old age attain."*

And truth, like the river Alpheus f, though it be concealed for a time in
darkest obscurity, will, in spite of every obstacle, finally force its way to
the light !"

Truly, and almost prophetically, did Anticles say that it would not long
remain doubtful, who was the murderer of Cleon ; for just as the voice
of the court, influenced, but not overwhelmed, by this oration, was on the
point of passing sentence against him, Glauco was astonished to see Polido-
rus advance into the midst of the assembly, and place himself on an eminence
for the purpose of addressing them. The surprise excited in the judges,
as well as the father of the accused, was soon increased by hearing him
openly avow himself the author of the murder. He solemnly, after an
invocation to the gods, declared that on that very day, three years ago, he
had caused the poisoned chalice to be administered to Cleon. It was
well for them, he said, that the plot was not discovered before it could be
carried into execution, for if it had, they would not now be sitting as
judges in the Areopagus ; it was well for him, that it was not discovered
immediately after, for if it had, he should have lost his life ; and it was well
for all, that it was discovered now, for if it had not, they would have been
guilty of shedding innocent blood. The eloquence with which he exposed
the conspiracies of Cleon, deep-laid and long-delayed, their danger and his
own patriotic design, arraying all with the pomp and circumstance of
truth, produced an amazing effect on the judges ; but their original
opinion was not changed, till, as if by the express interposition of the
gods, the sable clouds disappeared and the sky soon presented an unblot-
ted azure, and the moon, shining full in the face of the speaker, disclosed
to the assembly the Son of Pericles in the person of this singular intruder.
Pericles now possessed an ascendancy over the popular feeling, which it
was impossible to withstand and dangerous to thwart j and the Areo-
pagites, aware of the change of the times, fearful of incurring his resent-
ment, yielded to interest what, perhaps, they would have denied to
argument. The tide of feeling was simultaneously turned, and a vote of
the court was immediately passed, acquitting Anticles, and indemnifying
the son of Pericles, and even complimenting him highly on bis patriotism
and valour. A monument was decreed to be erected to him in the public
place as one of the benefactors of his country.

An occurrence so strange became of course the topic of universal con-
versation, and laid the foundation of an acquaintance between Anticl&s
and the statesman's son. The effect produced upon the two heroes of the
night by the unexpected circumstances under which they had both been
placed, was too overwhelming to allow of an interview then 3 but on the

* Sophocl. Fragm. apud Stobaeum.

t The river Alpheus, rising in Arcadia, was said to flow out of the Peloponnesus under
the sea, and to reappear in Sicily, confluent witli the waters of Arethusa.

552 Pericles — A Tale of Greece. MAY,

following day Anticles did not fail to visit the mansion of Pericles, for the
purpose of thanking Polidorus for the inestimable kindness he had done
him, and congratulating him on the reputation which he had deservedly
gained for patriotism and virtue. Upon being introduced into the stately
hall of Pericles, he found not only his son, who had rendered himself so
conspicuous on the preceding night, but also, to his great surprise,* Callir-
rhoe, his daughter. Anticles was, as we have said before, of an imposing
appearance, manly and handsome. Callirrhoe was in the full bloom of
youth ; her figure was elegant, her gait graceful, her features were formed
in the loveliest mould -, locks, which might emulate the raven's sable
hue, fell gracefully on her fair neck ; and eyes, which wanted no prospect
to feast them, so exquisitely beautiful were they themselves, shone dark-
ling forth — all harmonised in symmetry truly and only Grecian -} such a
form, in short, as may well be supposed to have inspired the pencil of
a Phidias or the chisel of a Lysippus to the execution of works, which
have been and will ever continue to be the standards of art and models of
imitation.

Their eyes no sooner met than they flashed affection, and love fired
their breasts. To discover his attachment to the daughter of Pericles,
would have been dangerous to Anticles; and for Callirrhoe to acknow-
ledge that the attachment was reciprocal, would have been fatal. For
the family of Anticles, though one of the most ancient in Athens, was yet
plebeian ; and Pericles, although he had elevated the people so nearly to
a level with the aristocracy, was not^so insensible to the pride of nobility
as to suffer his daughter to be wedded to a plebeian, and was more than
once heard to say : " Sooner shall the gods take the place of men, and
men usurp the throne of the gods 3 sooner shall rivers flow upwards, and
the scaly tribe crawl in dominion over the land, than the daughter of
Pericles be espoused to a plebeian of Athens." These sentiments of
Pericles, so universally known, seemed at first an insuperable obstacle to
the wishes of the lovers. For so absolute was the authority of parents
fci Greece, and so unqualified the obedience of children, that for a daughter
to marry without the approbation of her father, and, indeed, most of her
relations, would have been deemed a crime of most flagitious impiety.
But to attempt to resist the impetuosity of love, would be like attempting
to divert the course of the ocean, or to quench with a libation of wine the
flames which played around the turrets of Troy, and reduced it to ashes.
For if mountains intervene too lofty to be scaled by ordinary means,
Love will furnish wings to o'erfly their bounds.

Many an anxious thought struggled in the heart of Callirrhoe, and many
a strife between duty and love agitated her bosom j but at length love
proved in her, as it has done in all who have truly loved, the most power-
ful of human passions ; and she determined, rather than desert her lover,
to disobey her father, to leave Athens, to become a voluntary exile
from her country, and to take refuge with Anticles in some lonely island
of the ^Egean. A revolt, however, in the isle of Samos, now called for
the immediate presence of Pericles to complete the reduction of the
inhabitants, which had been but partially effected by Polemarchus. This
seemed to afford a favourable opportunity for the execution of their pro-
ject ; and they were in consequence elevated to great expectations, and

* In Greece, the women's apartments were separate from those of the men.

1832.] Pericles— A Tale of Greece. 553

still greater hopes — hopes, which would in all probability have been
realized, had not Anticles been unexpectedly catalogued (such is the
phrase in the Greek), or levied, among the other Athenian youth, to aid
in the defence of Plateea, then besieged by the Thebans. This at first
appeared the deathblow to all their fondest hopes ; for by declining to
serve, or escaping from his post, Anticles would have incurred that
indelible stigma, which ever after attached to those who evaded the
Athenian service — a service, though they had to maintain themselves,
which it was considered honourable to perform, and disgraceful to escape.
No alternative was left— he was obliged to leave, though Callirrhoe must
be forsaken. The only hope that remained was, that the besieging
Thebans might be so speedily defeated, as to enable him to return before
Pericles could arrive ; but of this no reasonable expectation could be
entertained, as the Boeetians were no less remarkable for their warlike
force, than for their singular stupidity.*

* * * # •* #

On their arrival at Athens, Anticles unfortunately fuund, upon imme-
diate inquiry, that Pericles was returned j but undaunted by the decisive
declarations which he had frequently been heard to make, and inspirited
by his own warlike achievements on their return from Plataea, he resolved
to prosecute his suit, despite of the aristocratical pride of the father of his
love. The reception which he met with from the noble statesman was
what he had expected, dignified, haughty, and contemptuous; though
from his manner he could not but suspect that he had had some intima-
tion of his intentions, and immediately addressed him on that supposition.

" What !" said Pericles, in a burst of indignation, " the daughter of
Pericles be wedded to a plebeian soldier! Get thee gone, insulting youth!"

" You are probably not aware," replied the undaunted Anticles, " of
the deeds of valour which I have recently done ?"

Pericles looked inquiringly, and Anticles proceeded, giving an account of
his brave exploits on their return from Plataea, which had saved the army
from destruction, and Athens from disgrace. And the eloquence and
vigour with which he related it, appeared to produce considerable im-
pression on Pericles.

" Your valour," replied the statesman, " is the only quality you possess
to redeem the objections of your birth ; and

" ' Valour \A'ith me than friendship more avails.' "f

This was an acknowledgment, which Anticles could not but consider
as something more than poetry, and therefore began to converse in a
bolder strain. Pericles was charmed with the eloquence and beauty both
of language and of sentiment with which he spoke ; and though he had
so lately regarded him as an insolent and ignorant common soldier, vainly
attempting to intrude himself into a family of the nobility, he now con-
sidered him as a specimen, not only of valorous patriotism, but of elegant
and martial eloquence ; and though he was still too resolute to revoke his
denial, the impression Anticles had produced on him by his conversation
was too strong to be easily effaced. And the fame which the adventurous
plebeian soon acquired among every class of people in Athens was so

* Here we regret to say is another lacuna (vald6 deflenda) in the MS., in which it is
probable the exploits of the Athenian army, and of Anticles in particular, were detailed.
The beginning of the next sentence is mutilated, but the meaning is clear.

t Sophoc. Aj. 1357.

M.M. New Strict.— Vo\. XIII. No. 77. 2 P

554 Pericles— A Tale of Greece. [MAY,

great, as even to overcome his resolute determinations,, and to induce him
to yield his willing consent to the marriage of his daughter Callirrhoe to
the illustrious and patriotic Anticles.

The celebration of the nuptials was deferred considerably beyond the
usual season of the year,* by the pressing business which devolved on Peri-
cles as one of the generals appointed to conduct the Peloponnesian war, which
was then beginning to ferment. A day however was at length fixed at a
banquet given at the house of Pericles to the whole family. But scarcely
had they determined on the day, when the arrival of the far-famed Hippo-
crates was announced. So illustrious an individual was of course honoured
with a seat at the right hand of the statesman j he immediately began to
speak of a subject, which he said " had only this day come under his notice,
and which was one of vital importance to the state." Every eye was fixed
on the Physician, and every ear attentive to hear the news he had to com-
municate, when he uttered the word " Aipos (Plague !), a plague has invaded
Athens, and if it be not stayed either by the immediate interposition of the
gods, or by the exertions of the citizens, Athens will ere many weeks
become a city of desolate and desolating abodes, the seat of ruin and the
sepulchre of the dead." The consternation which the terrible announce-
ment caused in the assembly, where Bacchus was swaying undisputed rule,
and joviality and joy reigned in every countenance, it is impossible to
describe. It would defy the pencil of Apelles himself to depict the horror
and forlornness, which everywhere took the place of conviviality and
delight. By the next day the pestilence had spread to an incredible extent j
nine hundred were reported to have died already, and even the physicians
themselves could administer no relief. The symptoms of the disease it
would be unnecessary to repeat here, being so well known to every
Grecian, that it would only be raking up the ashes of the dead to recall the
different stages of that tempest, which proved fatal to their fathers, and
spread ruin and devastation through their sad domains.

It was not many days ere it spread into the Upper City, where the house
of Pericles was situate, and where it was attended with more fatality than
before. The day on which the marriage ceremony was to be performed
at last arrived j and though no one else thought any business sufficiently
urgent to induce him to leave his home, Anticles could not be prevented even
by the devastations of the pestilence from proceeding to the Upper City.
But he had not arrived far before he heard a report that it had at last reached
the house of Pericles, and that Hippocrates was there in constant attend-
ance. On arriving himself at the mansion, he found that the whole family,
with the exception of Pericles himself, had been attacked by the strange
disease, on which all were speculating, but of which none was able to
discover the cause.

The scene of lamentation and distress in every part of the city was
unequalled in the annals of Athenian history. All, all was ruin and death,
disease and despair. The whole city was filled with hillocks of the dead,
and every house became a vault.

Some however survived the desolation — a few among the sturdiest of the
shepherds, the hardiest of the soldiers, and the most skilful of the physi-
cians— among whom was Anticles. But when Anticles heard of the death
of Callirrhoe among the other children of Pericles announced, he burst out

t The Greeks generally married in some of the winter months — January being a com-
mon month, was called marrying-time, Tawyiwv. See Eustath in Iliad, 2.

1832.] The Fairy Morgana s Wedding. 555

into an exclamation, half despair, half anger, " O Gods ! O Gods! O Gods !
Callirrhoe my bride, my bride, Callirrhoe, Callirrhoe." These and such
like were the rnad and incoherent ejaculations of the undone Anticles — he
could not believe that she was dead,and yet he knew that she was not alive.
The body of the deceased Callirrhoe presented the most pitiful and ghastly
sight that can be imagined, the melancholy ruins of a most stately and
beautiful edifice. Not a limb but told loudly of the havoc that had been
there, not a feature but showed the cruel though momentary ravages of the
disease. Anticles still however called her his bride, and interred her in her
bridal robe.

Thus closes the tale of Greece, which we have undertaken to translate
from the Greek into the vernacular tongue for the instruction and enter-
tainment of our readers. We call it a tale, though it seems rather to have
been intended for the groundwork of a long and elaborate romance than
for a separate and complete tale ; but we preferred giving it in the form in
which we received it, to imitating the practice of Mr. M'Pherson, the editor
of Ossian, by making such additions and elongations of our own as to
render it difficult to separate the incrustation from the ore. A. A.

THE FAIRY MORGANA S WEDDING.

BY fair Palermo's bay

Before the close of day,
I saw a band of cheerful peasants throng ;

And sounds of dancing feet

Mingled with music sweet,
While thus they joined in gay and joyous song.

" Come to the golden shore,

And labour ye no more,
Whom daily toil hath held in iron sway :

The eve should set you free,

And earth, and sky, and sea,
Shine out to hail our Fairy's bridal day.

" Awake the glad guitar,

And let the song afar
Float softly o'er the purple waves away,

That so our lady dear,

The melodies may hear,
That give her greeting on her bridal day.

" See how the pageant grows,

'Till all the ocean glows !
How poor the pomps of earth compared with these !

Nor monarch's proudest dome

May match the pillar'd home,
Reared for our Empress of the southern seas !

"There many a taper spire

Points, as a dart of fire,
Upwards to heaven amid its long arcades ;

And gilded galleys wait,

Before its jewelled gate,
And fountains glitter in its garden shades.
2 P 2

556 The Fairy Morgana s Wedding. [MAY,

" Come to the golden shore,

The hours of toil are o'er ;
Come to the mazy dance and cheerful lay ;

The eve should set you free,

And earth, and sky, and sea,
Shine out to hail Morgana's bridal day.

" By fair Palermo's bay *

That music died away ;
And when the echoes of the song grew still,

I saw that splendid show

More faint and fleeting grow,
Parting like morning vapour round a hill.

" And soon the deep blue sky

Unbroken slept on high,
And thousand gems upon its bosom shone ;

While as the vision broke,

A voice within me spoke,
As in a solemn and prophetic tone.

" Sawest thou that pageant bright

Dissolve before thy sight ?
Even so, the pleasant hopes of youth must fade ;

Some by the winds of care

Dispersed in empty air,
Some by the touch of wary time decayed.

" And thou hast golden dreams !

Ah ! little fancy deems,
How all the glorious images she weaves,

So cherished in their birth,

Shall shrink and fall to earth,
A shapeless mass of withered autumn leaves.

" The friends, upon whose truth

The eager heart of youth
In boundless trust for life's best comfort clings,

Shall drop away and die,

And leave thee lone, to sigh
And mourn that lazy time has lost his wings.

" And thou slialt pray in vain

For death to break thy chain
And from thy gloomy prison set thee free ;

And pine in vain regret,

Unable to forget
Bright hours departed, thou no more wilt see.

" Then answer made my heart,

Foreboding voice ! depart !
Nor bid my soul in youth's bright prime despond :

What though advancing years,

May trace their flight in tears,
1 know that these shall pass, and heaven is light beyond ! "

* On the Bay of Palermo, at certain periods, are seen strange mimicrys of palaces,
fountains, trees, and living creatures, which gradually disappear from the surface of the
water as the sun travels higher in the heavens. They are supposed to be the creations of
the fairy Morgana. It is scarcely necessary to state that it is an optical delusion caused
by the action of the sun on the atmosphere.

1832.] [ 557 ]

THE LITTLE GREAT, AND THE GREAT LITTLE.

EXTRAORDINARY is the mind of man ! He sails in mid-air j he com-
passeth the globe ; he blunts the lightning j he writeth Hamlet, Paradise
Lost, the Principia, and he chaineth a flea by the leg. He maketh the
strong elephant to bend his joints, and he subdueth a flea, if not to " hew
wood," at least to draw water. These, the later triumphs of the human
essence, are now on exhibition somewhere in that long ark for modern
monsters, Regent-street ! Yes, the "Industrious Fleas " at once delight
and shame fashionable idlers, sending them to their beds to ruminate on
the sagacity of the living world about them.

We love a monster as much as ever did Trinculo ; hence, we have
been bitten ; that is, we have made acquaintance with the " industrious
Fleas." Let us shortly enumerate their separate capabilities. One flea,
a fine muscular fellow, worthy, did fairies die, to be mourning-coach horse
at the funeral of Queen Titania, (how long since the fairies had a corona-
tion !) draws a very splendid carriage, constructed from the pith of elder.
He curvets, and bounds, and shews his blood, (he must have been fed in
some royal stable — he hath surely fattened on kings) with the proudest
royal coach-horse on — as they say at public dinners — " the proudest day
of its life." Having seen his legs, we shall think more seriously of the
kick of a flea ever after. Then, to talk of a " flea bite," as a proverb for
a wife — a mere nothing j let those who speak thus vainly contem-
plate the terrible probocis of the aforesaid chariot flea, and then think
of the formidable weapon, plunged through one's tender skin, and
sucking up by quarts (we saw, we looked through a microscope) our
heart's best blood ! To go to bed appears no wonder, but to be able to
rise again, after what we have beheld, seems to us a daily miracle ! To
proceed. Another of " the industrious" takes the air with a chain and a
weight to his leg, the wonder consisting in its resignation to its destiny.
A third flea, also manacled, draws water. A fourth flea has a more awful
duty— to bear Napoleon Buonaparte, late of France, but now of St.
Helena ; — there he is, the victor of a hundred fights, majestically seated
on flea back. An enthusiastic Frenchman may, if he have good eyes, see
in the minature Emperor, the sallow thoughtful face, the " brassy eye"
(vide Haydon's account) of the original despot — could the figure take
snuff the illusion would be perfect. Two other fleas, soldiers, fight a
desperate combat, affording in their proper persons a triumphant refuta-
tion to the celebrated dogma of the philosopher, that " fleas are not
lobsters." We understood from the Cicerone, that their deadly enmity
was excited towards each other by a mutual tickling. We were also
informed, that one of the fleas (" epicurean animal !") had the honour to
sup off the hand of the Princess Augusta. This fact was shamefully
hushed up by the magas of the Court Circular, else how would it have
astonished the world to have read, that " last night her Royal High-
ness the Princess Augusta gave a supper to the fleas ! " Certain it is,
the document contains at times news of less interest.* This condes-
cension on the part of her Highness, though it speaks much for her
affability, has been the cause of grievous heartburnings and bickerings

* Her Majesty the Queen, and Prince George of Cumberland, stood the whole of the
sermon ! !— Court Circular, April 8, 1832.

558 The Little Great, and the Great Little. [MAY,

among the society. It is extraordinary the airs that every flea gives
himself about " his blood." However, it is to be hoped that a herald will
be appointed to settle the claims of each disputant, and to favour the
whole with a genealogical tree. Who knows whether one of these flea's
ancestors did not bite Sancho Panza, or the Dulcinea del Toboso, or the
Carters, who were " bitten like a tench ?" Speaking on our own respon-
sibility, we are afraid that each of these little creatures, after all its vanity
about pure blood, has been somewhat capricious in its appetite ; a fault,
by the by, which often puzzles the heralds in their labours, for certain
other little animals are very angry, when they speak of blood, too.

We quitted the exhibition, and walking at a melancholy pace, with our
long lean visage bent towards the earth, we were accosted by a man — an
odd-looking person, with a box at his back — who begged we would stop
and see his show. We were in a sight-seeing humour, and at once con-
sented. The box was placed on a tressel, our eye was at the glass, and
our ears open, when the man commenced his description : —

" The first view presents you with a grand state coach of the great
Mogul -, it is drawn by a thousand curious animals j they are, as you will
perceive, very finely dressed in rich harness, tall feathers, and flying
ribands j they come and tie themselves to the coach, and feel it an honour
to be bridled j they snort, and caper, and kick mud into the eyes of the
bye-standers.

" The next view shows you one of these animals with a long chain
and a heavy log. This chain was fixed upon his leg when he was born ; and
though he has sometimes tried to file away the links, he has had his
knuckles so smartly rapped, and been called so many names, — been so
preached to, that the chain and log were for his own good, and that it
would ruin him to take them from him, — that 'tis likely he will, for the
public benefit, be made to wear them to the end of his days.

" The animal in the next view, that is chained and draws water, is one
of the Great Mogul's million of slaves. Although he draws bucket after
bucketful for the Mogul's house and his household, for his horses and his
dogs, and his kitchen, and his flower-garden, he is often perishing himself
for one half mouthful 5 his lips are blistered, and his tongue black, with the
water drawn by his own hands, running about him.

*' The fourth animal is mounted on a fiery dragon, that, belching
flames, kindles forests, fires towns, dries rivers, blasts harvests, and swal-
lows men, women, and sucking babes. Look to the left, and the dragon
is turned to a something no bigger than a mouse, and with its stinted
rations of butter and cheese.

" In the fifth and last view you see ten thousand of these animals fero-
ciously killing, biting, tearing another ten thousand, whom they never
saw till a few minutes ago, and with whom they have no quarrel. But
they kill one another because they are tickled to do so. That is, certain
animals go about with tickling wands, called " glory," " deathless
renown," " laurel," and other titillating syllables, poking in the ribs of
the poor benighted creatures."

I took my eye from the glass — " My good man, what have you shewn
me?"

" Fleas, Sir."

" Fleas !— nonsense ; the fleas are shewn above/'

" Yes, Sir j but mine are the fleas with two legs ; though, if I must be
honest, I can't say I see any difference between the fleas in my show-box
and the fleas above." J.

1832,] [ 559 ]

THE RIGHTS OF DRAMATISTS.

WERE we asked what profession promised, with the greatest shew of
succes, to form a practical philosopher — we should, on the instant, make
reply, " the calling of an English dramatist." There is, in his case, such
a fine adaptation of the means to the end, that we cannot conceive how,
especially if he be very successful, the dramatist can avoid becoming a first-
form scholar in the academy of the stoics. The daily lessons set for him
to con are decked with that " consummate flower" of wisdom, patience j they
preach to him meekness under indigence, continual labour with scanty
and uncertain reward j quiescence under open spoliation ; satisfaction to
see others garner the harvest he has sown ; with at least the glorious
certainty of that noble indigence lauded by philosophers and practiced
by the saints — poverty, stark- naked poverty, with grey hairs j an old age
exulting in its forlornness ! If, after these goodly lessons, whipt into him
with daily birch, be become no philosopher, then is all stoicism the fraud
of knaves, and even patience but a word of two syllables/ But we are con-
vinced of the efficacy of the system. English dramatists are stoics, and
not in a speculative sense, but in the hard, practical meaning of the term •
time has hallowed their claim to the proud distinction ; it is consecrated to
them by the base coats of their prime, and the tatlers of their old age ; not
only endured without complaint, but enjoyed as " their charter."

English dramatists are philosophers. They have been subjected to the
whims and caprice of those whose professional lives depended on the men
they have slighted — and have they complained ? No ! They have had
their dearest property plucked from them — they have had their golden
thoughts minted only to be dropped into the purses of other people, Have
they murmured at the violence ? No ! They have died, " like rats in holes
and corners." They have left their children to the tender guardianship of
overseers and churchwardens— and has indignation stirred the thin blood
of the fraternity ? No ! — Ergo — English dramatists are philosophers.

Our attention has been newly turned to this pacific sect, by a pamphlet *
recently published. We have sufficiently descanted on the monopoly of
the drama ; as public journalists, with a true love for the letters of our
country 5 as politicians, calling for the equal security of property to all men ;
it behoves us, especially at the present juncture, to speak of the rights, we
should say the wrongs, of dramatic literature.

The pamphlet before us (from which we borrow several facts) is valu-
able, as presenting a careful digest of the French laws applicable to dra-
matic literary property. On the 13th of January, 1791, a law was
passed in France, which enacted that the works of living authors could not
be represented on any stage in the kingdom, without the written consent
of the author. A transgression of this law to be punished by confis-
cation of the entire receipts of the house for the benefit of the writer. In
the same year, it was also decreed that the dramatist's share of the profits
should not be liable to seizure for the debts contracted by managers. f

* On Theatrical Emancipation, and the Rights of Dramatic Authors . By Thomas James
Thackeray, Esq. — C. Chappie.

t " Who would believe, (says a French writer,) that in matters of literary property,
England, whose laws are daily offered to us as models, is at this day as barbarous as we were
in Fiance sixty years ago. It is there held as a matter of course, that the piece of an author,
when printed, can be played by all the managers of theatres in the three kingdoms, without

560 The Rights of Dramatists. [MAY,

The author's right and property continues in his works during his life, and
in posthumous works during the lives of those whohavebecoma donors of
them : after them it reverts to the heirs. The children of authors have an
exclusive right of printing the works of their deceased parents for twenty
years j but the other heirs for only ten years. These rights belong to
the surviving husband or wife during life, provided the marriage settle-
ment permits it. The unpublished works of authors and composers are
not liable to be seized by creditors j this law has been illustrated by
several verdicts. So anxious has the French legislature shewn itself for the
prosperity of the drama, that any manager accepting a piece, and failing
to produce it within a given time, is liable, as has been proved by several
suits instituted by authors, to pay the writer the sum previously agreed
upon. Dramas are represented in their turn of acceptation. If, however, a
piece possess local interest, or there be any other inducement to anticipate
the legitimate period of its production, by a tour defaveur ; as however,
the number of these tours is limited, an author has his remedy if his piece
be postponed after the usual tours have made way for its representation.
These points sufficiently prove the solicitude of the French government
for the prosperity of a species of writing which combines in itself the highest
attributes of literature. In England, on the contrary, the drama is a
neglected weed; a thing of the highways, to be trodden under foot, or
plucked up by the roots.

The French law carefully provides against the chicanery of managers,
who would defraud the dramatist by changing the name of his work, or
altering the dramatis persona. Certain agencies are established (by the
authors themselves) in the departments, who represent the dramatists,
and who, under the appellation of dramatic correspondents, exercise ail
the rights the authors themselves possess, recovering all claims that may
be due. The scale of remuneration (which depends on the number of
acts), varies at different theatres.* In addition, however, to payment for
the drama, there is the privilege of tickets and personal free admission:
the admission to remain for life on the production of two pieces in five,
four, or three acts ; three of two acts, and so on. If an author or com-
poser be entitled to a second free admission, he may be allowed to dispose
of it annually : after his death, his widow, or next heir, enjoys the second

any remuneration ; and, in one of the numbers of the London Magazine, the author of
several dramatic works laments his unfortunate position, not wishing to have his last piece
performed by the theatre which had shewn itself unjust towards him in a former instance,
and not daring to print it, because it would be another means of placing it at the disposal of
the theatre."

* The following is the scale of remuneration at the Theatre Royal de I' Opera Comique :
For a work in five, four, or three acts : — 8£ per cent, on the gross receipts, each night

of performance. *

" For a work in two acts — 6^ per cent, on the gross receipts.

" For a work in one act — 6 per cent, on the gross receipts.

The author of such works as will form the entire representation of the evening, shall bo
entitled to a further remuneration, fixed at 6 per cent on the gross receipts.

The gross receipts are understood to be formed of the following :

" 1. Of the receipts at the doors.

" 2. For boxes taken by the month or year, or those taken per night.

" 3. For subscriptions of every denomination.

The profits allotted to authors in the proportions above will belong equally to the author
and the composer, that is to say, one-half to each.

* At the Theatre de Vaudeville and Gymnastic Theatre des Nouveautes, and the Theatre
du Palait Royal, the scale is twelve per cent, in the gross receipts.

1832.] The Rights of Dramatists. 561

free admission, but has no power to dispose of it. It is under such just
and enlightened legislation that the drama of France continues to flourish;
and whilst it amply rewards its professors, supplies nearly every other
country with materials for the stage. It is under such government that
Monsieur Scribe is enabled, by the exercise of his surprising genius — sur-
prising in its vivacity and fecundity— to realize from three to four thou-
sand pounds yearly. What, on the contrary, would have been his fate,
had he written for the English stage ? Why, he would have made the
fortunes of three or four " starry" actors, and have lived in poverty. Mr.
Thackeray (of whom we now take our leave, thanking him for a pamphlet
that must have cost him some pains, and may be ma'de most available by
English writers in the corning discussion) subjoins the basis of a petition,*
on the adoption of the principles of which depend, in our opinion, the
future destinies of the English stage.

We now ask, what has been the result of the unprotected condition of
the drama ? — why, the present degradation of our theatres. It has before
been put — but the question should be insisted upon again and again — who
will write for the stage, when to labour is to be despoiled ? who will select
that walk of literature fenced with thorns, and infested with creeping things,
when there are open " primrose paths" to fortune and advancement ? If
literary men may be likened, (and we trust they may, even in these days
of orthodox meekness and self-denial,) without profanation, to the various
labourers in the church, we should call the dramatist the poor drudge of a
curate in the establishment of letters: the poet, the novelist, the historian,
nay, the writer of a confectioner's oracle, is secure in the fruits of his see,
his deanery, his rectorship, his fat living — but the dramatist, dependent on
caprice, is not insured even his " forty pounds a-year j" he is every now
and then stopped on the highways, and the little he may have in his purse,
rifled by theives who " rob on the safe side of an act of parliament."
For it would not be more monstrous were a bill to be passed, exempting
robbers from punishment who should attack curates, and hanging the
knaves who should rob the higher dignities of the church j than in the
present state of the law, which guards poems, novels, histories, cookery
books, — and only leaves unregarded, plays.

The want of protection for dramatic literature, whilst it has almost
banished orignial writers from the stage, has introduced a swarm of trans-
lators and adaptors, who, so viciously has worked the system, have
gorged the actor to the starvation of the writer. The question is not, can
a man write a play ? but, does he know French ? Then, does he know
some leviathan actor, who will introduce the translation to the theatre,
the whole weight and gist of the drama depending upon and dignifying

* 1st. — That no dramatic composition of an author represented on any theatre in
England, shall be represented on any other theatre within the United Kingdom without
the formal consent of the author, under penalty of confiscation to his benefit, of the entire
produce o£ the representation.

2nd. — That an obligation be imposed on managers, after having approved and accepted
a piece, to bring it forward in its turn, or within a limited period, or to pay the author
the sum agreed upon as the price of his labours, &c.

3rd. — That the direct heirs of the author shall succeed to the property of his dramatic
works,' and enjoy the rights and advantages derived therefrom.

4th. — That the share of the profits of the author shall in no case be liable to seizure for
the debts contracted by the proprietors and managers of the theatre.

562 The Rights of Dramatists. [MAY,

the gentleman who so introduces it j and who, from being constantly
made the solitary feature of a piece, is blown up at the expence of his
brother actors, into false importance, and straightway demands the most
extravagant terms. It is from such causes that we have imported melo-
drames played by actors of thirty, forty, fifty pounds per week salaries.
Translation has produced this evil, and a want of protection of dramatic
copyright has produced translation, by keeping from the stage writers of
original thought.

This system has absolutely degraded the calling of a dramatist j he is
looked upon as a mere literary tailor, who, with patterns in hand, (i. e.
last imported French pieces from Soho-square), takes measure of his
man, and, if he fit him, receives his miserable pay. At one time, English
dramatists looked abroad into the world for their materials, — they took a
comprehensive view of human nature for their immortal works, and
trusted to the actor, who is only an actor in proportion as he is worthy of
that trust, to mould himself to the embodyment of the poet. Then, a
drama was a high creation, for it was the result of the study of human
nature in its various and complex workings : — then, a drama was a
picture of the human heart — a mirror of man. What is a modern
drama, in its general acceptation ? What are the motives that induce its
composition, what the materials that form its worth ? Why, the adaptor
sees no other human nature save that within the circuit of a green-room ;
he fits his work to an actor's peculiarity j he adapts and pares down the
world to the actor, instead of making the actor dilate himself to the world.
If such were not the case, should we constantly read in the papers such
notices as the following : — " We understand that Mr. has a forth-
coming drama, in which, we hear, he has taken exact measure of !"

Taken measure ! Only think of Macbeth, or Falstuff, or Sir Giles Overreach,
or Bobadil, being written " to measure !" Yet it is to this grovelling
custom that we owe the degradation of the present stage. It is this
system that has sacrificed the dramatic genius of the country to the in-
terested vanity of a few mannerists, in themselves no more comparable
to the genuine actors who have preceded them, than are the ephemera
by which they live comparable to the highest triumphs of the olden
days, when to write a drama was to know the soul of man.

We repeat it ; according to the present system, the author is made
the drudge, the poor dependent of the actor. We may well illustrate
the relative situations of actor and writer, by a scene from Sheridan's
Duenna. There are the red- faced minions of the cloister, the knaves
with " three inches on their ribs," dividing wealth amongst one another,
pouring libations down their throats, and roaring " this bottle's the sun of
our table :" there they are in their pampered unnatural greatness, each
" a star," at forty or fifty pounds per week, accounts at their bankers and
carriages at the door ; there they are, filled " even to bursting 5" — and
there is the lay brother, the poor dramatist, in shrunk starvation, hardly
daring to call his soul his own, whispering his words, and, lowly bending,
scratching up, almost by stealth, the crumbs that fall from the feeders'
table. Can this be called a forced description of actors, engaged at from
thirty to fifty pounds per week ; and the author, who for perhaps six
months' labour, after much pain and trouble, attendance and solicitation,
and with great good luck to boot, gains, it may be, one hundred pounds 5

1823.] The Rights of Dramatists. 563

or, what has proved more likely, holds the manager his hopeless debtor
to that amount !*

The present unjust state of the law annihilates the civil rights of the
author to his own -, he is forgotten by the legislature, and can hardly ex-
pect to be remembered by those to whose immediate interest he devotes
his labours. One instance, from fifty, of his forgetfulness, this utter
unconcern of those claims which, if the stage be anything, should be pre-
eminent, we will briefly relate. A dramatist presented a piece to an
establishment : the production was read, approved, and nothing remained
but to settle terms and the time of representation. The manager began
to enumerate the various expenses. — " There must be two or three new
scenes — three or four new dresses — the expense of licensing." It ap-
peared that nothing else was to be provided for, when, by some extraor-
dinary providence, the claims of the originator of the drama flashed on
the mind of the manager, who added — " Yes, and then there's the author's
fee r The author's fee ! Now we hold this little anecdote is illustrative
of the whole system of present management. The scenery is of course
the grand consideration — then came, cequis passibus, the claims of the
tailor and decorator, the salaries for stars, the expense of copying parts,
licensing, &c. &c., — and lastly, if thought of at all, the " fee" (delicate
word) for the author, for the man who puts all the other parts in motion.
A " fee," i. e. something for paper, pens, and ink.f

Our hopes of an " equitable adjustment" of the rights of dramatists are
excited by a consideration of the spirit of the times, now happily awakened
to the remedying abuses, not only political, but personal. To obtain relief,
however, it is necessary to display the extent and bearing of an evil, to
force its consideration on the public mind, and, if other higher incentives
were wanting, to shame the legislature into tardy justice. We gather
new hope from the following announcement in our excellent contem-
porary, the Athenceum, of the 7th ult. : —

" It is, we hear, the intention of several literary men of eminence, to bring forward
a measure to secure genius the fruits which it produces, and make the regions of the
mind as much the property of the holder, as land is the property of the person who
purchases it. As the law now stands, an author has a right in his \vorksjbr twenty-
eight years : if he dies within that period, the right cannot be revived or renewed
for his descendants or heirs ; and all the fruits of his talents and industry go to the
enrichment of the world at large. It is not so with the proceeds of any other
kind of labour: the man of business secures his gains in gold or in land, and
bequeaths his all to whom he pleases ; while the man of genius, who embarks the
capital of his intellect in either verse or prose, has only a short-lived lease of what is
as much his own as land or houses can be. Had the widow and children of Bums,
for instance, inherited the property of his undying poems, they would have been
rich to-day, and been preserved from the misery to which some of them have been
subjected."

* Mr. Wood, who played Masaniello, received thirty pounds per week. What has Mr.
Kenney, \v\\oproduced the drama, pocketed 1 — Nil.

t It would seem that managers, tutored by the system, estimated the value of a drama
according to the scale of the old lady of whom we have heard the following anecdote. Her s.m
had produced a drama, and having received for his labour the sum of five pounds, was loud in
his contempt of the amount. At this the darne, in true Israelitish spirit, inquired — " Why,
how much did the paper cost?"—" Paper— why, perhaps a shilling." •< Well, and how
much the pens and ink V— Oh, — pens and ink,— why, perhaps sixpence." " Well, I
declare !" replied the matron, with managerial calculation, — " here's a young man makes
four pounds eighteen and sixpence CLEAR PROFIT, and yet it isn't enough!"

564 The Riyhts of Dramatists. [MAY,

A man who writes a poem, a history, a novel, in fact, anything but a
play, enjoys his right to the proceeds of his labour for twenty-eight
years. On the contrary, the dramatist enjoys no such right for twenty-
eight hours. The work of his brain is instantly torn from his possession j
he produces, and he is pillaged. The Hunchback — a play made up of
the rarest qualities of literary genius, a production which has shed a golden
light on the cold and comfortless gloom of the modern theatre, — a mental
achievement, that places its author in " the forehead of the times," that
will embalm his memory with the highest dramatic genius of England,
mighty and various as she is in that genius, — the Hunchback, which has
acted as a dream, a talisman, on the intellect of this vast metropolis,
the Hunchback is no more protected by the British legislature than is the
meanest fern on the most public common. At the time we write, the
Hunchback is unpublished. No matter : it may be come at (a little
garbled, perhaps) by provincial managers, who may wish to obtain the
property of Mr. Knowles without his sanction, by due application to the
agency office at the corner of Bow-street. There the manuscripts, even
by this time, (we write four days after the production of the play,) are
doubtless ready for sale , or, it may be, already on their way by the mail
to their various points of destination.* The Hunchback, whilst yet
unpublished, is represented at country establishments j at Bath, for in-
stance. On this Mr. Knowles may remonstrate, when he shall receive an
impertinent answer from the manager of the above theatre, (for we have
seen such documents,) stating that the present law, or rather no law, of
dramatic copywright, was a very proper one : —

" Only complained of by pettifoggers and adapters, who wished to be secured in
their stolen goods."

At the heels of this may tread an empty compliment on the production
of —

" An original play ; originality being to a lover of his art, like manna dropt in
the wilderness !" —

the writer, however, shewing his desire to feed on " originality" as he
would on " manna," that is, without paying a doit for his ordinary : he
would receive both as the gifts of Providence. Another letter from
Dublin may run as follows : —

" Sir,— Before I received your letter, a copy of your drama was forwarded to me
from London, for which I have paid two pounds !"t

Thus has the author of the Hunchback no remedy. If Mr. Knowles
would be assured the profits of his genius, he should invent a new cork-
screw, not write an exquisite play. We may see the protecting " patent"
on a tooth-brush 5 but where shall we look for it in a drama ? Tragedies,
like rabbits, may be bagged without a license.

The present legal condition of the drama is a more fruitful cause of
injustice on the one hand, and risk and chicanery on the other, than in
any other branch of commerce. Subterfuge and falsehood are resorted to

* On one occasion the " agent" applied to the dramatist himself, offering him a guinea
for a copy of his piece: this liberal overture being refused, the reply was — u Oh ! no
matter, I can get it; but I thought I'd giveyou the chance."

t We must, however, in justice state, that the Dublin letter may contain (for we ground
our supposition on the tenor of an original communication) a wish " that literary property
should be respected," with a hope " that a law might be passed to that effect." Dublin
has consideration for the despoiled : Bath has no bowels.

1832.] Sonnet. 565

where open wrong may fail. If a new drama be produced and remain
unpublished, and then managers of the metropolitan theatres fail in
their attempt to obtain the property of their rival, they immediately pro-
duce a counterfeit, a paltry forgery. The Evil Eye (an original drama),
was last season played by the English Opera Company. The author, Mr.
Peake, was applied to by the proprietor of the Surrey, for permission to
represent his drama, it being unpublished. The application was refused,
when the Surrey proprietor caused something to be vamped up, and called
it The Evil Eye, having taken the principal points from the original piece,
and amalgamated them with jargon, foreign to the subject matter. A
like contempt of right has recently been displayed by the people of
Sadler's Wells, and followed by those of the Surrey. Before the publica-
tion of The Rent Day, one of the Well's actors visited Drury Lane
Theatre, and having taken notes of the characters and chief situations of
the piece, produced his counterfeit at the minor theatres, and subsequently
had the audacity to print it. It is high time that such private wrong, and
public fraud were put an end to.

In the Session of 1831, a bill was introduced into the Commons by the
Hon. George Lamb, to protect the rights of dramatists. The measure
was not prosecuted to a successful issue, in consequence of the sudden
dissolution of Parliament. However, the question, we understand, is
again to be agitated ; and we call not only on the literary members of the
House, to give their earnest support to the bill, but we demand the inter-
ference of the legislature to protect property — to place the barrier of the
law between piracy and private right ; we demand this in the name of
justice, and for the cause of the highest and the brightest portion of
English literature — the English drama.

Let such a measure be formed, and the theatre will again be the chosen
arena for the exercise of the intellect of the country. As the law now
stands, the profession of a dramatist, is, of all literary pursuits, the most
thorny and unprofitable. He may work a miracle of human wit to delight
present and coming generations, and be himself the prey of that profession
which his labours tend to exalt : he may, by some fortunate stroke, build
a house of gold for the actor, and be himself the Lazarus at its gates.

D. J.

SONNET.

TO MY SISTER WITH A SPRAY OF WHITE FLOWERS.

NOT that thou needest plume, or gem, or flower,
To make thee comely in a brother's eye —
For these be gauds, whose charms with usage die,
Poor rainbow fashions of a passing hour. —
Sweet Sister, did I choose mine offering now,
But that thou mayest not go abroad undecked
While one is near to comfort and protect,
And grace with simple gift thy modest brow :

Methinks the hand that wrought these snowy bells,
Did for thyself express their bloom contrive,

For thou art pure as they, — nor do the cells . .
Of thy warm heart one bitter fancy hive ; —
Remember him who gave, when thou dost wear
These types of thy dear self in thy brown glossy hair.

[ 566 ] [MAY,

THE REIGNING VICE.

WE should very much like to see an Act of Parliament made to suppress
the diffusion of quotations. There is an immense bundle of the wretched
mangled victims that we have a very great wish to consign to perdition,
without further ceremony. And we would, were it in our power, inflict
an unpayable penalty upon, or indulge with an unbearable burthen, the
enormous and immeasurable ass who should, after fair warning, venture a
bray upon any thing approximating to the lines we are about to enume-
rate, with hundreds of others in daily course of infliction, but to which we
dare not trust ourselves more particularly to refer.

We make it an undeviating rule — conceiving, as we do, that our life
depends upon the strictness with which we adhere to it — whenever we
attend a general meeting or a public dinner, to keep as near to the door
as possible, that we may incontinently escape at half a minute's notice.
For ten to one, before the cloth has been drawn a quarter of an hour,
some afflicting animal will prick up his ears, and elevating himself upon
the table, either propose a health, return thanks, or " beg to explain."
Of course, the raggamuffin is at a nonplus in less than twenty unintelli-
gible words, and then we know well enough where he will take refuge.
" Yes," quoth he, " as an immortal bard says," — " our great poet has
it," or, " Shakspeare tells us." We need not say, that immediately we
hear " immortal bard," — " great poet," or Shakspeare referred to, we fly, —
or converting the nearest tangible material into a destructive missile,
launch it with superhuman force at the head of the complacent coxcomb,
and thenceforth you may behold him, " as our poet has it," —

• " fallen from his high estate,

And weltering"

amongst the decanters, to the insuppressible delight of the beholders, who
usually return us a vote of thanks, and propose us as chairman for the
next meeting.

And let no one accuse us of partiality or injustice. We are equally
prompt in denouncing the nuisance, and in checking the recurrence of it
among our own particular acquaintance. For instance, — once dining
with a friend, and taking our wine after dinner, the conversation
turned upon the distinction between rhetoric and oratory. Our friend,
who is a sensible man, and not often guilty of inhumanity at his own
table, distrusting his own remaining power, felt that he was sinking,
and would fain have preserved himself by seizing upon the straw of
a quotation. " You know, my dear fellow," remarked he, " what
Tully says." We knew too well, — we have heard it a thousand times
before from the same lips. " You know what Tully says ;" — this was
enough for us. We had kept our eyes steadfastly fixed upon the speaker
during his harangue; and the instant we heard the Roman orator cited,
gave a fillip with our finger to a nutshell, with such admirable dexterity,
that we lodged the husky envelope in the very epiglottis of the incipient
bore. Chuckling at the success of our expedient, we made good our
retreat, and despatched a servant to the aid of his master, who was by this
time well nigh giving up the ghost in the dining-room.

What do you think of the ruthless rascal (he is usually a fourth-rate
actor, or a linendraper's apprentice) who, in expressing his acknowledge-
ments for the honour done him by drinking his health, concludes with, —

1832.] The Reigning Vice. 567

" poor am I even in thanks,

But I do thank ye ?"

What opinion do you form of the savory-palated scoundrel, who takes
advantage of his being the host, to spoil your dinner, by vociferating,

" May good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on hoth ?"

How do you like, coming in at the termination of a comprehensive com-
pliment, to be informed, that though "last" you are "not least ?" It is
remarkably pleasant to receive a reproof from a man, conveyed, as he
says, " more in sorrow than in anger ;" and delightful to be assured,
that he will

" Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice."

If an odious overseer happen to depart this parish, or an inveterate cur-
mudgeon, whose rigidly compressed fist no thumb-screw could open,
chance to pay Satan a friendly visit, it *' needs no ghost to come from
the grave " to tell us, since there is always a posthumous babbler to take
that office upon himself, that the detested defunct had

" a hand

Open as day to melting charity.; "

and if an ill-fated cockney, on a Sunday's voyage to Richmond, betake
himself to the bottom of the river, let us receive with becoming resigna-
tion the intelligence, that

" There is a tide in the affairs of man."

We are quite certain that our readers never saw the quotation from
that rare and curious poem by one Goldsmith, —

" Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."

And we are equally confident, that at Roman Catholic meetings, no
speaker ever averred that Ireland was

" great, glorious and free,

First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea,"

or that Mr. O'Connell was ever heard to exclaim,

" Hereditary bondsmen, know ye not,
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow."

Murder instantly, (we say it in cold blood,) decapitate forthwith, the slave
who presumes to torture your feelings thus ; first, he who, taking his
leave of yourself and a common friend, utters with an insane grin,

" When shall we three meet again ?"
or he who sighs forth —

" Farewell ! a word that has been and must be."
Or,—

" Fare thee well, and if for ever,

Still for ever," &c.
Or,-

" Farewell, a long farewell," &c. ;

or, in a word, any valedictory and venomous trash of the like nature.

Kick, or otherwise maltreat, the infatuated fool who pesters you with
incessant lines, sentiments, passages, and entire poems of Byron and
Moore. This has become intolerable, and must in justice or in mercy be

568 The Reigning Vice. [MAY,

put an end to. We know the class of offenders well. They are commonly
young people, without shirt collar, and with precocious boldness, which
they call high foreheads ; youthful devotees, with a tendency to consump-
tion and other sentimental infirmities. But let them beware j for we and
others are become frantic, and must no longer be goaded into madness by
such torturing devices. And if any young lady resident in the country,
or elsewhere, desire hereafter to let loose her album upon us, we implore
her, on our knees, to desist from her rash attempt, and, in common mercy,
to set her father's bull-dog at us. Quadrupeds may be resisted, but we
cannot away with those two-footed pests that come swarming in the pha-
lanx of heroic measure.

We must express our unfeigned regret, that this distressing custom
should prevail to so frightful an extent in an assembly from which we
would fain have hoped better things. But nothing is more common in the
assembly to which we allude, than for an honourable member to get upon
his legs, and, after a most miserable perversion of his vernacular tongue,
wind up with a mingle-mangle of some Latin or Greek passage, when, for
any conceivable application the said quotation possesses, or for any additional
information it conveys, the orator might just as wisely have recited
" Propria quae maribus," or chaunted " Te Deum," or performed a head-
over-heel movement upon the table of the House.

Again, granting the occasional aptness of his simile or his conceit, what
possible augmentation of meaning is derivable from the effort ? Instead
of saying in so many words, " Why what a most unconscious and uncon-
scionable kettle are you, to be abusing the pot after this fashion," our clas-
sical senator must needs have it,

•* duis tulerit Gracchus, dereditione quaerentes?"

— in the place of " It is there that the shoe pinches," we are favoured with
" Hinc illae lachryma? j" arid because he cannot say at once, " Who the
deuce could have supposed the opposition would have been in such a
rage ? " he prefers to close his period with

" Tantae ne animis celestibus irae?"

What odds will the reader take — a hundred to one ? that in the said
discussion upon emigration or the corn laws, we are not tormented with
the unbearable and everlasting

" Princes and kings may flourish or may fade,
A breath may make them, as a breath has made ;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride .
When once destroy'cl, can never be supplied."

If we should chance to be in the gallery upon that occasion, we will not
swear that we may not be ordered to the bar for a breach of privilege.

To conclude, as we believe the vice to be incurable, and learn that its
professors are not yet amenable to the laws, we propose that they be
banished

" To some far region of acrostic land,"

to indulge their propensity at pleasure 5 and we have not the least objec-
tion to an arrangement, whereby Lady Morgan might be constituted pre-
siding queen, or perpetual chairwoman of the company.

569

RAMBLES IN GERMANY.

A tout cceur bien ne la patri es tchere.

IT is not in their martial character alone, it is not merely asthe conquerors
of imperial Rome, asthe founders of modern European institutions, that the
early Germans excite our interest. Their simple institutions, which so
captivated the imagination of the historian Tacitus, by their contrast with
the vices and corruptions of his own country, are the true sources of all
those systems of polity that have since prevailed. From these are equally
derived the feudal system of the middle ages, and the free constitution of
England j her parliament and her trial by Jury. Again, to the pure
chastity of their manners, and their chivalric devotion to the female sex,
may be justly ascribed much of that rank now held by women in the
scale of society, and of its superiority even in the lowest state over the
boasted civilization of the ancients. How that spirit of high-flown
gallantry and delicate respect for the softer sex should have sprung up
amid the rude barbarians of the North, while it was totally unknown to
the more polite and refined Greeks and Romans — that gallantry which,
with its many fantastic and some dangerous maxims, has produced others
of the highest benefit to society, is one of those mysteries in the varying
history of the human race that eludes the grasp of philosophic research.
I stood musing thus, beside the tomb that marks the spot where Gustavus
Adolphus fell, on the far-famed field of Lutzen — of Lutzen, the grave of
thousands, sacrificed at the shrine of religious fanaticism. How burning
is Schiller's description of this murderous conflict ! Both sides fought with
a deadly animosity unknown in modern warfare. The traveller stands
with the historian on the battle field — hears the solemn hymn of the
Swedes on the eve of the action ; sees the gallant Gustavus fall mortally
wounded amid the Croatian horse ; witnesses the fierce onslaught of the
Swedish cavalry to recover his body j and, lastly, beholds Wallenstein
riding amid the deadly shower, as if he bore a charmed life. Darkness
put an end to the combat, and the trumpets from either camp sounded
the notes of victory. Here on this same field, did the star of Napoleon
for the last time burst forth with that vivid brightness that marked its
dawn on the field of Marengo. It was leaning on the tomb of Gustavus
Adolphus that Napoleon marked the retreat of the allied columns.

There is something gloomy and stately in the gothic aspect of Leipsig,
that leads back the mind to the days of more picturesque manners. But
this city possesses another claim to our interest, it is the great printing
press of Germany, the mart of thought.

In the public garden near the Plassenburgh gate, there is a cenotaph
erected to the memory of the ill-fated but gallant Poniatowski — when we
behold the Elster (as it has been a thousand times before observed,) the
mind wonders that an insignificant rivulet which an English hunter would
clear at a leap, should have proved the grave of the gallant Pole ; but so it
did — here sunk steed, rider, and hundreds of the flying French. The
Marquis of Londonderry, in his narrative, mentions, that the Prince was so
loaded with gold that he sunk almost immediately. If this were true, the
romantic halo that enshrouds the manner of his death will lose much of
its interest. There is a very curious anecdote current in Germany, rela-
tive to this Prince. A few years previous to his death, he was on a visit
M.M. New Series. Vol. XIII. No. 77. 2 Q

570 Rambles in Germang. [MAY,

to a relation of his in Moravia, and while sauntering in the park of the
chateau with a parcel of ladies, they were suddenly accosted by a gypsy,
who offered to predict the fate of every one present. Poniatowski held out
his hand to the sybil, who took it, and examining it with a scutinizing
glance, she said in a hollow tone of voice, " Prince, an Elster will be thy
death." Now Elster in German means a magpie. The prediction there-
fore elicited a burst of merriment from the whole party, who little dreamt
at the time how truly this gypsy prophecy would be one day realised.

The country between Leipsig and Dresden possesses but little interest ;
but Dresden is a most interesting city. There are no splendid edifices ;
but the ensemble of the Saxon capital, with its noble bridge, is so beauti-
ful, and the situation so calm, so still, that I left it with regret. But the
Curzeit was far advanced, and I was anxious to visit Tb'plitz during the
bathing- season. Dresden is the Athens of Germany, and its inhabitants
have long been celebrated for their polished manners and refined and clas-
sical taste. Our road towards the Bohemian frontier lay through the
theatre of the great military operations of 1 8 1 3. We passed the celebrated
defile of Holendorf, where three thousand Prussians gallantly held Van-
damrne's whole corps d'armee in check, till the Allied forces formed in the
rear. When all was lost, the French cavalry rushed like a torrent down
the deep descent, and made a gallant attempt to retrieve the fortune of the
day, — but all in vain, — the hour of defeat had sounded, and — here sunk
the star of Napoleon ; for Maria Culum prepared the disasters of Leipsig,
the grave of his fortune. The road descends into the valley, surrounded
on three sides by precipitous mountains. Our postilion had been in the
action ; he pointed to the eminence defended by the Russian guards.
Here the conflict raged the fiercest, and here fought the young guards of
Napoleon, confident of success, till the arrival of the Austrians decided
the affair, and lost to France an army of 40,000 men !

If any place in Germany can make us forget Baden, it is Toplitz j the
environs are romantic and beautiful, studded with castles and manors of
the Bohemian nobility j the town is extremely elegant, the houses well
built, and commodious. The palace of the Prince Clary, the proprietor
of the baths, is an imposing edifice, and the grounds are laid out with
considerable taste j in short, every thing at Toplitz is on a scale far supe-
rior to that of any other German watering place. The place was crowded
at the period of our arrival. The l< caste" of the company was aristocratic
" on n'y peut plus." Dinner was served daily at five o'clock, in a magficent
saloon, to which sat down between two to three hundred guests. The coup
d'ceil was magnificent, varied, and full of pleasing contrasts. In juxtaposi-
tion with a Russian diplomatist sat a fiery Pole, fiercely scowling at his hated
oppressor ; suddenly his fierce expression gives place to one of softness, as
he listens to the silvery voice of one of his countrywomen. At another part
of the table may be observed a party of martial-looking Hungarians, toast-
ing their constitution in defiance of Metternich and his spies, or the well-
padded breasts of a coterie of Prussian officers — perhaps discussing the re-
lative merits of Jomini and their favourite Bulow, or illustrating with their
knives and forks some evolution of tactics. The Prussians are the mili-
tary pedants of Germany ; their very phraseology is tactical, while their
demeanour is vain, conceited, and arrogant to a degree, forming a peculiar
contrast with the quiet gravity of manner, and gentlemanly deportment of
the Austrian officers. The military of these two nations cordially hate

1832.] Rambles in Germany. 571

each other, and their rivalry is often the source of serious brawls.
Nothing can convey a stronger idea of the intensity of this feeling than
the question of a Prussian Colonel to the Mareschal Suchet, on the field
of Jena, as a column of Prussian prisoners defiled before him : — " Did we
fight to-day as well as the Austrians at Austerlitz ?" To have been sur-
passed in military prowess by the detested Austrians, would have mortified
more the vanity of this " Sabreur" than the loss of his country's inde-
pendence.

Both the wines and the viands were of the most costly descriptions ;
the various tongues of the company — the gorgeous uniforms of the chas-
seurs of the Russian noblesse — the rich deep melody of the Bohemian band -,
but above all the blaze of female loveliness that graced the hall, presented
an ensemble of high-bred fascination and attraction which we would look
for in vain at any of the watering places in our own island. After dinner
the company lounged in the park, or drove to some of the beautiful vil-
lages in the environs. A ball or a concert, (the ladies en demie toilette)
with the more exciting pleasures of roulette and rouge et noir, were the
amusements of the evening. There were several Polish ladies at the
baths, of surprising loveliness. The Polish woman of rank combines all the
feminine softness and delicacy of mind of the high-bred English female,
with that fascinating polish of exterior and amiable vivacity that so dis-
tinguishes the dames of France ; in fact, their personal charms are " au
negreau" with the gallantry of their countrymen, Alas! poor Poland !
Many of those gallant spirits who, in the summer of 1829, by their elabo-
rate cultivation of mind and manner, shed such charms over the society of
Toplitz, have perished in the late glorious struggle, while others are
dragging their exiled steps towards the dreary wilds of Siberia. To use
the language of the ruthless autocrat, " Poland has ceased to exist j" but
the memory of her sublime efforts to recover her wonted independence,
will descend in the brightest hues to future generations, when the name
of the barbarian ruler shall only be acknowledged in the page of history
as their destroyer !

While lounging in the park on the third evening of our arrival at the
baths, my attention was arrested by a coterie of ladies and gentlemen in
the adjoining walk. Their calm dignity of deportment, and their distin-
guished air, announced them as belonging to the highest walks of society.
On one of the party my eye rested with a kind of fascination ; the
ensemble of his exterior was strikingly graceful, a high broad forehead,
a Grecian nose, clear blue eyes that bespoke frankness and sincerity ; a
beautiful mouth, round which played a heavenly smile j a slender figure,
graceful in all its movements, and eminently calculated to impress the
spectator favourably -} such was the man that arrested my gaze; a
man universally execrated from Archangel to the Mediterranean, from the
Bosphorus to the Channel, Freedom's most determined foe, the arch-
diplomatist, I had almost said, the arch-enemy, of Europe — the Austrian
Prince Metternich !

" Qui cuncta ferit dum cuncta timet."

2 Q 2

[ 572 ] [MAY,

THE INCONVENIENCES OF AN INDEPENDENCE.

I COMMENCE my auto-biography by stating that I am a younger
son, though of sufficient age to be set down for a bachelor. My father,
a country gentleman, knowing the miseries that attend " younger sons"
without an adequate provision or a lucrative profession, left each of his
six youngest, annuities of two-hundred a year, charged on the paternal
estate, which the eldest now inherits. Two of my brothers are mar-
ried— the heir, of course, being one ; who has issue two boys, as if one
were not sufficient to extinguish, beyond all chance of rekindling, the
expiring snuff of hope to possess the family estate, that flickered in my
bosom, only to shew the drear darkness of despair that reigned there.

My father was the only child of an only child, consequently I have
no old bachelor-uncle whose whims I could study, and whose estate I
might thereby inherit ; nor do I own any of those relations called maiden
aunts, with snug jointures accumulating at interest, whose parsimony I
might bless (when I did not share her denials) as the earnest of amassed
wealth that I might one day call my own.

I support myself in the absence of all these inlets of fortune, by the
reflection that I possess none of those inexplicably-intricate relationships
called cousins, whose number may be calculated by geometrical progres-
sion from a married uncle or aunt, and who increase in time as a grain of
wheat in the ground. I have no cousin. Yes ! this is one of the few
consolations that mitigates the miseries of two hundred a year.

But I am digressing. My father was a member for the county, and
farmed a part of his estate sufficient to occupy his time and that of one or
other of his sons un -profession ed. Although an oppositionist in his prin-
ciples, as appeared by his votes in the House, for he was no speaker, he
spurned the idea of bringing up his sons to anything but a profession. He
was careful to give us the needful advantage of a University education,
and to afford us the means of acquiring the personal accomplishments
which are so essential in the eyes of the world. He was likewise most
earnest in his exhortations that we should all acquire, what he called, " the
spirit and manners of a gentleman born and bred" — to two hundred a
year, I added, mentally : for I must do him the justice to acknowledge,
that he had prepared us for our future destiny by announcing his deter-
mination, and thus preventing us from indulging either in desponding
anticipations or high expectations.

At his death, I inherited, in common with my brothers, a thousand
pounds in cash, and the aforesaid annuity of two hundred a year. After a
decent time had elapsed we all quitted the family mansion in various
directions to enjoy the goods of fortune. I came immediately to London,
and after tasting the round of its pleasures set off for the continent, where
I travelled for several months, and, according to the usual custom that
exemplifies the vulgar proverb of " putting the cart before the horse,"
I returned to make the tour of my own country. I had by this time
diminished, or rather consumed almost the whole of my ready cash, and
therefore deemed it prudent to look out for a home, which I resolved to
seek for in the great metropolis. To make " a home" for myself was no
easy matter, so I took up my abode at an hotel while I should be making
up my mind upon this important point. Ideas of matrimony filled my
brain for awhile, but I was in that "bachelor's home," a London hotel, and
they quickly dispersed at the thought of two hundred a year.

1832.] The Inconveniences of an Independence. 573

The sporting1 season was now approaching, and the streets of London
emptying- of the fashionable and fortunate inhabitants. I migrated, as

in etiquette bound, and was announced in the departures from 's

Hotel, " on a sporting tour," which meant, that having no "box" or estate
of my own, and being unshackled by any pressing invitation, I was going
to make the circuit of my country friends, with only my gun and portman-
teau, and trust to their hospitality for dogs and a dormitory. But before
Christmas had well arrived, I grew weary of and disgusted at being- a
continual guest, though I had been" received with a cordial welcome where-
ever I had visited, and once more came up to London, to vegejtate in its
smoky atmosphere and stony (or rather brick) boundaries. I had now
need to economize ; and accordingly took furnished lodgings, a«d with a
year's income in advance, commenced "single gentleman."

This was the beginning of my misery. I was surrounded by (millions I
was about to say) thousands of my fellow-creatures, and yet a sailor
on a desolate island was not more solitary than I. While every body at
this festive season of the year seemed to partake more or less of the
general hospitality, I felt an outcast, and would fain have joined my
landlady's family party, that assembled in the best parlour, lent them for
that purpose by a fellow-lodger. I became a regular, staid, and retired man
— a melancholic bachelor. My mode of life was this : I rose about twelve
at noon, generally with a head-ache, always with a languor, after passing
a restless and almost sleepless night. I lounged over my solitary and taste-
less meal for an hour ; then, if it were fine, I walked out to see the same
shops, and the same " new" prints and songs, and read the title-pages of
the same books, always " just published," and returned home, wearied, but
not wanting rest, to my dinner ; took a glass of wine and a nap afterwards,
and with coffee and a novel closed my joyless day.

It formed a part of my occupation as an idler, to visit every " sight "
and new wonder in the town. I knew every object, as per catalogue, in
every panorama, attended the auctions, and saw every exhibition that was
placarded on the walls of the metropolis, or puffed in the columns of the
newspaper. I felt quite tired at seeing daily the boards announcing the
opening of the " new exhibition," for months after I had seen it ; and
equally amazed at the perseverance of the proprietors, and the prolonged
curiosity of the public. I always made one of the crowd to witness the
opening of the new view in the Diorama, and of course regularly saw each
view twice) the proprietors of that scenic exhibition changing their views,
as my respected grand-parent did the glasses of her spectacles, by one at a
time. Still I made shift to enjoy, or, more properly speaking, endure, a
town life for more than a year. I had a few books, and could sketch, and
once attempted a course of study ; but my object being only to kill time,
I found it too hard work, so I had recourse to the circulating library, which
proved for a long time an unfailing fund of amusement. I plied its con-
tents, however, so assiduously during a long winter, that I at length
exhausted all its stores, with which I desired to be, or had not before
been acquainted ; and the scanty supply of new books that were readable
soon made me again a bankrupt in regard to amusement. I cannot forbear
stating a trifling distinction that I attained, it being the first of any sort
since those ordinary ones at college, and that was — my name being almost
invariably the first on the librarian's book for the new novel.

Spring returned, and summer came on, and the town grew thinner, and

574 The Inconveniences of an Independence. [MAY,

the country must be delightful ; but I could not enjoy it. The Parliament
dissolved, and thus ceased one great source of my amusement, or occupa-
tion rather, for I might be seen, as regular as a committee-man, passing
down Parliament-street ; by the porters I was taken for a member, and
by the gallery door-keeper, I suppose, for a reporter, as he always recog-
nized me, and I passed on without having occasion to exhibit my order for
admittance. It was my constant practice to read the various reports of the
evening's debate in the different newspapers, and I became a critical judge
of the merits of the reporters. Once a thought came across my mind to
take notes of the proceedings myself ; but thinking the difficulty of ac-
quiring short-hand would not be recompensed by the little additional
stimulus it occasioned, and stifling with a blush the thought of deriving*
emolument from the employment, I banished the consideration ; but was
not afterwards so constant in my attendance on the debates in Parliament.
With the close of the session, and the departure of the Court and principal
families from town, and the return of dust and the dog days, came my half-
banished tyrant Ennui ; and I remained in London with half-pay officers,
government clerks, and the whole fraternity of poor gentlemen, to contem-
plate the horror of my fate.

It was at this period that I began an attack upon my native and
ingrafted pride. 1 had lived up to my income, and yet had only escaped
wearing a questionable coat, and a doubtful hat, although I had appeared
as a gentleman. True I had taken to dark-coloured gloves, always wore
boots of a morning and black for dress ; contracted per annum with my
hair-dresser and laundress ; confined myself to one glass of sherry ; affected
plainness of dress, and became neat ; and at five and twenty I looked,
moved, and dressed like a bachelor of five and thirty. In all this I never
descended below the real gentleman, either in my appearance or de-
portment.

I never became what is technically called a " respectable man" —
meaning any given individual who does not dress actually shabbily, or owe
his tradesman a bill. No ; I escaped that abomination of merchandize,
and though I paid my tradesmen regularly, never discovered any indications
of my being considered less than a gentleman.

Hitherto the reader of this narrative has set me down for a proud, idle,
discontented man, who, from the mere circumstance of his having enough
to live upon, was miserable at not having more; and although that is in
one sense a just estimate of my condition, yet, when viewed in the light
in which I saw it, he will be more liberal if not sympathizing in his judg-
ment ; and when I relate the almost daily practical miseries I experienced,
and recount the privations I underwent, I think he will be induced to
feel with me that my little income was rather an aggravation than a
palliation of them, inasmuch as it prevented me from seeking means to
rid myself of them. I can give but a faint sketch of the mortifica-
tions and annoyances to which I was exposed ; one of the chief of which
was my total inability from want of sufficient means, to extend my circle
of acquaintance, which I found was already sufficiently numerous. In-
deed my continual struggles to avoid affronting my friends and escape the
imputation of meanness, were at the time torturing. No debtor ever shun-
ned a creditor, or thief dreaded an officer, more than I the meeting of an
acquaintance. I had recourse to affectation, and began to be absent, and to
appear a misanthrope. In short, I banished myself from the society of all but

1832.] The Inconveniences of an Independence. 575

a few family friends, who knew my circumstances, and on whom I
could rely for not bruiting- them out of a regard to their own consequence.
Within this small (certainly not select) circle of acquaintance I confined
my visits, and being a bachelor without an establishment, had no need to
offer an excuse for not inviting- a return of my visits, were not their
acquaintance with my circumstances a sufficient one.

Even among these, however, I had my mortifications, which I could not
patiently have submitted to, (though undesigned) but for the alternative of
losing the limited advantages and monotonous variety afforded by their
company. I was always considered " one of the family," but with this
decisive understanding, that I never was to become a member by relation-
ship. The girls were never suffered to remain in the room alone with
me, and I was never by any chance allowed to escort them otherwise un-
accompanied to any public place ; but with this I did not quarrel, as it
saved me many incursions on my income of two hundred a-year. I was
not matrimonially inclined, for I looked upwards in considering an alli-
ance, as well as in forming my acquaintanceships. I had too much sense
and prudence to marry a girl that I could love, but who possessed no
property ; and too much pride to owe my establishment to a wife ; besides
I was not in much danger of committing- matrimony had I been that way
inclined, for I was not surrounded by those anxious, happy mothers,
with each a string of fine-grown girls ; for an inquiry as to my property
and expectations, met with the chilling quietus of " extensive collateral
relationships, and two hundred a-year."

I kept up my fashionable reputation, however, by being occasionally seen
in the drive in a stanhope or a carriage, with a friend or party ; but even
this needful indulgence I sparingly allowed myself, for had I made it
my constant habit, it would have compelled me to frequent the coffee-
rooms of the loungers, and to have joined their wine-parties, in default of
which I was voted a " close one," and thought an odd quiz, and my known
reputation as a perfect gentleman alone prevented me from being cut in
consequence. Having in some degree overcome the inconvenience of a
narrow and limited income, which at first constituted my besetting annoy-
ance, I began to feel that hopeless monotony which before had been in some
measure kept aloof by my perpetual struggles to bring down the resources
of my amusement to those of my income. The care of living within that
was now banished by my almost parsimonious habits in private, and my
judicious forbearance and management in company, which many denials
and many failures at length taught me to arrange with a ready adroit-
ness that blinded even my friends. This habitu&l caution and foresight in
little matters began to mark my physiognomy with the deep contracting
lines of petty cares, and my mind was in some degree affected by the opera-
tion of narrow circumstances. Yet I was without absolute care, without
fear, and consequently without hope as to the future ; and thus I was
without happiness, and possessed only negative comfort. This state was
intolerable. I therefore set about considering how I might employ my
time, since I could not spend it. I felt its weight relieved by sleep, only
to wake to the burthen in the morning; and an honourable employ-
ment, an occupation compatible with my station, even without emolu-
ment, would have been welcome. To office I looked with an envious
and despairing glance. I had no ministerial influence to command, and
I scorned to solicit (had that been of use) a post under government. I
wanted the talent requisite to enliven or inform the public mind through

576 The Inconveniences of an Independence. [MAY1,

the medium of the press. Every avenue to distinction was crowded with
qualified or dauntless candidates. I wanted stimulus to jostle such a mul-
titude ; I had neither genius nor poverty to urge me on, though I might
have filled a situation with propriety and respectability. Had I possessed
only the bare means of subsistence, that had been a sufficient inducement to
have sought the attainment of more extended means ; but being possessed
of a competency, I remained an idle and unhappy man ! A most potent
reason for such condition, ironically exclaims the man of common sense :
and now I can myself agree with him.

About this time I was introduced to a club by a persevering friend, who
would not be deterred from cultivating an intimacy with me by my tacit
refusal of his acquaintance, and was duly elected a member. This was an
economical, as well as an agreeable indulgence, and for a time the novelty
as well as the convenience of the thing, attracted me constantly to the
splendidly furnished apartments. At length even this varied, gay, and ele-
gant scene, with its attending comforts and rare union of economy and
luxury, ceased to charm. I seriously resolved to change my mode of
life, but to act was not so easy as to resolve. As a first step, I took an
actual survey of my situation in the world, and I found it was in the
purgatory of life, equally remote from the paradise of hope, and the pan-
demonium of despair. I must then attain one or other of these, since
my own region was so miserable. The giddy eminence of the court was
above my reach. I mingled not in the whirl of fashionable movements,
and was unassociated with the dull respectability of mercantile privacy. It
was the polished leisure of diplomatic eminence that I coveted. This was
a point gained. I had at length discovered what I wished for and if I
could not hope, I might at least season my unpalatable misery with despair !
I must either lower my pride or increase my income ; by doing one I
might accomplish both, and attain a happy occupation and a wealthy
leisure : but no ! I was possessed of an independence of two hundred a-
year ; a gentleman I was born and bred, and a gentleman I must die.

I was now visited by desperate suggestions ; I was tempted to rush into
debt and dissipation, and thence into the Thames and eternity ; when
all on a sudden my ideal miseries were banished in an instant and every
real advantage of my independence flashed upon my brain, by the infor-
mation I received of the cessation of my annuity ! — It appeared that a
claimant to the family estate had arisen, and in his exertions to discover
his own, had found a flaw in our title to it, which he exposed to the heir
at law, and the whole property went from our family.

This intelligence had the effect of an electric shock upon a benumbed
and torpid sensation. I recovered from the momentary prostration to an
activity of mind that I had never before experienced. I felt that I must
instantly exert myself. My pride was banished, my latent desire roused,
and I brought up all my energy and judgment to assist me. I flew to
one or two of my most intimate friends ; I would not allow them to con-
dole with me on my loss of fortune or alarm me with the dismal prospect
of the future ; but set them immediately to work to assist me in my pursuit
of my wishes. I " put my shoulder to the wheel," and as I had never be-
fore had occasion to ask, so I had scarcely need to hint at the value of
the services of my immediate friends. To be brief — I attained the summit
of my ambition — a post under government.

I have once more two hundred a year, and am perfectly happy — for I
earn it. S.

1832.] [ 577 ]

A CONVERSATION WITH THE DOUBLE-SIGHTED YOUTH OF
EGYPTIAN-HALL.

To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine.

MY DEAR SIR,

I HAVE been laid up during the last two months with rheumatic fever,
to which I have been subject ever since my unfortunate attempt, in com-
pany with Captain Parry, to discover the North Pole. I have often
related to you the miseries of that expedition, and I only refer to my
illness as an apology for my long silence. I enclose you a transcript, I
believe almost verbatim, of a conversation between myself and the Double-
sighted Youth of the Egyptian-hall, which took place at my rooms in the
last week. Little Gordon is a clever lad, and after the proofs of second-
sight manifested in the following pages, I think no person will question
the genuineness of his extraordinary powers. You will be particularly
surprised at the peculiar knowledge he appears to possess both of our
present and future literature. Not the least valuable part of his commu-
nications is that in which he describes with such lucid minuteness the
works upon which some of our most popular writers are at the present
time engaged. Much of our conversation was held over a bowl of
whiskey toddy (you would be astonished to see how Gordon enjoys the
real Glenlivet), and the Temple clock was striking two, p. M., as his feet
echoed along the court on his way home. He told me, as we parted, that
he should be ill the next day, but I do not instance this as an evidence of
his double-sight, since a slight indisposition would be the natural conse-
quence of six large breakers of strong toddy.

Believe me to be, in haste, yours very sincerely,

MARK O'GORMAN MORGAN.

Pump-Court, Temple, April 16, 1832.

(It will not be unnecessary to sketch the scene of our conversation. —
Imagine us seated opposite to each other at a small round table, well
provided with cigars, whiskey, &c. Time, 8, p. M. ; a Monthly, an
Examiner, and an uncut Quarterly lie by the bottle).

O 'Gorman Morgan. — So you pass for a Highlander. Pray what plaid may
that be ?

Double Sighted Youth — The Gordon.

O'G. M. — I could have wagered a trifle you was a Lowlander; but that mat-
ters not. How long is it since you first discovered that you possessed this strange
faculty of Double Sight.

D. S. Y. — I remember the day perfectly ; it is now nearly two years agone ;
I had been quarrelling with the village school-master, (for I have been at no time
very partial to governments of any description,) and in a moment of anger I deter-
mined to give him no more of my company on that day. I soon put my plan in
execution and set out upon a wandering excursion with only a few halfpence in
my pocket. But in the pastoral country, where I was, money is of little service.
If you have ever been in the Highlands, Sir, you must have remarked the romantic
situations in which the school-houses (if you can give them the name) are generally
built. Moss-side (the name by which Michael Glenfillan's cottage was known)
has been already described by that magnificent patron and friend of mine, Pro-
fessor Wilson, in his Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life. Well, Sir, I wandered
on and on, it was July, until weary and half sorrowful, and threw myself down
upon the grass: the sun was gradually setting, and the rich golden shadows
floated all about. Oh ! how beautiful it is to lie down thus among the warm

578 Conversation with the Double Sighted Youth. [MAY,

herbage and watch the little brown moorland birds glimmering, ever and anon,
like a speck of sun-light among the heather. I had within my ken twenty, at
least, of those picturesque dwellings which are so abundantly scattered through the
vallies and fields of dear Scotland ; at one time shining afar off upon the bare
and desolate hill-side, and at another, lifting up their bright gleesom faces from
the dark bosom of the mountain Glen; the gentle whimpling of a far-away brook-
let made a soft slumberous music. I lay thus, nearly an hour, in that delightful
condition, between sleeping and waking, when all at once a change seemed to
come over me, and I trembled as under the influence of a supernatural vision ; I
cannot describe my sensations with any precision, but I seemed to be suddenly
transported into one of the back streets of Edinbmgh, to which place my mother
had recently gone to see a sick relation. In an instant I was by the bedside of
my mother, who was dying of the fever which had been some time raging in the
city. I cannot go on, Sir, said Gordon, weeping bitterly ; but at that very hour,
as we learnt afterwards, my blessed mother breathed her last. This was the first
manifestation of the Second Sight; and since that day, I have been in the con-
stant possession of the gift.

The double sighted youth appeared to be lost in meditation for a few minutes,
but he soon recovered himself, and he began to talk of the theatres.

C?G. M. — Have you seen Francis the First?

D S. Y.— Yes.

O'G. If.— And the Hunchback ?

D. S. Y.— Yes.

CfG. M.— And which do you think the best?

D. S. Y.— Think the best? Why the Hunchback, to be sure. My Second Sight
supplies me with a knowledge of the drama generally, and I can safely say, that
a play more harmoniously compacted, or one in which all the gentle and beautiful
graces of the heart most amiably flourish, has not been seen for many a long day ;
not even in Kean's most palmy days was a more crowded audience assembled
within the walls of a theatre than on last Thursday. Tier above tier, nothing but
outstretched and anxiously expectant faces : and oh, Sir, such faces ! Mahomet
would have purchased them at any price for his Paradise.

O'G. M.— Fie! fie! Gordon.

D. S. Y. — Nay, Sir, but let me go on, for the remembrance is delightful. We
had been sitting for some minutes ; the party behind me had nearly finished their
arrangement of their apparel, the lady had placed her bonnet upon her knees, the
gentleman had located his hat between his in turned feet, the juveniles (it was a
family party from Newgate-street) had each secured an orange from the hands of
their careful mother, when the bell rang and the curtain slowly rose,- all was
silent ! the fat lady, from Newgate, who was in the very act of enticing a banbury
cake from a black reticule, held it suspended for an instant between the finger
and thumb, and let it fall back into the unknown region of halfpence and ginger-
bread. Those listening thousands were a solitude.

O'G. M. — Gordon, 1 am afraid you have taken that thought from one of the
Oxford prize poems; I remember to have seen it somewhere.

D. S. Y. — May be, may be. It reminded me of the long summer hours I had
been dreaming upon the hill-side, looking up into the blue light, while not a single
sound spoke of animated nature around ; but the solitude was so intense, that I
could hear the faint sighing of the heather as the wind passed over it; you
never read that before, I surmise, Sir. Well, as I was saying, up went the cur-
tain, and from that moment until it left my eyes did not wander from the stage.
I love poetry, and some of the detached thoughts and images in the Hunchback
are exceedingly beautiful, but they arise naturally out of the action of the play,
and are not inserted by way of atoning for the want of scenic interest: they come
gleaming up like flowers upon a troubled sea, telling of a lovely and verdant land
not far distant; and this appears to me one of the distinguishing features of
the author of Viryinius ; the passions of his heroes and heroines have a decorum in
them. Can any thing be more vividly true than his Julia; and Fanny played it
admirably : she seemed to have taken a cast of the very features of the poet's Julia.
Her early innocence and incipient vanity, then her reckless and blinded extr ava

1832.] Conversation with the Double Sighted Youth. 579

gance and dissipation, and last of all her mental agony and final reconciliation
with Clifford : if every trait of passion and feeling had "been modelled from the
life, the resemblance could not have been more entire : and then her voice is so
silver-sweet, ay, sweeter than the dews of Hermon. By heaven, I could almost
bring myself to marry Fanny.

O'G. M. — But, Gordon, you forget her nose — Is it not a little uppish?
D. S. Y. — I never noticed that look in her eyes, and you forget it all.
O'G. M. — You said that you do not like Francis the First.
D. S. Y. — Some passages in it border very closely on coarseness of expression ;
and I take that to be a fault of no small magnitude in a woman. Lady Dacre
advised a revision of these objectional lines, but the friendly caution does not seem
to have been attended to.

O'G. M. — It may be on this account that Lady Dacre has withdrawn her new
Tragedy, in which Fanny was to have appeared on her benefit night.
D. S. Y. — Isaure, you mean — But have you seen Miss Taylor lately ?
O'G. M — 1 saw her the other night in the Hunchback, and thought her (what
I do not always think her) quite charming. How I envied that lubberly cousin of
her's, who had not sense enough to understand that she was making love to him.
I agree with her in considering Ovid a fool. Who will ever think of reading his
Art of Love again, after the instructions so enthusiastically given by Miss Taylor.
I wonder if the man who played the ' Cousin' would surrender his part — I would
willingly play it gratis. You are welcome to Fanny, Gordon, but give me the
Taylor.

D. S. Y. — Do you admire her singing ?

O'G. M. — I hate singing of all kinds. I know nothing more incomprehensible
than the cant phrase of an ear for Music.

D. S. Y. — Does its peculiarity consist in its length ?

O'G. M. — I think your conjecture has much plausibility. Three of the greatest
men who have adorned any age or nation, Pope, Swift, and Johnson, had no sym-
pathy whatever with sweet sounds.
J). &. Y. — And you make the fourth.

O'G. M. — What will be the fate of the thousand and one female writers who
contribute so large a portion of our imaginative literature.

D. S. Y. — Some of them will live. Felicia Hemans, L. E. Landon, Mary
Howitt, and a few more, will not die.

O'G. M. — I love L. E. L. — I mean her works. There is so much purity, and
truth, and freshness in her thoughts — Who ever wrote so many pages about love
with such exquisite delicacy. L. E. L. does not seem to be infected by the poi-
sonous air of this busy and hateful world. She dwells, like Immalie, in an
enchanted island, round whose flowery borders the waves of life roll in harmless
fury ; and when she comes out of her solitude, she bears with her the bloom and
the music of her habitation. I am led to speak thus enthusiastically, because I
believe my opinion of her character to be correctly formed ; and I am acquainted
with some passages in her history which bind the feelings to her. Her " Romance
and Reality " is a delightful composition — full of beautiful lights and shadows.
I am quite surprised at finding her so deeply read in the human passions. She is
what Lavater \umld call a powerful Pathognomist. She should try a Tragedy.
D. S. Y. — She is contemplating one.

O'G. M. — How I envy your insight into the future, Gordon!
D. S. Y. — Mrs. Hemans has long had a volume of Poems ready for the press,
but in these Political and Anti-poetical days a Bookseller finds a slow sale for
verses even of the highest order. I believe Blackwood will publish it.

O'G. M. — Some of Felicia's Songs are among the first in the language. She
has more imagination than fancy. Her words are not mere coloured images,
having no recommendation but their sho win ess; they are symbols of a pure and
intellectual beauty. Her lyre has the full triumphant tone of a Grecian Cittern ;
and its first note, like the chaunt of the Citharsodus in a drama of Sophocles, pre-
pares the auditor for the splendid company of picturesque thoughts and harmonies
which are to follow. Her " Songs of the Affections" ought to be immortal as the
feelings they commemorate.

580 Conversation with the Double Sighted Youth. [MAY,

D. S. Y. — Mrs. Hemans had some intention lately of visiting London.
O*G. M. — I trust that she has not altogether relinquished her project. I long
to meet her, for I hear that she is very eloquent. What a contrast to Mary Howitt !
I have a great respect for that lady's talents, but why does she not pay more at-
tention to the structure of her versification. Reading her poetry is like walking on
loose flag-stones : you are in danger of being tripped up every minute. The home-
liness of the subjects generally selected is an apology. Dr. Johnson has observed,
in his life of Butler, that to one who conveys common thoughts in careless versifi-
cation,— but I will not stay to quote Johnson ; the meaning and diction will be-
worthy each other, and criticism may safely doom them to perish together. I am
actuated by a feeling of good will in making these remarks. It cannot too fre-
quently be remembered that diction and harmony are to poetry, what colouring
and drawing are to painting. A noble thought, ill expressed, is like a grand con-
ception negligently and ineffectively designed.

D. S. Y. — Mary Anne Browne came to see me at the Egyptian Hall the other day.
O*G. M. — She is one of the most incorrigible poetic sinners of the day. Her verses
are like similies strung unto a rosary. It is to be lamented that every young genius
who may be blessed with the happy talent of arguing in rhyme, should rush into
metre without any preparatory initiation into the mysteries by which it is regulated.
No small advantage would be gained by the power of distinguishing a metaphor
from a simile, and an apostrophe from an allegory. Some men who were ac-
counted, in their day, to be endowed with a considerable share of talent, did not
disdain to devote their pens to the elucidation of this subject. Bishop Lowth, of
whom Antiquarian Readers have often heard, may be adduced as an example. I
say Antiquarian Readers, because, in the present day, no person gifted with a lively
fane/ ever humbles himself so far as to peruse the works of his ancestors. It is no
small labour now for a popular author to read his own productions — I mean in
point of numbers. Milton has a passage which may be properly applied to Mary
Anne Brown and that School.

D. S. F.— How do you distinguish it ?

O'G. M. — We call it the £o-&>-School, in allusion to the multitude of similies
employed by the writers of it. It is the idle fancy of some poor brains, says
Melton, to run out perpetually into a course of similitudes, confounding their
subject by the multitude of likenesses, and making it like so many things that it
is like nothing at all. Why do'nt Robert Montgomery marry Mary Anne ?
D. S. Y. — Because he is engaged to Miss Crumpe.

O'G.M. — The state of our female literature is deserving of patient and dispassion-
ate investigation. The old adage, that the Romans governed the world, but the women
governed the Romans, remains in full force and admits of almost universal appli-
cation. The reign of chivalry introduced the domination of women into this
country. But, above all, the influence of women is discoverable in the prevailing
taste and fashion of the day, whether it be in literature or in art, in the modelling
of a figure, or the composition of a novel. If women (as De Stael observes) have
not produced works decidedly superior, they have at least been the instruments of
inspiration to those who have : but I think the power of woman very dangerous if
not restricted. Louis the 14th revoked the Edict ofNantzatthe instigation of
Madame Maintenon. Neither is unbounded liberty always accompanied by the
proper propriety of life. The females of the tribe of the Hagaurchs, inhabiting the
eastern parts of the Paropamisan mountains, are remarkable for the ascendancy
they possess over the minds of their husbands. They manage the house, and
divide the property and honours, and are never beaten. Unfortunately, their virtue
appears to decrease in exact proportion to the enlargement of their freedom. The
husband never presumes to enter the chamber of his wife when he sees a pair
of slippers at the door. It is a token not to be mistaken, and too frequently
repeated, I should suppose, to permit of his forgetting its intimation.

D. S. Y. — The custom of placing the slippers at the bed-room door might be
introduced with advantage into our own country. Nothing can be more painfully
annoying to the Prince Schwarzenbergs of the day than the sudden and uncere-
monious irruption of an angry husband. It is a breach of the polite forbearance
necessary to the well being of society, and ought to be amended.

1832.] Conversation with the Double Sighted Youth. 581

CPG. M.— What do you think of getting up a petition for some legislative
enactment ? Lord Ellenhoimigh would present it. By the bye, what is your opinion
of the present state and future prospects of this country ?

I). S. Y. — You will have the cholera again in the summer.

O'G. M. — Sir Astley Cooper says, wait till June !

D. S. Y. — I told him so, and you will see my prediction will be fulfilled.

O'G. M. — And pray, Gordon, can you see any prediction of a returning pros-
perity in the literary world, for you are doubtless aware that for these twelve
months and more, there has been a deadly blight upon the efforts of all those
who live by their intellect ?

D. S. Y. — I see nothing but starvation. The profession of literature has always
been precarious and miserable. You remember what Coleridge said on this subject.
Can any thing be more dreadful and more heart-rending than the situation of a
man of talent, without friends or money in London ? Don't talk to me of genius
finding its way; it's all cant. Place the greatest geographer that ever lived in an
African desert without food or companions, and tell him to find his way to
Timbuctoo ; will he ever arrive there ? And is the most illimitable wilderness more
desolate to the solitary traveller than London to the poor destitute student. Who
ever hears of his talents, or who would take the trouble to find him out if he did ?
Come with me to the Tower-hamlet ; you see that old dilapidated house by the
water-side, which seems about to tumble every minute. Pick your way up that
rotten stair-case that " winds in murkiness," and tell me if it can lead to the dwell-
ing of a genius ; open the door gently and look in ; did you ever behold such
misery? Hush! do you see that the bed clothes are moving? We have disturbed
the inmates. Lay thy head upon thy pillow once more, O thou forsaken one, and
take thy rest ! Yet a little while this mortal garb of beggary shall fall from off
thee, and a hand perchance of thy mother or sister, now happy in the heaven of
heavens, will wipe away all tears from thine eyes !

O*G. M. — Why, Gordon, don't cry, man.

D. S. Y.—l cannot help it, Sir. My heart is heavy with the afflictions which I
behold in store for the children of intellect! The shadows of their griefs are
gathering around me ! Oh, how much will the publishers and authors of that book,
The Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficulties, have to answer for, — how much blood
— the blood of life — will be on their hands. For every honest and glad-hearted
country-boy, who shall be seduced by the perusal of the history of Robert Bloom-
field to neglect his labours and devote himself to poetry ; for every sober and indus-
trious mechanic who shall be led by that book to throw up his employment, and
surrender his mind to the study of machinery, and the construction of engines ; —
for the miseries of these, and such as these, shall a tremendous compensation be
exacted ! When has the devotion to science or learning, or poetry, except in a few
instances, been other than one perpetual agony. Look into the history of past time,
and contradict me if you can. What did a life spent in earnest, untiring, enthusi-
astic application to the diffusion of classical knowledge, obtain for the celebrated
Stephani, (Henry and Robert), and their no less illustrious successor, Charles. The
two first dragged out a miserable existence in penury and torture, and the last
expired in the hospital. Corneille wanted nourishment in his last illness, and Fon-
taine was not much happier; and if Racine, Moliere, and Quainault were more
prosperous, it was only because they were under the more immediate patronage of
the Court. The life of every man is dashed more or less by sorrow and misfortune,
but a literary man has no enjoyment, of the tenure of which he can feel confident
for the briefest period. The happiness he partakes is the sunshine of a prison.
Other men may have melancholy seasons, but the literary devotee is always in sor-
row. His life is one continual uninterrupted passion of the soul.

O'Cr. M. — Here, Gordon, take the bottle and replenish the tumbler, for your
spirits seem to require some restorative. It appears Double- Sight has its inconve-
niences as well as single.

[The Double-Sighted Youth applies his handkerchief to his eyes, and addresses
himself with much earnestness to the preparation of the toddy. This grateful oc-
cupation being satisfactorily concluded, he continued in renewed spirits.]

D. S. Y. — I suppose, as you appear to be literary in your tastes, you are connected

582 Conversation with the Double Sighted Youth. [MAY*

with the periodical press. That seems to be now the most influential organ of the
public mind. I have little leisure for reading, but I look now and then into the
Monthly, which has recently got a transfusion of the true English blood in it. By
the bye, you have some intention of communicating this conversation to the editor.

O'G. M. — Merciful heavens, Gordon ! Why, you make me start, man ! I begin
to think that it is not altogether pleasant to be near one who reads the thoughts as
fast as they are generated. I believe, however, there is some truth in your suspi-
cion. I trust that you will not object.

D. S. Y. — I should like to contribute an article upon the Political Prospects of
Great Britain.

O1G. M. — A double-sighted article,' do you mean?

D. S. Y. — A prophetic paper, if you will. The destiny of this country is spread
out before my eyes like an ample chart. Lord Harrowby and his friends, you see,
have given in at last. The Duke of Wellington called them to time, but they did
not answer. They might have yielded long ago, with a much better grace. Lord
Harrowby resembles a chess player, who keeps his hand suspended full five minutes
over his king, who is checqued, and has literally only one square to move to.

O'G. M. — What is your opinion of the Rev. Edward Irving and his gift of
tongues and prophecy ?

D. S. Y. — The article in the last number of the Morning Watch upon prophecy
was written by me. I have been telling Irving some of the questions which will
be put to him, by the Elders, at his approaching trial ; this you know will be a
great advantage. He relies very much upon one or two extraordinary converts he
has recently made, particular a demoralized Pagan, called Maginu, who is not a
contrite penitent.

O'G. M. — You were at the palace the other evening, Gordon. How did you like
his Majesty?

D. S. Y. — I thought him a nice old gentleman, but he appeared to be very
shabbily dressed; this I suppose arose from the reduced state of Royal finances:
nothing but the greatest distress could have induced the king to consent to the
abolition of the pensions bestowed by George the 4th upon the associates of the
Royal Society of Literature. The sum total amounted only to £ 1000. per annum.

O'G. M. — But his Majesty graciously extended his benefice to another quarter.
He gave several gold plates and purses to be ran for at the races ; you know this
was very advantageous to the jockeys and the inn-keepers.

D. S. Y. — I thought Lord Brougham was a friend to literature.

O'G. M.— Why, he's the President of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge. Can you afford me any insight into the changes which will take
place in this year ?

D. S. Y. — That would, indeed, be a tedious occupation. I will, however, give
you a few hints. Fraser's Magazine is to be incorporated with the Morning Watch,
and to be under the guidance of Spencer Percival, Edward Irving, and P. Maginn.
The Quarterly and Westminster Reviews are to change editors, Bo wring takes the
Quarterly, and Lockhart the Westminster.

O'G. M. — These are changes, indeed, which render almost any thing possible.
After this we may expect to see the Keepsake brilliant, and the Souvenir not scur-
rilous. Talking of the Keepsake, what will become of all the annuals ?

D. S. Y. — With the exception of one or two, they will be discontinued.

O'G. M. — Right glad am I to hear you say so. A few years ago they were
desirable, so far as they adapted themselves (or rather were adapted) to the hum-
blest capacity, and young ladies, by a diligent perusal of them, were in process of
time considerably improved in the difficult science of spelling. But Murray's Family
Library and the Penny Magazine have superseded the necessity. I hate an
' Annual ' with its everlasting insipidity, reminding you of that sort of woman
whom Byron describes as being made out of a rainbow. Reading the Keepsake,
for instance, is like wandering along the Cordillera of Catorce, which Mr. Ward
speaks of in his " Mexico" in 1827. In both, the unhappy Pilgrim has nothing
but a few mule-prints to vary the monotonous colouring of the surface.

D. S. Y. — Your application of the mule -prints is excellent.

O'G. M. — I have been frequently surprised that persons so distinguished as the

1832.] Conversation with the Double Sighted Youth. 583

Earl of Mulgrave, Lord Nugent, &c. should demean themselves by literary occu-
pations. Dean Swift has touched very sensibly upon this subject, in the Introduc-
tion to Polite Conversation. I cannot find, he remarks, what use there can be of
books, except in the hands of those who are to make learning their trade, which is
below the dignity of persons born to titles or estates. Who can dissent from the
philosophy of this aphorism ? Some persons have been foolish enough to suppose
that genius, pure lofty, genuine genius has a claim to stand upon an equality with
titles and estates : but can any thing be more ridiculous ? Only think of
comparing John Milton to the Duke of Newcastle, and Felicia Hemans to the
Right Honorable the Countess Dowager of Something. The Paradise Lost is very
well as a poem, and may occasionally serve to warm the piety of a few imagina-
tive Christians; but, in the name of all the muses, can it accomplish in a thousand
years a ty the of what fifty thousand per annum will do in a week ? I will only ask
one question, — Can it send twelve members to parliament ? No ! Then what is
the use of it ?j Felicia Hemans, again : Her Songs of the Affections are very charm-
ing, but would they marry her to a Duke ? Certainly not ; then what right have
Mrs. Hemans and her friends to say, that genius is a nobler endowment than
fortune ?

D. S. Y. — Shall I give you a few passages from Lord Porchester's forth-coming
Epic, The Romans in Britain P

O'G. M. — Not now I entertain a poor opinion of our noble poets: their heads
seem to be in the condition of Lady Answerall's pin cushion, they want stuffing.

D. S. Y. — Perhaps it is with a view of remedying this defect, that Mr. Murray
is about to publish a Series of Treatises upon the Elementary Branches of Edu-
cation, addressed particularly to the young nobility. Who "do you think is to
be Editor ?

O'G. M.— The Earl of Eldon ?

D. S. Y. — The Marquess of Londonderry ; and the contributors, as you may con-
clude, are of the highest order. The two first Treatises upon Frugality and
Domestic Affection, by Lords Lyndhurst and Ellenborough.

O'G. M.— They will, indeed, write like persons of authority.

D. S. Y. — And that, upon the various modes of escaping from a conflagration,
and the peculiar qualities of the fire-proof dresses, recently invented by Signor
Valentine of Florence, will be contributed by Sir Charles Wetherell.

At this moment the Temple clock struck two, and the Double Sighted Youth
leaping up at once made a gigantic spring towards the door, and before I could
open my mouth he was half way down stairs, and in a momant I heard the ring-
ing of his footsteps along the court. I have, however, seen Gordon since, and he
has kindly promised to pay me another visit, and at the same time to enlighten
me respecting the mysterious appearances which are now gathering along the
political horizon.

[ 584 ] [MAY,

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

MAGISTERIAL MAGOG. — " Yesterday Mr. James Brennan, the artist, was
brought from the New Prison, Clerkenwell, for examination, before Mr. Laing,
the sitting magistrate, on the charge of having knowingly uttered a forged paper
writing, purporting to be Bill of a Exchange for £20 to Messrs. Venables and Co.,
Linen-drapers, Lamb's Conduit-street, Brunswick-square.

So far, so good ; and Mr. Harmer having proved to demonstration that
the bill was a forgery, the case for the present closed, and here comes the
rub. —

" Mr. Humphreys, for the defence, informed the Magistrate that a number of
persons were in attendance who could positively and distinctly prove an alibi, and
he trusted that the magistrate would not send a party for trial, until the witnesses
on behalf of the prisoner had been heard. — Mr. Laing replied, that he had made up
his mind to send the prisoner for trial, therefore ivitnesses} as to alibi, would prove of
no avail if he heard them."

We have put the last two lines in italics, for we know not how to
indicate them sufficiently to the reader in any other manner. We confess
that indignation prevailed over every feeling during our perusal of them.
Truly, Mr. Laing, although an illustrious, you are certainly, to say the
least, a very eccentric gentleman ! There are, indeed, a few things upon
which a man's mind may be supposed to be made up so decidedly, as to
admit of no shadow of change. The lying perversity of the German
Prince, the paternal indifference of Lord Plunket, or the unmixed piety of
Bishop Philpott, are facts at once so clear and self-evident, as to neutralize
any effort, however ingenious, to invalidate their truth. If a reader of
Blackwood were to urge an enthusiastic parti zan of the Monthly to the
perusal of "Kit North's" last rhapsody about poets, the admirer of the
Monthly would, of course, scant Kit North's paper, or any other, since
his mind was already made up to send Blackwood, and indeed all others,
to Coventry. There might be justice in that, but that a man should be
sent to prison, perhaps to his utter ruin and destruction, upon the charge
of a crime which respectable witnesses were ready to prove it was impos-
sible he could commit, appears so monstrous a perversion of all right and
justice, that it involves an entire change in our social system. We cannot
believe that such an act would be warranted by law, but is rather one of
the many examples of caprice and mystification of these petty Daniels.
If, however, the legislature, in its abundant affection, should have enacted
laws to authorise such an arbitrary announcement, or should even have
given these lords of the watch-house and treadmill, the power of inter-
preting such law in any way that may best suit their puissant magis-
terial will and convenience, then we say a new order of things will be
necessary. Instead of directing our mistrust and vigilance against the
open and professed enemies of purses, person, and character, let rather our
utmost caution be employed to save ourselves from our protectors ( ! )
Let us no longer fear the" wolf, but the husbandman, for the bite of the
one is less to be dreaded than the crook of the other.

MAY DAY IN CHILI. — The commencement of this month, so dear to
our earliest recollections, the very name of which is associated with an
European's ideas of spring, and rural happiness, is celebrated in Chili and
the southern parts of Spanish America, in u far different manner than our

1 832.] Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. 585

own joyous country festival of England. It is the sad and solemn
" Commemoration of the Cross/' that then assembles the devout
payzdnos in their respective village plazas ; and May, the November of
the southern climates, supplies them with appropriate emblems in the
sere and yellow leaves of autumn vegetation, and the few withering flowers
that still linger and droop on the verge of the forests. Instead of the
tall slender May-pole, flaunting with garlands and early flowers, and deco-
rated with ribbons of every hue, as a signal for the evening dance, the
venerable village cross, thickly covered with a profusion of myrtle, esctiva,
and various other dark-coloured evergreens, is surrounded during the day by
aged devotees, clad in the sombre habits of the religious orders which they
profess, kneeling in the dust, and reciting repeated rosaries 5 and, at night,
is lighted up with small lamps, casting a dim, melancholy light, barely
sufficient to distinguish the forms of the penitentes, veiled, naked to the
waist, and armed with scourges, lashing themselves in frantic penance, as
a fancied atonement for sins of too deep a dye, doubtless, to receive abso-
lution from the church on any other terms.

On this jiight, the numerous crosses to be found on the road-side in
that country, erected by superstitious piety near spots that have been
stained by murder, are illuminated with a few tapers. A prominent object,
from the Alameda of the Tajamar, in Santiago, is a large cross of this
description, erected on the summit of a neighbouring conical hill, the
Cerro de San Cristoval. There an unfortunate Cbilenalady was murdered
by her former lover the Marquez de , in a paroxysm of un-
founded jealousy, into which he had been purposely betrayed by a disap-
pointed rival. He still lives, and walks that very Alameda ; from whence
he cannot but distinctly see the illuminated cross, on each returning first
of May.

On the Llano de Portales, too, the plain beyond the promenade of the
Obelisk, a stake, on which are fixed the skull and'hands of a plebeian mur-
derer, is conspicuously pointed out by a lantern. Collections are also
made, from door to door, arid in every place of public resort, for the pur-
pose of purchasing candles, to range along the wall at the usual place of
execution, and on the banquillos, or fixed seats, in which criminals sen-
tenced to be shot, are secured. Nothing, in short, but the gloomiest re-
collections appear to prevail, on this day, throughout a nation so remark-
able, at all other times, for hilarity and mirth.

A COMPANION FOR LORD BYRON. — The author of Don Juan was
celebrated, we believe, for the variety and beauty of his lady companions.
We have a glorious list in our memory ! There was the gentle hazel-eyed
and raven-haired girl of Ravenna, and the fond Venetian, of whom, he
told Moore, he should " never tire," and the Countess, the lovely Guiccioli,
and a hundred others. A new candidate for his lordship's acquaintance
is announced in the Metropolitan for April. It is a dainty morceau, and
deserves extraction. It runneth as follows :

"MINOR POETICAL PIECES,

BY MRS. PARKYNS,

Of Ruddiagton,

In 8vo. Uniform with Lord Byron's Early Poems."
Mrs. Parkyns of Ruddington ! Is there not something very sweet and
honey-breathing in the word Ruddington ?

M.M. New Scries.— VOL, XIIL No. 77. 2 R

586 Notes of the Month on [MAY,

But where is Ruddington ? We flatter ourselves that we profess some
slight knowledge of Geography. We have studied Pinnock's Catechism,
can point out upon the map some of the principal cities of Europe — but
we never heard of Ruddington. The Larnders are likewise entirely ignorant
of it j but fancy it is situated somewhere about twenty miles east of
Timbuctoo. We intend paying a visit in the coming summer to New stead,
and we would gladly link Ruddington to it, and so send them both to im-
mortality. Oh, how we long for the appearance of these Minor Poetical
Pieces ! to be printed uniform with Childe Harold's Early Poems ! —
Oh ! Mrs. Parkyns! where is Ruddington ?

THE EMPEROR OF CHINA ON HIS KNEES. — The barbarian women of
Canton are not the only sources of annoyance to his Majesty of the
Celestial Empire. We observe in a letter, recently received from Pekin,
an account of his worshipping and sacrificing to Hwang-Ti, the Yellow
Emperor.* The ceremony consisted in drinking the Cup of Bliss, kneeling
thrice, and putting his forehead to the ground nine times. The mighty
and ever to be feared Taou-Kwang (the name of the reigning emperor)
appears to have relished these geriufluctions very moderately, for he has
reprimanded the conductor of the ceremonial for giving the words —
kneel, knock — kneel, knock — kneel, knock — too slowly. We omit the
original, thinking that our readers will be satisfied with a translation. He
complains, also, that the person who read the prayer had a weak voice,
and commands that another be found, who is blessed with a sonorous
utterance, and perfectly versed, moreover, in the detail of the ceremony.
Most sincerely do we sympathise with the Shadow of the Universe in his
afflictions. We trust, however, that no future ambassador will demur
about the nine bowings of the head, seeing that Taou-Kwang does not
hesitate to show a similar respect to the Yellow Emperor.

CHOLERA TURNED TO ACCOUNT. — We have seldom been more amused,
if, indeed, we ought to confess deriving amusement from so serious a sub-
ject, than at the gasconading proclamation of the French King on the
subject of cholera. It intimates that this disease is merely a scourge to
base and vulgar souls, that the refinement and known cleanliness of the
Parisians will effectually secure them from its ravages. The national
vanity, however, is doomed to a most severe mortification ; the injury
they have sustained is trifling in comparison. It appears that upwards
of twelve thousand men gain their living by grubbing amongst the filth
for bones and offal of various sorts, and have almost created another revo-
lution, because the operators, under the sanatory laws, by removing the
sources of their prosperity, have abridged their pleasant labours. Their
great men are dying ; but what of that ? their milliners have taken up
the subject, and are about to indemnify them for the loss. The Parisian
belles, who will be spared to disport themselves at the approaching pro-
menade aux Longchamps, will favour a particular or shade of blue to be
called " Blue Cholerique," and the " grande rage" for the season will be
an improvisation of the celebrated Victorine, the Chopeau d la cholorine.

ANOTHER LION. — London is becoming quite destitute of Lions : Prince
Piickler Muskau is gone back to ' Julia ;' arid our excellent friend, the

* Hvvang-Ti was the divine founder of agriculture.

1832.] Affairs in General. 587

Ettrick Shepherd, to his beloved ' Mary.' The Cholera has been long
enough with us to be placed upon a friendly footing. The disease, as it
has been called par excellence, is evidently an ardent ameliorator of the
condition of the poor — a sort of Indian Howard, whose efforts, since his
arrival in this country, have been unremittingly devoted to the improving
the condition of the poor by passing them as speedily as possible to a
more charitable country.

To supply this deficiency in our menagerie, we are indebted to George
Bennet, the surgeon, who has introduced another Lion in the shape of an
interesting Repuan child. It is almost unnecessary to observe that Clara
(the name of the girl) is the first of her race who has ever visited our
shores. A portrait of the lady illustrates Mr. Bennet's memoir, and we
must candidly say, that a mouth more adapted to the reception and mas-
tication of human flesh we have never beheld ; for we blush, to say, Clara
is a true stickler for the ancient monarchical right of her ancestors—
cannibalism ! The interesting Clara entertains, says Mr. Bennet, when
brought into society, the spirit of her native independence. We know not
in what sense these words can be taken, but we would in all diffi-
dence suggest to Mr. Bennet the propriety of continually supplying the
young lady with a reasonable quantity of food. It may be expedient to
avoid all those Public Fasts, called conversazzioni. Clara certainly con-
ducted herself with propriety and moderation at a soiree at the Royal
Institution. Nevertheless, we would impress upon all who may chance
to be in the vicinity of Clara, the necessity of being cautious 5 for old pre-
judices and habits are more frequently deadened for a time, than entirely
eradicated.

THE SECOND READING. — Earl Grey has at last proved, triumphantly
we presume it must be called, the correctness of his calculations, though
at the cost of more intense and mischievous anxiety to the country, than
any minister, probably, ever before chose to incur the odium of, upon his
single responsibility, or without stronger and more statesmanlike reasons
than any that are discoverable in Lord Grey's anti-creation code of error.
He has carried the Second Reading of the Bill by an illustrious majority
of Nine. He has escaped destruction, as if by the strength of what was
considered in the Minister's younger days a magical number ; but the
people have lost all faith in magic, and would rather have an unlucky
number of a higher amount — one that might be more likely to carry their
measure unmutilated through the Committee. Up to this point Lord
Grey has unquestionably triumphed. He refused to comply with the
unanimous call of the country for a new creation of Peers ; he per-
severingly resisted the demand for a bridge over the stream, though he
admitted the current to be strong, and the passage perilous j he de-
termined upon leaping it, and has miraculously escaped without loss of
life : he can just enjoy the reflection that he was not drowned in
the attempt. But is he yet out of danger, on the shelving bank which he
has gained, surrounded as he is by fords, shallows, quicksands, rocks, reefs,
breakers-a-head, and other unnameable inconveniences and impediments ?
Will he yet make good his passage, without resorting, after all, to the
measure of expediency which, with such devoted affection for the dignity
of his order, and such impenetrable deafness to the demands of those
whose stake is in his hands, he still confidently and consistently declines ?

2 R 2

588 Notes on the Month on [MAY

Admitting that the experiment may be a successful one, and that the
Bishop of London and my Lord Harrowby will act. up to the letter of their
declarations, still it is rather difficult to induce the people at large, who
know the temper and tenderness of the House of Lords as well as Lord
Grey himself, to place their faith in its practicability ; and, therefore, it
would be wiser in his Lordship to make assurance doubly sure, and allay
the irritated and impatient feeling of the country, than to stand upon
a point of honour with a House that has been " swamped" often enough
for its own purposes, without murmuring, or feeling its dignity in the
smallest degree diminished by an increase of its numbers. One thing, at
least, is certain, that when we look dispassionately, and without any
leaven of anger or prejudice, upon some of the recent exhibitions that
have occurred there, it would be much more difficult to lessen its respec-
tability as a body, than to add to it. A vein of youthful and more modern
sentiment and feeling infused into the House, by even a small creation of
liberal Peers, judiciously selected, might raise the hereditary branch of the
legislature a step higher in public opinion than it now stands ; but a
second rejection of the Bill, or what, in fact, would be still more
degrading to the Lords, a mutilation of its principles, would hardly sink
it a step lower. Toryism, like treason, has done its worst — *' nothing,
nothing can touch us further."

This, however, may, with justice be said of the Lords — that they de-
bated the matter with infinitely more rhetorical ability than the Commons j
though it must at the same time be owned, they were far from being des-
titute of their Sugdens and Sibthorpes, their Gordons and their Goul-
burns. In the four nights' debate, there were, perhaps, four very able,
and one or two admirable speeches ; containing, as might have been
expected, nothing very novel in the way of argument, but much that was
pointed in the way of personal attack, and energetic peroration. It was
scarcely to be supposed that any thing absolutely new could be said on
either side ; but the old objections were reiterated with imperturbable seri-
ousness of style, and the old refutations were urged in reply, with as much
praiseworthy fervour as if they were really worth answering. Lord Grey
took the lead, particularly in his closing speech, on the enlightened side.
The Right Reverend Dr. Philpotts (if we apply such terms to a man who
is seldom right, and never reverend) led the way on the blind side -, and
the Earl of Harrowby was the champion of the one-eyed squadron, better
known by the designation of the Waverers. But the question, who took
the lead in tafent, however important it may be to the speakers, has at
this moment no interest for the public mind. The people have no eyes or
ears but for events : the age of words is gone by.

The hour is at hand, when the grand question, as far as regards the
present bill, must be brought to a decision. That it will pass through the
furnace of the committee unscathed, we do not indulge a hope 5 that the
rate of qualification will be regarded as sacred, that the metropolitan clause
will be held inviolable, by the Falmouths and the Mansfields, the Carnar-
vons and the Ellenboroughs, the Londonderrys and the Wellingtons, we
cannot for an instant prevail upon ourselves to believe. Still we do not
;$ay to the people, or to their unreformed representatives, reject the bill
rather than receive it in an abridged and mutilated form. Our motto is,
take what they will give ; be it what it may, it will place us on a vantage
ground, where" we can demand what we now sue for. Were the bill >.-»

1832.] Affairs in General. 589

pass entire, it would be absurd to regard it as final. To pare it down,
therefore, is only to delay a little longer what must ultimately be conceded.
This is all that is within the power of the Lords to achieve. They may,
thanks to Earl Grey's anti-creative delicacy, move as slowly as they please —
but move they must ; and every step that they take, is a step gained in
the onward progression of the people.

THE CAUSE OP TH£ DRAMA. — Out of debating evil cometh dramatic
good. In spite of the absorbing nature of the political discussions of the
day, and the general stagnation of commerce and literature which has
been the result of the long splitting-of-hairs in the House of Commons,
the Drama is lifting up its head in sunshine, and promises a new era as
golden as an Elizabethan day. The production of Mr. Knowles's play
affords us one assurance of this j and the generous enthusiasm with which
the question of a " free-trade" in the drama has been supported by the
public, and advocated by several illustrious partizans of the people, gives
equal assurance that the monopolies will ere long be broken down, and that a
great proportion of the literary talent of England will, at last, devote
itself in one shape or other to dramatic composition. We feel confident
that such an exercise of much of the living genius of the age will be co-
eval with the removal of the restrictions upon dramatic performances.

Mr. E. L. Bulwer was among the very first to attach his sanctioning
name to a cause, which had nothing but its own truth to dignify it, but
which his example and advocacy have greatly tended to made popular.
He has given notice of a motion, on the 31st instant, for extending the
free and full performance of the legitimate drama to all theatres — in
other words, for the disseminationof Shakespearian knowledge (which com-
bines the advantages of being both " useful" and "entertaining"), and for
the abolition of nonsense in the suburbs of this intelligent metropolis.
Mr. Bulwer has a right to claim the support of every member of parlia-
ment connected with the liberal interest ; the rational amusements of the
people are almost as important as the exercise of their political rights —
but the spirit of this question is not limited simply to a free-trade in their
amusements, but embraces the loftier principle of directing a finer taste
and a more enlarged intelligence into channels which monopoly has
hitherto kept dry. That Mr. Bulwer — should his motion fail the first
time, from any devotion to the doctrine of vested rights, or delicacy to
patentees — will persevere again and again, we have no doubt. The motion
for a Repeal of the Taxes upon Knowledge, of which notice was given
by him some time ago, has been repeatedly and unavoidably deferred ; but
We hope that ere the lapse of another month, both questions will have been
brought forward, and that Mr. Bulwer will have entitled himself to the
praise of having achieved nobly what he has so spiritedly undertaken.

[ 590 J

THE SURREY ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.

EXETER CHANGE has vanished : Pidcock and Polito have long ceased
to hold their court in that ancient edifice which in former days was wont to
strike the eye of the youthful Christmas visitor, as he approached with
jocund heart and light step. Chuny has departed this life j Nero the elder
sleeps with his ancestors j the ruddy beef-eater no longer reminds the
passer by that it is feeding time — no longer presents his bill of fare at the
small gothic door, which led to the palace of the lions ; and on the spot
where all their departed greatness was once centred, there has sprung up
a line of five-storied houses, telling too plainly the dismal story of their
predecessors' ruin. The tigers, too, have seen their vicissitudes : driven
from their ancient dwelling, they found a temporary refuge in the Regal
stables, at Charing Cross; but again compelled to seek another asylum,
their fate depended on a breath.

Their magnanimous possessor could not make up his mind to skeleton-
ize them, and the shins of beef, which they daily demanded, were not
atoned for by the pleasure of witnessing the avidity with which they
devoured them. The Zoological Society refused to purchase them : the
Opposition protested against their being let loose on society j to freight
them back to Bengal and Africa was perdition, and the destinies of " Nero
andhisroom" were again suspended on a thread. In thisdilemma thecounty
of Surrey put forth its claims to the possession of a place of delightful recre-
ation, combined with instruction in its most pleasing form. The enterprise
was undertaken : the lake was sounded, and its bays and inlets explored $
the hermitage was swept of the bones of its former occupiers ; the grounds
surveyed, and the modern Browne, Phillips, — the author of " Sylvia
Florifera," — was called in to plan, and to execute his plans. Under his skilful
arrangement, the new gardens speedily assumed a tasteful aspect. The
" capabilities" were improved and rendered available, and the dislodged
menagerie at length took up a position of great advantage. The garden
is now in a condition to vie with its aristocratic (though by no means con-
temptible) rival at the western side of London. The visitor on his entrance
is greeted by an expanse of waters (covered with pelicans, swans, and
others of the aquatics) which is seen gently undulating beyond a lawn of
some extent. He promenades down a gravel walk bordered with rare
shrubs and flowers, until he arrives at a small glazed alcove, wherein is
placed various species of lories, maccaws, cockatoos, parroquets, minas,
averdavats, (as Joseph Surface calls them,) and other small birds. Some
of them are admirable, not only for their beauty of plumage, but likewise
for their powers of imitating the human voice. One, indeed, surpassed
any thing we had before heard, a mino, from China, using in the most
gruff and seamanlike voice, various nautical phrases, besides calling him-
self Pretty Mino, and various other adulatory epithets.

On passing from the snakes and birds, the next object which strikes the
eye is a large circular glazed building, which at first one supposes to be an
immense green-house -, on entering, however, the roaring, howling, chat-
tering, laughing, squeaking, and growling, of the hungry animals speedily
dissipate the illusion. The hour at which we entered was a few minutes
before four o'clock, at which time they are fed ; the food, as soon as seen,
produces an excitement which in the animals is such as to render the

1832.] ' The Surrey Zoological Gardens. 591

.place a Babel, " where none but savage monsters roar." The opportunity
was propitious for observing- the peculiarities of each of the various preda-
tory species. Crouching with his head between his paws, the noble African
Lion watched with an eye of intense expression the keeper's progress
round the dens : his sole intimation of impatience being a short guttural
bark. Next to him similarly posed was the lioness in a separate den, for
their excitement over their food is too great to render it safe for them to
remain in the same habitation, although at other times they are friendly and
even loving. The tiger is the next great feature of the place, and the
savageness which always lurks about his eye was now fully developed ;
repeated springs at the iron bars which confined him, and repeated roars
shewed pretty clearly his eagerness for food -, his neighbours the leopards,
(of which there are two species, African and Eastern,) bounding lightly
around their confined spaces, uttered no sounds, but only shewed their teeth-
formidable enough to be sure, yet not so much, as to dissipate the prepos-
session with which their meek looks and graceful conformations inspire
their visitors. There is also a remarkably fine Persian lion, the character
of whose countenance differs greatly from that of his neighbour the African.
The difference in the temperature of the countries whence they are respect-
ively brought, will sufficiently account for their physiognomical character-
istics. The arid and burning sands of the African desert are indicated in
the stern, though not ill-natured aspect of him of the black, shaggy, erect
mane ; whilst the softer expression of eye, and white curling mane of the
Persian, are to be referred to the luxurious climate and the shaded woods
of the banks of the Euphrates. There is a remarkable difference also to be
observed in the manner of devouring their food, between the lion and the
tigers, panthers and leopards. The first seizes his bone boldly, and con-
fronts his keeper with an angry majesty which nothing short of an attempt
to recover the gift will disturb, and even that is met no farther than with
an impatient lifting of his paw, and the change of color in his eye from
green to coal-red. The tiger and the rest seize their portions with a
scream of delight, and turning their backs on the glare of day, cease not
to growl, and tug at the flesh and muscle until not a vestige is left on the
bone, which they leisurely strip of the peritoneum, by licking it with their
rough tongues.

There are other objects of almost equal interest within this well-con-
trived habitation, which deserve notice j but let us pass out at one of the
doors, and proceed to a building which is seen through the windows, the en-
trance of which is surmounted by a pair of magnificent horns, originally the
appurtenances of an Indian bull. This building contains, amongst other
interesting specimens of natural history, a pair of gnus of great beauty ;
to please us, and to shew them to advantage, they were let out into
the paddock which adjoins their place of confinement ; and the graceful
antics by which they testified their pleasure, were of themselves a sufficient
reward for our walk. The droll appearance of their heads, which are
covered with long bristles, extending to the dewlap and to the shoulder ;
the breadth of their nostrils, and the massive and formidable horns with
which they are armed, give these curious brutes the look of a pair of
devils. They are formed with great power, and also great capability for
speed, the depth of the shoulder, and extent of muscle, being very remark-
able. Their legs are as fine as those of any thoroughbred, and their
action on a trot surpasses that of any horse we ever saw. Most of our

592 The Surrey Zoological Gardens. [MAY,

readers must have seen the trot of a horse when at liberty in his pasture,
which differs greatly in freedom from his action in harness, or when
saddled. The trot of these gnus was somewhat similar, but there was a
degree of deliberate ease about it which resembles nothing we ever wit-
nessed before, and which made them seem as if they were moving on air.
Near them is an elk, who, having lost his horns, presents a most gro-
tesque figure. A young camel amused us with his gambols, and an
ingenious youth who accompanied us was rewarded by the lama, in
return for sundry pokes with a stick and tugs at his ear, with a mouthful
of chewed grass and saliva, which the animal shot with the force of an
air-gun into his eyes, nostrils and mouth ; a fact which we record for the
benefit of visitors with similar mischievous propensities. The remaining
objects of inspection must receive their due share of attention at some
future opportunity, which we shall not fail to take. The monkeys shewed
to great advantage j exhibiting their gambols in all the delight of a
tropical climate. The botanical arrangements of the gardens are under
the care of Mr. Phillips, who has already done so much for them. The
circular glazed building, containing the lions and other beasts, was
planned and executed by him j he has also planted the avenues to
the various buildings with specimens of every forest-tree which is
to be met with in England -, and it is in contemplation to form a
botanical garden on a small scale. There is a list of donors and bene-
factors to the gardens, amongst the names inscribed in which we were
glad to see those of many scientific and noble persons.

We are sure that this description of the Surrey Gardens and their
inhabitants will not. particularly at this holiday season, be unacceptable.
But at all events it is proper that the spirit with which Mr. Cross (a
monarch in menagerie matters) has taken up the idea suggested by the
Zoological Society, and established a sort of quadruped association for the
diffusion of useful and entertaining knowledge in Surrey, should be known
to the public. His gardens promise to excel the parent gardens in other
things than beauty of foliage and extent of space j and his sheet of water
will at least be unrivalled. When we look at what he has done in a very
short space of time, it must be admitted that he has far outstripped the
exertions of the Society, backed as they have been by the wealth and
science of the country. But Mr. Cross has committed a mistake — he
should not have subjected his visitors to the penalty of procuring a ticket
of admission. The shilling should have been all sufficient. It is very
characteristic that the aristocracy, whose gardens are supported by the
public, should stand upon so silly a distinction j but Mr. Cross should
have scorned exclusiveness.

1832.] [ 593 ]

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

TOUR IN GERMANY, HOLLAND AND ENGLAND, IN THE YEARS 1826, 1827, AND
1828. By A GERMAN PRINCE. VOLS. III. AND IV.

THIS book seems to have made what is technically called a hit. The English
were tickled at the idea of a foreign highness writing about their dinners and danc-
ings. Some were alarmed, some indignant, and some delighted; and all, whether
friends or enemies, exaggerated unconsciously the wit and wickedness, cleverness
and comicality of Prince Puckler Muskaw.

The Prince — if Prince he be — appears to us to unite a singular activity of mind
to very moderate abilities. He in general describes what he sees with fidelity, but
often reasons badly ; and as his reasonings arise at the instant of the impression —
when he discovers in the process of writing any error in the ratiocination — he
chooses rather to alter the description than his opinion. Rather a ludicrous instance
of the effect of imagination, on a man of this character, is given in his stage criti-
cism on Macbeth.^ The Prince, it appears, abhors the pasteboard figure made use
of on the German stage in the representation of Banquo's ghost; and the following
is the description, which he gives to his countrymen, of the way the affair is ma-
naged at Drury-Lane : —

" Here the entrance of the ghost is so cleverly concealed, by the bustle of the guests
taking their seats at several tables, that it is not till the King prepares to sit down that the
dreadful form, seated in his place, is suddenly visible to him and the audience. The
bloody wounds upon his pale countenance, (of course, it is the actor himself who played
Banquo.) without rendering it ludicrous by nearly severing the head from the body ; and
when he looks up fixedly at the King from the festive tables, surrounded by the busy tu-
mult of the guests, then nods to him, and slowly sinks into the earth, the illusion was
perfect as the effect is fearful and thrilling." — vol. iv. p. 247.

A few more such passages would make one suspect the book to be a romance.
In England the Ghost is not so ill-bred as to come in before the guests are quietly
seated ; and the guests, on their part, knew too well the rules of good society to in-
terrupt the colloquy of the King and the Ghost by tumult of any kind. They listen
with respectful attention to what is going on, and appear to be much gratified by
the appearance of the new visiter. As for the Ghost himself, so far from slinking
down into the earth, as if ashamed of his calling, he tramps in and out (in the per-
son of Mr. Cooper) as emphatically as any live man of eleven stone in London.
If Prince Buckler Macaw (according to the reading of a lady of our acquaintance)
had remarked, that the appearance of this substantial ghost is as impertinent as
would be that of a Birmingham dagger, let down by a string, and played like a
baited hook before a salmon in the dagger-scene, we should have thanked him for
the suggestion. It is indeed surprising that the means of the air-drawn dagger,
which never failed in its effect even on the dullest conceptions, should not have
taught our managers a lesson. SKakespeare, perhaps, would not have been justi-
fied, in his age, in the innovation ; but we are convinced we wished that the appa-
rition of Banquo should only be visible to the " mind's eye"— his ghosts talk that
are meant to be seen.

His highness complains grievously, in some places, of English want of hospita-
lity. This charge happily is unfounded, or we should have lost many true and
piquant descriptions of our national manners from the Prince's pen. In fact, he
appears to have been feasted to actual repletion ; and, at one time, said candidly,
that a foreigner who consents to see all the gradations of social life can hardly hold
out a London reason, " More than forty invitations are now lying on my table —
C'est la mer a boire !" What provokes him most, however, it seems, is the melan-
choly fact that the English in Germany will not be prevailed upon sometimes to
accept of feasts in return ; and he tells, on this subject, a good story of one of our
little viscounts refusing the invitation of a prince !

" I know that in one of the largest towns in Germany, a prince of the house of K^ ,

distinguished for his frank, chivalrous courtesy, and amiable character, invited an English
viscount, who had but just arrived, and had not yet been presented to him, to a hunting-

594 Monthly Review of Literature. [MAY,

party ; to which his lordship replied, that he could not accept the invitation, as the prince
u-as perfectly unknown to him." — vol. iii. page 117.

This is still better than Madame de StaePs declining to breakfast, one day, with
George IV., because she was previously engaged!

The picture of fashionable variety which our author sums up, is exceedingly good
and not at all overcharged. The English nobility, he observes, cannot establish
their supremacy on the score of noble blood and high extraction ; because, in many
cases, nothing remains of an ancient family but the name: nor would wealth, nor
political power, answer the purpose ; for both are accessible to the meanest and
dirtiest trader in the country. To support their pretensions, therefore, and avoid
the world's dread laugh, " an entirely new power was placed on the throne, as
supreme and absolute sovereign — fashion.

" The spirit of caste, which, emanating from this source, descends through all
stages of society in greater or less force, has received here a power, consistency, and
full development, wholly unexampled in any other country.*** Every class of
society, as well as every field, in England, is separated from every other by a hedge
of thorns.*** Of course, every reflecting person sees at a glance that a society so
constituted must necessarily become eminently provincial (small townish) in its
several coteries ; and this strikingly distinguishes it from the large and cosmo-
politan society at Paris" ***

"A London exclusive of the present day is in truth nothing more than a bad, flat,
dull impression of a roue of the Regency, and a courtier of Louis XV. : both have
in common, selfishness, levity, boundless vanity, and an utter want of heart ;
both think they can set themselves above every thing by means of contempt, deri-
sion and insolence ; both creep in the dust before one idol alone ; the Frenchman
of the last age, before his kuw the Englishman of this before any acknowledged
ruler in the Empire of Britain.***

" The highest triumph of the English ' dandy ' is, to appear in the most wooden
manners, as little polished as will suffice to avoid castigation ; nay, to contrive even
his civilities so, that they are as near as may be to affronts : this, indeed, is the
style of deportment which confers upon him the greatest celebrity.*** That his
conversation consists only of the most trivial local jests and scandal ; tnat with men,
he can talk only of gambling or of sporting; that, except a few fashionable
phrases which the shallowest head can the easiest contain, he is deplorably igno-
rant; that his awkward ' tournure ' goes not beyond the ' nonchalance' of a
plough boy, who stretches himself at bis length on the ale-house settle ; and that
his grace is very much like that of a bear which has been taught to dance ; all
this does not rob his crown of a single jewel."

The whole of this part of the work, however, is made ridiculous by a note, added,
we trust, by the printer's devil, declaring that the above portrait has ceased to
be a likeness, since the accession of the present frank, noble, &c. king, and simple,
aimable, &c. Sec. queen ! The author forgot that but a short time before, he pro-
nounced, as an eulogium, that the present King had no more influence over
fashions than his grandfather George III., who was one of the most unfashionable
men in his dominions.

A still stronger influence, we trust, will speedily be exerted to put down a spec-
tacle which degrades us in the eyes of foreigners, and causes us to be laughed at as
monkeys and puppies all over the world. As the people rise in power, the little
creatures of fashion must fall ; and the time is not far distant when details, like
those now before us, will be read with as much laughter as we bestow upon our
great grandmother's hair dresser, or any other ancestral monstrosity.

THE SONG OF ALBION; LINES ON THE FALL OF WARSAW ; AND OTHER POEMS.
BY HENRY SEWELL STOKES.

This is a well-timed and well-intended production ; and it exhibits at least the
enthusiasm which is so essential a component part of poetry. It has been favourably
received, we believe, by the critics in general, and we are far from wishing to im-
pugn their judgment. The auther feels well, and strongly — and is besides, we
have heard, in circumstances which render a speedy sale of the work desirable.

1832.] Monthly Review of Literature. 59,5

Our good wishes are at his service ; and the following quotation from one of the
shorter poems in the volume, will serve him we hope with our readers.

THE MARINER'S SONG.

" Sing joy — sing joy ! as in canvass flight

We skim the mountain seas.
Blithe o'er the clouds as the birds of light
When they c haunt their morning glees.

The waves spring away from the breeze's lash,

Like shades of the summer sky,
And wantonly frolic and gaily plash

In their sportive extacy.

On the snow-white steeds of the deep we ride,

That so lightly, lightly prance ;
That sweep along with a conscious pride,

And in glittering ranks advance.

To the sound of music speed we on,

To the ocean's mighty band ;
To the breeze's time keep unison, .,

As though to a master's hand."

* * * pp. 158—9.

ANNALS AND ANTIQUITIES OF RAJAST'HAN, OR THE CENTRAL AND WESTERN
RAJPOOT STATES OF INDIA. BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JAMES TOD, LATE
POLITICAL AGENT TO THE WESTERN RAJPOOT STATES. VOL. II.

THIS great and important work is at length completed, and we have to congratu-
late the English public on perusing, in their own language, a complete History of
the Hindoo States. Colonel Tod was in many respects eminently well qualified
for the task which he has now fulfilled ; hut his long residence among the people,
and the high official situation he held, superadded advantages such as rarely meet
in the character of a historian.

To this character, however, he cares little to aspire. He is only anxious to de-
scribe, justly and minutely, the interesting races to whom his work refers — to dissi-
pate the ignorance and prejudices of Europeans — and to exhibit distinctly the true
policy of the " Masters of India." With this rule in view, he does not sit down
to write a " History", but to communicate information. Like Herodotus, he presses
history, and tradition, and hear-say, and general knowledge, and travelling ex-
perience, and ad ventures, into the service ; and out of the whole he has succeeded in
producing a work, although bulky, and indeed somewhat alarming to look at, which
unites (owing to the peculiarities of the people and his mode of treating the subject)
all the truth of history with all the charms of romance.

The Plates, twenty-three in number, besides being larger, are fully equal in
interest and execution to the finest of the " Annual" illustrations ; and to persons
who indulge their taste in this way, will take off at least two guineas from the price
of the volume. Altogether, in appearance, typography, and general " getting up,"
this is one of the handsomest specimens we have seen of the race of literary Anaks.

Unfortunately, however, it is now too late in the month to examine its volumi-
nous pages with the minuteness which would enable us to speak in more than
general terms. On another occasion we may do the work more justice.

THE LIVES OF THE MOST EMINENT BRITISH PAINTERS, SCULPTORS, AND ARCHI-
TECTS. BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. VOL. V. FAMILY LIBRARY. No. 27.

THIS volume is ere now in every body's hands, and it deserves to be so. Mr.
Cunningham appears to have set about his task con amore; and, as might have
been expected from a man of his talent under such circumstances, has produced a
work at once valuable and delightful. Extracts from so small, so cheap, and so
popular a work would be impertinent; and all, therefore, that it is necessary to say
of the present volume is, that it is quite as good as its predecessors.

696 Monthly Review of Literature. [MAY,

THE RENT DAY ; A DOMESTIC DUAMA. BY DOUGLAS JERSOLD
THE success which attended the representation of this drama, at Drttry Lane
theatre, has induced some of the minors' managers to bring out dramatic pieces
bearing a similar name, and, in all respects but talents, of a similar nature to the
original. This is no less unjust to the author, than injurious to themselves. But
the mischief does not stop here. Those literary corsairs, who carry on a disgraceful
traffic by publishing pirated editions at a low price, of any work which attracts
general attention, have been enabled to evade the law of copyright, and to defraud
the author, in some measure, of the profits which ought in all cases to be the
reward of his successful labours.

Of Mr. Jerrold, as a dramatist, we have next to speak. He has produced several
pieces, all marked with the characters of genius, yet bearing about them evidences
of a youthful writer, of hasty composition, and of a knowledge of human nature
which appeared to have been drawn from books rather than mankind. But the
generality of them breathe a generous enthusiasm ; arid, in spite of the repulsive
characters he appears to be partial to, in many instances he has raised them above
the selfish degradation of their natures, and clothed them with a spirit of lofty
humanity. We allude to his partiality for the delineation of misers and villains.
There is scarce a drama of the author's which does not exhibit some attempt at a
character of this description. A miser is the most despicable of wretches — for him
mankind has no sympathy, and he has no sympathy for mankind. Under the in-
fluence of this debasing thirst, his heart becomes as hardened as the gold he hoards.
Over him pity has no power, humanity no influence. We would rather behold
characters from whom we may learn the lovelier truths of human nature, than
turn with a disgusted eye from the deformities of a diseased person. We would
rather see more Rachel Heywoods, and fewer Doggrasses. Beings like Rachel,
whom we can worship in the silent sanctuary of our own hearts, are the best
teachers of moral excellence.

The merits of the Rent Day none will deny ; but we cannot bestow upon it that
praise which its popularity seems to demand. It appears to us, in several passages,
if we may use the expression, unnaturally natural. Attempting to keep up with
nature, the author has gone beyond it. Martin Heywood must have been more
or less than man, to doubt the explanations and withstand the intreaties of his
innocent wife. — Act II., Scene 4. The third scene in the first act is by far the
most beautiful in the drama ; where Rachel meets her husband, and he tells her
the result of his application to his friend. In all this there is truth and beauty,
much poetical feeling, and a striking reality, which impresses the reader with a
full knowledge of its excellence. But we have read some of Mr. Jerrold's earlier
productions, of which we have a higher opinion ; and we also feel assured, that he
can produce a drama far superior to the Rent Day, if he allows himself that appli-
cation and observation, without which no dramatist can expect any permanent
success.

THE MIND, AND OTHER POEMS. By CHARLES SWAIN, AUTHOR OF " METRI-
CAL ESSAYS." — SECOND EDITION. LONDON : 1832. SIMPKIN.

The first edition of this work was called " Beauties of the Mind," a poetical
sketch. We cannot say that we like either titles. In these evil days we require
to be tempted to poetry, as children are seduced into school ; — and for our-
selves we know that when we read at three feet distance — the " MIND," a
poem, we coasted round the table which contained the ominous burthen, as care-
fully as if it had been a lee shore in a gale of wind. Being now able, however,
owing to our adventurous experience, to act as pilot, we shall take the reader in
tow, and lay him presently alongside of the object of his fear and curiosity.

The " Mind" then, although of that class of poems which is called the perceptive,
has enough of narrative interest and illustrations, drawn from, or referring to, the
human affections, to attract, and indeed to captivate. The cumbrous but beau-
tiful stanza of Spencer is managed with considerable felicity, and, although upon
the whole an unequal production, the point presents here and there— and not very
thinly interwoven— passages which would do no harm to most of our living poets.
The purpose of the work is? to describe the general dominion of Mind, and more

1232.] List of New Works. 597

particularly its influence pn the arts and sciences, and on the moral and religious
character of man.

The shorter poems should have bejen more carefully selected ; and are, upon the
•whole, rather unfavourable to the author's claim to originality. The " Village
Queen," however, is truly and touchingly beautiful ; the " Last Letter" is in the
best manner of Haynes Bailey ; and, "Days Gone By" remind us of the wayward
and versatile muse of Alaric Watts. The " Lyre" appeal's to be an express imita-
tion of Mrs. Hemans, but that finely gifted woman has rarely produced a more
delightful morceau.

IV.

'Ere yet the shadowy woods
Waved their green banners 'to the breath of morn ;

Ere yet the solitudes

Echoed the voice of thunders — I was born !
v.

My voice was known and heard, .
When paradise grew glorious with the light

Of Angels !— and the word
Spake midst the stars of first created night !

VI.

My view was felt when first
The gathering murmur of the deluge woke !

When, like creation's burst,
Proud forests fell — and giant mountains broke?

VII.

Mine was the breath that drew
The patriot forth, to guard his native shore;

When lovers wildly flew —
And cities tumbled to the cannon'^ roar !

VIII.

Upon my wings the prayer
Of countless millions sought the Saviour's throne:

My power is everywhere —
In every heart— in every language known !

IX.

Still ask'st thou what am I ? —
Go, ask the Bard, whose visions I inspire,
And, oh ! — he will reply,
The lyre— the lyre — the soul exalting lyre.

page 85 — 7.

WORKS IN THE PRESS AND NEW PUBLICATIONS.

WORKS IN THP Bibliotheca Scoto-Celtica ; or, an Ac-
count of all the Books which have been

A second Volume of Dr. Sumner's printed in the Gaelic language. By John

(Bishop of Chester) Expositions of the Reid, of Glasgow.

Gospels. A New Edition of Rejected Addresses,

A Course of Lectures on the Coinage of with Portraits of the Authors, after Har-

the Greeks and Romans, delivered in the low, whose works are imitated.

University of Oxford. By E. Card- The March of Humbug. A humorous

well, D. D. Poem.

An Attempt to render the Chief Events The Democrat. A Tale,

of the Life of our Saviour intelligible and Travels of an Irish Gentleman in search

profitable to Young Children. of Religion, with Notes. By the Editor

A second series of Scenes in Our Parish of Capt. Rock's Memoirs.

is nearly ready. Lives of Missionaries. By John Came,

Mr. Auldjo, the Author of the " Ascent Esq.

of Mont Blanc," announces, Sketches of The Rural Rector ; or, Sketches of

Vesuvius, with Short Accounts of its prin- Manners, Learning, and Religion, in a

cipal eruptions. Country Parish, 3 vols. 12mo.

598

List of New Works.

[MAY,

The Maid of Elvar, a Poem, in 12
parts. By Allan Cunningham.

An Indian Tale, and other Poems.
By Benjamin Gough.

Popular Zoology, containing the Natu-
ral History of the Quadrupeds and Birds
in the Zoological Gardens.

The History of the Inquisition. By
Joseph Blanco White, M.A.

The Life of Luther. By Hugh James
Rose, B.D.

The History of the principal Councils.
By J. H. Newman, M.A.

The Toilette of Health, Beauty, and
Fashion, embracing the Economy of the
Hair, Teeth, Eyes, Skin, &c., including
Recipes for the Dressing Room.

An Offering of Sympathy to Parents
bereaved of their Children, &c.

NEW PUBLCIATIONS.

NOVELS, POEMS, &C.

Stanley Buxton ; or, the Schoolfellows.
By John Gait, 3 vols., IL Us. 6d.

Country Houses. A Novel, in 3 vols.
II. Us. 6d.

The Jesuit. A Novel, 3 vols. II. Us. 6d.

Contrast. By the Author of " Matil-
da," 3 vols. II. Us. 6d.

Fiction, without Romance. By Mrs.
Maria Black, 2 vols. 8vo. 14s.

Arlington. By the Author of " Gran-
by," 3 vols. II. Us. 6d.

Tales of the Early Ages. By Horace
Smith, Esq., 3 vols. I/. Us. 6d.

The Altrive Tales. By the Ettric Shep-
herd, Vol. 1. 12mo. 6s.

Woman's Love, a Novel. By Mrs.
Leman Grimstone, 3 vols.

Achmet's Feast, and other Poems. By
Richard Bird, It. 6d.

Waterloo, a Poem. By Thomas Jack-
son, Esq., 8vo. 5s.

The Death Summons, a Tragedy. By
Wm. Clark Wimberly.

The Immortality of the Soul, with other
Poems. By David Mallock, 5s.

Poland, Homer, and other Poems,
12mo. 4s. 6d.

Childhood, and other Poems. By I.
Norval.

Cheskian Anthology, being a History
of the Poetical Literature of Bohemia,
with translated specimens. By John
Bowring.

MEDICAL.

Cholera, as it recently appeared in the
towns of Newcastle and Gateshead. By
P. M. Greenhow.

Directions for the use of Lavements, in
preventing Confinement in the Bowels.
By James Scott, Surgeon, 7s.

Stafford on the Spine, 8vo. 10s. 6d.

Ingleby on Uterine Haemorrage, 8vo.
12s.

RELIGIOUS.

Sermons. By the Rev. Richard Catter-
mole, post 8vo 7s.

Turnbull on the Laws of Christ,
12mo. 5s.

Martin's Christian Philosophy, 18mo. 6s.

Faber's Apostolicity of Trinitarianism,
2 vols. 8vo. 26s.

Girdlestone's New Testament, with a
Commentary, 8vo. 9s.

Park on Prophecy, &c. 8vo. 7s.

The Biblical Cabinet, vol. 1.

Erneste's Institutes, translated by Per-
rott, 12mo. 5s.

The Juvenile Sunday Library, 12mo. 4s.

The Truths of Revelation, demon-
strated by an Appeal to existing Monu-
ments, Sculptures, Gems, Coins, and
Medals, 12mo. 10s.

Pastoralia ; a Manual of Helps for the
Parochial Clergy of the United Church of
England and Ireland, containing a Scrip-
tural View of the Clerical Duties, Prayers
for the Use of the Clergy, Scheme of Pas-
toral Visitation, Outlines of Sermons, and
Books for the Use of the Clergy. By the
Rev. Henry Thomson, M. A., 12rao. 9s.

BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

Memoirs of Wm. Samson, an Irish
Exile, written by himself, 18mo. 3s. 6d.

Memoirs of Sir James Campbell, 2 vols.
8vo. 24s.

Memoir of the Rev. Matthias Bruen,
12mo. 7s.

Annals and Antiquities of Rajast'han ;
or, the Central and Western Rajpoot
States of India. By Lieut.-Colonel Tod,
vol. 2, 4to.

History of the Peninsular War. By
Robert Southey, Esq., vol. 3, 4to.
2/. 10s.

Lady Sandford's Stories, from the His-
tory of Rome, 18mo. 2>. 6d.

Biographical Sketches in Cornwall. By
the Rev. R. Polwell, 3 vols. 12mo.

MISCELLANEOUS.

The Dogmas of the Constitution, in
Four Lectures, delivered at King's Col-
lege. By J. J. Park, Esq., 8vo. 5s. 6d.

Familiar and Practical Advice to Execu-
tors and Administrators. By J. A.
Powell, 3s. 6d.

Mrs. Child's Little Girl's own Book,
4s. 6d.

Flowers of Fable, 18mo. 5s.

Ballingall on the Improvement of the
Mercantile Navy, 8vo. 12s.

A Dictionary, Practical, Theoretical,
and Historical, of Commerce and Com-
mercial Navigation. By J. R. M'Cul-
loch, Esq., 8vo. 21. 10s.

The Province of Jurisprudence. De-
nned by John Austin, Esq., 8vo. 12s.

Historical and Practical Treatise on

832.] Monthly Agricultural Report. 599

Steam Carriages on Turnpike Roads. By England and France ; or, a Cure for

Alex. Gordon, 8vo. 12s. Ministerial Gallomania, 8s. 6d.

Melange in English and French. By Six Mouths in America. By G. T.

Marin de la Voye, 5s. 6d. Vigne, Esq., 2 vols. 20s.

The first five Books of Livy, with Eng- Pickering's Emigrants' Companion to

lish Notes. By Dr. Hickie, 12mo. 8s. 6d. the Canadas. From Official Documents,

The Rajah llammohun Roy on the furnished by John Gait, Esq.

Judicial and Revenue Systems of British Scenes in Our Parish, 12mo. 5s.

India, 8vo. 6s. A Manual of Orthology; or, Helps to

Reports of the Commissioners on the the proper pronunciation of difficult

Ecclesiastical Courts. Words, 12mo. 5s. 6d.

The British Archer ; or, Tracts on Practical View of Ireland, from the

Archery, with plates. By Thos. Hastings, period of the Union. By J. B. Bryan.

Esq., 4to. 14s. Young's Elements of Mechanics, 12mo.

10s. 6d.

MONTH1Y MAGAZINE AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

COLD winds between the N. E. and E. S. E., with drought, and some slight frosts
have prevailed since our last, but, most fortunately, with little injury to vegetation ;
on the contrary, with beneficial effects, more especially in the facility obtained for
culture. The fruits also have been generally benefitted by this cause, so destruc-
tive in early seasons— the present has kept them backward, and, granting seasonable
weather in due time, the fruit harvest may yet be great. The present state of
vegetation, at least in South Britain, is most remarkable, as an example of the risks
and casualties of farming. But a little month, and the tables are completely
turned upon us ! In our last, we were crying up the vast quantity of sheep
cattle food on hand, with the expectation of an early and abundant grass season.
Farmers were selling or giving away their turnips, and speculating on the best
mode of ridding themselves of their estimated superabundant stock of fodder.
What a reverse — the long continuance of the easterly winds and consequent
drought, have chilled the grasses to the very root, and retarded their growth to such
a degree, as to ascertain a late, instead of an early season. Scarcely a spring bite
yet for the sheep and lambs, whereas in mid-winter, there was a full bite of grass
for an ox, and all kinds of cattle food, hay, turnips, or rather turnip tops, mangel
wurzel, &c. in high request, and at a considerable advanced price. The late
slight showers have had some good effect, but much more rain is indispensable to
any considerable degree of benefit. This ought to be a lesson to farmers in general,
perhaps the last people to render their courage suspected by taking timely warn-
ing. Swedish turnips, of such substantial quality, and such immense benefit in
the pinching time of latter spring, are no where grown in sufficient quantity, and
seldom drawn and stored, which they ought to be, as at that crisis an invaluable
resource ; should they not even be wanted as a general late spring food, stalled
cattle and horses would consume any residue. Where these are not cultivated, a
part of the common turnips should be drawn and stored. Such was the practice of
the ablest cultivators of fifty and sixty years past, with whom I fear, in these enlight-
ened times, we have few who can compete, in the essential points of husbandry.

As to the state of the country, we will begin with the further and northern end —
with Scotland, which, by some unaccountable decisions of fortune, has, during
many years, held up her head far higher in agricultural prosperity, than her great
and apparently more highly qualified southern neighbourhood. The tenantry of
Scotland, during a long series of years, have prospered under rents, the magnitude
of which have astonished us southern farmers. She has been free from the hor-
rible and savage calamity of midnight incendiarism, and her labouring classes
have preserved a state of contentment and submission to the necessities of the
times, unfortunately unknown, indeed impracticable to ours. She has been more
independent of the Continent for a supply of bread corn ; and, in general, farming
with her has been more remunerative than with us. Per Contra, and as her share
of the misfortune of the times, she has had to regret the considerable damage done
to her wheat crop, during the last three or four years of unfavourable seasons, by

.

600 Monthly Agricultural Report. [MAY,

the wheat fly, which we have before acknowledged ourselves unable to understand,
since we have ever found the mischief to be completed by the insect in its
pediculous state, ceasing with the malaria, or atmospheric blight : and her com-
plaints are now loud against the same exorbitant rents as formerly being insisted
on, in their most fertile lands, the Lowdens, Mid-Lothian particularly, notwith-
standing certain unfavourable circumstances have of late years rendered it impos-
sible for the farmers of those districts to afford such. The apprehended conse-
quences are, the necessity of throwing up those fine farms and timely emigration.
In Scotland, cultivation in general, was never before known so forward as in the
present season, never perhaps so well performed. The Scots, however, according
to the eager temper of the times in all things, have exceeded us in an over culture
of potatoes, to that degree indeed, that they no longer afford a profit on the cul-
ture, 552 Ibs. of the best quality being sold for 7s. In London, 13 Ibs. of the best
potatoes may be bought for 6d ., the lowest price we have ever before known. Our
northern border seems to partake, in a considerable degree, of the advantages of
Scotland.

Having stated the great change which has occurred in respect to the grass lands,
turnips, and fodders, nothing of novelty remains as to the state of the lands, or of
live stock. All culture is in a forward and prosperous state ; early seeding has
been the favourite plan of the present year, and most rationally. The little rain
lately fallen, has pushed above ground, plants which, from the drought, had been
hidden beneath nearly six weeks. The turnip and potatoe lands are in all forward-
ness. Live stock, both store and fat, abundant in all fairs and markets, with a
tolerably brisk demand in some parts ; but, on the whole, rather reduced in price.
Even sheep, not of prime quality, difficult of sale. Horses, as usual, an over-stock
of the inferior kinds, of the superior a scarcity, at a high price, with the additional
and late information that, the breed of horses is supposed to have degenerated in this
country. We have, during some years, rather inclined to that opinion. The easterly
winds, and vicissitudes of temperature, which still linger, have had a much more
unfavourable effect on the animal creation, than on the vegetable. The sickness
and mortality among the horses of all descriptions, has been great ; and the partial
losses of ewes and lambs are attributable to a similar cause, which, as usual, has
produced hydrophobia in the canine race, to a considerable extent, particularly in
Wales, and the adjoining districts. For wool, there is scarcely any demand.
Feeding off the rank wheats with sheep, has been nearly universal, and where
done sufficiently early, any probable risk is more surely avoided. The lambing
season, on the whole, successful, with a fair proportion of doubles. Our landed
gentlemen are, very discreetly, by degrees, giving up the rigours of preserving
game, of which Sir Henry Hankey, of Suffolk, is a meritorious and patriotic
instance. The distant counties seem to have enjoyed the benefit of rains, beyond
our experience in this. Weeds still a favourite culture ; we hear from various
quarters, of docks, thistles, and couch, equalling the wheats in height and luxuri-
ance ! If fine crops like these wont pay rent and taxes, what will ? Neither
sheep nor cattle feeding, by consequence, turnips also, have repaid the grazier,
chiefly from the high price given for the store stock.

Incendiarism is now fortunately on the decline ; yet, in several quarters westward,
great complaints are made of the dissolute and dissatisfied conduct of the labourers,
notwithstanding wages have advanced to the utmost that can be afforded, with
other advantages for their benefit. We are happy to find from correspondents in
Lincolnshire and Essex, particularly from Suffolk, our opinion approved as to the
necessity of a permanent plan of emigration, the facilities of it to be furnished by
the parishes and the state jointly.

Misprints in our last — for best, read least for pliable, read friable.

Smithfield.—Reef, 3s. to 3s. 8d.— Mutton, 3s. lOd. to 4*. 8d.— Veal, 4s. 6d. to
55. 4d.—Pork, 4s. 4d. dairy do. to 5s. 8d.— Rough fat, 2s. 6d.

Corn Exchange — Wheat, 48s. to 75s.— Barley, 21s. to 37s.— Oats, 15s. to 28s.
London Loaf, 4 Ib. lOd. — Hay, 58s. to 100s. — Clover, do. 80s. to 120s.— Straw, 30s.
to 40s.

<Coal Exchange — Coals in the Pool, per ton, 1 4s. to 22*.
Middlesex, April 22rd.

JUNE, 1832.

CONTENTS.

I. Political Education . . . . 601
II. The Poet's Prison ..... 607

III. Hints to Portrait Painters . . . . 608

IV. Song. By James Sheridan Knowles . . .611
V. Classic Mottos for the Tories freely translated . . .612

VI. Scenes in Cunnemara . . . . 617

VII. Anecdotes of German Courts . . . 625

VIII. The Song of the Transformed . . . .629

IX. Medicine as a Science, and as a Trade . . • 630
X. Women are the Devil ! .... 634

XI. Notes on America . . . • 640

XII. On the natural depreciation of English Nobility.— No. I. : 646

XIII. Sonnet to Noon . . . . . 649

XIV. Unreported Cases.— No. I. The Human Cuckoo . . 650
XV. The Autobiography of St. Simon . . . . 654

XVI. Cuvier and his Cabinet . • . -660

XVII. Pyrology . . . . . . 663

XVIII. The Refugee.— A Dramatic Sketch . • 667

XIX. The Poriote Doctor . . . • 671

XX. The Cottage Picture ... .677

XXI. The Character of Casimir Perier . . . 678

XXII. A Story of the Heart . -681

XXIII. Our Anniversary.— The Monthly Magazine and the Public . 690

XXIV. Notes of the Month . ' ... 701
XXV. Monthly Review of Literature • . • 707

XXVI. Monthly Magazine Agricultural Report . . .711

3 / I X / ; » / I/ / I HTTC OM

TO OUR READERS.

toV

FROM the political excitement of the times, and the important and accumu-
lating subjects that have every month grown out of it, we find ourselves
unable, at the conclusion of the present volume, to do justice to the claims
of art and of literature, so amply as we had anticipated. We are compelled to
pass over the fine collection of Old Masters at Exeter Hall, the Enamel Paint-
ings on Glass, nay, the Exhibition itself. On the other hand, we have been
obliged to omit various Reviews of interest, and among them an analysis of
Mrs. Trollope's Absurdities on America.

In spite of these defects, we trust the readers will not think that we have
wholly failed in the promise we made him in January. The past has had
many disadvantages to struggle with, but we have a right to look with hope, or
rather with confidence, to the future. The next volume shall stand in much
less need of apology than this ; and so we look eagerly forward for a pleasure
that shall grow out of the reader's.

" To-morrow to fresh fields and pastures new."

.

_

.

*** The Title-page and Index to the present Volume will appear in the
ensuing Number.

THE

MONTHLY MAGAZINE

OF

POLITICS, LITERATURE, AND THE BELLES LETTRES.
VOL. XIII.] JUNE, 1832. [No. 78.

POLITICAL EDUCATION.

" The most active or busy man, that hath been or can be, hath, no question, many
vacant times of leisure : and then the question is but how those spaces and times of lei-
sure shall be filled or spent ; whether in pleasures or in studies."

Advancement of Learning , lib. 1.

CITIZENSHIP, like every other relation of life, has its peculiar duties,
rights, and privileges, with which it imports the citizen to be thoroughly
acquainted, because the knowledge he possesses of their nature, extent,
and importance, must ever be the measure of his usefulness and respect-
ability, as a member of the commonwealth. To communicate this know-
ledge is the object of a particular kind of instruction or discipline, which
has with propriety been called a political education. The proposition, then,
that every man should receive this kind of education, is the same as that
every citizen should be taught what functions he has to discharge, what
rights to exert and defend, what engagements he is placed under to his
country, and what interests he is bound to watch over and protect. This
is the political information we would impart to every man in England.
Those who object to its unlimited diffusion must take their choice of one
of the three following absurdities : they must maintain that there are
classes of the people who ought not to be considered in the light of citi-
zens ; or they must say that citizenship has no peculiar rights and duties,
the correct apprehension of which may be facilitated by education ; or they
must go yet a step further in folly, and contend, that duties are not likely
to be the better performed for being the better understood ; nor rights to
be the more discreetly exercised for having their limits ascertained with the
greater precision ; nor privileges to be the more regarded for having their
value the more clearly pointed out and illustrated. One of these three
positions the objectors are compellable to take up ; for if it be true that
every man in the community is a citizen, and if citizenship has its proper
obligations and rights, and if those who are instructed in their rights and
obligations are likely to exercise the former and fulfil the latter more
discreetly, firmly, intelligently, and patriotically, than those who are
acquainted with them but imperfectly, or not at all, then is the argument
for the political education of all classes of the people as complete as any
argument can be.

We do not hesitate to say, that we would have every man in the country
a politician. To be a politician, does not consist, as some shallow persons

M.M. New Series.— VOL. XIII. No. 78. 2 S

604 Political Education. [JUNE,

seem to suppose, in neglecting" one's trade or family to attend to the
affairs of the state ; — that is, to play Quidnunc in the farce, and to be an
idler and busy-body, not a politician. It does not consist in making the
club, or the coffee-room, or the ale-house, ring with our attacks on this
measure, or our eulogies on that ; nor in neglecting the Bible for the Exa-
miner ; nor in talking of nothing but protocols and plenipotentiaries, and
questions affecting the fate of empires ; nor in seizing every one we meet
by the button, and detaining him in captivity until we have made him privy
to all our crude or fanciful opinions on the subject of the American con-
stitution or the East India charter; — this were an excellent claim to the
title of bore, — none whatever to that of politician. By a politician, we mean
a very different sort of character ; we mean a man who possesses as cor-
rect information as he can get respecting the laws he is bound to obey,
and the constitution by which he lives and moves and has his social or
political being; a man who is aware that, as a citizen, he has certain
rights to exercise (for instance, the rights of voting and petitioning,) and
certain obligations to fulfil (for instance, the obligation to obey the laws,)
and who takes pains to acquaint himself with their nature, their value,
and their extent, in order to use his power rationally and discharge his
duty faithfully. The politician, in our acceptation of the term, is one who,
whether he speaks on the question of free trade, or church reform, or any
other question of vital moment, if he does not discover depth, or display
erudition, at least avoids absurdity, and shews that his understanding has
hot been unexercised upon subjects in which the whole community, and
perhaps the whole human race, is interested : he thinks it better to have
some little insight into these matters than to be utterly in the dark j and he
therefore dedicates some portion of the day (rescued from frivolous occupa-
tions or vicious pleasures) to the acquiring of some information, however
elementary, upon topics which, if they do not concern him as a citizen,
most probably affect him as a man. When political questions are under
discussion, he feels an honourable intellectual pride ib evincing a know-
ledge of things that are level to his capacity ; while, at the same time, his
mind is too well principled, he has too much good sense, and too much
honesty, to deliver peremptory opinions without the previous enquiries
necessary to the formation of a correct judgment — to lend himself to pro-
pagate error, and consequently (to some extent or other) prejudice the
general welfare, speeding on in his ignorance, like hundreds about him,
retailing the stupidities of others, or originating nonsense of their own.

We are too apt to forget or undervalue the importance, or what Lord
Bacon calls " the edge and weight of words ;" we are too apt to forget
that falsehood may be propagated as well as truth, and that the gift of
speech may be made the instrument of circulating the drivellings of a
Londonderry as well as the solid reasoning of a Plunket. We do not suffi-
ciently reflect that every uttered sentiment, whether it fall from the tongue
of philosopher or fool, goes to the mass of public opinion, which, if it be
composed of ignorance more than knowledge, descends with fatal gravita-
tation upon society, crushing public prosperity under the weight of popular
infatuation. Political ignorance is national calamity. A country has as
many domestic enemies as there are minds in the community unenlightened
upon their social interests and duties : and this is the more particularly
true when there is a free constitution and an unenslaved press ; for then
is a public opinion ; and what is public opinion but the sum of the

183'2.] Political Education.

opinions of all the people? Not a sentence is uttered but a unit is added
to that sum : are we well informed, we add truth ; are we misinformed or
uninformed, we add falsehood or folly ; then the nation casts up the
account : if the truth exceed the falsehood and the folly, it is well ; — if the
excess is on the other side, a balance is struck against the general weal ;
some foolish war is embarked in ; some mischievous tax laid on ; some
patriotic effort defeated ; some monopoly confirmed ; some great prin-
ciple of constitution or commerce, forced to wait half a century more, until
the tide of intelligence is high enough to carry it over the perilous reefs of
prejudice and error.

As to the opinion so often expressed, that politics is something with
which the people in general have nothing to do, and that to turn their
attention to it is to divert it from the pursuits of industry and those occu-
pations on which their livelihood depends, we have the authority of Grat-
tan for holding it very lightly. " I disagree," says that eminent statesman,
" with the vulgar and courtly notion that political discussion idles a
nation ;" and he gives the following admirable and deep reason for thus
differing from the ordinary way of thinking upon this subject: " politics/'
he observes, " are the trade of the few, because they are a mystery to the
many." Lord Bolingbroke, in the essay on parties, has a fine passage to
the same effect: " the preservation of our free government in its purity
and vigour is the interest and duty of every man ; there is no one who
cannot contribute to the advancement of this great point ; the old may
inform the young, and the young may animate the old." But what need
to multiply authorities on a point so clear as to be level (to borrow an
illustration once used by my Lord Brougham) even to the faculties of a
Goulburn ? Until we have been shewn a man who has no political tie or
political interest, we shall never be persuaded there is any one who has
no need otpolitical education.

With gross, but not very surprising, inconsistency, the self- same party,
which uniformly arrays itself against every plan for diffusing that kind of
useful -knowledge we contend for amongst all classes of the people, is
ever the foremost and fiercest in inveighing against them for every breach,
how slight soever, of their duty as citizens. They will not suffer us to
explain to the labouring classes upon what principles governments are
established, upon what grounds property should be respected, and how
just, and reasonable, and advantageous a thing it is to yield obedience to
the laws and constituted authorities of the country; yet they are ever
branding them with disaffection, and accusing them of schemes of spolia-
tion ; nay more, — let the slightest excess be committed, let the people
» swerve in the least degree from those rules of citizen-like conduct which
they will not permit us to inculcate on their minds by books, by news-
papers, by lectures, or by any method whatever, and straightway they
invoke justice to unsheath her sword, and call upon parliament to give it
a keener edge by new and more severe enactments. The people must be
loyal and obedient, and of all things they must be religiously regardful of
the rights of property ; but to teach them these good lessons, no other
proposal will be listened to but special commissions and county gaols, and
no schoolmaster be suffered to go abroad amongst them but the exe-
cutioner. As to education, it is the established creed of noble lords and
right reverend prelates, that to instruct a man in his duty is the surest
way to make him violate it, — so widely does the philosophy of the here-

606' Political Education. [JUNE,

clitary chamber differ from that of Bacon, who in his Advancement of
Learning has the following passage. " For that other conceit, that
education should undermine the reverence of laws and government, it is
assuredly a mere calumny without shadow of truth. For to say that a
blind custom of obedience should be a surer obligation than duty taught
and understood, it is to affirm that a blind man may tread surer by a
guide than a seeing man can by a light. And it is without all controversy
that learning dolh make the minds of men gentle, maniable, and pliant
to government; whereas ignorance makes them churlish, refractory, and
mutinous. And the evidence of history does clear this assertion, con-
sidering that the most barbarous, rude, and unlearned times, have been
most subject to tumults, seditions, and changes."

Assuredly, if the cause is investigated of lawless and insubordinate
habits amongst those orders of society, which, in the contemptuous cant
of aristocracy, are called the lower — if those bursts of popular fury, which
are occasionally fatal to order, property, and life — of incendiarism in
England and whiteboyism in Ireland — of the murder of policemen and
tithe-proctors in Kilkenny, and the Wetherell riots and conflagrations in
Bristol, — it will be found, that the root of the disease is ignorance, and the
remedy for it education. " They be the clouds of error," says the great
apostle of intellect we have just quoted, " which descend in the storms
of passions and perturbations." Contrast the situations of an unenlight-
ened populace and an educated people. Does physical hardship fall on
the former, they have no rational resource ; passion has full sway over
their actions ; in many cases they mistake the quarter from which their
distress arises ; in most cases they mistake the quarter from which relief
must proceed ; they are consequently hurried into intemperate courses,
which aggravate their sufferings, disgust their friends, and give triumph
and advantage to their enemies. Now let knowledge be disseminated,
and mark the change. The man becomes superior to the animal ; the
mob is exalted into a people ; they ponder their circumstances, discover
the cause of their adversities, and comport themselves under them like
reasonable men ; the visitations of divine wisdom they never confound
with the inflictions of human crime or folly: afflicted by heaven they sub-
mit with resignation ; afflicted by man they resist without intemperance ;
they are calm, united, and resolved ; they place their affiance in the prin-
ciples of liberty; they wield no weapons but their constitutional rights
and franchises ; they reform without neeedless innovation ; they revolu-
tionize— if reform is impossible — without blood. Such are the fruits of
popular instruction; it enables a nation to endure calamity with fortitude,
and resist oppression with power.

Were we to consider the effects of political ignorance in detail, we
should find that nearly all of the great distempers of society are dedu-
cible from this single source. How large a proportion, for example, of
the poverty and distress abounding in all countries may be traced to
ignorance of that great science, which discovers the fountains and
teaches the most beneficial distribution of the wealth of nations. Whence
is it, that, while nature

" Pours her bounties forth
With such a lull and un withdrawing hand ;"

that while the whole animal, vegetable, and mineral creation are at man's
disposal, designed for his use, subjected to his dominion, and more than
equal to all his wants, as well artificial as real, — whence is it, we ask, that,

1832.] Political Education. 607

amidst such a profusion of physical resources, there exists, whereever
we turn our eyes, so large an amount of physical suffering ? It is because
human ignorance frustrates the intention of divine bounty ; sometimes
locking up altogether the springs of wealth ; sometimes diverting the
stream from public into private channels, and to make one Dives reducing
thousands to the estate of Lazarus. It is because commerce is shackled
with restrictions and regulations; industry hampered with taxes and
monopolies ; popular enterprise checked by legislative incapacity : it is
because there are aristocratic institutions, (the produce of times when
mental darkness covered the face of Europe), occasioning a deplorable
waste, and the most iniquitous division of the public stock, and aris-
tocratic establishments profitable to none but military coxcombs and idle
churchmen : it is because there are boyish jealousies and barbarous
antipathies, where unity of feeling ought to flow from unity of interest :
the man of acres scowls at the man of money ; the manufacturer and the
husbandman alternately defame and worry each other ; and the larger
compartments of society exhibit the same frenzy ; empires, like classes,
wasting each other with wars, or consuming each other's strength less
ferociously, but not less effectually, by statutes ; the new world excluding
the produce of the old, and the kingdoms of the old the produce of each
other, regardless that there is a commonwealth of nations as well as of
individuals — that all the families of the earth are of one fraternity — their
interests bound up indissolubly together — mutually dependent on each
other for the only prosperity that is durable, and the only glory that is
genuine. In fine, the science of political economy is a sealed volume :
its golden principles are indeed the study of a few philosophic closets ;
but they have not yet been melted down into the mass of general intelli-
gence, to the quantity of which the wisdom of those who hold the reigns
of government will ever be proportioned. The ignorance of the many
who obey, may justly be regarded as the cause of the ignorance of the
few who rule. Senators ought to be statesmen, there is no doubt ; but it
is idle to expect it until nations become enlightened. Knowledge must
ascend from the people. The mists that are gathered round the summits
of society will be the last to disperse.

It is not, unquestionably, to be denied, that mischievous measures
originate not seldom with ill-intentioned rather than weak men, and are
the suggestions more of base self-interest, than of deficient intellect or
foresight. Consider, however, to what it is that such measures are
indebted for success ; is it not to the non-resistance of the multitude, who
either want the proper degree of information to enable them to discern
their hurtful tendency, or are too little acquainted with their strength, to
deter their rulers from adopting them ? We do not mean to do corruption
any disparagement; we know how much the guilt of crowns and coronets
has added to the sad sum of human evils ; but we know also that
villany, in a hundred instances, would be impotent, if it had not ignorance
at its back, the dupe of its cunning, arid the accomplice of its crimes.

The enemies of popular education, albeit they style themselves the
conservative party, are the most dangerous agitators of society. They tell
us they shudder at the consequences of instructing the 'people only
partially and superficially; and they jump forthwith to the conclusion
that it is the safer way not to instruct them all. It never occurs to them
that if a little knowledge be dangerous, less knowledge must be still more
so ; and that the danger must go on increasing ever as knowledge dimi-

608 Political Education. [JUNE,

nishes, until we arrive at total ignorance, which must, by the force of
their own premises, be the most perilous state of all ; — so suicidal is the
conservative mode of reasoning. For our part, and pretending to no super-
natural share of logical skill, we should say, that the remedy for the
danger of little is more ; and if that more be still but little, in com-
parison with the mass of information yet lo be attained, and consequently
still liable to the objection of danger, we must only go on, and con-
tinually increasing light, <:here a little, and there a little/' continually
approximate to that perfect state of security which only exists in the full
day-light of intelligence.

The true conservative principles are those of the friends of education.
They look abroad, and they see that the people are possessed — by what
means it is immaterial — of a considerable share of political power ; and
they remark further that this power is growing greater and greater every
day, every struggle between the democratic and the oligarchic principle,
terminating in favour of the former. Now political power without political
knowledge — " vis consilii expers " — is a just object of alarm : they have,
therefore, to make their election between two lines of policy, either to
reduce the people to their primitive state of civil insignificance, or to raise
their understandings up to the level of their new position in the country.
To the former course there are two objections ;— first, its criminality were
it practicable, secondly, its impracticability were it innocent : the most
incorrigible tory in the empire does not dream of checking the growth,
much less of abridging the present amount, of popular influence. The
advocates of education, therefore, in adopting the latter course, not only
act upon a high and sound principle, but actually take the only line of
conduct which is open to them to pursue. The only means to strip the
political power of the people of its terrors, is to teach them to use it well ;
in other words, to give them that kind of education which becomes
citizens. Thus instructed, they will be no object of apprehension to the
enlightened and the honest ; the true friends of order and the public good
will rejoice in their influence, far from looking at it with alarm j popular
power advancing " pari passu " with popular intelligence, is formidable
to none but those who would prosper by crooked ways, and build their
private fortunes on the ruin of the public interest. It is formidable to the
boroughmonger, the source of whose greatness is parliamentary corruption ;
to the churchman, whose cellar and kitchen absorb the tenth of the
produce of the land ; to the sinecurist, who lives by the sweat of the poor
man's brow ; to all the high-born beggars on the pension list ; to the men
who are great at Newmarket, and glorious at Crockford's ; to the bulk
of the peerage, and to the whole ravenous brood of aristocracy, honourable
and right honourable, — the Lord Henrys, the Lord Fredericks, and the
Lord Johns, who, in the church, the army, the public offices, and the
colonies, do the plebeian people the infinite honour to accept their
laborious earnings, as a poor return for the benefit and satisfaction of
being governed by men, who, if they have no brains in their heads, have
coronets upon them ; if they have no independent spirit in their breasts,
have Norman blood in their veins ; if they are not useful in their employ-
ments, are illustrious in the Herald's College. To all such it is natural
that the progress of education should be odious and terrible. They hate
it, as owls and bats the coming of the sun, or wolves and tigers the clear-
ing of the forest: like the enemies of the Christian faith, " they love
darkness more than light, because their deeds are evil."

1832.] [ 609 ]

7I3rf.t

THE POET'S PRISON,

-

I WALKED abroad upon the laughing earth,

I heard its choristers, I breathed its air,
I saw the golden morning giving birth

To countless shapes of btauty new and rare;
Across the sky a thousand bright clouds swept,
The voices in their sparkling channels leapt,

And I was glad, nor thought of bondage or of care.

I came where stood a castle by the brink

Of a slow river, and its turrets grey
The streaming exhalations seemed to drink

Of that dull leaden stream, — unmarked decay
Had crumbled tower and keep, whose walls accursed
No velvet moss, nor waving ivy nursed,

Nor ruin-loving flower, of blossom sweet and gay.

The neighbouring peasants told me they could show

Where in a dungeon under ground, had pined
A captive Bard, by some vindictive foe

In that grim prison even till death confined :
I entered in,-and O, the bitter shame
For fellow man,— the weight of grief, which came
; To dim for after days, the sunshine of the mind !

I looked upon the mouldering walls ; the hand

Which might have swept the golden lyre, a prize
For sweetest minstrelsy in some glad land,

Where free-bom melodies to heaven arise,
Had traced (its only toil for weary years)
A mournful chronicle of fruitless tears

And meteor gleams of hope, and agonising sighs.

"•iwoq

Yet here and there, as though the spirit of song

Had shown her glory in her votary's cell,
A strain had broken forth, whose current strong

No tyrant could constrain, no dungeon quell :
There was a hymn to freedom! — from their graves
I might have waked to combat coward, slaves,

How could a captive sing of liberty so well ?

r & j

Anon the chain had fallen round the lyre,

Stilling those lofty tones to broken lays
Of cold despair, and passionate desire,

And wasting memories of brighter days :
l)reams of the free fresh air, — fond words in token
Of love, by distance, and by bonds unbroken,

Carved where the light streamed in with few uncertain rays.

And there were relics too — I wept to find

Trampled in dust, a braid of golden hair ;
Surely a charm in every tress had twined

To soothe the captive in his lone despair ;

. And on his pallet was a withered flower, ,

Was that love's gift ? — or in relenting hour

Had the stern warden brought that treasured blossom there?

610 Hints to Portrait Painters. [JuNE,

And then I thought of days in anguish worn,

When the sick spirit bowed beneath its weight,
And gibbering spectres, half of madness bom,

Started from darkness round this couch by night.
Of those tumultuous hopes, as oft in vain,
The daring prisoner strove to break his chain, —

Ah me ! — as often crushed by tyrannous despite.
'

But then a proud thought wakened, of the hour

When Death's kind angel, from his feverish bed
Bade him arise, and scorn the despot's power,

And broke his bonds, and weaved around his head
The laurel crown, while Heaven's own music near
Rung in rich strains of promise on his ear,

And the scorned captive passed to join the mighty dead !

That despot sleeps accursed, — that captive's song

On earth, while earth remains, shall still live on ;
And he, who holds the scales of right and wrong,

Hath richly recompensed his gifted son,
With freedom in the land of heavenly rest,
Glad meetings with the purified and blest,

And never ending peace, by patient suft'ering won ! — C.

HINTS TO PORTRAIT PAINTERS.

WE were much amused the other day with a passage in GERARD DE
LAIRESSE'S Art of Painting, a volume written about the middle of the
last century. It was pointed out to us by a friend whose devotion to art
is only equalled by his thirst for the humorous. We particularly thank
him for calling our attention to the subject at this exhibition-period of the
year, when portraits are among the popular topics.

The instructions laid down for the young painter by Gerard de Lairesse,
are expressed with so much simplicity, that, to the meanest capacity, they
must IDC intelligible. Surely, those Painters who have lived since, (the
most famous we mean,) must owe their immortality principally to the cut-
and-dry rules contained in this most honest book ; and hundreds of poor
artists whose efforts have perished with their names, must have failed,
either through inability to purchase it or ignorance of its existence. How
Raffaelle or Rosa, Rubens or Rembrandt, managed without it, is marvellous
indeed ! We recommend Mr. Phillips, whose lectures at the academy have
been abused for a lack of variety, to study its contents, with an eye to the
more solid edification of the present race of students — and if he has not
read it, which we can scarce imagine, we herewith produce a specimen of
its contents. The reader of Sir Joshua Reynolds' discourses will be
shrewdly suspicious as to the secret source of that admirable flow of lan-
guage, and those tasteful principles of art, by which they are distinguished,
when he shall have perused the following : —

RULES FOR PORTRAITURE.
BOOK VII.

Emblem. Touching the handling Portraits.

" Nature, with her many breasts, is in a sitting posture, near her stands a child
lifting her garment off her shoulders. On the other side stands Truth, holding a

1332.] Hints to Portrait Painters. 611

mirror before her, wherein she views herself down to the middle, and is seemingly
surprised at it. On the frame of this glass, are seen a gilt pallet and pencils.
Truth has a book and a palm branch in her hand." * * *

Of the application of requisites with respect to the different conditions of persons.
" It will not be foreign to our main design to put the artist in mind of the appli-
cation and right use of such materials as may enrich a portrait and make it look

the more noble • . Since it is certain that the vices as well as virtues have

two powerful qualities, and, though contrary to each other, yet both tend to good
purpose; nay, a wicked person may be a virtuous example, be rescued from evil,
&c. To come then the better to this excellent point, let us by noble by-ivorks make
known their virtues, manners, and particular inclinations, and exhibit them with
their persons, in a conspicuous manner. Wherefore I shall lay down some ex-
amples.— As for a cruel prince, or tyrant, either in his court, apartment, or other
place, even in his revels, &c. each requires its proper embellishment : the apart-
ment may be adorned with paintings of all sort of punishments and cruelties,
drawn from the blackest parts of history. If it be NERO, let all or some of the cruel-
ties of his bloody reign be painted, &c. ; his drinking equipage may be ornamented
with noxious animals, as serpents, adders, &c. ; his chair with tygers, lions, and
dragons, &c. ; his throne may be supported by Jupiter, Juno, Neptune, and Pluto ;
the floor curiously inlaid with a celestial sphere of Lapis Lazuli, &c. If the scene
lies in his dining-room the household gods may be seen thrown down in all
corners. In fine, every thing that can denote a wicked man or monster, art must
exhibit. The same character should also appear in the actions, looks, and dresses of
his retinue or guards; for we usually say, " Like master like man.

" But not to dwell too long with Princes, we shall speak of other characters, and
show what suits them.

" With a Burgomaster suits the statue of Justice ; and in paintings or hangings
some emblems of it, representing the rewards of the good, and punishment of the
bad, &c.

" With a Senator agrees the statue of Policy, and in painting or hangings, some
representations of the laws ; besides prudence and care for the state.

" With a Secretary, the statue of Harpocrates, also the emblem of Fidelity, or a
goose with a stone in its bill.

" With a Director of the East India Company, the figure of a statue of it, to wit,
an heroine with a scollop of mother of pearl on her head, in the nature of an
helmet, and thereon a coral branch ; a breast ornament of scales, pearls and corals
about her neck ; buskins on her legs, with two dolphins conjoined head to head,
adorned with sea-shells, two large shells on her shoulders, a trident in her hand,
and her clothing a Jong mantle; a landscape behind her of an Indian prospect, with
palm and cocoa trees, some figures of blacks, and elephants' teeth.

" This figure also suits an Admiral, or Commander at sea, when a sea fight is
introduced instead of a landscape.

"With a Divine (qu. Bishop ?) agrees the statue of Truth, represented in a
christian-like manner, or else this same emblem in one of his hands, and his other
on his breast ; besides hangings, low reliefs, and paintings, and a representation of
the Old and New Testament, and in the offscape a temple.

" With a Sea Insurer suits Avion on a dolphin; and in a picture a sea haven with
a ship making towards it ; on the shore the figure of Fortune, and over the cargo
Castor and Pollux.

" With a Steersman suits the figure of Precaution ; besides a compass ; and in a
picture, the four cardinal points.

" With a virtuous young man the figure of Virtue ; and on a wall Horace's em-
blem of the young man in the stadium or course, or else the young Hercules standing
between Virtue and Vice. Some things are also proper to women, to betoken their
virtue and qualities.

" With a young and sober virgin suits the figure of Neatness ; an embroidering
frame and its furniture ; besides emblems relating to it! among which that of
Business shunning Idleness, Piide, and Gluttony have a principal place."

We could go on extracting to the end of the hundredth page, without
stumbling upon any thing less curious than the instructions we have

612 Hints to Portrait Painters. [JuNE,

already quoted. They are enough no doubt, in the reader's opinion as
well as in our own, to prove the value of Gerard de Laircsse's lessons,
and to suggest an idea of the numberless advantages that would accrue to
the world, if our young portrait-painters would but take them seriously to
heart. But in case this idea should not strike every body, we will linger
a little on the subject, and point out two or three instances of the effect
that might be produced by the adoption of Gerard's hints.

Ex. gr. What a misfortune is it for art, and what a loss to society,
that Mr. Wilkie never read " Lairesse's Art of Painting." If he had but
have seen even these " Hints" before he painted the portrait of the King in
the present Exhibition, the world would certainly have enjoyed the benefit of
a most instructive and edifying delineation of character. Instead of a mere
common-place portrait, we should have seen it adorned with the most
fit and anomalous accompaniments. His Majesty would been repre-
sented standing between Wellington and Grey, looking as if he were
thinking of " how happy could I be with either." A troop of Horse
Guards would appear on one side, and a deputation from Birmingham
vainly struggling to approach with a petition, on the other. A porter
would be holding the half-open door, and saying, " not at home" to the
Duke of Sussex j and a little back staircase in the distance would be
crowded with company of both sexes, English as well as foreign, watch-
ing the turn of the royal eye, and trembling to the tips of their feathers
and mustachios, when it fell with a reluctant recognition on the " Peoples'
Premier." Two thrones would appear in opposition to each other -} a
popular one, entwined with vine-leaves and roses, and one on the old
principle, encircled with thorns, and propped up with bayonets.

In the Duke of Wellington's portrait would be introduced a bronzT;
Achilles upon brazen crutches, that are nevertheless bending beneath the
increasing tendency to fall, which the attitude of the figure denotes. A
suit of regimentals, much the worse for wear, and a strait-waistcoat evi-
dently designed for immediate use, are lying in the foreground. The
picture must be exceedingly dark, us the windows of the room are boarded
up. His Grace might be seated on a file of gazettes, reading the
" Standard" — darkness being no impediment to his occupation. The
article might be a " Lament for the One-hundred-and-fiftieth Assassination
of the late lamented Constitution."

Lord Carnarvon might be painted in the act of presenting a petition for
emancipation from the degrading privileges of a peer. A document,
called the " Carnarvon Abolition Bill," would be lying near him. In the
distance might be a mock-auction — a coronet being put up to to sale, but
producing no bidders, on account of its inutility.

A very considerable sheet of canvas would be required, for a complete
development of all the characteristics of such a sitter as Lord Lyndhurst.
"Bills" of all descriptions, private as well as public, and " amendments"
invariably devised to work mischief, might be scattered about him.
Judicial wigs and political masks should be mingled with them. Inde-
pendence and honour are seen far off in the path which he might have
taken, while that which he travels is terminated by enthralment, degrada-
tion, and remorse.

A " lamp-iron " might appropriately form the principle feature in Lord
Wynford's portrait, his Lordship being exhibited in a fit of meditation on
the possibility of his being " hanged" upon it (see his speech). The
instructions of Gerard de Laircssc would be equally valuable in composing

1832.] Song. 613

i * - •Oti.S .Jjd*/-: r -r i i i i-ni i i f

the accessaries to the portraits of Londonderry and Ellenborough, of
Wctherell and Peel — and of all who wear the " human face divine" only
as a mask to their satyr-like inhumanities.

We should like to see the " Right Reverend Bench" painted upon the
principles herein laid down; and the " Gallery of the Lords" might also
furnish materiel for a " Gallery of female portraits," that in grotesque and
ungraceful qualities would present a most startling contrast to their like-
nesses, by Lawrence. If delineated as they really are, we should see a
revolting deformity mingling with the beauty that had enchained us ; and
they would themselves perceive, that if they once overstep a certain
boundary, they may share the fate of Cinderella, when, at a particular
stroke of the clock, she saw her pride and radiance fade away into rag-

gedness.
s^mpT n9'>c I

619W 9fl 1 .

H "to qo oil '" "to £u fj-

cu£(f£fli(ini£l mor /f/ow abi

SONG,

OJ-"3H2- •/•flfi , I00b ItSKJO-'Wjj' '(If?

BY JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.
djocf

eiyfilfiSl diU'JlJ bflfc ,3^(3 If,7UI rilll 10 flIWJ 3ffo gill

'aslqo.- A FAIR lady looks out from her lattice— but why. ,^w , ?oiftefiJa:jui bn*

s . i>s Do tears bedim that lady's eye? ,,fl bluow ?.

bio orij Below stands the knight who her favour wears, >niw)H9 t9fio ifiluqi

But he mounts not the turret to dry her tears ;

He springs on his charger — " Farewell ! " — lie is gone,

And the lady is left in her turret alone.

" Ply the distaff, my maids— ply the distaff— before

It is spun, he may happen to stand at the door."
9iiT .bnuoi, ifiiyl DIG t9«n -stei' t bon^Ieab ^Ltaab

There was never an eye than that lady's more bright,-
Why speeds then away her favoured knight?

TO. I. V V V T £ t. • ! >J /• •

Ihe couch which her white fingers broider d so fair,

Were a far softer seat than the saddle of war !

What's more tempting than love ? In the patriot's sight

The battle of freedom he hastens to fight !

" Ply the distaff, my maids — ply the distaff— before

" It is spun, he may happen to stand at the door."

The fair lady looks out from her lattice, but now

Her eye is as bright as her fair shining brow !

And is sorrow so fleeting ? — Love's tears — dry they fast ?

The stronger is love, is't the less sure to last?

Whose arm sees her knight round her waist ?— 'Tis his own !

By the battle she wept for, her lover is won !

Ply the distaff, my maids, ply the distaff no more !
„. ,, . . . , , _ , , « •

Would you spin when already he stands at the door ?

13 lOfcJ

no noi&JibDii

.

-

[ 614 ]

CLASSIC MOTTOS FOR THK TORIES FREELY TRANSLATED.

His GRACE THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

" Expende Hannibalem ; quot libras in duce summo
Invenies ?"

Take the Great Duke ; his civil talents weigh,

His public virtue righteously survey ;

A goose's brains express his mental tether ;

His morals do not weigh a goose's feather.

His cup of public infamy is full ;

He stands confessed as profligate as dull.

His ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.
" Vultus index animi."

To all the wisdom in his brain
You have an index in his looks :

He need not speak to make it plain
He is the cream of Royal Dukes.

LORD ELDON.

" Populus me sibilat ; at mihi plaudo f/1

Ipse domi, simul ac nummos contemplor in area."

The mob may hoot; — a fico for the mob !
I've got the public money in my fob.

LORD LYNDHCRST.

" Omnis Aristippum decuit color."

All parties and all colours suit with ease
Our Aristippus of the Common Pleas.
Orange he wore, when orange was the wear ;
And green, when green was ministerial gear;
To-day he rides upon the Tory storm,
Rails at the Whigs and execrates Reform ;
To-morrow dawns — the seals are in his view —
(What will not lust of place make Tories do ?)
He gorges down the Bill, his recent dread,
With all its sins and schedules on its head :
What though it plunge the realm in revolution,
And overthrow both King and Constitution ;
What though the Bill were England's final doom ?—
He'd pass a worse one — for the place of Brougham.

1832,] Classic Mottos for the. Tories. 615

JOHN WILSON CROKER.

" Otium cum dignitate."

Of otium soon he'll have his fill,

From national concerns so weighty ;
But faith ! 'twere hard to frame a Bill

Would give John Wilson dignitate.

SIR CHARLES WETHERELL.

*' Igneus est olli vigor."

No dusky path his genius takes to fame ;
The blaze of towns on fire surrounds his name.
Torch of his country, flambeau of the Tories,
Bristol bears smoking witness to his glories :
His was no vulgar plan of conservation ;
He burned a city to preserve a nation.

MR. A. BARING.

" Venit summa dies, et ineluctable tempus."

Britain has seen her last and darkest day ;
My own dear Calling-ton's in schedule A :
Nipped like a violet in her beauteous bloom ;*
Avert, just heaven ! my harmless borough's doom !

THE MARQUIS OF LONDONDERRY JB!.

.. -~ ,.A

" Conditur omne

Stellarum vulgus, fugiunt sine nomine signa."

Vane rises — lo ! each lesser fire

Hides its diminished head ;
The ministerial lights expire,

The star of Grey is fled.

The cheek of Brougham and Vaux turns pale,

He feels his splendour wane ;
Plunket himself is known to. quail,

Before the might of Vane,

HENRY HUNT, ESQ., M. P., Blacking-maker to the Bench of Bishops.
" Hie niger est; — hunc tu Romane caveto ! "

Friends of Reform ! disdain his treacherous aid :
His character is blacker than his trade.

* Who can forget Mr. Baring's happy metaphor for a rotten borough 1

6 1 6 Classic Mottos for the Tories. [ J u N E •

MR. HORACE Twiss.

" Nulli major fuit usus edendi
Tempestate mea."

Others than thou may better rule the state ;

Others in legal lore may be completer;
Thy field of glory is the dinner-plate ;

Enough for thee to be our ablest eater !

Dine on, dine on ! for thy portentous maw
A groaning country buys no more the ration :

Long as the Temple feeds that mighty craw,
Ne'er may it miss its daily recreation.

SIR HENRY HARDINGE AND SIR GEORGE MURRAY.

u De gente hircosa centurionum."
" Arcades ambo."

A brace of bullies, charged with lead and powder,

Like their own pistols, only five times louder ;

Good in the battle-field to stop a ball,

Good in the House — none better — at a brawl.

Trust me, dragoons, it is a different labour,

To wield an argument and wield a sabre :

Debating does not signify a duel ;

The logic of our days is not so cruel ;

Go! strut, parade! the barracks want you badly,

And army tailors miss your counsel sadly.

LORD LOWTHER.

'* Videor pios
Errare per lucos, amcenae
Q.UOS et aquae subeunt et aura?."

In pleasing dreams I often stray
Through my old " Woods and Forests" dear :

Sweet airs of office round me play,
And silver streams delight my ear.

But ah ! no more through these sweet haunts,
Except in dreams, shall Tory rove ;

In vain for place my bosom pants ; —
The Whigs, the Whigs possess the grove.

THE RIGHT HON. HENRY GOULBURN.

" Nullus in urbe locus, nulla emolumenta laborum,"
The days of place to us, alack ! are o'er ;
True statesmen now are recompensed no more ;
Time was when o'er th' Exchequer I presided,
Deep Herries praised, and booby Brougham derided ;
Not vainly then my philosophic glance
Pervaded all the science of finance ;
For I did more than read the " Wealth of Nations,"
I put by some for me and my relations.

1832.] [ 617 ]

SCENES IN CUNNEMARA.

THIS remote and unfrequented, but singularly picturesque and interesting district
of the west of Ireland, takes its name from the striking manner in which its coast
is indented by the Atlantic, the word Cunnemara signifying in Irish, ** the bays of
the sea" When better known than it is at present, it cannot fail to obtain a high
place — we would almost venture to say the highest — amongst the natural attractions
of the island. Its mountains are loftier and bolder, and its lakes far more exten-
sive, numerous, and beautiful than those of Wicklow, which have been so much
celebrated ; its shares are more magnificent than those of Antrim ; and if it yields
in beauty to Killarney, owing to the deficiency of wood, it challenges in a much
higher degree the ad miration of those who consider the principal charm of scenery to
consist in its wildness and majesty. The eye that is not to be pleased without mea-
dows and groves, must seek elsewhere for gratification ; here there is little upon
the hills but the purple heather, and in the valleys but the fern and bog-violet ; the
forests that once clothed the domains of the Blakes and Martins, have disappeared,
and left scarce a memorial of their former existence, save a huge trunk of m'ne
occasionally discovered in the bogs, or a solitary and stunted oak or yew, which,
having no fellow within twenty miles, is known to the natives by the name of " the
tree" and serves as the limit of an estate or the boundary of a parish. But if any
where there is a country where the absence of wood can be overlooked, it is this
region. The picturesque amply apologizes for the bleak and barren ; the charac-
ter of the scenery may be described to be a waste magnificence, wanting beauty
and mildness only to be more romantically distinguished by a stern and rugged
grandeur.

There is one inducement, however, which can no longer be offered to attract
tourists to this part of Ireland. There remains now little difficulty and no danger
to give the excursion the air of adventure. Within the last ten years, new roads
have been executed, and good bridges have taken the place of perilous fords. The
hand of Nimmo is visible in places that were previously inaccessible except to the
feet of the red-deer ; and the fruits of his engineering labours are obvious in the
better tillage of the soil, and improved habits of the population. There is nowhere
a more peaceable race than inhabits between Loch Corrib and the ocean. Terry -
Altism has broken out in Mayo, without infecting them in its passage from Clare.
Nowhere is the person of the traveller more safe from harm ; and nowhere will he
experience more frequent instances of civility and good nature. The Galway
mountaineer is distinguished for his politeness and obliging temper even amongst
the peasantry of Ireland ; nobody is without the pale of his kind offices except the
man who is rash enough to undertake the service of a" tatitat" or any similar mis-
sion from the king's superior courts ; for him — but we shall resume this sad sub-
ject when we come to mention the customs of the town of Cliefden.

Cunnemara, in the vulgar and larger acceptation of the word, comprehends
almost the whole maritime and mountain regions of the county Galway. It pro-
perly, however, includes only the barony of Ballynahinch, and commences a few
miles to the north of the town of Qughterard, near a small lake called Loch Bofin.
The numerous islands off the coast form part of it ; and it is divided amongst three
proprietors, Martin of Ballynahinch, D'Arcy of Cliefden, and Blake of Reuvyle.

" Place me where Dick Martin rules
The woodless wilds of Cunnemara,"

is nevertheless poetically accurate, the possessions of that celebrated character
extending over far the greater part of the district. There is one immense tract
which he facetiously calls his demesne ; a dilapidated edifice at Oughterard repre-
senting the gate-house, and twenty Irish miles of road the avenue, to the castle. It
need hardly be stated that such a demesne has no inclosures but the Atlantic and
the mountains. The island of Carrigaroon off Seyne Head serves as a deer-park ;
and that of Carrigavolty in the»bay of Iloundstone is used as a kitchen garden.

From Galway to Oughterard, a space of fifteen miles, the route is dull. Con-
siderably to the right stretches Loch Corrib, at this extremity an unattractive sheet

M.M. New Series.— Vol. XIII. No. 78. 2 T

618 Scenes in the Irish Highlands — Cunnemara. |_JUNE,

of water, strewed with barren islands, and skirted with flat desolate shores, with
nothing to seize the eye, save here and there a mined castle, or the bleak unfinished
residence of a Lynch or a Bodkin. The face of the country round about, divided
and subdivided into numberless minute patches by dry stone fences, presents a
dreary aspect; when it is wild, it has none of the bold features that make wildness
picturesque ; when it is cultivated, such miserable cultivation would willingly be
exchanged for the most complete sterility. In short, nothing can be less interest-
ing than this stage of the journey ; we saw nothing worth notice except a natural
bridge formed by the working of a mountain stream through a solid ledge of rock, —
and a surveyor measuring a new line of road with an apparatus, strikingly illustra-
tive of the state of the arts and sciences in Connaught — to wit, a hay-rope ! Of
these two curiosities, the natural one is common in the county Galway. Except
that it is on a very reduced scale, it resembles exactly 'the phenomenon of the
"perte du Rhone" between Geneva and Lyons. The moment we entered Cunne-
mara, properly so called, the scenery grew interesting. The path lay along a con-
tinued chain of lakes ; and our gradual approximation to the highlands made the
features of the landscape more prominent and agreeable every step we advanced.
The mountains of Joyce-country (as the barony of Ross is popularly called), and the
singular chain of Beanabola, or " The Twelve Pins," exhibited to the right, and in
front, their magnificently irregular outline, and were rendered additionally strik-
ing by the contrast of their dark blue colour with the light tint of the sky. Some
of the lakes just mentioned have much beauty. One in particular drew our admi-
ration, being distinguished by the rare ornament of an island clothed with a fine
oak copse. A little beyond this we stopped to dine at a kind of inn, well known in
the country by the name of Flinn's, or the Half- Way-House, This solitary place
afforded better cheer than its situation or aspect promised ; the small sheep which
we thought picturesque objects upon the hills, we now found to be excellent mut-
ton upon the table ; and here for the first time we tasted the " potsheen" which,
next to the manufacture of a celebrated species of worsted stocking, is the chief
branch of industry in Cunnemara. I had nearly omitted to mention that travelling
from the town of Galway into the Highlands, is called, in the native phraseology,
"going back." The meaning of course is, going into the back or remote parts of the
country; but it puzzled us extremely at first, and led to some humorous mistakes.
" Your honours are going back ?" said a fellow with whom we had entered into
discourse a little before we came to Flinn's. " No," was the reply ; for we natu-
rally considered we were going forward. " Oh then, by my show], ye's have lost
your way," rejoined the mountaineer, who concluded it was the town of Galway we
had in view.

As we had walked from Oughterard, a distance of ten miles, it was with no reluc-
tance that we now mounted ponies. We had sixteen miles to travel to reach that
place, and, as three miles an hour was the swiftest rate at which it was practicable
to ride upon so rugged a road, this was looked upon as a long journey. However,
if it was long, it made amends by its splendour. Every thing like tameness began
rapidly to disappear; it was soon not the distant prospects only that were picturesque,
but the scenery, with which we were almost in contact. The mountains approached
nearer, and rose abruptly out of the lakes ; the passes seemed to open ; and the eye
caught romantic glimpses of other mountains beyond and wild glens between ;
while at the same time the shifting elevations and directions of the road, which had
been previously tolerably straight and level, had the usual effect in diversifying the
views. Loch Garromin is lovely as well as wild. To the right, and considerably
below the level of the road, it lay, on a serene September evening, at perfect repose,
reflecting vividly a fine impending hill, to which the heath gave a pink hue exqui-
sitely soft and beautiful. Between the road and the edge of the lake is the demesne
and house of Dean Mahon, a dignitary of the establishment, the former finely
planted, though not by the hand of nature ; the latter (as far as the trees that em-
bosom it enabled us to judge) a small plain edifice tastefully suited to the situation
it occupies. A second lake, much inferior to the first in size, adds considerably to
the attractions of this place, which is sweet as well as romantic, the only spot
perhaps in Cunnemara of which that description can be given. If at Garrornin we
felt surprise at the little that has been said in praise of scenery of so high an order,

1832.] Scenes in the Irish Highlands — Cunnemara. 619

how greatly was that feeling1 increased on reaching Ballanaliinch ! The mansion
of the Martins, an irregular unhandsome building, stands within fifty yards of as
noble a situation as a great proprietor could select or desire for his residence. The
vicinity of the houses of Irish gentlemen to enviable sites has frequently been re-
marked, but never was the blunder more conspicuous than in this instance. The
brow of an eminence, a little in front of Ballynahinch Castle, intercepts it from the
view of a spacious and splendid lake, over which one of the twelve peaks of the
Beanabola chain towers to the majestic altitude of 1900 feet. The base of this
mountain (which is called Lettery, and is one of the highest in Cunnemara) is
covered with a flourishing copse of oak, ash, and birch, which, being well preserved,
promises in due time to equal the forests of former days. The lake has several
islets, some wooded, and some bare. On one of the latter, the still upright walls of
an old castle (probably the abode in violent times of some martial proprietor of these
domains) have a remarkably fine effect. The scenery, on the whole, is admirably
calculated to furnish the localities of a romantic tale or poem ; but Irish lakes and
mountains have no Scott to celebrate them ; they remain neglected like the people
that grow up, pine, and perish on their shores and amongst their recesses.

The Ballynahinch lake communicates by a deep and rapid stream with that
of Derryclare, and this in like manner with the magnificent Loch Inagh ; the three
together forming a grand chain, which extends on one side far into the bosom of
the mountains, and on the other, by means of a fine river, unites itself with the
Atlantic. Upon this river, about two miles below the castle, is a weir, and the best,
salmon fishery in Ireland. A good angler, in fine weather, may kill a dozen salmon
with ease in the course of a day. Mr. Thomas Martin, the present resident at the
Castle, gives permission in the most handsome manner to every fair sportsman who
asks it; nor does his liberality stop there ; his house is open in the most hospitable
manner to every gentleman who visits the country ; and it is impossible to be his
guest for a single day without admiring the noble spirit and amiable feeling with
which he discharges all the duties of a landlord, a magistrate, and a gentleman.
In the absence of his father, who has long been resident abroad, Thomas Martin is
virtual proprietor of this immense estate, and though not always politically sympa-
thising with them, his justice, moderation, and kindness, make him regarded more
as a father than as a feudal superior by the,men of Cunnemara.

Cliefden, where we did not arrive until a very late hour, is a town of modern
origin, situated on the ridge of an eminence, at the head of a winding estuary, into
which a riotous mountain torrent rashes, after having a few moments before thrown
itself over a precipice in a broad and bold cascade. The feeling of the men of
Cunnemara towards the servers of latitats, or processes of the like nature, has been
alluded to already : at Cliefden this feeling is, according to established usage, dis-
played in the following lively manner. Across the torrent just mentioned, about
half a mile from the town, there is a narrow stone bridge, under which the stream
is particularly deep and rapid. To this bridge, which might properly enough upon
such occasions be called " the bridge of sighs," the process-server is quietly con-
ducted ; and being placed upon the parapet, he is offered the alternative of chewing
and swallowing the warrant, or being precipitated headlong into the abyss beneath.
This practice being invariably adhered to in cases of legal intrusion, it may readily
be supposed that they do not occur frequently. Cliefden is in fact as impregnable
a fortress as the Isle of Man. The individual who undertakes to serve a latitat on
the estate of Mr. D'Arcy should swim like a wild goose, or be endowed with more
than the " dura ilia messorum" He is sure either to find a watery grave, or to be
taught the meaning of a " digest" of the law. But to return to the scenery, the
shores of the bay of Cliefden are precipitous and barren. U^on the northern side,
a short way from the town, is the residence of the proprietor, built in a castellated
style, and though far from imposing at a near view, producing an agreeable and
picturesque effect from the bay or the opposite cliffs. The grounds are handsomely
planted, and there, for the first time in Cunnemara, we heard the notes of the robin
and blackbird. A rough and breezy walk of a few miles along the adjacent heights
afforded a vast and splendid prospect of the ocean, and the most complete view of
the Beanabola chain that is to be had from any part of the country. The twelve
peaks, or "pins," as they are usually called, are sometimes not easy to be distin-

2 T C2

620 Scenes in the Irish Highlands — Cunnemara. [JuNE,

guished, one standing occasionally in front of another ; seen from this, however,
they are, as it were, drawn up in line; and being all conical, or nearly so, their
appearance is at once unique and grand.

Cliefden was our head quarters. On the second day after our arrival we rode to
Cleggan bay, a spacious inlet, with a bold promontory over its northern shore sur-
mounted by a square tower. The course we took, after passing Streamstown, was
to follow a wild and scarcely distinguishable track, called, by an audacious figure of
speech, a road, and descending to the beach ; from thence we proceeded along the
edge of of a stupendous range of cliffs by a path which no other animal but the
Cunnemara pony could tread in safety. It was a glorious day, and nothing could
surpass the beauty of the ocean except its sublimity. It was blue as the sky and
just sufficiently agitated to give the shore, as far as the eye could trace its windings,
an edging of spray which glittered in the sun like a fringe of silver. Even the
barren islands oft' the coast looked lovely, and reminded us of those in Comus,

" Which like to rich and various gems inlay
The unadorned bosom of the deep."

A few words about the ponies may not be amiss before we go any further. They
are a very useful and curious variety of the horse species. No mule in the Sierra
Morena has a surer foot on steep stony ground. It is in going up and down pre-
cipices, or in the rocky bed of a mountain torrent they excel ; on smooth level roads
they seem actually to'be at fault, and require the continual action of the spur to keep
them in motion. They prefer hard ground to soft, and will leave an elastic turf
fo ia path hewn out of the living rock, and strewed with blocks of granite. Their
maintenance costs the natives almost nothing. When unemployed they wander
like goats among the hills, and seldom or never receive the ordinary treatment of
horses, either in shoeing, stabling, or feeding. At Corriblodge we ordered one of
them a feed of oats, but he did not know what it meant, and positively declined
tasting it. In winter, when the peasants have little use for them, it is usual, we
were informed, to thatch them with straw, and in this extraordinary housing, they
are turned loose, to shift for themselves through all the vicissitudes of the season.

One of our party being afflicted one morning with a violent headache, we had an
opportunity of observing the state of the medical profession in Cunnemara. A dose

of medicine being advisable, recourse was had to " the doctor" of . It

was no easy matter to get into his shop, the door being blockaded by a huge pig ;
at length it was effected ; there was no one there but an urchin without breeches,

sitting on the floor. " Is Doctor F at home ? " — " eh ! " — the question was

repeated again—" eh !" — " Zounds, man ! is Doctor F at home ?" " Oh,

may-be its my father you want; he's in Galway this three days." " Is there any
one else here?" "Yes." "Who?" "My mother?" " Where is she ?" "She's
in Roundstone," (a place five miles distant). " Well, who sells the medicines?"
" Oh, any one that likes." " Why, might I take them ? " " You may if you like."
It seemed, however, more prudent to repair to the dispensary, where a rival physi-
cian was established. An old man was perceived engaged in feeding an immense
drove of geese and turkeys. " Is the doctor at home?" " I'm he, Sir." "I
want a little castor oil." " Oh, by dad, I hav'nt a drop ; bad luck to the fellows
in Galway, it's three months since I wrote to them for it, and they never sent it
yef, devil's cure to them ! " Such are the sons of Esculapius in Cunnemara.

We had a glorious day for the excursion to the Killeries, two creeks (for the benefit
of those who are not intimate with Irish geography) very unequal in extent, at the
northern extremity of the county Galway. The greater separates Galway from
Mayo, and is also the boundary of Cunnemara upon that side. At the upper end
of the inlet is a place called Leenane, where we were led to expect a wild, but
hearty and plentiful entertainment at the house of John Joyce, a renowned charac-
ter in the country, commonly called, from his gigantic size and personal prowess,
Shawn More or Great John. A hundred stories were told us of the various attrac-
tions of this place, or, as the narrators expressed it, " the capers of Leenane." The
word " caper'1 stands in Cunnemara for any thing extremely curious or worth visit-
ing. A boatman of Mr Martin, expatiating upon the curiosity of some caves that
are to be seen at Cong in the county of Mayo, said — " Your honours wont lave

1832.] Scenes in the Irish Highlands — Cunnemara. 621

the country without seeing the Capers of Cong." Amongst the " capers" of
Shawn More's establishment, we were promised the goodly sight of that worthy
personage and his wife — a lady of proportionate dimensions — taking their daily
plunge into the waters of the creek, a ceremony which they always perform hand
in hand, at the first break of dawn. But let us arrive at Leenane before we say
more about it. Our first object was Renvyle point, where Mr Blake, the reputed
author of " Letters from the Irish Highlands," has a seat. We did not, however,
approach nearer to that place than the little village of Tullybawn, the heights over
which command a superb marine view, bounded on the north by the majestic
mountain of Mulrea, in the county Mayo. The shore presents an uninterrupted
range of the wildest crags hanging over a white sandy beach ; in front, with a
sparkling surf breaking upon their picturesquely barren sides, are the isles of Innis-
Turk and Innis-Clare ; and extending in the back ground many a mile, appear
those of Achill, part of the district of Erris, which suffered so intensely during the
recent scarcity. Innis-Clare, or Clare island, (innis signifying island in the
Gaelic) is famed in- Irish story as the stronghold of that romantic chieftainess
whose visit to the court of Elizabeth is on historical record. It was probably to
this ocean-fastness she conveyed the young heir of the Earl of Howth, whom, on
her return from England, she made captive, to revenge the inhospitality of his
father. There still stands upon the island a ruined tower, which the fisherman
boldly states was the castle of Granawaile.

The charm of the lesser Killery is much heightened by the manner in which
you approach it. It burst suddenly into view upon the sudden turn of a path
which descends a close rocky ravine ; and is certainly as romantically beautiful a
creek as any into which the sea ever retreated. Save where the ocean enters, it is
invested with cliffs and mountains, which, chequered with the finest variety of
tints, start up abruptly from the brink of the clear still water, or just leave space
for the narrow road to sweep round the shore. The heights to the north rise
perhaps not less than J200 feet above the level of the bay ; and to reach Leenane,
we had to cross them by a frightfully steep path, overhung, both ascending and
descending, with tremendous precipices. This is called the pass of Salruc. The
descent brought the greater Killery into view ; but to give any idea of its gran-
deur, I should describe as well as Petrie draws. Owing to huge masses of rock
that were piled around us, it developed itself very slowly ; but this only added to
the effect, which became every moment more imposing, until at length the eye got
free from all obstructions, and embraced the prospect in all its vastness and
splendour. We stood about a hundred yards above the creek ; and (the apparent
junction of the mountains on each side of its mouth excluding the view of the
ocean) it presented the appearance of a magnificent lake, about two miles broad,
and seven or eight in length. Over it, to the north, towered Mulrea, in barren
grandeur, its broad purple side dipping into the waves, and its irregular summit
crested with exposed rock. All was still and solitary ; the scream of the curlew
was the only sound heard ; the name of " harbour," by which this arm of the sea
is commonly distinguished, conveys an idea the very reverse of the reality ; a
single white sail was the only object that gave sign of life over the whole surface
of the inlet. And the shores were as idle as the waters. Not a tree, and scarce
a human dwelling, was in sight. But, as far as scenery was concerned, this was no
subject of regret: the glorious expanse, that spread bright, calm, and blue,
beneath us, gave it as much softness as was perhaps compatible with its sublimity.
We even quarrelled with a minute patch of cultivation on the side of the opposite
mountain — the work of some needy husbandman, who preferred potatoes to the
picturesque.

The road follows the shore, and commands the scenery of the creek, the re-
mainder of the way to Leenane, a space of about ten miles. Once, indeed, where
we climbed and traversed a lofty table-land, the water was for a while out of
view ; but it was only one scene of magnificence shifted to give placed to another :
the Mam, Turk, and Beanabola Mountains presenting themselves distinct and
prominent in a splendid semicircle, their bold peaks and deep passes occasioning
that wild irregularity of outline which is amongst the chief fascinations of a high-
land prospect. On regaining the creek, the mountains on the opposite, or Mayo

622 Scenes in the Irish Highlands — Cnnnemara.

side, had undergone a change, and a romantic valley was disclosed, where a Mr.St.
George has a beautiful seat called Delphi. A few miles more brought us to our
destination ; and the scenery of the Killerys did not more surpass our expectations
than Shawn More's abode fell short of them. The day was far declined, and the
wildness and loneliness of the situation, on the edge of the inlet, encircled with
oteep naked hills, appeared certainly to the best advantage; but the renowned pro-
prietor was absent at a distant fair, and his lady did not hazard the rebuke of
Martha by her pains to entertain us. The herrings and potatoes, to be sure, were
Tinexceptionable, but the mutton chops were from the least esculent parts of the
mountain sheep, and when we asked for potheen she gave us parliament. To
crown all, the table was spread critically under a loft where the fowls had already
composed themselves to rest, and the descent through the rafters of a great turkey-
cock, whose slumbers were scared by the unusual din beneath, proved nearly fatal
to an excellent map of Galway. This was the "capers of Leenane" with a
vengeance. Had we stopped there to sleep, we should have witnessed the capers
of another branch of animated nature ; for, on inspecting the beds, they were more
like entomological museums than places of repose. A single glance of them
determined us, late as it then was, to make for Corrib Lodge, an inn seven
miles distant.

We traversed the barony of Ross, better known by the name of the Joyce-
country, which it takes from the circumstance of its having been anciently pos-
sessed by the family or sept of the Joyces, one of the twelve tribes of Galway,
enumerated in the familiar rhyme

Athy, Blake, Bodkin, Browne, Deane, D'Arcy, Lynch,

Joyce, Kinvan, Maitin, Morris, Skerret, French.

The Joyces were formerly distinguished as the Anaks of the kingdom of Connaugkt;
and there are still to be met with in the district which retains their name, and
is indeed to a great degree peopled by their descendants, frequent instances of
extraordinary stature. John Joyce, of Leenane, is said to be seven feet high.
The race is said to have sprung from the marriage of a Welch chieftain with
Onorah O'Brien, a princess of Thomond ; and their settlement in these high-lands
is traced back as far as the reign of Edward the First. The most illustrious
name in their annals is that of Margaret-na-Drehide, or Margaret " of the bridges,"
so called from her memorable exertions to advance that species of public work, in a
country where the number of impetuous streams that rush from the mountains,
renders it one of peculiar utility and importance. The legend says that heaven
signified its approbation of her humane labours in a signal manner. One day, as
she sat inspecting her workmen, an eagle from the neighbouring cliffs hovered a
while over her head ; then, stooping suddenly, dropped into her bosom a gold
ring set with a precious gem, the nature of which no lapidary could ever discover.
This brilliant, which outshone the diamond, is said to have been long preserved in
her house; and some say was seen so late as the year 1661. Her bridges, it is
probable, did not endure so long ; at least it is certain that Mr. Nimmo, when he
commenced his operations in this country, found few traces of Margaret-na-
Drehide.

Corrib Lodge is situated at the entrance of the Beal-na-brack river into Loch
Corrib; and was built by the engineer just alluded to, for a residence, while he
was engaged in this part of the country. A handsome stone bridge and a new line
of road, both of his construction, face the door, and give the place an unusual air
of civilization. The lodge is at present an inn, and affords excellent, though not
extensive, accommodation. The day after our arrival we hired a boat; and two
tall, half-naked Joyces, as guiltless of Saxon as we of Gaelic, rowed us seven or
eight miles down the lake. The scenery for about that space is extremely pictu-
resque. A little rocky islet, covered almost entirely with the ivy-mantled ruins of an
ancient fortress, called Anaguirke Castle, has a romantic effect. This structure is
of quadrangular form, and its massive walls, the masonry of a rude and remote
age, are still sufficiently perfect to make it a remarkably striking object at more than
a mile's distance. The low dark holes that served its warlike occupants for bed-
rooms are in complete preservation ; but who those occupants were no legend

1832.] Scenes in the Irish Highlands— Cunnemara. 623

remains to afford even the means of conjecture. The islands scattered over the
vast sheet of Loch Corrib, are said to equal the days of the year in number: our
attention was directed, however, to but very few ; for they do not occur frequently,
until the lake expands to its greatest breadth ; and that being also the point where
the scenery loses its bold character, we pursued our voyage no/urther, but contented
ourselves with putting to shore and taking a general survey of the whole expanse,
with all its shores and islands, from the summit of the range of hills on the western
side. The view is truly magnificent, embracing the mountains of Mayo, and
those of Joyce-country, through which we had travelled the preceding night from
Leenane. About a mile from the old castle there is a little wooded promontory, not
far from which a fatal accident occurred, some months back, to a Mr. Browne and
two companions. A sudden squall — no unusual event on these highland lakes —
overset their boat, which was unluckily furnished with a sail ; and, being unable
to swim to shore, they perished within sight of the rest of their party, who had
landed for the purpose of kindling a fire and preparing dinner with the trout they
had killed. Loch Corrib, I should mention, is celebrated for an excellent species
of that fish, called the Gillaroe trout, remarkable for having a gizzard like that of
a fowl, which is frequently dressed alone and esteemed a delicacy. The Gillaroe,
however, is not the exclusive property of Loch Corrib ; several of the Cunnemara
lakes possess it ; we found it the following day in Loch Inagh.

We dined on our return to the lodge, and started immediately after for
" Flinn's," or the " Half-way-house," where we had fixed to take up our quarters
for the night. When we arrived there, however, we found the beds engaged by
an engineering party, and learned with dismay that we had no alternative but to
go on to Garromin'(a place already mentioned) and throw ourselves on the hos-

S'tality, not of the Dean, but of Red John M'Donough, commonly called Shawn
u, the tenant of a miserable hut not a hundred yards from the Dean's gate.
Dark were our forebodings of the entertainment that awaited us, and they were
realized. The supper consisted of half-boiled potatoes, with the addition of certain
eels roasted until they were actually transubstantiated into the nature of the
embers that carbonated, not cooked them. The beds, like those at Shawn More's,
conjured up to our imaginations the whole insect-kingdom. We plunged into
them, like Curtius into the chasm, with the certainty of being swallowed up alive
staring us in the face — but in mercy to the reader I draw the curtain. I may
mention, however, what was going on outside. It was a general combination
against Morpheus. All the M'Donoughs were snoring obstreperously; there was
such a concert of crickets as chimney-corner never rung with before; and (as if
more Macbeths were wanting to " murder sleep " ) a trio of abominable kittens
were at play the live-long night with a number of the Morning Register, which we
had brought with us from Dublin for the politicians of Cunnemara — all this not
a hundred yards from the residence of the Dean ! The voluptuous image of that
dignitary rolling in a bed of down after a luxurious supper, haunted our dreams,
and the next morning, at breakfast, there was a unanimous feeling against the
church establishment.

The last excursion of which my limits allow me to give any particulars was from
Garromin to the series of lakes already mentioned, viz., those of Ballynahinch,
Derryclare, and Inagh. Next to the scenery of the Killeries, (if it is not unfair
to institute the comparison), that of these lakes is unquestionably the grandest in
Cunnemara. They rise considerably one above another ; the level of Loch Inagh
being higher than that of Derryclare, and the level of the latter, in like manner,
above that of Ballynahinch. The consequence is, that the two little streams, which
connect them together, rush down through their narrow rocky channels with great
impetuosity. That which unites the two upper lakes, has so rapid a fall that its
navigation is never attempted. We walked across the bog from M'Donough's
cabin to the lower end of Loch Inagh, and there got into a boat which, by the
kindness of Mr. Thomas Martin, had been transported upon men's shoulders from
Ballynahinch to meet us. The upper part of Derryclare lake, of which we had
necessarily a near view, struck us as being very beautiful; particularly the little
wood, with the thatched cottage, half-hidden in the trees, which is mentioned in
the " Letters from the Irish Highlands." The boatmen, who, fortunately for us,

624 Scenes in the Irish Highlands— Cunnetnara.

had their tongues tinctured with a little English, stated that this picturesque
retreat, accompanied with three thousand acres of mountain, had lately been let
for the not very exorbitant rent of twenty pounds a year. Loch Inagh is full of tish ;
in the course of a few hours two of the party, who were sportsmen, killed
several dozen white trout and two or three fine salmon.

There are no pike in this, or in any of the Cunnemara Lakes, and the trout
accordingly multiply freely. The only check to population, to use the Malthusian
phrase, are the eagles which abound in the impending cliffs, and occasionally sub-
sist upon the inhabitants of the water. They dart their beaks into them the instant
they appear above the surface ; and, if the fish is not too heavy, fly with it to their
inaccessible eyries ; sometimes, however, it happens that an eagle seizes a salmon
•which is not to be managed so easily : in such a case (we were informed by the
boatmen, who declared they had often witnessed it) his plan is to set up one of his
wings for a sail, and in this manner float with his prey to shore. We saw several
of these noble birds, but had not the luck to see them display their talents in this
odd way ; the story, therefore, rests entirely upon the authority of the original
narrators, who, however, told it gravely, as an incontestible fact in the natural his-
tory of Loch Inagh. We had a great deal of pleasant intercourse with the boat-
men, who were entertaining as well as intelligent fellows ; they gave us (amongst
other things) a full account of the habits of the salmon, which, related in their way,
was any thing but a dry lecture on icthyology, I cannot detail the whole conver-
sation upon this point, but I remember we laughed heartily at hearing that the
salmon fry went down to the sea as soon as they could " gather a faction" a mode
of speaking so natural to an Irish peasant, and so humorous in its application.
But I despair of giving an idea of the scenery. To the left, as we went up the
lake from the Derryclare end, was a magnificent chain of mountains, abrupt and
stony. The white clouds were impaled upon their sharp summits, and several
torrents rushed headlong clown their precipitous and naked sides. On the opposite
side the hills sloped gradually from the water-edge, and being clothed with heath
had a softer character. The surface of the loch was adorned with some rocky
islets, which were nevertheless covered with a dense and flourishing underwood,
just beginning to take the deep brown of autumn. Where any of these little
insulated woods intervened between the boat and the wild craggy range of moun-
tains to the left, it was impossible to imagine any thing in lake or highland scenery
more romantically beautiful. But the picturesque did not silence the calls of
appetite ; we pushed to shore upon one of the prettiest islands, kindled a fire,
roasted some of the trout, and, with the aid of the mountain dew, made a meal
that Gods might have envied, enlivened by the discourse of the boatmen, who
exhausted their magazine of facts, and then drew largely on their fancies, to make
the time pass agreeably, an object in which (it is due to their wit as well as their
good nature to say) they fully succeeded. I wish I could add a little about the
lake of Derryclare, which was the next lake we visited ; but the hard laws which
editors impose on contributors do not allow me to say more, than that it is equal to
Loch Inagh in attractions for sportsmen, and little, if at all, inferior in point of
scenery. In conclusion let me say of an excursion to Cunnemara, that it will
amply repay any one who takes it. If his object be game, the mountains and
lakes abound with it ; if the roving of his eye be rather that of the poet than the
sportsman, he will meet with equal gratification. In general, too, the dinners are
good, and the beds comfortable ; carbonated eels and the entomological museum
are extreme cases.

1832.] [ 625 ]

ANECDOTES OF GERMAN COURTS.

THE various tongued denizens of earth who had crowded Frankfort
during the great fair were fast returning to their distant homes, the well
filled table d'htite at the Romischer Kaiser was now reduced to a few
members of the corps diplomatique. " See that my passport is en regie
for Vienna/' said I to the Kellner, " for Frankfort has now become into-
lerably dull."

As the traveller journies towards Saxony, the face of the country under-
goes a marked change ; the vine clad heights of the Mein gave place to
the dark ridges of the Thuringian forest, between which and the foot
of the Ezegibirge, extend the dominions of a crowd of petty princes,
who, by their family influence or political services, have saved their insig-
nificant independencies from the mediatising ban of the German confede-
ration.

My travelling companion was an old Dutch colonel, the Baron Van

S . He had made thirty campaigns, and the wild uncertainty of a

camp life had given to him that happy constitutional indifference which
philosophy in vain aspires to. A vein of military pedantry ran through
his conversation, but this was enlivened by such shrewd and profound
observations on men and things, such a fund of anecdote, as taught me
that the Baron had moved no inattentive observer on the great theatre of
events on which he had played his part. " In whose dominions are we
at present •" said I to the post-master at Lebenstein, for in the course of
our morning's ride, we had passed through half-a-dozen states. " In those
of his Serene Highness of Saxe Meinengen/' was the reply. I confess I
felt a little curious to visit the state that was likely to have the honour of
one day giving a Queen to England. We therefore proceeded straight to
the capital, and little time it took us to get there.

The town of Saxe Meinengen is situated on the right bank of the
Warre, beautifully embosomed in hills, it is rather handsomely built, and
is poetically called the City of the Harp. The population of the whole
state is about 40,000 souls, its revenue 30,OOOZ., and as a member of the
German Confederation it has one fifth of a vote. I gathered this important
statistical knowledge from the Court Almanack. What a ridiculous
*' spectacle politique' do these little petty German states present, with
their standing armies and all the attirail of a court. Here is the duchy
of Saxe Meinengen — its whole population is inferior to that of a mo-
derately sized English town, and its entire revenue considerably less than
the pin money of our Queen. Such is the fact j an English town, con-
sidered unworthy of being represented in parliament, has double the popu-
lation, and centuple the wealth and intelligence of the duchy of Saxe
Meinengen, that has given to us a Queen who has shewn so much elevated
contempt for our Manchesters and Birminghams. An English hunter
would gallop round its territory in an hour ; an English nobleman must
be a skilful financier to subsist on its paltry revenue without running in
debt.

" You are right," said the Baron, " but it was still worse in the time of
the old German confederation. In fact the state we are now in is a
mighty empire compared to the Lilliputian dominions of many of these
princes, whose military contingent to the confederation was fixed at half a

6C26 Anecdotes of German Courts. [JUNE,

man each ! The whole extent of their territory might have been ranged by
an eighteen pounder. On the formation of the confederation of the Rhine,
eighty de ces Messieurs were mediatised at one coup de plume, an arrange-
ment which was confirmed by the congress of Vienna in 1815, who I
believe would fain have extended to a few more this mediatising principle;
an act that would have gained for that assembly the eternal gratitude of
the subjects of these petty sovereigns, who are borne to the earth by the
weight of taxes to support their beggarly pride and ridiculous pretensions.
"To give you an idea," — continued the Baron, " shortly after Holland was
overrun by the French, I was in garrison at Breda." Now at the words
"J'etais en garnison" I filled out a bumper of Rhudesheimer, for I expected
the relation of a whole campaign at least, and I foresaw it would be far past
midnight ere we got into winter quarters ; but for once I was mistaken.

" Tired of the monotony of a garrison life, I resolved to make an ex-
cursion into some of the little states of the right bank of the Rhine ; they
were crowded at the time with French emigrants, and 1 need not tell you
there was no lack of amusement. I directed my steps to the nearest of
these, the dominions of the Hereditary Prince of Bentheim Steinfurth, and
took up my quarters at the Hotel de la Cour, — immediately opposite the
parade. This was fortunate, for it afforded me an opportunity of reviewing
the standing army of the state, which consisted of six hussars and twenty
grenadiers.

" On the second day of my arrival I waited upon the Grand Chamberlain,
in order to make le premier pas towards an introduction at court. Letters
of nobility proving three descents at least, were indispensable to procure
the honour of an entree^. " I am a Baron born 5" said I in reply to the
chamberlain, " but the revolution a change tout celu." I had, however,
brought with me some old musty parchments, though not without the '
apprehensions of compromising myself with my own government by
figuring away under my old title. These I handed to him. Never shall
I forget the satisfaction he displayed ; he capered about the room, singing
the old romance

" Aux bons temps de la clievalerie,"

and darted off to lay them before his Highness in person.

" On the following Sunday I was invited to the grand convert du
prince. On being ushered into the banquetting hall, I was rather sur-
prised to observe that all the lacqueys wore enormous mustaches. It
was," said the Baron, " a decoration de lacquai which I had never before

seen, and I accordingly testified my astonishment to the Prince deB i,

who sat next to me. " If you look more attentively at them," said the
Prince, smiling at my observation, " you will perceive que ces droles la
are the grenadiers of the guard, who on these occasions throw off the uni-
form of the soldiers to assume the livery of the footman. To be serious,
this little state plays the part of an Italian buffoon, and affords food for
merriment from morning to night. To begin with the Prince himself.
He is one of the most worthy men of his estate, dominions, I should say,
but a perfect imbecile on the subject of his nobility, which he pretends
has descended to him in a direct line from Charlemagne. The court
genealogist goes farther, and pretends that without difficulty it might be
proved that the blood of Arminius

" tout pur ainsi que sa noblesse,

Est descendu jusqu 'a lui de Lucrece en Lucrece."

1832.] Anecdotes of German Courts. 627

" With respect to the Princess," continued the Prince, " she goes many
lengths beyond her lord. She fancies herself another Marie Therese, in
fact the tone of the court is aristocratic on riy pent plus. Two parties at
present divide the state, an Austrian and a Prussian, who hate each other
as much as the Guelphs and the Ghebellines of the middle ages. The
court inclines to the Austrian faction, for you must know that the Prussian
government has seized a village which lay conveniently on their boundary
line, which produced a revenue to the Prince of about SQL annually. The
consequence of this serious defalcation in the revenue has been an appeal
to the German diet, which however is too prudent to shew its impotency
by ordering Prussia to make the amende honorable.

" Observe," said the Prince, " that man bedizened like an English
General. On gala days he officiates as commander-in-chief j on others,
' il fait les fonctions,' — of architect to the court, director of bridges and
highways, and intendant of police. The other on his right is the Minister
of Foreign Affairs in his own opinion — a second Alberoni. His sagacity
has already led him to discover that you are charged with an important
diplomatic mission from a foreign power. You may amuse yourself at
his expense. And now mark more particularly that old cavalier in ear-
nest conversation with the Countess Von S g, it is the Baron Von

H g ; he has gambled away an immense fortune, and now lives by

his wits 5 he generally contrives to lay under contributions every stranger
who arrives at court. You he has already booked for a vingtaine de Louis,
at least. Beware of him, for he is an able tactician, with the effrontery
of Beelzebub himself, as the following anecdote will shew. He was play-
ing a few days ago at Boston with the Countess Von S., and my cousin
the Chevalier B. The Baron lost three thalers and the Chevalier one, who
threw down half a Frederick d'or to discharge his debt. This the Baron
immediately pocketed, saying to the Countess, this makes my debt to you,
Madam, seven tholens j three that I lost, and four that I now borrow of
you ; so that the Countess, independently of her winnings, lost four tha-
lers, for he has never paid her, and never will !" In truth," said my
friend the Baron, " I observed the old fellow hovering on my flanks
during the whole of the evening ; but he was forestalled by the Minister
of Foreign Affairs, who, drawing me aside, dilated profoundly on the then
political state of Europe. War he deemed inevitable, and he took an
opportunity of adroitly alluding to the subject of the village, on which
would pend the policy of the state. Indeed, Sir, said he, we are on the
eve of great events. And so we were, much nearer than his Excellency
had any idea of; for while he was so eloquently discoursing on the state
of Europe, four of the " Hussars of the Guard" were committing some
outrage on the adjoining Prussian territory.

" Now, it happened that the commandant of the district was Blucher,
at that time a colonel. And/' added the Baron, with military frankness,
" he was a * matin' not to be trifled with. He accordingly ordered a cor-
poral and four file to invade the territory of the Prince, and seize the
delinquents. He might have sent, it is true, a larger force, but then the
difficulty of subsisting them ! The corporal set out, and executing a
march a-la Seidlitz, he surprised the hussars in their cantonments, and
carried them prisoners to Blucher's head-quarters. The sensation pro-
duced by the invasion on the court and the minds of the people, was
astonishing. The Prince carried his hand to his sword, but the rage of

628 Anecdotes of German Courts. [JuNE,

the Princess and the ladies of her train was sublime ; it was the wrath of
Juno !

Flectere si nee non superos Acheronta movebo.

The only cafd in the little capital was crowded with politicians. A
general war was deemed inevitable ; an alliance with Austria, and
above all, a subsidy from England was the obvious policy of the state.
Every horse in the Prince's stables was impressed into the service of the
estafette. At the expiration of a week, murmurs of discontent began to
be heard -, an alarming deficiency in the revenue, caused by the enormous
consumption of stationary in the department of foreign affairs, was fore-
told, and a few fierce spirits pronounced the word republic ! What would
have been the result heaven only knows, had not his Prussian Majesty
made due reparation to the wounded honour of his Highness of Bentheim
Steinfurth an event which was celebrated at court by a grand f4te.

" My conge was expired, and I returned to Breda. A few years after-
wards I met this ex-sovereign Prince in Paris, where he was living upon
a pension from the French government, his principality having been
converted into a parochial arrondissement of the newly formed kingdom
of Westphalia."

I was highly amused with these anecdotes, which were rendered more
piquant by the Baron's art de raconter, a talent he possessed to a degree
that would have pleased the fastidious taste of Louis Quatorze himself.

It is these political territorial divisions that are the curse of Germany.
Among her children we see much to admire, — a depth of thought — a love
of science — a martial independence of character that elevates the personal
dignity of man ; but we nowhere find the virtues of the citizen — their
love of fatherland is not a political aspiration, and in fact how should it
be so — a German but seldom dies the subject of the prince under whose
dominion he first drew breath ; he may have been born a Prussian, lived
an Austrian, and died a Bavarian. Or it may have been his worse fate
to have been the subject of some petty independent prince, to support
whose beggarly pride, and aristocratic, nay autocratic pretensions, his
industry, his energies, his manly pride, have been borne to the earth.

But a change is fast coming over this state of things, the vibrations of
the political substratum have already foretold the coming earthquake ; one,
if we are not mistaken, that will not stay its fury until it has swept from
the face of the land the race of pigmy despots, who have so long dis-
graced it with their tyranny and oppression.

1832.] [ 629 ]

THE SONG OF THE TRANSFORMED.

A tradition was current, amongst the natives of Hispaniola, when discovered by Colum-
bus, that the light of the sun was fatal to the aboriginal inhabitants of the island, turning
them into trees and stones ; and that a man, sent out to fish, by a chief named Vagoniona,
and changed into a melodious singing bird, came at night annually about the time he had
suffered this transformation, and bewailed his misfortune in a mournful song, which is the
cause why that bird, mistaken by Columbus for the nightingale, sings always at night. —
Aride Irving's Life of Columbus.

A SONG ! — a dreary song.

Each night, and all night long
Is mine — the hapless Toomahee ! — to sing ;

Far, in some leafy nest

To swell my plumed breast
In plainings wild, and droop my listless wing !

'Tis mine, — with shame to spealr, —

Of wing, and breast, and beak,
MAN, once that was : now, but a lonelj Bird ;

To shun day's mortal light,

And vex the hush of night,
With solemn wailings, as my soul is stirr'd!

A holy, — luscious calm
Is round me, and the balm

Of cool, low-breathing winds, — with sighings sweet
From pale, delicious flowers,
Which wake but at these hours,
Faint forest-voices, soft and sad, to greet.

Yon golden fires above,

Rays, of divinest love,
Shed on the quiet earth, and waters clear ;

To them, with piercing wail,

I pour my piteous tale,
But ah ! they will not heed, or cannot hear.

The spirits of these woods,

The guardians of the floods,
The genii of the radiant, racy flowers,

Know well, the long drawn tone,

By hopelessness alone
Urg'd, and sigh'd forth, intenderest midnight hours. y

My languid wings have sought

Those, who in anguish'd thought
Live to me ever : dear ones, ne'er forgot

Through years, in which no voice

Of man, hath bid rejoice
My loving breast,— I've sought, and found them not.

I've sung:— but where are they,

Who've echoed not, my lay ?
Transform'd perchance, to tree, or rock, or bird ?

Silent in death ? ah ! why,

May not the Chang'd One die ?
Why must his wail eternally be heard ?

B. M. L.

[ 630 ] [JUNE,

MEDICINE AS A SCIENCE, AND AS A TRADE.

THE study of medicine, combining, as it does, the most abstract
subjects of philosophic research, with the most difficult application of
practical skill, may be considered as conducing more to the happiness of
man than any other profession. No subject requires a closer application,
with a more general knowledge. The physician conversant alike in the
animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms, whose abstruse combinations
demand the minutest inquiry and closest investigations, must also be well
acquainted with the machinery of the human frame, in all its internal and
external complication j even the mind, with its endless variety of affec-
tions, must form an important part in the attainment of professional
knowledge. Thus chemistry, anatomy, pathology, and electricity, each
of which may be considered as the study of a life, have an important
claim upon his attention. In the well-educated physician we find a
happy combination of these several sciences, attaching a responsibility to
character, in proportion to the degree of acquirement, and the success or
zeal of their application. Hence that anxiety which generally occupies
the mind of a physician, frequently involving his own reputation and the
life of the patient. Few require more firmness of mind, together with a
deep-rooted attachment for his profession, to bear up against the conflict-
ing events to which he is often exposed, and to this, without affectation,
may be added, his anxiety to promote the welfare and happiness of his
fellow man. The consciousness of having left nothing undone which
great professional application and extensive reading could have effected,
is, in his unsuccessful efforts, his great consolation, whilst, in many
cases, his knowledge of the fatal tendency of particular diseases, saves
the unfortunate patient from many painful but unavailing efforts. Thus
no character has stronger claims upon our respect and admiration, than
that of the well-educated physician, nor are there any efforts at promoting
human happiness to which society is more indebted, than the skilful
adaptation of his knowledge to the end he proposes — health. The
cultivation of medicine as a science becomes a national object with every
country ; where the prolongation of life is desirable, and where the wealth
of a nation depends upon her population, that science, which maintains
the health of the operative classes, can no longer be viewed as a personal
benefit, but rather as a general advantage. There never was a time
when the scientific physician had stronger claims upon the gratitude of
man, than at this moment, when the world is overrun with charlatans and
quacks, who, ignorant both of the properties of medicines, and their
operation in disease, practice with impunity a profession for which they
have no pretensions but ignorance and impudence.

Let us take a review of the rise and fall of the several medical
doctrines, in the different countries where medicine approached the nature
of a science. Since the days of Hippocrates, almost every nation has
had its systems of medical treatment, which, like the people they pro-
fessed to cure, have had each its period of growth, maturity, and decay,
whose durability was proportioned to the influence of its founder. The
unbounded sway which the doctrines of Hippocrates have had, and still
possess over the medical mind, require no comment here; deprived as he
was of the aid of pathology, he advanced the science as far as could be
reasonably expected. In Galen we have a strong proof how little the

'

1 832 Medicine as a Science and as a Trade. 63 1

brightest genius can effect in medicine, when unassisted by observation j
his voluminous comments on Hippocrates are the only things to recom-
mend him to our notice.

The advancement of medicine, as a science, was for a long time
checked by the night of barbarism which, under the name of the middle
ages, overhung Europe. Exiled to Arabia, it there remained stationary,
the comments of Galen serving as oracles to the Arabians. If the im-
proved system of the present day incline us to undervalue the discoveries
of the ancients, a comparative view of the relative conditions of both ages
will assign to each their proper place. In the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries, the star of science burst forth from the mists of barbarism
under which it lay obscured so long, and physicians, released from the
absurd prejudices of former ages, were enabled to examine on the dead
the morbid effects of disease. This period was to medicine as the dawn
of a new world. Animated with a laudable zeal, physicians boldly ven-
tured forth into that fertile field, which lay before them with the accumu-
lated treasures of ages, but hidden beneath the rubbish of ignorance, and
the world have long since shared the benefits of their labours.

Nearer our own time, the immortal Morgagni, availing himself of the
discoveries of other ages, collected observations of a new kind, and esta-
blished pathological anatomy j and the chaos of facts, scattered and in-
terlaced as they were, assumed under the hands of philosophy a certain
order. System succeeded system, each bearing the stamp of the epoch
which gave it birth. Science in general, but medicine in particular,
assumed in the eighteenth century a new life. The physiology of the day
acquired additional interest, and under the guidance of Bichat a new ana-
tomy was established. Nosology, too, was under the hands of Pinel,who
endeavoured to introduce into medicine the analytic and experimental
method adopted in the other sciences, freed from the errors with which it
was overlaid. The diagnosis of disease also received additional light
from the labours of Corvisart, who followed in the tracks of Dehaen and
Stoll.

If any thing were wanted to prove the uncertainty of medicine as a
science, we need but look back on the various systems which have from
time to time prevailed, we have the stricture and laxum of Thernison,
the humoralism of Galen, the traces of which may be found in Hippo-
crates, the Charlatanism and superstition of the middle ages, the chemical
theories of Sylvius, the archeism of Nanhelmont, the anima of Stoll, the
mechanical and mathematical explications of Boerhaave, Hoffman, &c. j
the vitalism of Montpellier, the solidism of Cullen, the system of Brown,
resting on the excess or default of excitability, each of which have " fret-
ted their hour," and passed away, to be revived, perhaps, by succeeding
ages. Amongst the doctrines of the present day, that of Broussais stands
conspicuous at least on the continent; and, without going the whole
length of its founder, we must confess, that there are many points in it
of the deepest interest to the scientific physician j its localisation of dis-
ease, though perhaps too much insisted on by Broussais, still throws
considerable light on the simplification of treatment. Its influence on
the medical mind of this country is not likely to be great; for the super-
structure of medical knowledge here, based on the doctrines of our own
schools, clings, often with the faith of a fanatic, to doctrines which have
little else than the rust of ages to recommend them. If it be asked what

632 Medicine as a Science, and as a Trade. [JUNE,

these doctrines are, few, I believe, can give a satisfactory reply. In
Great Britain we might compare the nosology of system (if we may use
such an expression) with the nosology of disease: every school and every
professor have their theories, to which they refer every disease. The
universities seem to teach medicines without fixed principles, vacillating
between the spasm of Cullen, the humoralism of Galen, and the direct
and indirect debility of Brown. The discoveries of the last two thousand
years have, doubtless, contributed much to the knowledge of man's
physical organisation, and perhaps to the modification of certain diseases;
but, comparing the mortality of the earliest ages with that of the present,
we shall, with very few exceptions, have little cause to boast our supe-
rior treatment. The Greek and Arabian physicians, though deprived of
the aid of anatomy, chemistry, and, to a certain extent, of physiology,
have, notwithstanding, left the best descriptions of some eruptive and
contagious diseases. Long subsequent to the days of Hippocrates, the
Arabians taught medicine in many of the hospitals, founded by the
Mahommedans, though we do not find any account of a regular clinique
either with them or the Greeks.

Upon the revival of letters in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, medi-
cine again began to assume a degree of interest. Its professors were chiefly
engaged in explaining the Arabian commentators of Galen j at length
they found that from the book of nature only could medicine be studied,
with the hope of ever arriving at the dignity of a science. They turned
to nature, and their investigations were successful. Clinical medicine
was then established, first by Francis de la Boie, at Leyden, next by
Boerhaave, who taught it in the same hospital ; shortly after it spread to
Vienna and Edinburgh, in which latter place it flourished with great
celebrity. In 1753, Van Sweitin established an hospital at Vienna which
was successively occupied by Dehaen, Stoll, and Hildenbrand, for cli-
nical instruction. In 1794, the first valuable clinic was established at
Paris, though Desbois and Corvisart gave clinical lectures to their pupils.
France has now assumed a rank in her clinique, immeasurably above
every other country in Europe. Here are to be met men of every caste
and nation, walking her splendid hospitals and crowding her valuable
lecture rooms. France, prodigal of every thing that can improve the
moral or physical condition of man, considers all her institutions as the
joint stock property of mankind in general; well might she say <f Human!
nihil a me alienum puto." Here, then, are clinical lectures, not only on
medicine and surgery in general, but upon all the different branches of
each, and one in particular, on old age, which is not to be met in any other
city in Europe.

Let us now turn to the state of medical clinics amongst ourselves,
and we must exclaim with Sterne, " They manage these things better in
France.'1 The only clinic in this country that merits any notice is the
Edinburgh ; there the lectures are replete with great practical expe-
rience and erudition, but differ from the French clinique in this particu-
lar, in not being given immediately after the visit, when the different
phases of the disease are fresh on the minds of the students. The clinical
lectures are given here only two days of the week : this is to be lamented,
because here only (Edinbugh) every branch connected with the study of
medicine may be learned with great advantage. Medicine, as a science., is
fast improving in the other schools of Great Britain, with the exception of

1S32.] Medicine as a 'Science and as a Trade. 633

London, where it is below par. It is painful to reflect on the state of
niedicine in the great city ; abounding in wealth, talent, and industry, and
with every facility for its cultivation, there is scarcely a man in it known
beyond the limits of his professional rides as a scientific physician. The
paramount importance of wealth in this Babylon absorbs every other
consideration, and degrades a noble science into a servile trade — a science
once deservedly held in the highest estimation, and which could boast of
men eminent, not only in the practice and profession of physic, but cele-
brated as men of letters, the companions of monarchs, and instructors of
princes. With Moliere we may say, '*" Mais nous avons change tout
cela;" a change indeed, with a vengeance, whose tracks are marked by
the desolation it has left. Public opinion, or rather prejudice, having
already stamped the profession of physic with the impress of its con-
tempt, and viewing that system as one of charlatanism, its professors and
teachers no longer cultivate it with that spirit of inquiry which marked
the study of medicine with the Greeks and Arabians. This indifference to
talent and scientific acquirements has called into existence a class of
practitioners whose education, limited to suit the vulgar prejudice of the
day, runs no danger of correcting errors which have called them from a
state of indigence and obscurity to affluence and notoriety. Not that
there are not occasionally to be met with, in this class, men of eminence
and erudition, who, educated for a more elevated walk in the profession,
and finding the tide of prejudice on the one side, and the res angusta
pressing hard on the other, have been obliged to compromise the dignity
of the profession and their own respectability, and merge the man of
science into the man of drugs, with whom information beyond a certain
extent is considered useless, and unsuited to the calibre of his patients'
minds. Looking at the bills of mortality in the different eras of medical
science, many would be tempted to suppose that no improvement has
been made in the treatment of disease. To deny that improvements have
been made in medicine, is to deny the evidence of our senses. To
account for the little variation in the mortality of different ages, notwith-
standing the great improvements of modern philosophers, however pain-
ful to dwell on, is a subject which demands our attention. Of what use
to the mass of mankind are the great discoveries which are daily and
hourly being introduced into medicine, unless well understood by those
who possess the utmost prescriptive right of experimenting in corpore
vili ? There are and will be in all countries a class upon which these
experiments may be made, whose remunerating price is generally too
small to command talent of a better order. From this class the bills of
mortality are generally swelled, whether by inherent disease, bad and un-
wholesome diet, or fruitless and ignorant efforts at cure, is a question
which we shall leave to the statistic physician to decide ; merely observing
that there are few cases, even under the hands of the most enlightened
physicians, where the desire to be doing something does not frequently
do too much.

M.M. New Series. Vol. XIII. No. 78. 2 U

[ 634 ] [JUNE,

birfw bnt

WOMEN ARE THE DEVIL!

IN the fall of the year 1822 I was at St. Salvador, at that time closely
invested by the-, patriot army. The city, strongly fortified by nature and
art, and defended by a numerous garrison composed of veteran Peninsular
regiments, that had marched from the Tagus to the Adour, laughed to
scorn any attempt of the raw and undisciplined levies of Brazil on the
outside to carry it by assault. But so effectually did the insurgents cut
off all supplies from the interior, that the garrison was reduced to the
greatest straights, while famine and its concomitant disease made fearful
havoc among the inhabitants. Under these circumstances I held a
council of war with myself, the result of which was the resolution to
march out of the garrison without delay.

" Toujours perdrix" has been pronounced by a high authority to be an
intolerable hardship, but " toujours bacalhao" and hard biscuit, upon
which I had fared for upwards of ten months, without exaggeration,
would have palled on the appetite of his most voracious majesty the late
king of the Sandwich Islands himself. I lost no time, therefore, in en-
gaging my passage on board an English vessel on the eve of sailing for
the Rio de Janeiro.

This was my first reason for leaving, and a most prudent one it was.
My second was curiosity — a desire to behold the working of the revolu-
tionary system in the south, and to watch the growth of the new institu-
tions just budding into political life — this was philosophical. Thirdly, I
was ambitious of figuring on the theatre of events myself, even though
in the only way in which a foreign adventurer in such cases generally
does figure, viz., " comme de la chaire au canon ^ — this last was down-
right madness.

On the morning of my departure, as we pulled off to the ship that was
to carry me to my destination, my eyes rested on the flag of Portugal,
that with lordly pride was giving its ample folds to the morning breeze.
As I gazed on that banner which had so often waved on the field of vic-
tory; under whose dominion the magnificent city I was leaving had
sprung from the bosom of the wilderness, and European civilization taken
root in the soil, I could not help sympathising with its fallen fortunes j
and a feeling of deep melancholy came over me, when I reflected on the
"instability of all human greatness,'7 and on the possibility of a similar re-
verse clouding at some future day the lofty destinies of my own country.
But on getting on board the ship this gloomy train of thought was soon
dispelled — dispelled by a vision of loveliness, that, were I to live for cen-
turies, would be to the last green in the memory. This was a young
Monte Videan lady. Tall, slender, and graceful as the palmettos of her
native clime, cast in the most faultless mould of Andalusian symmetry,
with lustrous eyes, dark as Erebus,— a classical paleness of complexion, —
the upper lip slightly pencilled by a tinge of down, — a profusion of luxu-
riant raven locks confined by a single comb of costly workmanship, from
which hung the jealous mantilla in graceful folds over her polished
shoulders, — such was the lovely creature to whom the captain introduced
me, and who, on learning that I was to be her compagnon de voyage,
exclaimed, in the sweetest tone in the world, " Me allegro muchossimo ;"

1832.] Women are the Devil! 635

and which my vanity obliges me to translate thus, " I am highly de-
lighted."

In the course of half an hour La Senhora Dolorcitta— -for that was her
name — and myself were as well acquainted as if we had known each other
from childhood. When I recollected that I should enjoy the society of
this fair creature for eighteen or twenty days, imagination revelled in the
thought, and forthwith raised an aerial structure of hope — a structure
not destined to last long -, for I had not once calculated on the number
of days that sea-sickness might possibly abstract her from my society.
Scarcely had the ship passed the bar of the harbour, than this frightful
possibility flashed across my mind with dismaying certainty. Her clear
pale complexion suddenly assumed the yellow greenish hue of the lime ;
but even then she was beautiful. " Santa madre de Jesus yo me muero,
cavallero," she exclaimed, as I applied some restoratives to her nostrils,
and carried her to the side of the vessel. " Ah ! dios mio," she ex-
claimed, " pareceme que esta me saliendo el alma por la boca," and
from what followed this dolorous exclamation, I really began to imagine
it possible " for the soul to escape through the mouth." In a state of the
most helpless insensibility we carried her to her cabin ; to which, to my
great chagrin and disappointment, she was confined for fourteen days,
during which time, as the only person on board acquainted with the
Spanish language, I was obliged to officiate as nurse.

All the usual remedies on such occasions were offered to the fair Monte
Videan, but steadily refused, to the consternation of the captain, who
pronounced such a diet to be fatal; and I must own I had my own mis-
givings on the subject. She would take nothing but hard boiled eggs
and port wine, alleging that the vacuum produced in the system by con-
tinual sea-sickness required to be filled up by something solid and
nourishing in its nature. I should like to have the opinion of the West-
minster Medical Society on this subject : the result certainly proved the
captain to be in the wrong, and the Senhoritta in the right ; for the fif-
teenth day of the passage saw the vessel becalmed beneath the headland
of Cape Frio, and the fair Senoritta perfectly recovered. Sheltered from
the burning rays of a tropical sun by the wide-spreading awning on the
poop of the vessel, and looking beautiful as Cleopatra when she sailed
down the Cydnus to meet her Roman lover — beautiful exceedingly she
looked, reclining on an Indian mat, her slender form half concealed by
the graceful mantilla ; at her feet lay her guitar ornamented with green
and yellow ribbons, the colours of the new empire; while her two black
slaves, with their crimson turbans and picturesque costume, formed a
beautiful background to the picture.

I know not how it is, but with a Spanish woman the current of our
thoughts invariably runs on love. The Senhoritta's ideas were exattes
She dwelt on the inconstancy of men, and the vengeance that should fol-
low unrequited love. " Her husband," she said, " if ever she were
plagued with one, would be free to possess half a dozen mistresses if he
liked it ; but," she added, while her dark eye flashed fire, and her beautiful
countenance was lighted up with a Medean expression of rage, " if he ex-
posed me to the ridicule of the public, I would kill him ! " and so I verily
believe she would, for her spirit was of the real Castilian breed. " But I
shall never marry, amigo." "And why not, Senhoritta?" " Casarme
carallero" she resumed in a tone of reproach, while her lip indignantly

2 U 2

636 Women are the Devil ! [JUNE,

curled j and, seizing her guitar, she sung with great animation the follow-

« No, no, quiero, no quiero casarme,
Que es mejor, es mejor ser solteiro
E sempre placentero
Del mundo, del mundo gozar ."

I shall not translate this stanza, lest I expose the morality of the fair
Dolorcitta to misconstruction. Overcome with the exertion of singing,
one of her black slaves was now despatched to her cabin for her fan.

Now how she had come on deck without it, was a mystery I could not
solve, for as soon might you expect to see a Beata without her beads, as a
Spanish coquette without her fan. Its power is universal. In the Ala-
meda it is a semaphore, with which she will telegraph her lover at its
most distant extremity. In the church it may be compared to a battery
masquee, from behind which she pours the artillery of her eyes with fatal
effect j while in the drawing-room it is the sceptre of despotic sway. But
to resume our narrative : the fan was no where to be found. What could
have become of it ? The captain answered the question by saying that it
had fallen overboard. I was never remarkable for the fertility of my in-
vention ; yet on this occasion, and only on this occasion (and most dearly
did I pay for it, as will be presently seen), it received a powerful impulse.
I flew down to the cabin to open my portfolio, to extract from its folds
my passport — a large folio sheet of paper. To convert this into a fan,
with the arms of his Most Faithful Majesty of Portugal skilfully and
tastefully brought out in relief on the centre, was the work of a moment.
Dolorcetta was delighted. "Viva dios, que U.S es galan ! que U.S es habil,"
she rapturously exclaimed, seizing the fan, and fanning herself as none
but a Spanish woman can do. In the midst of all this moralizing, this
singing, this fanning, the moon rose from the bosom of the ocean in all
the bright effulgence of a tropical clime, bathing in a flood of light its
glassy surface. t/f ^lt{ niifjlo ,oJ tcaqqfiST vitiorfe biuow .

" There is a dangerous softness in that hour ;

A stillness which leaves room for the full soul i n-91 .

To open all itself, without the power
Of calling wholly back its self control.

The silver light, which, hallowing tree and tower,
Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole,

Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws

A loving languor, which is not repose."

And Dolorcitta felt the softness of the hour — her animated converse was
hushed— she drew a deep sigh, and suddenly — Heaven knows how it
came to pass — her beautiful head rested on my shoulder ! How long it
rested there I do not recollect -, but the southern cross had long passed
the meridian, and was fast sinking in the west, and still found us lin-
gering on the poop. We were alone, quite alone, for her attendants were
fast wrapt in the arms of the drowsy god.

Now I will stake my existence, a heavy stake too ! that some of my
readers would feign know what really passed on this interesting occasion.
I am not fond of gratifying people's idle curiosity, but I shall for once
depart from my reserve, and tell them, lest their thoughts should wander,
that nothing did pass that should have passed — for a breeze suddenly
came over the surface of the wave, the officer of the watch took it into
his head to set the top gallant studding sail, and, in giving the order, he

1 83-2.] Women arc the Devil ! 637

awoke the two black slaves, frightened the Senhoritta, and obliged me to
change my front. The breeze increased, and the calm, which I devoutly
wished might last for months, was succeeded by a fair wind that swept
our ship along at the rate of nine knots an hour ; and 'by noon of the fol-
lowing day, saw her safely anchored in the magnificent harbour of the Rio
de Janeiro.

Dolores and myself gazed enraptured on this masterpiece of nature.
How happy we shall be here, what delightful rides we shall have !— we both
exclaimed ; but

" Medio de fonte leporis surgit aliquid amari,"

and a cursed amari there did arise, in the shape of an officer, whose duty
it was to examine our passports. Dolorcitta's was found en regie, and
so ought mine to have been j but, after a most diligent search, it was
nowhere to be found. In the confusion of the preceding night it must
have been blown overboard, and so I told the officer. This worthy, put-
ting on his cocked hat with an official air, treated the matter " au serieuse."
Coming from a place held by the royalists, and without a passport,
looked, he said, suspicious ; and he should be under the necessity of con-
veying me to the citadel on the llha das Cobras, until his excellency the
Minister of Police should decide on the affair.

Here was a pretty scrape. Dolores affected to be au desespoir, but still
I thought I detected a malicious smile playing round her pretty mouth —
the thought was dispelled as soon as conceived by the eloquence of her
regrets, and the tenderness of her manner. " Adios querido que estoy
enfeliz," pressing me to come to her immediately on my liberation. I
jumped into the officer's boat, was rowed to the citadel, and handed over
to the commandant of the fortress, an old colonel of artillery, in personal
appearance the very prototype of the hero of La Mancha. This old
moustache was a complete character ; first of all he was a Sebastianista,
and so firmly did he believe, as I was afterwards told, that Don Sebastian
would shortly reappear to claim his kingdom and crown, that he had a
short time before given 500 dollars to receive 10,000 on the day of his
re-appearance. By his countrymen he was looked upon as a " Varron
eruditissimus," a very Talleyrand in politics — and vain enough the old fel-
low was of his accomplishments, for conceiving the opportunity a favour-
able one of shewing off before a foreigner, he regaled me with an oration
of portentous length, every word of which was taken from Jeremy Ben-
tham, a high authority among- the South American liberals. The perora-
tion of his speech was absolutely sublime. "The human mind had
received an impulse, the spirit of the age would not retrogade, the eyes
of the world were fixed on Brazil, which was majestically advancing to the
goal of human perfectibility !" At this burst of eloquence, the pen drop-
ped from the hands of the orderly serjeant, who was writing under his
dictation at the moment I entered -, and the sentinel that was pacing up
and down the apartments, fairly halted — though the spirit of the oration
was as perfectly unintelligible to them both, as Don Quixote's celebrated
dissertation on the Golden Age, to the goatherds of the Sierra Morena.

Having, as he conceived, impressed me with a high opinion of his elo-
quence, he deigned to make a few observations on the circumstance that had
consigned me to his care. " Young gentleman," said he, twisting his mous-
tache with an air of great complacency, " when I was at your age, I was
remarkable for my gallantry, and great was my success with the fair sex,

638 Women are the Devil! [JuNE,

but I now prefer more solid pleasures, (and so I soon found to my cost,)
for, believe me, women are the very devil : and now, if you please, the ser-
geant shall conduct you to your apartment." And the sergeant I followed,
little dreaming of the nature of my apartment. We traversed the quad-
rangle of the fortress, and stopped before a low door beneath a case-
mated battery, on opening which my ears were assailed by the clangour
of chains and a volley of the most horrid imprecations. So noxious was
the stench, that a momentary faintness came over me. " In the name of
all that's just," said I to the sergeant, " this surely cannot be the apart-
ment the commandant alluded to." " Senor," replied the soldier, " nav hor
remedio, this is the carcel, and there is no other/' and he spoke the truth,
for in this empire, that, according to the boast of the old commandant was
advancing towards perfectibility, I doubt if the name of our Philanthropic
Howard was ever heard. The accused and the condemned, the murderer
and the political offender, the innocent and the guilty, were all confined
in the same loathsome dungeon. " Are you certain, comrade," said I,
drawing out my purse and holding it up as a last appeal, " that there is
no other apartment ?" The soldier fixed his eye on the purse with an in-
tensity of gaze, as if it possessed the faculty fabulously ascribed by his
countrymen to an instrument in possession of the English mining agents,
for discovering, by its optical power, the auriferous ore in the bowels of
the earth. " Another apartment there is," he replied, " cavallero, but it
will cost you dear." " Cost what it may," I eagerly rejoined, " let me
have it j" for had I possessed the diamond district of Serra Frio, I would
freely have given it to have escaped incarceration in a place to which the
black hole of Calcutta was a paradise. The sergeant retired to speak to
the commandant, and shortly returned, telling me, that for fifty dollars a
day I might be accommodated with an apartment overlooking the bay. I
closed with the bargain, was put in possession of my new quarters, and
left to my own reflections. These were not the most agreeable ; the
shadow of a smile that I thought I detected playing on the lip of Dolorcitta,
now assumed in my mind the semblance of reality, and produced a com-
plete revolution in my feelings towards her.

On the following morning the consul procured my liberation, and I ex-
changed my expensive quarters in the citadel for a French posada in the
city. After making an excellent dinner, to which I had long been a
stranger, as I swung in my hammock in the verandah of the posada, gaz-
ing on the glorious scenery of the bay, my thoughts insensibly reverted to
Dolorcitta. I was smoking too, and a segar leads to reflection ; though
I never smoke now, the Guards have made it so vulgar. The angry feel-
ings of the preceding day vanished from my mind like mists before the
sun. The bell of a neighbouring church tolled the Ave Maria, it was the
hour of love ; I felt its melting influence. Springing from the hammock
and putting on my coat, " I will go this instant," said I to myself, " and
call on her." Now should the reader think that I am tediously minute in
mentioning that I put on my coat, he will be egregiously in the wrong, as
readers often are. In the first place, it marks the climate. In the second,
it illustrates a feature of national manners. " Tout est relatif" says a
distinguished French author, " les choses sont importantes scion le pays "
and so they are. The dignity of a pacha is measured by the number of
horse tails that are borne floating on the breeze before him. In China, a
peacock's feather and a cup of bear's milk from the Emperor's table is

1 832.] Women are the Devil ! 639

the highest mark of the imperial favour ; while his neighbour, the King
of Ava, looks upon the title of King of the White Elephant as the " beau-
ideal of human grandeur." Now what the horse tail is in Turkey, the
peacock's feather in China, and the elephant in Ava, the coat is in Brazil —
it marks the caste. It is a passport of gentility, and previous to the revo-
lution, the " hornen de casaca," or the coated man, conveyed to the mind
of the unsophisticated Brazilian as high a notion of human importance, as
a K. C. B. does to an English ploughman.

So I put on my coat, as I said before, and as I passed through the
streets, numerous and flattering were the encomiums bestowed on its
swallow tail and pigeon breast j for the possession of a well made English
coat was coveted even by the immortal Pedro himself, as he was at that
time styled by his subjects.

After traversing the whole of the city, I at last, after considerable diffi-
culty, discovered the residence of my compagnoii du voyage, beautifully
situated near the convent of St. Thereza. I flew up stairs, and clapped
my hands (there are no knockers in Brazil, and I wish there were none in
England), which produced a " Quein es," in the well known accents of
Dolores. " Genie de paz." " Entra u. s. con Dios" and in I went, but, to
my surprise, I found sitting with Dolorcetta, and in closer juxta-position
than I liked, a young officer of cacadores. Still my reception was at first
most flattering, nay, even tender. " Where have you been loitering, In-
graio ? Why came you not yesterday .?" For the best of all reasons, Do-
lores," was my reply. " I was only this day at noon enlarged from the
citadel," and I related my adventure. " Mot par mot" viva Dios ,• what an
amusing adventure ! what a capital story to tell my commadres ! What I
would have given to have seen you at the door of the carcel -, it is really
an excellent joke, and I shall die with laughing ; M and here the malicious
creature sunk back on her seat, and indulged in an extacy of merriment at
my expence. This was too bad, and in the rage of the moment I looked
at her companion to observe if I could detect a smile on his countenance,
that might have afforded me an excuse for cutting his throat ; but though
I strained my eye-balls from their sockets, I could not discover even the
semblance of a smile. Seizing my hat, therefore, and clearing the stair
case at a bound, while the Senhoritta exclaimed, " Do not go, Senor
Cavallero dela triste figura" or in other words " Sir Knight of the woeful
countenance," I passed the threshold of her door, and as I vowed never
more to ' ' darken it with my shadow," I heartily agreed at the same time
with the old commandant, " Que el diablo son les mugeres" " Women
are the verv devil ! "

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[ 640 ] [JUNE,

KOTES ON AMERICA, NO. I.

71979 10

Charleston, S. Carolina.

'tiion bmr

NOTWITHSTANDING the great number and variety of works on
American manners, politics, and statistics, with which the British public
has lately been treated, in the shape of sketches, travels, and dissertations,
still the subject appears to have lost none of its interest ; but, on the
contrary, each new publication is read and quoted with greater avidity
than its predecessor.

The reception which even Mrs. Trollope's work has experienced
amongst us, is a proof of the untired interest which Englishmen feel in all
that concerns their Transatlantic brethren. There is nothing in this scandal-
loving-lady's book very novel or profound. It is in fact no more than a
caricature, of the ill-educated Americans. A clever " yankee " would find no
great difficulty in producing an equally ludicrous effect, by an exaggerated
display of the vulgarity of the corresponding classes in England. The
Broughtons in " Evelina," the Grimshaws in "Sketches of Character," and
the heroes of Mr. Theodore Hook's Tales, are just as fair representations
of the respectable middle classes in England, as the worthies who figure
in Mrs. Trollope's pages, are of the merchants, farmers, and lawyers of
the United States. Hand inexpertus loquor. A residence of several
years in America has afforded me ample opportunity of scrutinising the
manners and character, public and domestic, of all classes, from the Pre-
sident at Washington to his slave at Tenessee.

My design, however, in these sketches, is not to review the works of
others, but to relate such occurrences, and describe such scenes and pecu-
liarities of character, as fell under my personal observation, and would be
most likely to convey to the reader a correct idea of the actual state of
society in various parts of the United States : and it must be recollected
that some account of what may be called the foreign, or emigrant popula-
tion, will necessarily hold as conspicuous a place in any description of the
inhabitants of a country, which has, for so many years, been the asylum
of the discontented, unfortunate, and enterprising exiles from every other
part of the globe. For the shelter which modern Rome has ever
afforded to deposed monarchs, their oppressed subjects have found in the
United States. The affrighted fugitive from Scio, the fiery Neapolitan
noble, the haughty Spanish and Portuguese constitutionalist, and the
heartbroken exile or Erin, all meet there, — to mourn over blighted pros-
pects, and meditate on fresh enterprizes. There too may be seen the
desperate slave trader, privateer, and pirate from Cuba and the Spanish
main, the keen Jew from Poland, and the keener Scotchman from the
Clyde, the dashing comedian and impudent journalist from London, —
Turks, West Indians, Chinese, Negroes, and Hindoos, fill up the more
prominent parts of the varied picture, in which the native Americans seem
only to occupy the back ground.

This mixture and jostling together of men of all classes and nations is
particularly observable in Charleston, the principal city, though not the
capital of South Carolina.

Some years have elapsed since I first visited Charleston, but I recollect

1832.] Notes on America. 641

the day I landed there, as if it were but yesterday. The yellow fever was
raging, and as we sailed up the bay, and neared the wharf, the appearance
of every thing was black and desolate — no hearty greeting, so welcome
after a voyage — no boats full of anxious expectants of northern news
and northern friends (for we had sailed from New York) — all was silent
and dismal. The shore was lined by mourners, " clad in the dark livery
of woe," and dreading the enquiries to which such sorrowful replies must
needs be given. We appeared like a cargo of condemned wretches, sent,
like the Roman criminals, to perish in the Pontine marshes. Even the
negroes forgot to chuckle with their usual recklessness of life or death, as
they advised " Massa to take him care ob de yelly feber." I walked from
the wharf across the fine street called the Bay, along Broad Street, into
King Street, that is to say through the principal part of the city, and did
not encounter a living creature, man or beast. Scarcely a store was
open, and the dwelling houses appeared to be nearly all tenaritless. The
master of the inn to which I had been directed, informed me, that two of
his children had fallen victims to the pestilence the week previous ; and
another person mentioned, with an expression of countenance that
denoted something between dogged indifference and sullen resignation,
that his father also had died that morning. I found afterwards that my
informant was a kind-hearted and estimable man, but the familiar sight of
suffering and death had stifled his better feelings, and rendered him for the
time impious and morose. I was advised to secure a nurse in time, as
the chance of escape for a foreigner, not acclimatured, was small indeed.
All this was terrible enough, and I heartily wished that my better genius
had kept me out of this city of the plague. Unfortunately, too, I had
read Boccaccio, De Foe, and Wilson. My imagination, therefore, was
abundantly stored with food for unpleasing meditation. The fact was,
that we had been misinformed as to the sariitary state of the country,
having been assured, that a black frost had already purified the polluted
atmosphere, which was not the case till some days subsequent to our
arrival. Then, however, an immediate change took place in all around.
The houses in Sullivan* s Island (which is a long beach of white sand,
devoid of vegetation, and lying on the side of the harbour opposite to the
city) were soon deserted. Hundreds of long boats, laden with furniture
and negroes, were seen lazily crossing the bay. The streets were
speedily crowded by a busy population of all colours, whose present
gaiety was evidently augmented by the depression of spirits, under which
all had so recently laboured.

A stranger, entering Charleston for the first time by moonlight, would
be struck by the romantic solitude of its appearance. The negroes are
all locked up by ten o'clock, and the city guard of soldiers traverse the
streets with noiseless vigilance. The fine old church of St. Michael, the
exchange, and post office, at the foot of Broad Street, and the patrician
residences which overlook the beautiful bay, give to Charleston the sem-
blance of some old, half deserted, Italian city, while its sparkling southern
atmosphere is not unworthy of comparison with the clearest and mildest
sky, which lends a principal charm to the land of love, and painting, and
poetry.

Charleston does not appear to have reaped much advantage from the
revolution. There is scarcely a building of any size or importance which
was not erected under the old dominion. It was a favourite residence of

642 Notes on America. [JUNE,

the British governors of South Carolina, and prospered under their sway.
Since then its glory has in great measure departed. The indigo and
tobacco trades have been ruined. There is still a large decayed building
in King-street, called the tobacco warehouse, which proves the extent to
which that branch of commerce was formerly carried. At present cotton
and rice are the staple articles of trade, which is principally in the hands
of merchants from the north, who pass the winter or business season
only in Charleston, and return in the summer to expend the fruits of their
industry 700 or 800 miles from the place where they were acquired. An
Englishman would probably consider two or three such journeys in the
course of the year, a matter of some moment, but an American measures
distances with a different scale, and to him, a journey by land or water
from New York or Boston to Savannah or Charleston, is a mere baga-
telle. Thus Charleston gains but little from the commerce which is
carried on within its walls. The late prohibitory, or what were meant to
be prohibitory, duties on British goods, press heavily upon it, by causing
a reduction in the prices of cotton and rice, and an advance on the articles
for which those products must be exchanged. If the last tariff be per-
sisted in, and submitted to, it is evident that the southern states will be
sacrificed to the northern. But symptoms of a sturdy resistance have
lately manifested themselves, and it is to be hoped that a system, ruinous
to many, and eventually profitable to none, will soon be abandoned.

There was formerly a considerable trade in slaves carried on from
Charleston, most however by foreigners. But since this horrid traffic
has been legally prohibited, I am not aware of any attempt having been
made to continue it. It was a common saying in Charleston, that " the
curse of God stuck to all slave-traders and their children/' who never
prospered finally. There seemed to be one, and 1 was told only one, ex-
ception to this rule, in the person of a very benevolent gentleman, the son
of a slave trader. But during my residence in South Carolina, this
exception ceased to exist ; for the person alluded to failed in business,
and " the curse" at last fell upon him.

The slaves in Charleston are, outwardly, the same happy and reckless
set of beings as elsewhere. They are, for the most part, very kindly
treated. Indeed, during a residence of two years among them, I never
saw one maltreated or whipped. I am aware, of course, that this is far
from proving that cruelty is never practised, but it shows at least that it
is not common. However, as it may naturally be expected, these unfor-
tunate beings, knowing that they have no property in themselves, show
but little respect for the property of others j plots and insurrections are
frequent, and during the winters of 1825 and 1827, we were con-
tinually alarmed by their attempts to set fire to the city. Some of these,
unfortunately, succeeded too well, and a large amount of property was
destroyed, especially in King-street, which is long, narrow, and com-
bustible. Half of the militia force of the city, in which all able bodied
whites are enrolled without distinction of rank or nation, is always on fire
duty, or liable to be called out for the protection of the inhabitants and
their property against the negroes, in case of a fire ; I was up between
twenty and thirty nights during the winter on this business. The blacks
were compelled to draw the engines and extinguish the fire they had
kindled, while many a fierce denunciation of punishment and revenge fell
from the lips of their incensed masters. The fire in King-street above

1832.] Notes on America. 643

alluded to, was the most tremendous one I have ever seen. The houses
and stores were swept off on both sides of the way for nearly half a mile.
Many of the shops contained kegs of gunpowder, which every now and
then exploded fearfully. I cannot give an adequate idea of the excite-
ment and alarm occasioned by this conflagration. Every one was aware
that the negroes were constantly plotting our destruction, and that fire
was the auxiliary which they chiefly relied upon to effect it. To add to
our confusion, fires broke out in various other parts of the city, though,
fortunately, they were soon extinguished.

At one time during the night, when the conflagration was at its height,
and roof after roof fell in with a tremendous crash, I was engaged in
conversation with an old gentleman, who, like myself, was for a time off
duty. He was quietly speculating on the chances of the street being re-
built, which, he said, the declining state of trade in Charleston would not
justify. Upon turning round to examine his features more closely, I re-
cognised the principal owner of the burning property, and the richest
Jew in Charleston. I complimented him upon his composed demeanour,
" O," said he, " I have lived long enough in this world, to take matters
coolly even in such a fiery night as this is." He was a Pole, and had re-
sided in Charleston some forty years. When he first arrived, he was
quite destitute, and borrowed half a dollar from a fellow countryman and
passenger, whom he lived to see reduced to great poverty, and whom, in
gratitude for this old obligation, he constantly and effectually befriended
in his time of need. I mention this as one among many instances of the
benevolence of the individual, who is well and honourably known in
Charleston. As I have before remarked, I was much struck by his
calmness, and have always considered him a real philosopher. When the
mansion of Joseph Buonaparte at Bordentown was burnt to the ground,
great praise was bestowed upon its distinguished proprietor, for the quiet
temper and sangfroid he displayed during the operation. But there was
this difference between the case of my old friend and that of king Joseph —
the palace was insured !

About this time a circumstance occurred, which will serve to illustrate
in some degree the relative station of the two castes in the southern states.
It was found impossible to collect evidence sufficient to convict a negro of
incendiarism, though it prevailed so alarmingly. But it was thought neces-
sary to lay hold of some one, guilty or not, as it might happen, and punish
him in terror em. For this purpose a mulatto fellow was sentenced to be
hanged, upon very doubtful evidence. Two householders and a magis-
trate constituted the court. It was, I verily believe, the intention of
these parties to have procured a commutation of punishment, previously
to the day of execution, but no respite arrived from the governor. At the
appointed time, half the negroes in Charleston went to see the sport, for
such they appeared to consider the hanging of this poor devil, if we might
judge from the merriment in which they indulged on the occasion. The
streets resounded with the laughter of the sable crowd. My own servant,
a negro of course, requested my leave of absence to accompany them,
because, he said, that " Copenhagen and he had been fellow apprentices in
the same cooper's shop, and that he should therefore like very much to
see him hanged." The plea was irresistible, and he went with the rest.
It appeared, however, that the sheriff and his deputies refused to officiate
as hangman, alleging as their excuse the notorious innocence of the poor

644 Notes on America. [JUNE,

fellow. This did not prevent their offering a reward to any one who
would act as their substitute, but no one could be found. After waiting
till twelve o'clock, Copenhagen was taken from the gallows, where he had
been grinning and talking all the time, and, followed to the wharf by
thousands of his delighted fellow bondsmen, was put on board a sloop
and sent to New Orleans.

' There are two synagogues in Charleston, and some very wealthy and
respectable Jews. The feast of the passover is celebrated by them with
great splendour and heartiness, and the appearance of the young females of
the persuasion, as they move about with their long white veils, is ele-
gant and romantic. The young Jewesses of South Carolina are cer-
tainly the handsomest women I ever saw. The older ones, I am sorry to
say, are peculiarly the reverse. The fondness for jewellery and orna-
ments, which distinguishes the Hebrew nation all the world over, is very
conspicuous in Charleston. While the exterior of their dwellings is fre-
quently dirty and neglected, t scarcely ever saw the inside of one, which
was not furnished with a strikingly inconsistent degree of show arid
expence. A Jewish gentleman commonly carries rings and seals enough
about him to furnish half a dozen London "swells" for the season. The
Americans, in general, shew the greatest fondness for external ornament,
of any civilized nation, and the English, perhaps, the least ; but even in the
United States, the Jews are remarkable for this penchant.

The fugitives from St. Domingo may be mentioned as forming one
class among the many which make up the motley and varied population
of this singular place. There cannot now be many of these unfortunate
Frenchmen remaining, though at one time they abounded in Charleston.
They were in general very poor, and had been very rich. A little knot
of them were in the habit of meeting in a room behind a barber's shop,
very early every morning, to drink French coffee, and talk over old times.
They afterwards adjourned to the market, and were generally there as
soon as the gates opened, to select their frugal fare for the day. Among
these old gentlemen, there was one who particularly attracted my atten-
tion. He was formerly possessed of great wealth in the West Indies,
and in anticipation of the negro insurrection, had remitted large sums to
his countrymen in the United States, and fortunately also made one
small deposit with an American merchant. Notwithstanding his fore-
sight, he was surprised at last, and escaped with difficulty. On his arrival
in the United States, he found that the funds which he had remitted to his
own countrymen, owing to their insolvency and rascality, were not forth-
coming 5 and his property was reduced to about 4000/, the amount in the
hands of the honest yankee. Upon the interest of this sum, however, he
might at least have lived in comfort. But he never could be induced to
invest it in stock of any kind, and persisted in spending his capital till it
was nearly exhausted, when he fortunately died. He kept no bank
account, but had made up his mind to destroy himself upon the first
refusal of his cheque. I ought to add, that in consideration of the value
of his deposit, for upwards of twenty years, the bank directors had given
orders always to pay the very moderate drafts, which the old man might
have occasion to make, so that no necessity should occur for his putting
his suicide purpose into execution. This, however, was no idle boast on
his parr, as the accidental dishonour of his cheque one day proved. The
pistols were taken out of the case, and loaded for destruction, when a

1832.] Notes on America. 645

breathless clerk arrived to apologize for the mistake, and prolong the old

Frenchman's existence. I believe that MrR — '• — was quite singular

among his countrymen in his indifference to life, and determination to quit
it prematurely, under any circumstances. For the most part, the national
gaiety of spirit prevailed among these kind hearted exiles, in whose com-
pany I have passed many amusing hours.

One of the most striking and amusing scenes in the world may be
witnessed upon a Charleston race course. I remember being present at
the running of a famous match between two horses from Virginia, and
one belonging to South Carolina. The two first heats were gained, one
each, by the Virginian horses, and the two last by the favourite of South
Carolina, whose name I recollect was Bertram. The interest always
attendant upon a good horse race, was increased to intensity by the feel-
ing of state rivalry prevalent all over the union/ and which is called forth
in all its strength on such occasions. Many a dirk was grasped, and
fierce threat uttered. At last the South Carolina horse came up victori-
ous, and the scenes which followed recalled to my mind Gibbon's account
of the Blue and Green factions of Constantinople, when the triumph of a
political party depended upon the speed of a horse. Ever since, the horse
races in England have appeared to me to be very tame affairs indeed. I
was in New York at the time of the match between Henry and Eclipse,
between the north and south, which is well remembered by many as evi~
dencing the existence of a spirit of rivalry by no means favourable to the
future permanence of the federal union. But to dilate upon the topic
suggested by the last remark is not my intention — at least not at present.
It is of too serious a nature to be discussed in the cursory and rambling
style in which these sketches have been thrown together.

lam inclined to think that some of the best society in the United States
is to be met with in Charleston. Most of the neighbouring gentry or
planters have travelled in Europe, and many have been partially edu-
cated abroad. They are well informed, hospitable and polite. In other
parts of the union, it seems to be a matter of conscience to introduce sub-
jects of conversation, which must necessarily be disagreeable to the
Englishmen present. The battle on Lake Erie, and the affair at New
Oilcans, frequently form the subjects of discourse. But there is a high
degree of polish, as well as spirit, in the courteous demeanour of a South
Carolinian gentleman. I fear that this must partly be attributed to the
practice of duelling which is common among them. When an insulting
expression can only be used at the risk of a man's life, he soon learns to
be sparing of them.

Kean performed twelve nights in Charleston during the winter, I think,
of 1825 and 1826. The theatre is small but elegant, and the price of
admission to the pit is the same as to the boxes. By this arrangement,
those who can best appreciate good acting, have an opportunity of seeing
it from the best quarter of the house.

I have witnessed Kean's performance in London, and the English
country towns, and in various parts of the United States, but in my
humble judgment, there was more real feeling of the beauties of the
author, and just discrimination in estimating the actor, displayed in
Charleston, than at any other theatre where I have had an opportunity of
seeing Shakespeare performed. This was peculiarly to be remarked at
the representation of Hamlet and Macbeth. I very much doubt whether

646 On the Natural Depreciation of English Nobility. [JUNE,

so many well educated men were ever collected into small a compass, as
were to be met with in the Charleston theatre during the term of Kean's
engagement; and I am informed, that that great actor himself was struck
by the judgment, good taste, and thorough knowledge of Shakespeare
which the audience displayed. I have mentioned these particulars,
because I wish to do justice to the refinement and acquirements of a
remarkable intelligent body of men, and because I consider a correct
discriminating admiration of good plays and good acting, as better evi-
dence of those qualities which I have attributed to the society of Charles-
ton, than any vague and general encomiums and assertions.

?ol

. . -

4i[r>

ON THE NATURAL DEPRECIATION OF ENGLISH NOBILITY.

" Non sum qualis eram."

WHEN the nobleman fed his retainers in his hall, and was the rallying
point for mutual protection against the tyrant of the neighbourhood, it
was worth the while of rude and helpless society to foster his wealth and
power. The power of the super-eminent chieftain or king, first, and
next the laws, in some degree diminished the importance of the nobleman
to general society. Neither of these were, however, enough materially
to impair the sense of his grandeur and power, handed down from times,
when sustenance and liberty depended on him. Thus the importance of
the nobleman had, along with other sentiments and impressions of
romantic history and tradition, rooted itself in the imagination and
affections of the multitude : and thus, in spite of the gradual dispersion
of wealth, and the progressive efficiency of legal and conventional, over
arbitrary and individual power, the impressions of preceding ages main-
tained the nobleman's reputation for importance, when he had ceased tq
possess any other real power than that with which society voluntarily
invested him : when the thriving merchant or tradesman was in fact of
more consequence than he, in proportion as the former did more towards
increasing the wealth of his country, and spreading that wealth into
various channels of industrious and independent support.

Great is the power of imagination, and prone are most of the sons of
men to imagine vain things ! Were it not for the few wise, and discern-
ing, and benevolent spirits of successive ages, who know truth and teach
it, there is no ground to believe that information, attainable only by
the understanding, would ever prevail so generally as to influence the
mass of a nation. Had not books, and newspapers, and speeches, com-
municated to ordinary men the views of wiser men than themselves,
amongst other such fictions as divine right, witchcraft, &c., we should
at this day, as a nation, be firm believers in an exclusively inherent virtue
of nobility to wield the power and direct the energies of our country.

We have, thank heaven, at last generally attained the conviction, that
nobility has no intrinsic value, no inherent rights ; and that whatever
importance may attach to it in the present day, that importance is very
different from the consequence of nobles in past ages -, when, with all
their failings, they constituted the only class possessed of energy and
intelligence enough to manage the national affairs.

It does not appear though, that our nobles have kept pace with our-

1832.] On the Natural Depreciation of English Nobility. 647

selves in improved views of the nature and uses of nobility. They,
almost all, reformers as well as anti-reformers, seem to labour under
erroneous impressions of their importance. Without wishing to dis-
parage the comparative liberality of those among them who have ranged
themselves on the side of reform, we assert it to be impossible for an
observing man not to perceive, that the truth respecting nobility which
pervades the untitled intelligent classes has hardly yet dawned upon our
titled brethren. All the evidence deducible from what lords continue to
say and do, from their looks and general deportment, tends to impress
us with the belief, that hardly one of them could yet from conviction
adopt for his motto, Non sum qualis eram.

This darkness of the lordly mind has already proved mischievous to all
classes of the community. We will try and show how it is that the
English people cannot think so much of lords as they used to do, and that
therefore it is unreasonable to expect them any longer to allow lords the
power they have been used to possess.

It is long since the higher classes have reached the extreme point of
real refinement. Whilst they were ascending to this, the community
at large was really inferior to them, and had, therefore, good reason
to acquiesce in their pretensions to superiority.

Since nothing human is at a stand still, but all things either advance to
better or fall back to worse, our nobles, since they reached the summit of
real refinement, have been naturally deteriorating into false refinement
and luxury. We plebeians, in the mean time, have been availing ourselves
of the means within our reach to ascend the moral and intellectual
heights, which our betters had surmounted before us. Modern Europe,
especially France and England, seems to have reached the crisis of general
intelligence, when the old homage paid to rank can no longer with sin-
cerity be rendered. This is, to a certain extent, the fault of neither
party, and must have ensued, even had the nobles, in falsification of all
experience, not receded from the eminence they once occupied. The
people in comparatively free states must gradually assimilate their
intrinsic qualities to those of their nobility, and cannot in the nature of
things retain a full admiration for that nobility, as soon as they find its
attainments within their own reach. " I had as lief not be, as live to be
in awe of such a thing as myself." Had our nobility never abused their
power, the people could not have been fairly expected to allow it to
them as soon as they found themselves able to wield it.

Our nobles, however, have not proved themselves exempt from the
common weakness of humanity, but have, at all periods of our history,
gladly seized upon whatever the extravagant homage of ignorance has
allowed them to grasp. Depravation of moral and political dignity has of
course been the consequence of this selfishness ; and now that the com-
munity, intelligent enough to discern the ends of government, and the
fitness of means to attain them, cannot uphold nobles in misrepresenting
those ends, and misapplying those means, these nobles are too blind
to recognize the improvement of the community, or too selfish to
confess it.

We cannot now a days, even if we were disposed to force ourselves,
think so much of lords as we used to do ; for we have more intelligence
of things than we had ; and in proportion as men become better acquainted
with things, they naturally think less about persons.

64$ On the Natural Depreciation of English Nobility. [JUNE,

No objection can then lie against the Reform Bill, on the score of
its lowering* the dignity of nobles. The natural course of civilization has
already sunk the dignity of nobles far below the point of depreciation
reached by the provisions of the Bill. The dignity of the House of
Lords cannot by human means be saved from still further depreciation,
as popular intelligence and attainments advance j and all this, not because
the people grudge the superiority which nobles claim, for they have
always been too prone to admit it, but because lordly dignity, having no
existence in the nature of things, depends entirely on the opinion of
society. The Reform Bill does not propose to strip, nor can it strip,
nobles of the natural influence of wealth in conjunction with, or indeed
without, virtue or talents; but it aims at disabusing nobles of the notion,
that they possess any importance beyond what the rest of the community
is in a condition to recognize. The Reform Bill only aims, in fact, at
making the names peer, and nobleman, and lord, more appropriate in
their signification than they are at present; more correct exponents of
the political value of the persons whom they represent. Had not the
country been deeply impressed with a sense of the natural depreciation
of nobility, the Reform Bill would have seemed as monstrous to the
country as it now does to the Lords; and thus the reception the Bill
has met with from the country is an irrefragable proof that it was
wanted; that Lord Grey had good reason to believe in the depreciated
public estimation of his order; good reason to believe that its pretensions
to power and control were no longer acquiesced in by the nation ; good
reason to believe that if these pretensions were longer maintained, they
must generate animosity too fierce to be appeased by less than the entire
humiliation of the pretenders.

We repel, as a scandalous libel upon ourselves and brother radicals,
the imputation of tory lords and their minions, that our clamour for
reform is prompted by a desire to subvert the order of society. We
know the sentiments of the lower classes, better than do these slanderers.
We bless ourselves that our lot has not been cast amongst those showy
and absorbing vanities, which engross the nobleman, and shut him out
from acquaintance as well as sympathy with the mass of his fellow
countrymen. We, from our own knowledge of the people, can vouch for
the fact, that, of the multitude of radical reformers, the ruffians who
desire to rob the wealthy or degrade the honoured, merely because they
are wealthy and honoured, are in numbers too contemptible to have the
power of deranging the grades and institutions of society. We assert,
that the almost universal sentiment of radical reform is a sentiment,
not merely of just, but of generous, aye generous consideration, for the
real rights and justifiable feelings of the upper classes. We affirm, it
can be only hatred or ignorance of the people of England, which would
deny the fact, that they are not merely willing, but anxious, while they
vindicate themselves from oppression and misery, to award to their
oppressors even more profit and honour than they have any right to
expect from a community, intelligent and able to act without their assist-
ance, as the English people have long since become. Knowing this to
be truth, we likewise know, that if an impression to the disparagement
of our nobles pervades the mass of our countrymen, it is impossible to
attribute this impression to the influence of faction in the innate turbu-
lence of the people. We know, therefore, that this impression has been

1832.] To Noon: 649

stamped by truth, and that it cannot be effaced, but by the ample conces-
sions of these nobles; and that such a measure as the Reform Bill is
the only mode by which such concessions can be made.

The admiring clown who stares over the hedge at the lord's equipage;
the small gentleman who is proud of his lordship's acquaintance j all men,
in short, in proportion as the range of their intellectual vision is extended,
and their thoughts are occupied on subjects of higher interest, must, whether
they will or no, think with less reverence of lords than they used to think.
There is absolutely no principle in existence, upon which to work, even
if it were worth while to save nobility from this depreciation. No help,
for instance, can be hoped for by lords from an increased activity of the
religious principle keeping pace with the advance of intelligence. This
alliance must inevitably be precluded then; since for one sentence to be
twisted by a courtly priest into a precept of religious respect for great
men, there are twenty in Scripture plainly disallowing their pretensions,
and calculated to detach us from admiring them. The enlarged intelli-
gence of the community, when applied to the subject of religion, cannot
fail to observe this. Formal Reform then can do the great man no harm.
Time in its silent revolutions has already done him the mischief he com-
plains of. It has not, indeed, made him in the abstract less than he was j
but it has made other men greater. Reform in Parliament will be to
him, if his spirit be riot too proud to submit to the plain intention of Pro-
vidence, instead of a curse, a great blessing. It will force him out of his
inordinate self-conceit, and bring home to him the conviction of a common
humanity. It will arouse his energies to a more lawful exercise of the
great privileges and advantages still left him. Thus as he becomes con-
scious of a real dignity, he will be the less careful of slight observances,
which still will be the more frequently and cheerfully rendered, the less he
seems to require them. Finally, he will have nought to fear from the com-
munity -, for as he will have ceased to injure it, there will no longer exist
among the people a wish to retaliate upon him.

SONNET TO NOON.

'Tis Noon — the sun seems listening- in the skies,
The thick air hangs all motionless and warm —
There's scarce a sound, but drowsy melodies
From the wild honey-birds in busy swarm,
Or the far tinkle of that music-note,
The sheep-bell, and perhaps a restless stream !
All other pulse of life is now forgot —
Nature is in her mid-day sleep and dream !
What a sweet somnolence steals o'er the mind
In the retirement of a country glen,
Where all our thoughts like gentle rivers wind
In heedless turnings, o'er and o'er again !
We fix on nothing, but on all we gaze
Wrapt, lost, bewilder'd, in deep Nature's maze ! W.

M.M. New Series. Vol. XIII. No. 78 2 X

[ 650 ] [JUNE,

UNREPORTED CASF.S. NO. I.

The Human Cuckoo.

ABOUT a year after Hosea Parfett, — once a flourishing farmer, and the
last of a renowned race of wrestlers and cudgel-players, had, on account
of his confirmed lameness, produced by a terrific in-lock from a Wilt-
shire giant, who had dared the whole village to a bout, in which Hosea,
at the expense of a dislocated hip, threw him three complete pancakes — but
more especially in consideration of his recent ruin by mildew, fly, murrain,
and other disasters, been elected parish mole-catcher, Rachael, his seventh
child, was born. Her eyes, when she first opened them to weep, were, as
Brodie Bagster, the village song-maker, says, like little violets, filled with
dew, peeping out of a spring snow. The same worthy, in a doggrel com-
position, which fits indifferently to the tune of Ally Croker, recording the
story of her early life, observes that her hair was " silky soft and silvery
bright" as the down of a nestling dove j her first tooth, a pearl plucked
by a mermaid from some coral nook, in which its maker, the hermit-
oyster — so he called the fish — had hid it -, and her cheek a mark which the
fairies had set up to pelt all day with rose-buds. Brodie said half a
hundred other flowery things of Rachael, which it would have broken his
heart to know had been better said, before he was born, of half a thou-
sand others. Notwithstanding the hyperbolic compliments of her rustic
laureate, — which, unsupported, would perhaps have rendered the fact doubt-
ful,— Rachael, from the testimony of all who saw her in the early part of her
babyhood, appears to have been eminently beautiful. She was, it is said,
a living similitude of some fine old picture of a wingless angel, in the an-
tique library at Scroby Hall, which her mother had had frequent occasion
to visit, while pregnant, for the purpose of receiving from Sir Ralph, who
was churchwarden, the pittance per dozen allowed by the parish for the
moles caught by Hosea, whose pride would not permit him to appear
in person as a claimant of the parochial fees to which his industry, ab-
surdly misdirected as it was, by custom and promise entitled him.

Rachael was scarcely able to run alone when some mysterious malady
wrought an appalling change in her appearance, and she became again a
nursling — hideous from her extreme haggardness. It was said, and
steadfastly believed in the village, that Hosea Parfett's child had been stolen
by the fairies, and that the creature which nestled in its place was an ac-
cursed changeling. Rachael's mother began to loathe the baby on which
she had before most passionately doted; and after pining for a few
weeks, as Brodie Bagster sings, turned from the sun like a drooping
flower, and died. Shortly after this event, the good women of tha village,
at a council held, one winter's eve, round the blacksmith's forge, re-
solved on compelling the fairies to return Rachael, and relieve Hosea Par-
fett of the changeling. The little creature was accordingly placed on a
shovel, and exposed, the same night, at the back door of Hosea's house,
to the cold gleam of the setting moon. The attendant ceremonies were
conducted with such powerful precision, that, if Brodie may be believed,
the fairies thought proper to refund ; and, three months after, a young
farmer's wife, who, having lost her first-born, had volunteered to become
wet-nurse to the recent visitor in fairy-land, brought young Rachael back
to the mole-catcher's cottage, even more beautiful than when she was born.

1832.] Unreported Cases. 651

Hosea's time was fully occupied $ and he had already, not so much from
love as necessity, it is remarked in the ballad, married a second wife, in
the hope of obtaining a second mother for his seven children. He soon
had an eighth, which seeming ugly by the side of Rachael, its playmate,
the latter, at an earlier age than even the bad circumstances of her father
could warrant, was thrust into distant employment. Old Sir Ralph's bai-
liff undertook to give her food and lodging, with twopence per month as
wages, to drive the birds from his master's crops ; but Rachael soon lost
her place, being endowed, as Brodie says, with so sweet a quality of voice,
that she attracted the creatures she was hired to scare away. So it fared
with her in all her subsequent youthful services, some natural perfection
rendering her unfit for those occupations in which a child less pre-emi-
nently gifted, but with equal zeal and industry, would doubtless have
excelled. At length — so says Brodie in his ballad —she was actually turned
out of the choir, in which she had only sung for a few Sabbaths, because,
as Reuben Orton, the leader, observed, with a confident appeal to his co-
adjutor, the parish clerk, no less than three young tenors, and a middle-
aged bass, lost time and. marred all melody, by gazing into her innocent
blue eyes with such heterodox enthralrnent as though there had been no
other heaven.

Yet, though admired by all, Rachael became an object of affection to
none. The boldest of the young rustics looked up at her as she glode
silently along, just, says Brodie, as they might at the moon, conscious of
her beauty, but feeling no emotion of love j and, though she was known to
be gentle as a lamb, rarely presuming to offer her a passing salutation.
Except among the old and heart-broken, to whom she came as a mini-
stering angel, Rachael had no companions, no, not even among such as
were just emerging from their babyhood; for, on the lips of these their
mother's milk was scarcely dry, before they heard the story of Hosea Par-
fett's changeling, and, as one who had been in fairy-land, and whose form
and features seemed to retain some of its " lovely leaven" — we quote from
Brodie — they deemed her awful, and quivered when she kissed them ; so
that, says our respected authority, in a note to his ballad, — adopting a
bold figure, Rachael's beauty shrouded her from joy.

She was still a girl when her father died, after a lingering illness brought
on, after a lapse of twenty years, by the fatal in-lock of the Wiltshire
giant. His wife, with her child, removed to a distant village, where she
had many relatives ; and of Rachael's six brothers three had long been in
the grave, one had gone to sea, and the other two were bearing muskets
in the east, so that young Rachael found herself a lone being among her
village neighbours. Brodie says she took to peeling willows, and making
various fancy articles in wicker-work j but those about her either did not
appreciate her taste, or felt no inclination to traffic with her ; she was
therefore compelled to carry the produce of her labours to a neighbouring
town, where she stood like a statue in one corner of the market-place,
asking no price, but silently receiving what those who passed thought fit
to give her for her wares. None met her going forth, none beheld her
return ; she was rarely seen except on the Sabbath, when she modestly
stole up one of the side aisles of the church, and took her place among
the paupers on a stone-bench beneath the pulpit. Her decent neatness
of attire on ihese occasions, and the care that was evidently, yet invisibly,
bestowed on the little patch of rose-trees in front of her cottage, led the

2 X 2

652 Unreported Cases. [JUNK,

villagers to keep more aloof from her than ever j for no one could divine
how, except it were by witchcraft, she obtained her means, it being allowed,
even by the most slanderous gossips, that her reputation as a maiden was
above impeachment. Gradually the old and heart-broken began to shrink
from her charitable hand, and the paupers now made a large space at one
end of the stone bench under the pulpit when she approached. Day by
day Rachael was becoming more desolate.

At length the eldest son of old Sir Ralph, of Scroby Hall, while pro-
ceeding with his groom, at an early hour, to join a distant hunt, found
Rachael sitting — the image of mute despair — among the fern on a small
but lonely common, across which ran a foot path to the neighbouring
market town. Some pieces of broken wicker-work, and one of her shoes,
were lying near her. A small gold brooch, to which was attached a morsel
of a shirt frill, appeared in the palm of her usually pure, but now begrimed
hand ; which, as the young squire and his groom approached to raise her,
she suddenly clenched, and thrusting it into her bosom, sobbed hysterically,
" Do not take it from me — you know not what it cost !"

With a humanity of which she seemed sensible, the young squire, assisted
by his man, carried her by a back path to her cottage. The groom, with
feelings less delicate than those of his master, was urgent for information,
but he could elicit nothing from her except that she had been waylaid and
ill-used by somebody j but by whom, she either would not reveal, or, as
it appeared from her manner, she did not know. He then suggested a
minute inspection of the brooch j which, however, she held so sullenly in
her bosom, that his master at length told him, not to distress her further
on the subject.

The patch of rose-trees in front of Rachael's cottage soon became a little
wilderness ; and the paupers occupied the stone bench beneath the pulpit
at their ease — fearless of her coming j for Rachael's Sabbath visits to the
house of God had evidently terminated. Months passed on, and at length
a cow-boy, coming from a neighbouring revel, heard an infant's wail in
Rachael's cottage. Some days after a little boy was found exposed, beneath
the lofty porch of Scroby Hall, in a cradle of exquisite wicker-work, and
protected with motherly care from the inclemency of the season. The
child was however dead. The neatness of its baby blanketing, the beauty
of its willow coffin, and the cow-boy's story, instantly brought a strong
suspicion on Rachael. Reuben Orton, who was now constable, wished,
he said, to confront her with the little corpse : but she entreated to be
spared that pang, for it was needless. The child she would own at once
was hers. She had gazed on him all night, and frolicked with him all
day : work she could,not, and want, bitter want, had come on her. Though
few had longer, or perhaps brighter tresses, the Scotch pedlar, she said,
had refused to purchase them, because he had been told she was uncannie.
The child had driven her to despair by crying for that nourishment, which
she had lost the power to give it. A wicked thought stole into her mind,
and while frantic, she had accomplished it. " On my way back," she
continued, " I knelt on the stepping-stone, and drank from the brook.
Before I had risen from my knees, I grew calm enough to pray for my
child. My very heart seemed to open — I felt 'a gush in my bosom and
flew back. The mile betwixt us seemed to be a thousand. The shadow
of his cradle was still on the steps — I hurried on — clutched him up to my
breast — and for a moment felt the full joy of being a mother ! He fell

183-2.] Unreportcd Cases. -653

like a lump of lead from my arms, for his lips had come to my burning
cheek, cold — cold as a stone ! He had perished !"

At the next assizes for the county, when most of the foregoing facts
came out in observation and evidence, Rachael Parfett's name stood first
in the calendar ; but with a humanity usual in cases where a conviction
for the most terrible crimes is expected, her trial, instead of being taken
on the opening day, was postponed until the Triday, so that if she were
found guilty, the intervention of the Sabbath, a dies won, might so far
cheat the law, as to add one day to the little sum of life — forty-eight hours
— allotted to the criminal after sentence. Notwithstanding all the inge-
nuity of the two leading counsel on the circuit, who had received briefs
and unusually large fees on her behalf, from some unknown hand, the
jury, without retiring, had, after a brief consultation, faced about in their
box, evidently about to pronounce her guilty, — the dapper, slim associate
of his relative, the judge, had already nibbed the pen intended to record
her doom, and, in a tone of pertness, asked that awful question at which
so many hearts have quailed, " Gentlemen, are you agreed in your ver-
dict?" when a loud shriek interrupted the business of the Court. It did
not come from Rachael — she had scarcely heard it; for her senses were
dead to the world, and her soul, as the writer before quoted says, was
apparently half way to Heaven. The sound, at the moment of its utter-
ance had so completely filled the court-house, that many an auditor, in
different situations, turned round to some pallid female by his side, and
thought the shriek was hers.

After a brief but agonizing pause, a noble-looking woman, gorgeously
clad, on whose brow, according to our rustic poet, the very dew of death
seemed freezing, rose from her seat by the Judge's side, and, though her
lips quivered between the utterance of every word, in a firm clear voice,
tendered evidence on Rachael's behalf. While a carriage rolled by the
court-house, shattering, as it did, at a moment of such intense interest,
even the nerves of those who were not more than ordinarily sensitive, the
venerable judge rose and offered to support the agitated witness. She
briefly declined his courtesy j but he still stood gazing at her, with an
emotion in which every spectator partook. It was the wife of old Sir
Ralph's eldest son, who had now succeeded to his father's titles and estates.
" Make way," said she, in a tone of authority, and taking what Brodie
calls a radiant cherub from her attendant's arms, " this," she added, after
having crossed the dock and placed the child on Rachael's bosom, "this,
my Lord, is hers : — we must not see her murdered !"

Rachael held forth her hands half unconsciously, to receive the babe, which,
as Brodie says, lay playing with her dishevelled locks, the image of young
Joy in the arms of Sorrow, while the lady told her tale. Her own child,
she said, had suddenly expired in convulsions, and while she was still weep-
ing over its little corpse, the great bell of Scroby Hall seemed voluntarily to
toll its knell. It was long past midnight, and her attendant, proof against
all supernatural ideas, had boldly opened the entrance door. A baby, in
its cradle, was on the threshold. Knowing her husband's deep anxiety
to have an heir, she had been prevailed on to substitute the corpse of her
own for Rachael's living child. Shame had hitherto prevented her from
confessing the fraud; but now that an innocent fellow-creature's life was
at stake, she could not hesitate to avow the error into which she had been,
betrayed. "The blooming boy,'' she added, with an energy that seemed
to be mingled with some indignation and more sorrow, " whom I have

654 The Autobiography of St. Simon. [JUNE,

this day brought into Court, is not mine, butRachael Parfett'sj and, from
a brooch, which I found on its breast, I feel convinced it is my husband's.
That brooch I gave him only a week before our marriage : it was a family
relic, to which superstition had affixed a charm ; and I felt hurt that he
did not wear it on his wedding day. It was then Rachael Parfett's."

The story of The Human Cuckoo may be concluded with the following
extract — at which many may laugh — from Brodie Bagster's second ballad
on the same subject, written to a melody which he is said to have patiently
coaxed out of his own fiddle : —

" And so, with that, this lady proud,

Plucked up her damask gown,
And sailed out of Court, like an evening cloud,

When the sun has just gone down.
And when she died — which soon befell —

Sir Ralph of Scroby Hall—
He married the lass he'd not used well,
And made amends for all."

W. C.

THE AUTO BIOGRAPHY OF ST. SIMON.

I WAS born on the 17th of October, 1760. I entered the service in
1776, and sailed for America in 1779, where I served under the orders
of de Bouille" and of Washington.

At the peace I presented to the Viceroy of Mexico the project of
establishing, between the two seas, a communication, which is practicable
by rendering navigable the river In Partido, a branch of which runs into
our ocean while the other discharges itself into the Southern Pacific.
My project having been coolly received, I abandoned it.

On my return to France, I was made colonel when I was not yet
three and twenty. A life of inactivity soon disgusted me -, for to pass the
summer " en garnison," and the winter at Court, was a mode of life to
me perfectly unsupportable. I therefore set out for Holland in 1785.

The Duke de la Vauguyon, the French Ambassador in Holland, had just
succeeded in emancipating this country from the influence of England.
He had prevailed on the States General to combine with France in an
expedition against the British East India possessions. Le Compte de
Bouille was appointed to the command of this expedition, in which he
had selected for me an honourable post. For a year I was occupied
with the execution of this project, which failed, owing to the want of skill
of M. de Verac, who succeeded M. de la Vauguyon.

On my return to France in 1786, my renewed state of inactivity soon
again disgusted me. I set out for Spain in 1787. The Spanish Govern-
ment had undertaken a canal to establish a communication between
Madrid and the sea ; but they were in want of both money and workmen.
I concerted with M. de Cobarrus (now Minister of Finance) and we pre-
sented to the Government the following project : —

The Count de Cobarrus proposed on the part of the bank of St.
Charles, of which he was director, to advance to the government the
funds necessary for the execution of the canal, provided the king would
relinquish to the bank the right of toll. On my part I offered to raise
a legion of six thousand men, (all foreigners), two thousand of which were

1832.] The Autobiography of St. Simon. 655

to remain in garrison while the other four thousand were to labour at
the canal : the government to bear only the expence of their military
equipment, and hospitals, as the pay alone of the workmen would suffice
for all the expences of the corps.

The breaking out of the French revolution prevented the execution of
this project.

The revolution had commenced when I returned to France. I did not
wish to take any part in it, for reasons which I shall detail when I give
an account of my political opinions. I gave myself up to financial
speculations, and entered into partnership with a Prussian, the Count de
Redern.

Fortune I desired only as a means to organise a large establishment
of industry, to found a scientific school of improvement ; to contribute, iii
one word, to the progress of intelligence, and to ameliorate the condition
of man : such were the real objects of my ambition.

I followed, with ardour, confidence, and complete success, these finan-
cial operations until the year 1797. My speculations having succeeded,
I found myself in a condition to commence the establishment of industry.
A model of the constructions which I had undertaken may be seen in the
Rue du Bouloy. The arrival of M. Redern frustrated my projects. I
was deceived in the estimate I had formed of the character of this partner
of mine : I imagined him launched forward in the same career as myself;
but the routes we were following were widely opposite: he was running
after fortune whilst I was toiling up the rugged sides of the mountain
which bears on its top the temple of glory.

M. Redern and I quarrelled in 1797: immediately after our rupture,
I conceived the plan of operating in a direct manner on the moral func-
tions of man. I undertook to advance science a step, and to give a
beginning to the French school. This enterprise required preliminary
labours: I was obliged to form a correct idea of the state of human
knowledge, and to study the history of its discoveries.

To attain this end, I did not limit my researches to libraries ; I took
lodgings opposite the Polytechnique School, and I employed three years
in acquainting myself with the extent of the knowledge acquired upon the
physical properties of inorganic matter.

The peace of Amiens enabled me to visit England. The object of my
journey was to ascertain if the English were occupied with Encyclo-
paedian labours. I returned to France with the certainty that labours of
this kind did not occupy their attention.

A short time afterwards I went to Geneva, and made a tour of a part
of Germany. I obtained on this journey the certainty that general
science was yet in its infancy in this country, from its being founded upon
mystical principles ; but I conceived hopes of its progress on observing
the whole of this great nation eagerly assuming a scientific direction.
After having acquired and proved my scientific ideas in the manner I
have just detailed, I took up my pen. I first published two volumes —
" Introduction to the Scientific Labours of the 19th century." I how-
ever abandoned this enterprize, perceiving that I had badly commenced
the exposition of my ideas. Convinced by experience that my judgment
was not yet sufficiently matured to arrange and digest the work which I
had conceived, 1 came to the resolution of publishing some letters, in
which I have separately treated the questions, the partial solutions of

65 5 The A utobiography of St. Simon. [ J u N E ,

which are the principles I should employ in the organization of the scien-
tific system.

The letters which I published had not the effect, as I hoped they would
have, of leading to a general discussion ; but this labour was of infinite
service to me, first, because it furnished me with an opportunity of elabo-
rating my ideas ; and, secondly, because it excited the attention of some
persons who communicated to me their own ideas on the subject.

My life presents a series of falls, and yet it has not been a failure ; for
far from descending, I have always mounted ; none of my falls have
brought me down to the point from which I started. Thus I have had
upon the field of discovery the action of the advancing tide. At near the
age of fifty, a period when we generally retire from the world, I am be-
ginning my career. After a long and wearisome journey, I am at length
arrived at the point of departure.

The public ought not to consider as definitive the opinion it has pro-
nounced upon my conduct. I boldly claim from its justice the revision of
this sentence ; and for this purpose I shall offer some observations which
appear to me worthy of its attention.

On perusing the works of the few authors distinguished by their labours
in general science, we are induced to imagine, that in their private life
they have been models of wisdom and of moderation -, but reason and an
examination of facts prove the contrary, and demonstrate that this opinion,
founded upon first appearances, is altogether erroneous. Practical and
theoretical philosophy differ widely from each other, — the same man can-
not follow with success two careers. Let us examine facts.

Luther, Bacon, and Descartes, are, among the moderns, the three men
who, in the path of general science, have most distinguished themselves.

Luther attacked the old scientific system. Bacon pointed out the means
of organizing a new system of ideas, Descartes began the organization
of this system.

The first said, — It is not revelation, but reason, that should form the
basis of our belief.

The second indicated the means of organizing a scientific system, in
which revealed ideas played no part whatever.

The last has declared that he would construct a world if they gave him
matter and movement ; that is to say, he undertook to explain the organi-
zation of the universe without having recourse to revealed ideas.

Luther was too fond of the pleasures of the table. Bacon was ambitious
of honour and of riches. Descartes had a passion for women and play.
Thus none of the three were practical philosophers. Let me now expose
my reasons.

The more the soul is exalted, the more is it accessible to passions ; but
the highest degree of exaltation is necessary, in order to treat the grand
scientific question in all its extent. We ought not therefore to be asto-
nished at seeing theoretical philosophers, subject, more than any other
savans, to the dominion of the passions.

We may consider this same question in another point of view.

The two sciences which form the basis of philosophy, are astronomy
and physiology j that is to say, he who cultivates general science ought
to study the universe in the great and in the little world. Astronomy is
the study of the great world ; in other words, it is the study of the uni-
verse upon a grand scale. Physiology is the study of the universe upon

1832.] The Autobiography of St. Simon. 657

a small scale ; for the most philosophical mode of investigating the phe-
nomenon of human intelligence, is to consider the brain as a small ma-
chine, which executes materially all that is done in the universe, on the
same principle that a watch repeats the movements of a clock. They are
two similar machines, but of different dimensions. In order to accelerate
the progress of science, the greatest and most noble of means is to study
the universe by a series of experiments ; but it is neither the great nor the
little world, but man himself, whom we can reduce to experiments.

One of the most important experiments to be made upon man consists
in establishing new social relations. Now every new action resulting
from such experiments, cannot be classed as good or bad, but after
observations have been made upon the results ; and every attempt of this
kind cannot be successful. Thus the man who gives himself up to the
study of philosophy, can and ought, during the course of his experimental
career, to commit many actions that bear the stamp of folly.

In short, it results from the nature of things, that, in order to make
philosophical discoveries, one must

1st. Lead, in the vigour of age, a most original and active kind
of life.

2dly. Attain a knowledge of every scientific theory, particularly those
on astronomy and physiology.

3dly. Mix with every class of society, — place oneself in the greatest
number of different social conditions, and even create for others, and
ourself, relations that have not pre-existed.

4thly. To employ our old age in digesting the observations upon the
effects that have resulted from our experiments, upon others as well as
ourself, and to correct these observations so as to form a new philo-
sophical theory.

The man who has followed this line of conduct is the one to whom
humanity should grant the largest portion of its esteem, for he it is who
ought to be regarded as the most virtuous, since it is he who has
laboured the most methodically and the most directly to further the
progress of science, the true source of all wisdom.

It will doubtless be objected to this view of the subject, that, at the age
of eighty, Newton died without ever having violated his continency —
that he was generous and economical — that he knew how to conciliate
all his duties— that he laboured at the same time for the improvement of
humanity, and the national prosperity of his countrymen, to the illustra-
tion and the fortune of his family ; in fact, that he had no other passion
than that of studious labour, and that he was in every other path a model
of continency.

To this objection I shall answer, that Newton was a great geometrician
and a great astronomer, but that physiology occupied in not the slightest
degree his attention, so that he cannot be ranked as a philosopher ; for
science, as I have before observed, has two principal roots, astronomy
and physiology, and these two roots are so disposed, that we must have a
foot upon each in order to reach the trunk.

But it would, perhaps, be better to compare general science to a river
fed by two sources, one of which enriches it with observations made
upon inorganic bodies, and the other upon organic bodies.

Descartes navigated this river, and reached both its sources. Newton
passed his life at one of them, but he never descended the river. The
geometrician has not studied man — he has not fixed his attention on phy-

658 The Autobiography of St. Simon. [JUNE,

siological phenomena; he occupied himself solely with inorganic matter,
and the means of calculating their movements. On one side Newton has
rendered essential services, but on the other he has greatly impeded the
progress of science. He improved astronomy and optics, as also every
other department of physics relative to inorganic matter j but he led
to the neglect of that department which concerns organic bodies, and
was the cause of the almost total abandonment of general science.

Public opinion has not yet finally pronounced its judgment upon
Newton j it is yet too much prepossessed in favour of the discoveries
made by this geometrician. Descartes had already started facts. New-
ton was a more skilful hunter ; he seized and mastered the greatest
of these facts, and human nature lives upon this game with all the impro-
vidence of young gourmands, who, when once seated at table, care not to
inform themselves of the situation of the larder.

I return to the history of my life, which is the fact upon which are
based my energy and courage, the extension of which is a thousand times
superior to what they ought to be at the age I have reached. I repeat
that my actions ought not to be judged by the same principles which are
applied to the generality of men, because my whole life, up to the present
day, has been one course of experiments. I shall offer an example of the
difference which there appears to me to exist between the principles by
which we ought to judge of the actions directed towards the ordinary end
of life, and those whose object is experience.

If I see a man exercise his strength and his skill upon an animal
with no other aim than to make him suffer (an animal, were it only a
fly), I say this man has not received from nature an organisation favour-
able to sensibility, and I affirm, without hesitation, that he has a ten-
dency to cruelty ; bnt if I see a physiologist make experiments upon
living animals, rip open the bellies of bitches in a state of parturition, and
dissect dogs in the full vigour of health and life, I say there is a man
who is occupied with researches which lead to the discoveries of pro-
cesses useful to the relief of suffering humanity. The unfortunate Bichat
was remarkable for his sensibility j Dubois, Boyer, Dupuytien, are day
and night on foot for the purpose of relieving the sufferings of men of
every class of society. If again I see a man who does not occupy himself
with the study of general science, frequenting houses of play and de-
bauchery, and not avoiding with the most scrupulous care the society of
persons of notorious immorality, I should say, there is a man who is lost j
the habits he is contracting will debase him in his own eyes, and con-
sequently render him an object of sovereign contempt ; but if this man
is investigating theoretical philosophy, — if the object of his researches be
to rectify the line of demarcation that ought to separate human actions,
and to classify them as good or evil — if he seeks to discover a remedy for
the diseases of intelligence which lead those they attack far from the
paths of happiness, then, I should say, this man follows in the track of
vice, but in a direction that must necessarily lead him to the loftiest
virtue.

All my efforts have been directed to obtain the most exact and ex-
tended knowledge of the manners and opinions of the different classes of
society. I have sought — I have eagerly seized — every opportunity of con-
necting myself with men of all characters and every degree of morality.
These researches have greatly injured me in the opinion of the public ;
but I am far from regretting it. My self-esteem has always augmented

1 832.] The Autobiography of St. Simon. 659

in ratio to the injury I have done my reputation. I have every reason
to applaud the line of conduct I have followed, since it has enabled me to
offer new and positive views to my contemporaries j since the universal
genius of the Emperor has not impeded me, and my admiration for him
has not altered the independence of my thoughts.

It will be easily conceived that many most extraordinary things have
happened to me. I shall in fact have to relate some most amusing and
piquant anecdotes ; but at this moment a more important labour occupies
me — it absorbs all my time and all my faculties. I have yet a vigorous
constitution. I live yet in futurity — when I am old I shall then begin to
babble.

I shall terminate this first part by a comparison. A human generation
may be compared to a year of vegetation.

In the spring the orchards are covered with flowers. Some blow —
some fade — the greater part die and fall off before summer without having
budded. Is not this a striking image of the children of a generation ?

In the summer, the beauty of the orchard is of another description.
We see fruits, some few of which are thriving, while the rest languish
and fall. Again, is not this the image of the virility of a generation !

In the autumn the orchard still presents a beautiful aspect j its fruit is in
full maturity : this is the spectacle of the happy part of a generation who
have distinguished themselves by useful and honourable labours.

Lastly, at the commencement of winter the orchard yet presents some
objects upon which the eye may agreeably dwell. Some fruits are yet
to be seen. These are the old men, who, after having made numerous
experiments, and carefully examined their results, preserve yet a suffi-
cient vigour of constitution to give an account of their labours with
animation, clearness, and precision. These men are philosophers of
invention.

Conceiving that there are many readers to whom the above translation
of St. Simon's account of his views and opinions would be acceptable,
we make no apology for inserting it, although to others it may be
familiar.

What elevation of sentiment, what genius, we discover in this frag-
ment ! It presents to us a man whose sole and unceasing desire was to
exercise an immediate action upon his contemporaries. First, an en-
thusiastic lover of science, and endeavouring to found a Newtonian reli-
gion. Then the champion of industry and finance, and wishing to throw
into the hands of the industrious classes the supreme direction of society.
And, lastly, at a later period, when the Catholic clergy again endeavoured
to assume their former influence, we find him writing the New Christi-
anity. Such was St. Simon. A man who had outstripped the progress
of the age in which he lived, and whose system at the present day is uni-
versally regarded as the wild chimera of an enthusiastic and overwrought
imagination, the practical application of which was fraught with danger
to the existing community. Admitting such an improved state of society
possible as contemplated by St. Simon, we should guard against the
error of supposing that it is near, and that there is a short and ready road
to it open before us. The generous feeling and enlightened sentiment,
however, at present pervading this country, almost justify every dream
and vision of human advancement, and every hope of human cultivation
and happiness.

[ 660 ]

CUVIER AND HIS CABINET.

DID you ever visit the Museum of Natural History in the Jar din des
Plantes ? Did you ever see collection so complete ? And this not only
in snakes and crocodiles, the monsters of the forest and the deep, and all
the stuffed prodigies of the bestial world, for what to me appeared far
more curious, were the specimens of animated nature — of man. Methinks
we do not care enough to preserve the varieties of that species, so full of
physical variety. Painters, indeed, do much in this respect, and might do
more: it is their office. But the rogues alter truth; they must either
idolize or caricature. Their sketches do not give the real thing.

For instance, of what interest and importance is it to behold, or be
acquainted with the French, such as they were in the last century, under
the different forms of powdered Marquis and cropped revolutionarian.
Can a picture give you an idea of either ? Certainly not. Nor can Paris
itself, if you frequent its common or its modish haunts. But hie east-
ward, to the Faubourg St. Antoine ; go to bask in the afternoon sun that
warms the alleys of the Jardin des Plantes, and you will behold all these
antique specimens of the insect, — man. They seem really as if they had
just emerged from the cabinet of a natural philosopher. Nowhere are to
be seen so many varieties of age in man, from the somewhat wealthy pig-
tailed noble in his buckles and douillette, to the humble but haler veteran
in drab, so lavish in the use of his only luxury, snuff.

Nor are the younger specimens of the French species less interesting ;
the self-complacent expression of the Parisian's countenance, proud of
his garden and its wonders, contrasted with the astounded and admiring
look of the provincial, who is stultified with wonder. Then the glee of
the children, and the attention paid to them — one of the most amiable
and universal traits of the French character being fondness for infancy —
the peculiar neatness and chatter of the bonnes, the good, the almost gen-
teel behaviour of all, supply one with many pleasing reflections.

There cannot, in short, be a more charming avenue to the temple of
science. But the guide-book, or his passport, will have introduced the
stranger here already. My purpose is to introduce him to the high priest
of the temple, the great Cuvier. And here let not squeamishness be
shocked. I am not about to penetrate his salon, nor reveal, after the
favour of an invitation, the mysteries of his soirees. I respect civilized
life and its rules too much to commit such a decided misdemeanour. But
I may be allowed, methinks, to describe the person of the great naturalist,
when his public lectures might have procured me the facilities, or to pene-
trate, as any student may do, into the cabinet which he occupies as pro-
fessor.

This is a long room at the top of the building, so chosen to have the
light from above. It is fitted up precisely like a tent, which gives a pleas-
ing effect to a ceiling that naturally follows the obliquity of the roof in
which it is. This might furnish an idea to luxury in a garret. But here
is no luxury except that of effected rudeness : every thing is of the plainest
kind, just what befits science. No rose-wood or buhl, not even maho-
gany. A pupitre', or desk, of deal painted black, high enough to keep
the student half sitting half standing, occupies the space beneath one
of the skylights. From over this appears a large pale immensity of face,

1832.] Cuvier and his Cabinet. 661

and such a forehead as Spurzheim might adore. The eyes, however, are
singularly inexpressive; There is no sparkle, no glitter in that mind. Its
peculiarity consists in the immensity and the store of the intellectual man-
sions,— I should add, in its internal order, for what is abundance without
arrangement. Cuvier's head is enormous : so is his neck ; the circum-
ference of its envelope might equal that of a well-grown tree. This gives
him a singular awkwardness of gait, the nether man being obliged to make
mighty and unequal efforts to carry the weight of the upper or intellectual
ditto.

It is impossible not to recur to the extreme singularity and simplicity of
his cabinet. In a corresponding place, beneath another light, stands a
table, equally fenced in by screens, as the pupitre of the professor. There
sit his two acolytes, dissecting, putting the bones and parts of animal
mechanism together, or else taking them asunder, with precisely the same
aid of glass and intentness as watchmakers employ. Behind them is a
huge, rude stove, which an old, sturdy, and silent domestic is feeding
with logs. Opposite to it extends a sofa, but not for fair or scientific
visitor. The skeleton of a young whale occupies all of it that books do
not encumber. In every direction lie relics of all that is least perishable
in life, at least in physical life. Curious specimens of the animal kingdom
from distant parts of the world, from Thibet and the Andes, and the great
deep. Here are the cetaceous and the mammifer side by side ; the enor-
mous charpente, the carpentry, as the French express it, of the mammoth,
contrasted with some specimen equally curious in the diminutive. It was
the opening scene of Faustus realized, did but the spirits of earth and air
appear to the aged philosopher.

Alas ! whilst I write, the tidings come that he has gone to join them.
Cuvier is no more, and his departure has left a gap in science that centu-
ries may not fill up. How death hath been prone of late to level his scythe
at the lords of intellect. In science alone, how quick and great have been
our lopes : Wollaston, and Davy, and Young, carried off in a single year.
Whilst France loses almost at once Champollim and Cuvier. I little
thought on commencing this sketch of the great natural philosopher, that
a few days would convert it into an article of necrology.

Cuvier was born in 1769, that great year for giving birth to genius, at
Montbeliard, in the south-east of France, near the Jura. His father was
an officer in a Swiss regiment, and destined his son to his own profes-
sion. But young Cuvier was too studious, and too successful in his class
to be diverted from learning. He resolved to go into the church. The
little county of Montbeliard, though now a part of the French territory, was
then more German than French. It belonged to Wirtemberg, and Stutt-
gard, not Paris, was its metropolis. This circumstance had considerable
and fortunate influence upon Cuvier, since, making him both German and
French, it early communicated to him that largeness and universality in
his scientific views, which he might have wanted had he belonged exclu-
sively to either country. He went from Montbeliard to the university of
Stuttgard, where Schiller happened to be his fellow student. And here he
gave himself up principally to the study of natural history. From the
university he went as tutor to a noble family of Normandy, where the sea-
coast, seen by him for the first time, attracted all his curiosity and atten-
tion as a naturalist. It was some discoveries made here, since improvements
in the classification, I believe, of the worm tribe, that set him in corre-

662 Cuvier and his Cabinet. [JUNE,

spondence with Mr, Geoffroy, St. Helena, and from this step his advance
to the foremost rank in science was progressive. He obtained the chair of
comparative anatomy, and showed himself as eloquent an expounder, as
an acute discoverer of knowledge.

The grandeur and lucidity of his views and lectures attracted peculiarly
the admiration of Napoleon. " That man," said he, " must be a good admi-
nistrator." Cuvier was nominated minister of public instruction; how
could there have been chosen one more suitable to Napoleon's ideas of
education, which, we need not say, went to make all men arithmeticians
and engineers, rather than generally informed and lettered. The " reports "
drawn up by Cuvier were the very models of their valuable sources of
information.

Fortunately for his greatness, nevertheless, Cuvier was restored exclu-
sively to science in 1816. His being a Protestant alone was, in the eyes
of the dominant party, a crime only equalled by his having been a Buona-
partist. Cuvier retired (if the Jardins des Plantes, and all the society of
Paris, may be called retirement) to his fossil bones and geological dis-
coveries, the latter the most sublime and striking that he produced.

The Bourbons, for all their high monarchical, soon perceived the utter
incapacity of the old noble and emigrant party. They were compelled to
have recourse to that host of capacites that Napoleon had developed and
cherished. Cuvier, never very marked in his political opinion, was
amongst the most useful, and he became again state counsellor, royal
commissary, and burdened with political functions. He was the atlas of
the Conseil d'Etat, or privy council, and to those who knew him it was
inconceivable how he could get through the various and gigantic tasks
committed to him. Like many great characters, his itch and inclination
were for these pursuits, in which there was most name and least honour.
Thus he took more pride in his counsellor's robe, than in his professor's
seat. In the last year of his life, Louis Philippe appointed him a peer:
he had been but a nominal baron previously. This new function of the
aristocratic legislator pleased him vastly ; so much so, that he abandoned
the all important occupation of completing his philosophical discoveries,
for the vain honour of sitting and debating in the House of Peers. And
this was the thought of remorse that tormented him at his death.

I must profess myself no naturalist, and therefore quite unable to appre-
ciate the worth of Cuvier in his discoveries j but the facts and principles
which he established in geology, and in the ante-deluvian history of the
earth, are such as to meet the intelligence, and command the admiration
of the most unscientific reader. To Cuvier we owe the final blow given to
cosmogonies and absurd theories. Through Cuvier we now have in idea
the beginning of the world cradled at once in poesy and truth ; we dissect
its layers, and are made acquainted with at least its animal inhabitants.
Cuvier's theory is harmonious with the account of the Bible ; and in this
respect he stands alone amongst the entire scientific herd of France. Indeed
in his last lecture at the Sorbonne, in the College de France, Cuvier gave
a formal challenge to the Volney school, and received no answer. I well
remember in one of these lectures, his announcing, that if we take the
heaps, formed either at the feet of mountains, by the wearing away at the
top, or on the shore, by the daily carriage of the tide, and admeasure them
by their rate of progress, we shall find thum commence about the period
assigned to the cessation of the flood. A murmur of approbation from the

1832.] Pyrolocjy. 663

young, of dissent from the old, met the remark. But it excited no dis-
cussion. Tis a pity that Cuvier would not allow, at least not latterly,
these lectures of his to be published. And unless some kind unfaith-
ful friend have preserved the import of his papers, they will be lost to
the world.

PYROLOGY.

THE first sentiment excited in a susceptible mind by the newspaper
narrative of a great fire, in which the ravages of the devouring element are
depicted in a glowing style peculiarly appropriate to the subject, is
undoubtedly one of deep commiseration for the unfortunate sufferers.
After a few ejaculations, however, of sympathy and horror, a suspicion
arises that the insinuation of the doubt as to the premises being insured,
the old bed-ridden lodger in a garret which no ladder was long enough
to reach, and the little child that has been missing ever since the calami-
tous event, are mere poetical embellishments, some of those purpurei
panhi with which all writers delight to adorn the subjects they take in
hand. Having thus satisfied the claims of humanity, and perhaps being
entitled to take credit for a little superfluous sensibility, one may conscien-
tiously indulge an emotion of regret that next arises at not having been
present to witness so glorious a conflagration. This feeling, so far from
being the result of an unduly large development of the organ of destructive-
ness, is usually the concomitant, and, indeed, the token of a sweet and
amiable disposition. A susceptible heart is ever most alive to impressions
of the sublime and terrible, and the benevolent man is consequently fond
of fires by nature. It will occur, moreover, to a reflecting mind, that all
corporate bodies, including insurance companies, are proverbially devoid
of feeling; and that the onus of a loss, by being divided amongst a great
number of persons, becomes scarcely perceptible by any single individual.
Pleasure, on the other hand, like useful knowledge, may be indefinitely
increased by diffusion ; and when we consider the vast number of little
boys who are beatified by the opportunity of scampering after an engine,
and screaming out fire ! fire ! — the wholesome excitement of some kind or
other which is necessary to rescue nervous gentlemen returning home
stupified by the miseries of a soiree from the contemplation of suicide, —
the grandeur of the exhibition, and the delight of the beholders, as the
showman says, — it will scarcely be doubted that a fine conflagration
materially increases the aggregate of human happiness, which is the
object of all good government.

There are some individuals, born under an evil star, who, although
sojourning in the midst of a metropolitan constellation of sights, never
have the good luck to witness any of considerable magnitude, except
indeed those that are fixed and perennial, such as colosseums, cathedrals,
and the like, and which obtrude themselves upon the aching vision usque
ad nauseam. But a locomotive or incidental lion, a Russian prince or a
fire, exhibits itself in vain, so far as these unfortunate people are con-
cerned. They hear rumours of the appearance of a hog from Altrive, or a
patriot from Poland ; and they forthwith determine to frequent all places
of public resort, to take tickets for all public dinners, and to adopt such
other measures as appear to afford them a reasonable prospect of behold-

664 Pyrology. [JuNE,

ing the new wonder. They might just as well endeavour to discern those
celestial phenomena, which, on the authority of the almanacks, are visible
only to the antipodes. Surely there is a fatality attending the affairs of
men, else, how happens it that a person of a speculative turn of mind,
possessing considerable apparent opportunities, and taking all proper pre-
cautions, shall never set his eyes upon any thing which he would not be
ashamed, even in a letter to his country friends, to designate as a sight?
Such a one may probably in the course of his career witness a fired
chimney, — one of those ambiguous cases in which a magistrate has to
decide whether water was legitimately introduced at all, and the firemen
are entitled to the parliamentary reward — but it is very certain that he
will never, on this side of the grave, behold a flame which might not be

readily extinguished by as much water as Dr. would not weaken a

pint of brandy with. It is in vain that he struggles with his destiny,
wandering in the streets at unseasonable hours, and in the dead of the
night starting ever and anon from his repose, under the impression that
something must be burning somewhere. His hopes are occasionally raised
by a chance encounter with a fire engine as it thunders along, tearing up
the pavement, shattering the windows, and killing the nervous in its
progress ; but he pants and toils after it in vain, generally running off in
the wrong direction as soon as the object of his pursuit is out of sight; or
if he at length succeeds in marking it down, arriving barely in time to see
the newly invented, patent, powerful, steam fire-extinguisher commence
its operations, which is always five minutes after there has ceased to be
any thing to extinguish. Then are heard amongst the delighted multitude
assembled on the spot, hypocritical expressions of condolence and horror,
sufficient to make those who were too late to be spectators of the awful
scene die of envy; but nothing igneous is visible, save only a contemptible
shower of sparks, such as would disgrace the dying moments of a Vauxhall
rocket.

To enjoy many opportunities of seeing great fires, there are three
things essential ; good luck, argus eyes, and an insinuating address.
There is no need of many arguments to demonstrate that the first of these
is the greatest and most important. It is also manifest, that, however
propitiously inclined fortune may be, any one who could avail himself of
her bounties to the utmost extent, should not receive her overtures with
looks rivetted to the ground, like the shade of Dido listening to ^Eneas
in the infernal regions. The blind goddess would in vain mark as her
favourites those who are labouring under her own infirmity of vision. To
what purpose is a fine exhibition thrown in the way of one who has no
speculation in his eyes ? To what purpose is it that the horizon shall be
suddenly and vividly illuminated, as a sign that a conflagration is raging
beneath, and as a beacon to direct the footsteps of wandering mortals to
the spot, if wandering mortals will not use ordinary circumspection ? The
third and last of the qualifications above enumerated is useful in securing
a good situation in a crowd. It is exceedingly well known to all those
who are partial to exhibitions in the open air, that the most convenient
spot for seeing is invariably occupied by a strong and numerous array of
the police. Now it is not to be expected that by the mere receipt of one
pound a week out of the parish rates, a man shall be divested of that
natural feeling of curiosity which is common to all ; and policemen have
as good a right to see as other people ; but it is submitted that the mem-

1832.] Pyroloyy. (56-0

bers of the respectable body alluded to do, in this particular, take an
unfair advantage of their station and authority. Suppose a foreigner,
newly arrived in London for the purpose of lionising ; suppose him to
sally forth, on a day appointed for the prorogation of parliament by the
king in person, to Palace Yard, in the vain expectation of having his eyes
blessed with a glimpse of majesty; and lastly, suppose him, upon en-
quiring concerning certain individuals in blue coats and white buttons who
interposed themselves between the spectators and the royal cortege, and
engrossed the whole of the spectacle to themselves, to be informed that
they were the " civil " power of this enlightened country ; what notion
would that foreigner entertain of English civility? The most effectual
remedy at present for this public grievance is a benign and affable ex-
pression of countenance united with some powers of palaver. Therefore
the lion (the term is used here in its active and not in its passive significa-
tion) should study all the writers on the graces from Chesterfield down-
wards, in order to acquire those arts by which the affections of all classes
of people are conciliated. These accomplishments, if duly applied, on
the proper occasions, more especially in the case of a fire, will not fail to
secure for their fortunate possessor a place in the inner or dress circle, as
it may be styled, of spectators. A single wink of the eye (from an Irish-
man) has been known to effect wonders in the case of a policeman under
the rank of inspector.

To admirers of the devouring elements, various expedients might
be suggested for insuring early intelligence of all its proceedings. Amongst
others the opportunity of securing a sleeping apartment in the house of
the person to whose custody the key of the parish engine is confided, will
of course be seized with alacrity. In seeking, however, to avail himself
of all legitimate opportunities of gratifying a propensity which is only
innocent so long as it is not carried to excess, the amateur should proceed
discreetly and cautiously, since a passion for fires, if immediately indulged,
may possibly seduce a person of ardent temperament into the commission
of arson.

The principal towns of the British empire, phlogistically considered, are
not by any means to be commended. The " wooden walls of Old
England," it is well known, is a mere metaphorical expression : the walls
of England are not wooden, but chiefly composed of fire-bricks, or some
other such non-combustible material. Moreover, no sooner does a police-
man on duty discover a stray spark issuing forth from a solitary chimney,
than the whole metropolis, with its hundred insurance offices, and its
thousand engines, is in motion, and the suspected spot is forthwith
deluged with the contents of pumps, canals, rivers, and reservoirs. Under
these circumstances, looking at an affair of the kind merely as a wrestling
match or a set-to between the two elements of fire and water, it is quite
evident that the former has not fair play in the struggle. In Constanti-
nople, whenever a conflagration takes place, at least the entire quarter of
the British, or some other residents, is razed to the ground : but in old
England the day is confessedly gone by for a fire, which shall commence
in a Pudding Lane and end in a Pie Corner. This is not said in a spirit of
repining or discontent, but is merely stated as a fact. The narrow crowded
streets and wooden architecture of the Elizabethan age, find but a sorry sub-
stitute in the scattered theatres, warehouses, and spirit vaults of the present
day. It was once imagined that the duty on tallow and sea borne coals was

1 2Y

666 Pyrology.

a grand obstacle to the propagation of 6rcs. The obnoxious impost was
consequently repealed. And what has been the result? The number
of interesting cases (to use the language of Medical Reports) so far
from increasing, has been continually falling off; and Government is now
driven to rely on the Reform Bill as a forlorn hope. Something perhaps
\vould be effected by a heavy tax upon fire engines : surely they might be
included together with steam boats in the next ministerial budget.

In the same spirit of philanthropy which has dictated the foregoing
remarks, the following random suggestions are offered. The advantage
which Juvenal points out as peculiar to those who reside in a garret, is
submitted to be of an equivocal character ; it is this, that if a fire com-
mences in the basement story, the man who is nearest the roof will be
the last to be burnt,

Ultimus ardebit quern tegula sola tuetur — a pluvio.

Most assuredly it would be desirable to postpone such a catastrophe till
the latest possible moment ; but perhaps the object will be attained quite
as well by eschewing the top of the house, at least until some improve-
ment shall been effected in the construction of escape-ladders. Those
who have a horror of being burnt to death will do well not to indulge in
spiritual liquors to excess, since a toody which is thoroughly saturated
with brandy is likely to go off in a spontaneous combustion. Other pre-
cautions will probably suggest themselves to most prudent individuals for
avoiding personal danger from fire. And this should be the more espe-
cially attended to, as it will be scarcely possible for any one to regard even
the finest conflagration with any degree of comfort and complacency, on
an occasion when the probability is that he himself will be a prey to the
fury of the devouring element.

It will perhaps occur to some people that all these things have been
written in jest, and that it is utterly impossible to derive any enjoyment
whatever from an occurrence which is always a calamity, and which must
always necessarily involve mischief and destruction to a certain extent.
But a philosophic poet of antiquity tells us, that it is pleasant to behold,
from a place of security, such scenes as a ship in distress, or a battle, not
on account of any malicious satisfaction which the spectator derives from
the calamities of other people, but because it is gratifying to reflect that
he is not himself exposed to the evils which he contemplates. And this
may account for the marvellously great appetite of the reading public, for
the details of the most flagitious offences, and of the most horrible acci-
dents. And if so much gratification is derived from the mere newspaper
account of a fire, when all its excitements, and all its poetry have eva-
porated in description, surely it is not unnatural to be delighted with the
scene itself in all its glowing and vivid reality. Have not conflagrations
been frequently represented on the stage ? Has not. Moscow been burnt
innumerable times at Astley's, amidst the most, rapturous applause from
admiring and enlightened audiences ? Let the man who decries a passion
for fires reply conscientiously to the question, whether he ever beheld one ?
If not, then let him take the first opportunity of doing so, and in the
mean time hold his peace ; but if his answer should be in the affirmative,
then let him be aware that he stands convicted of utter bad taste at the
bar of public opinion, at once the most tremendous, and the least fallible
of all earthly tribunals. M.

[667 ]

THE REFUGEE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE " MERCHANT* OF LONDON."

SCENE. — A Drawing-room, simply but elegantly furnished, opening to a
Laiun, with a quiet picturesque Landscape : deep Woods in
the half-distance. A Summer's Evening just after Sunset.

CHARACTERS. — The Earl of -- ; Ladij Julia, his daughter; the
Conde de — - - ; Don Ribeiro de -- ; other Guestst
male and female, Foreigners and Natives.

EARL. That was a sweet air, Julia, one of those
On which the pleas'd ear lingers. There are melodies
That never pall the sense, and this is one
To me.

CONDE. Tis beautiful.

RIBEIRO. Ay, very beautiful,

And sweetly sung.

CONDE. And blends deliciously

With the mellow sunset.

JULIA. You haveta'en perhaps

Its tone hence, and the fine association
Pleases you.

CONDE. Nay —

JULIA. There are some Spanish airs

Which I have heard, that speak true poetry
Of music : such as burst from the full heart
In the natural shout of triumph, or the wailings
Of tenderness ill-fated, or break forth
In throes of o'ercharged pleasure : some, the echoes
Of nature's solitudes, sometimes simply telling
Of peace arid beauty, sometimes raised aloud
To piety and worship. Every land
Hath legends of the soul like these. Old lays
Echoing th'eternal passions ; thoughts still new
In their pure wisdom, sounds still new in beauty,
And far more touching than the lays of Spain.

RIBEIRO. There is a rough war-song —

CONDE. A war note comes

From Don Ribeiro like the fiery snortings
Of a charger before battle, when his nature
Is waken'd by the trumpet.

EARL. Sing it, sing it !

At such a moment even I could sing ;
'Tis part of conversation.

RIBEIRO. You shall have it.

2 Y2

>?dO

668 The Refugee. [JUNE,

Now the last charge!

The sun goes down in blood,

T> * A "'a 1

But not so red fc oT

As the grassy bed,

Of the thousand Moors who firmly stood
With sabre and with targe.

Charge ! charge once more !
The infidels must yield ;

Bravely they've fought,

And dearly bought
Shall be the trampled field,

Sodden with human gore.

Charge, charge again !
What is it now to die ?

Conquer'd who'd live ?
And who'd not give
' ib> His life for victory,

A victory for Spain ?

JULIA. It thrills me.

EARL. Aye ; the air is bold and stirring,

And makes the pulse of an old warrior beat
With youthful quickness.

RIBEIRO. You should hear the song

In its own country ; you should be a Spaniard
To hear it. These things ever speak to me
With such a mingled voice of memory
And melody. To hear them in one's land,
The noble hymns of war, chanted aloud
By myriad armies, ringing round the hills,
The lion-voice of freemen. I have heard it —
Oh ! I have heard it once, when my own tent
Was the mausoleum of my ancestors,
Who had joined in the same song, ere they led forth
Their bands to conquest. Yes, I've heard the song,
When my own name was the battle-word, a name
Had been among the victor cries of Spain
For ages, and had never lost its spell
Till now, when freedom joined with it, a cause
The noblest and the last it e'er shall grace.
Yes, it was something that the very word
Was a historic record, and would raise
A flush in every cheek, in every heart
A throb of glorious pride, that Spain should own it,
And here an unknown, an unheard of sound.
Would I had died then with it ! for my country
Is now a ruin, a sad wreck, where honour
Lies buried, and the fame of my great forefathers

1832.] The Refugee. 669

Cast on the shore for pilfering slaves to spoil, &3o

Blasting their glories with the shames of Spain.
I go too far, I wrong your hospitality :
I should be more contented. I owe much
To England ; but I've now no country.

EARL. True!

But immortality has given such names
To all ages, and all lands ; and such is yours.

RIBIERO. Thanks, my lord.

CONDE. I remember that a friend

Of mine, an Englishman, praised once a song,
With which, upon our lonely bivouac
In the French war, near Salamanca, once
I wiled away the night — poor Leveson !
He fell next day.

JULIA. What is it?

CONDE. You shall hear.

JULIA. Your lute is by your hand, you looked for it.

CONDE. Yes, it will aid a rough voice.

JULIA. You play well.

. .

The C etude's Song.

May I not tell, oh ! gently tell,

Feelings so kind, so pure, so true ?
What means the silent, fearful spell,

That prompts, yet checks me, when I'd sue ?

Oh read, then read, my burning cheek,

Are mine eyes dumb ? how unlike thine !
Of love, of hope, of heaven they speak —

Does nothing answer them in mine ?

The cork-tree waveth silently,

In the soft sighing breeze of night,
Fair Seville's towers pensively

Shadow the placid moon's pale light.

My soul is full of love and thee,

Even nature hallows the firm spell, —
And will not nature plead for me,

When to my heart it speaks so well ?

JULIA. 'Tis fanciful.

RIBEIRO. And fancifully sung.

EARL. Why, yes; the Conde is young, and half believes
Love's dreams realities.

CONDI;. Are ihey not so?

670 The Refugee,. [JUNE,

EARL. Credulity in them grows not with age,
We break the spell at fifty. Why, what a crowd
Of things impossible, are in your song!

CONDE. Aye, you may banter, but as once I heard it,
You had yielded to its magic, and believed
That, and a thousand times as much, for her
Who sung it. Twas a black-eyed rnaid, so pale,
So gently thoughtful with a low soft voice,
That you would list to as sweet bells far off,
When the night wind just wafts their holy sound.
She took the veil soon after : as I think,
'Twas the last song of earth she ever sung.

JULIA. She took the veil ! poor girl !

EARL. How Julia pities

So hard a fortune !

CONDE. 'Twas an eve of which

This somewhat may remind me — but the air
Of eve in Spain — Where was I ? We were seated
In a balcony, I was then a stripling,
Some three or four joyous yet gentle girls,
This pale one, and a reckless youth, who smiled
As her eye fell upon his, with a meaning
I knew not, yet remembered her look fell,
Nor sung nor said she more — and I've since thought
'Twas the last breathing of a passionate heart,
That murmured in that song.

JULIA. And he regarded not?

CONDE. No.

EARL. That was dull of him, eh, Julia ?

'Twas not yourself, Conde ?

CONDE. No, thank Heaven, I sported

With gayer triflers ; for I was gay then,
Young, full of hope, one to whom chivalry
Comprised existence. Gallantry and fame
My idol and my care.

EARL. You're yet that boy, Conde.

CONDE. Oh that I were ! that I could once more dwell
Among such beauteous visions, such fair truths !
To live in the romance of my own land,
My own beloved Spain ! Oh ! to recal
Its skies, its hills, its waters, its bright clime,
Its old accustomed manners, charities
Of native country, and of infant home ;
Its songs, its loves, its sorrows, and its mirths !
I am a banished man. * * *

1832.] [ G71 J

THE PORIOTE DOCTOR.

I HAD been but a few days in Napoli di Romania, the capital of Greece,
when I was ordered to embark for Damala, a small village opposite the
island of Poros, to join the regular troops under Colonel Fabrier, to which
corps I was attached. My arrangements for travel being very speedily
completed, I paid mine host of the Locanda, and with all my worldly pos-
sessions contained in the knapsack at my back, I went down to the quay
in search of a caique, gladly bidding adieu to the dirty narrow streets,
pestilential atmosphere, and motley population, of the first of Greek cities.
I luckily met with a lavouken, who, plying for passengers as he pro-
nounced it " dia ton fioro," and wanting only one of his complement,
readily agreed to take me for two piastres, (about eight pence.) I stepped
on board his caique, an odd crank-looking kind of craft, with a mast raking
forward at an angle of 45Q. I found myself in company with six or seven
individuals of different nations, calling themselves Philellenes, but being in
reality adventurers like myself, and having as much affection for the Greek
cause as I have for the reigning prince of Timbuctoo.

There was an old drunken Gascon whom I shall call Garelle j he lay
upon the shingle which served to ballast the boat, as I thought in a state
of stupid intoxication. I remarked to one who sat next me, " quil etait
sou comme nn cochon," to which Garelle, who, I suppose, had detected my
island accent, replied, " Mille pardons, Monsieur, je suis sou comme un
Anglois"

When the laugh occasioned by this repartee had subsided, I was addressed
by a strange looking being, whose operations I had been watching with
considerable interest for some time. He had been sitting cross-legged
on the half-deck making his toilet • his age was about sixty ; his head, as
carefully divested of hair as though it had belonged to the most rigid of
the disciples of Mahomet,' was covered with a folded napkin, which he
occasionally dipped in the water ; he had been carefully plucking from his
moustachios all straggling irregular-growing hairs, till he succeeded .in
making the upper edge as sharp and defined as though it had been cut
upon copper by the burin of an engraver. The finishing touch was then
given to them by means of a ball of dark wax, with which they were black-
ened, and made to turn up at the corners, imparting to them an aspect
" piuferoce," as the armourer of Constantinople said to Byron, when endea-
vouring to sell him a flame- fashioned Damascus. The eyebrows having
been carefully coloured to match, the napkin was superseded by a luxuriant
juvenile jet wig, shining as brightly as olive oil could make it. Although
I could not but feel a contempt for the frivolity of his occupations, there
was nevertheless an air of " bonhommie" about him which delighted me
exceedingly. He extended to me the right hand of fellowship, saying,
" Sare, how do you do j Sare, je suis charme to make de you connaissance."
I expressed my satisfaction at meeting one who spoke my language — a
white fib which won the old man's heart, — and we became excellent friends.
Papa Clement — for Clement was his name, the Papa being invariably
affixed by his comrades — then told me that he had been for some years a
prisoner of war at Stapleton, near Bristol, and dwelt with particular unction
on the manifold kindnesses he had received at the hands of von Mr. Alder-

672 The Poriote Doctor. [JUNE

man Jon-Brown, Mrs. Alderman Jon-Brown, and Miss Alderman Jon-
Brown, magnates of the aforementioned city of Bristol. To the urbanity
of Papa Clement was added a more sterling quality. He was an excellent
cook, a vocation in the exercise of which Papa Clement never had an
equal, for cooks in general will draw largely upon the commissariat, whereas
Papa Clement, like the monk who made stone broth, went to work upon
nothing, and nevertheless produced invariably a good repast. He had fol-
lowed the steps of Napoleon to Moscow and back, and had fought in his
last field. Such had been his lot after the restoration, that he found the
nominal pay of forty piastres a month, as captain in the 2nd battalion of
the regulars, and the real Yemeklik of seventeen paras per diem, (about
three-halfpence,) a considerable improvement in his circumstances.

The next in order was a light-haired, blue-eyed, broad-faced, ruddy-
cheeked, Bavarian. His dress was that of an officer of the Tactikoi, but he
had lain aside the cumbrous chacot for the light crimson Barbary cap,
always worn by the Greeks. On either thigh was suspended one of his
national weapons ; on the left the schlaeger : and on the right the formidable
boar-knife, with a buck-horn haft that would have fitted the fist of a giant.
There were two Portuguese, an Italian, a Pole, and a Corsican, none of
whom were particularised by any marked peculiarities, beyond those of
their respective nations.

The hot sun beat fiercely down upon us as we lay becalmed for several
hours in the beautiful Gulph of Napoli ; even old Taygetus seemed to drop
a portion of his snowy mantle as the day advanced. At length came the
short-lived twilight of the east, and with it the off-shore breeze bearing on
its wings the aroma of a thousand herbs. Who that has not visited an
Eastern clime can tell the delight with which this portion of the day is
welcomed. The moody Mussulman takes his solitary walk where the
melancholy cypress throws its dark mantle over the ashes of his fathers j
there, on some turban stone, he sits enjoying bright visions of his promised
paradise, till the loud " Allah ackbar," of the Muezzin from the neighbour-
ing mosque reminds him of the hour of prayer. The light-hearted Greek
flings his capote across his shoulder, and with a gay elastic step he seeks
the most public promenade of the eity. He hears and tells the news ; he
exchanges his own inventions of the day for those of others.

We arrived at Poros too late to continue our journey thence to Damala
the same evening, and were consequently obliged to take up our abode in
a Kaphene'. The ground- floor consisted of a single room, one end of
which was occupied by hogsheads of wine, faggots, charcoal, and all the
" materiel " of a Greek coffee-house keeper ; round the other end ran a low
wooden bench, whereon were seafed two or three grave looking elderly
Greeks, smoking their arquilas or water pipes, and sipping their coffee in
silence. The revolution has not yet effected any change in the olden
Greeks, whose habits and manners are formed on those of the Turks. In
the centre of the room on a pillar of sun-baked clay, about three feet high,
stood a well polished Mangal — a brazier, containing ignited charcoal, at
which the coffee is made, and other culinary operations performed. The
floor was of mud, the ceiling of dried myrtle bushes, laid thickly over
rafters of roughly torn pine, and on the bushes again a layer of mud,
forming the floor of an upper apartment, which was only half the size of
the lower one, the remainder of the roof being dignified with the name of
a terrace, on which in the summer heats the natives are accustomed to
sleep. The ascent to this upper story was of the rudest description,ubeing

1832.] The Poriote Doctor. 673

the trunk of an unsquared pine' tree, with some of the smaller branches
nailed transversely to it. The only eatables with which our host could
furnish us, were eggs, salted curds, made of goat's milk, and kept in bags
made of the skin of the same animal, with the hair inside, black olives, and
oil, but these incongruous materials were, by the art of Papa Clement, so
harmoniously blended together as to produce a savoury and delicious
omelette. We were supplied from an enormous wooden hooped bicker
with a diluent called crassee — I am unwilling to translate it wine, although
it is made from the juice of the grape — a beverage having a most iniquitous
twang of resin, highly lauded by our host, pronounced by the initiated
palates of my comrades to be excellent, but which I was only enabled to
swallow by the most powerful efforts.

Our meal being ended we retired to rest ; I, Kleber, and the Italian, pre-
ferring the open terrace, and leaving the upper apartment to be occupied
by the rest of our party. I, a soldier of three days standing, indignantly
refused the share of his mattrass, which Kleber offered me, and lay down in
my capote on the mud roof of the Kaphe. I was surprised to see the phleg-
matic German, who was an old campaigner, making his night toilet. After
divesting himself of his heavier articles of wearing apparel, he produced a
large linen bag, having two smaller ones stitched to its upper corners, very
like an ordinary night-gown, " paris componere magn a," except in having
no outlet for hands or feet, and in being drawn tightly round the neck by
a string. The utility of this garment consisted in its affording an effectual
barrier to the inroads of musquitoes, and other annoying insects, but too
common in these countries. Having most dexterously sacked himself, he
lay down with his beloved boar-knife by his side, and in a short time gave
utterance to sounds that spoke very intelligibly both of the potency of the
crassee and the soundness of his repose. Kleber had foolishly suspended
his wearing apparel upon some pegs in the outer wall of the adjacent
apartment. The ludicrous appearance of my German friend had so forcibly
recalled to my imagination the apparition in Tom Thumb, and all its con-
comitant oddities, that sleep for a time was out of the question. I was
just thinking of

" Here we go up, up, up,
And here we go down, down, down,"

when a slight noise at my side caused me to open my eyes, and there I
beheld, not certainly a disembodied spirit, but Vlacopolo, the son ofBarba
Nicola, our host, with his ear carefully turned towards my ace, endeavour-
ing to ascertain if I slept, and I began immediately began to imitate, but at
a long distance, the dulcet strains produced by Kleber. His scrutiny was
continued for some time, and then I heard him steal cautiously to the side
of the Italian, who was submitted to the same examination as myself. I
placed one hand on my pistols, which I had retained in my belt, and
endeavoured to watch his motions as well as the obscurity occasioned by
a clouded moon would permit. He left the Italian, and once more
approached me ; as I was satisfied that his object was robbing, and not
personal violence, I felt no fears either for myself or friends ; he again
stooped down to listen to my breathing; I suddenly made a clutch at him
and shouted aloud to my comrades : the miscreant slipped from my
grasp like a lump of wet soap, and jumped from the terrace into the street.
I started to my feet and followed him as fast as I could, but the darkness
of the night, my ignorance of the localities, and, perhaps, his superior
agility, favoured his escape.

674 The P oriole Doctor. [Juxr,

I returned discom fitted to my terrace. The moon burst forth, and there
I beheld Kleber in his bag, flourishing his boar knife and swearing
most eloquently in High Dutch ; Papa Clement, without his wig, was
standing by his side marvelling what had become of Monsieur L'Anglois;
and Garelle, who had gone to his couch as drunk as a twenty-four pounder,
looking the very beau ideal of stolidity. When I was given to their won-
dering eyes, interrogatories thick as hail were poured upon me : Kleber
questioned me in German ; Clement, after many vain efforts to make
himself intelligible in the English he had picked up under the patronage
of Mr. Alderman Jon-Brown, ended in French, with something about
assassination. With the assistance of my comrades, from above, and
the aid of some rubbish below, I contrived to re-ascend to my terrace,
and, in a polyglott salmagundi sort of speech, I endeavoured to make my
auditors comprehend what had occurred. Having, with much difficulty
and many words, succeeded in my object, we held a council of wrar,
wherein it was decided that we should alternately keep watch for the rest
of the night. Garelle, who was not able to understand any thing, insisted
that Monsieur L'Anglois was " sout comme dix mille hommes,'' and that
it was all a dream, and betook himself to rest. Those who had possession
of the apartment declined participating in our watch. Kleber insisted
upon keeping the first vigil, and I and the Italian laid down again. In a
short time we were all fast asleep, sentry and all. The early beams of
the morning sun were the first interruption to my repose ; both my com-
rades were still asleep; I looked round and saw the German's clothes
hanging upon their pegs in stalu quo. I aroused my friends, and Kleber
proceeded to clean his day apparel, in doing which he became aware of the
abstraction of his watch, his purse, and a bunch of keys. As I had recog-
nised the person of our midnight visitor, Vlacopolo was immediately
summoned, but Vlacopolo was either out of hearing, or else had more •
pressing occupation.

His father and mother, on being acquainted with our suspicions, exhi-
bited a great anxiety for his production. His male progenitor, in especial,
commenced a vociferation that might have been heard all over the island,
" Vlacopolo ! bree sou pou cisai Anathema! Kecatopolo" but Vlaco was
deaf to the endearing epithets so lavishly bestowed upon him by his father,
and came not. Kleber, whose bile had been sufficiently roused by the dis-
covery of his loss, drew forth his schlaeger, and swore he would annihilate
mine host if his property was riot immediately produced. Barba Nicola
endured this intimation of Kleber's suspicion of his being concerned in the
theft, with a stoicism so unnatural to an innocent man, in like circum-
stances, that convinced me of his guilt. Not so the Cocona — her indig-
nation knew no bounds at finding her son accused of robbery, and her
husband of participation; she called us dogs of Franks, Keratades, and
applied some very offensive epithets to our religion, intimating that it was
no better than it should be. When the storm of voices had subsided, I
had well nigh perpetrated an oration in English, my knowledge of modern
Greek, or, indeed, of any language except my own, being very limited.
Fortunately I bethought me of my passport, which I handed to Barba
Nicola, who therein discovered that I was an officer of the Zactikoi, com-
manded by Colonel Fabrier, and encamped at Damala, the other side
the ferry. I backed this piece of intelligence by assuring him that unless
prompt restitution was made, I would bringdown the Colonel's vengeance
upon him and his house. Barba Nicola appeared to be considerably taken .

1832.] The Poriote Doctor. 675

aback at this intelligence, and begged for time, in order, as he said, that he
might find out the thief ; this being granted, he set out immediately,
while we sat down to the discussion of a famous " soupe au lait," prepared
by Papa Clement. In about an hour Barba Nicola returned, with a face
in which importance had almost mastered the look of cunning with which
nature had so liberally gifted it. As he ascended the ladder that led to
our chamber, he called out to some person following, " Copiasete exako-
tate copinsetf apano." At last Barba Nicola entered, followed by an indi-
vidual whom he pompously announced as his excellency Doctor Papatho-
polo, head physician of the island of Poros.

Those who have seen the " anatomic vivante" and those only, can
form an adequate idea of the total absence of any thing like flesh under
the shrivelled skin of the illustrious Doctor Papathopolo. His unclothed
legs, like two bits^of bam boo arising from out of a pair of black papoushes*
were met at the' knees by an article, that I can only translate " breeches,"
but the only point in which it will bear a comparison with that exclusively
European tegument, is in its appropriation to the same uses. This gar-
ment, extending from the knees to the waist in length, and being about
six yards in breadth, formed a contrast by no means advantageous to the
thin yellow legs of his excellency; his waist, after the fashion of the
Greeks, was as tightly bound up as possible by a tattered red silk sash.
A close Zantiote vest, surmounted by a white sheep-skin jacket, invested
his upper man, and his head was thatched by a round Frank hat. Long
black lustreless elf locks streamed down his shoulders, and some half
dozen hairs were left on each upper lip — a caricature on the generally
handsome mustachios of his countrymen. Doctor Papathopolo, on
making his entree, " grinned horribly a ghastly smile," and taking off his
Frank hat, flourished it round his head as an Emeralder would his alpeen.
I saluted the Esculapian with a " proskino sets kerie," one of the few
Greek phrases I possessed ; the man of physic drew himself up and
assumed an air of injured pride. Barba Nicola then informed me that
the worthy doctor was never addressed by any other title than that of your
excellency. I amended my speech by adding the exacted " exakotate,,'"
and the offended dignitary was conciliated ; he returned my salute by
placing his right hand over his heart, giving another flourish of his beaver,
and " kale mera sas," " kale sas emera" said I. After replacing his much
cherished hat, he, without further ceremony, sat himself down on the
floor, and produced his rosary, a plaything hardly any Greek is without.
Barba Nicola then furnished him with a tchibouque and a smalt cup of
Mocha. While we were deliberating as to the expediency of kicking his
excellency down the trap, he suddenly demanded who had been robbed -,
which was the first intimation we received of the object of his visit.
Kleber then stepped forward, and I informed the doctor that he was the
person; he then requested the description of the articles stolen. He was as
minute in his enquiries as an Old Bailey counsel examining a prosecutor,
but fortunately Kleber was enabled to give him satisfactory answers. His
excellency, then getting up his smoke, inhaled enough to stifle half a
dozen Europeans, and opening his lean jaws to their fullest extent, suffered
it gradually to exhale from his mouth and nostrils ; this ceremony being
ended by an energetic puff, he put his hand beneath his girdle and
slowly and separately produced the missing property, watch, keys, and
purse, from which last had been abstracted a dollar, which, said his
excellency, raising his hand to his lips, had been expended by the " kai-

676 The Poriote Doctor. [JUNE,

meno" in drink. He attributed great credit to himself for the share he
had had in the transaction, and insinuated that some compensation for the
trouble he had taken would be very acceptable. Kleber, who appeared
to look upon the renowned Papathopolo as, at least, an accessary after
the fact, demurred to this, but taking into his consideration the wan
condition of the doctor, he gave him a six piastre piece, about two shil-
lings, being six times the fee usually paid for the medical services of this
learned Theban.

I afterwards ascertained some particulars of this man's history. His
first start in life was as a cabin-boy on board a Hydriot trader, employed in
carrying corn to the French ports during the war with England. The
vessel being chased by an English cruizer, Papathopolo, who, perhaps, like
Shakspeare's fop, " but for this vile gunpowder," might himself have been
a soldier, was nowhere to be found, till, after strict search, he was at length
discovered in the lazaret, a hole under the cabin flooring. The ship ran up the
Adriatic to Ancona, where the future doctor, being convinced of his unfitness
for pursuits of danger, "faisoit son paquet," and levanted, not forgetting to
take with him such superfluous articles as he could lay his hands on ; not
by the way of peculation, but only as a precautionary measure lest he
should change his mind and return, as men who drown themselves, tie
their hands together to assist their resolution. His grotesque appearance
and outlandish dialect won for him the attention of a Dutch mountebank,
who happened at that time to be curing the incurables in the dominions of
his holiness the Pope. In this man's service, Papathopolo was in the pre-
cise station for which nature fitted him. Great was the influx of clients
to the delighted Dutchman, in consequence of this addition to his caravan,
and accordingly he recompensed Papathopolo with as much macaroni as he
could eat — coin, once passed into the pockets of Mynheer Van Windergelt,
like the souls that had once sat in the state-room of old Charon's wherry—-
never being known to return. Orpheus, though he had asked but the value
of a single horsehair to his fiddle-stick, would have whistled in vain. —
Papathopolo continued to eat his macaroni, and pocket his kicks, till he had
acquired the figure of his master, and got a thorough initiation into the
mystery of making bread-pills. Van Windergelt, after evading all other
creditors, was obliged to pay the debt of nature j and Papathopolo, not caring
to go through the ceremony of a legal administration, decamped without
beat of drum, taking with him his master's stock of nostrums, and leaving
the obsequies of the defunct Doctor to be performed by the hands of
strangers. With these " drugs potential," and a round Frank hat, Papa-
thopolo returned to his native island. Passing through Venice, where there
is a Greek press, he got some handbills struck off, describing himself as the
renowned Doctor Demetrius Papathopolo, professor of medicine in the
university of Padua, and further setting forth his skill in astrology, thief-
finding, and other abstruse sciences. In the pride of his heart he took to
himself a wife, and indulged in pleasing anticipations of a brilliant future ;
but, alas ! for his hopes in computing the gullibility of the islanders, he
had forgotten to take into account their powerful dislike to part with their
money, and although they accorded to him the high-sounding titles of
your excellency, and your brilliancy, yet small was the profit that accrued —
and had it not been for such occasional adventures as that I have here
recorded, starvation would long since have put an end to the exploits of the
Poriote Doctor. J. G. S.

1832.] tii, [ 677 ]

yriJ lot j" } 9ifJ ni bull bull

bsijwqti/ bud sff slduoiJ

THE COTTAGE PICTURE.

flJ3W

[In a ramble through Shropshire, I was driven by a shower to take refuge in a cottage,
where was a beautiful, though somewhat faded, portrait of a lady, dressed in the fashion
of a century ago. The cottage dame could neither give me its name or date ; all that she
knew was, " That it had belonged to some old hall many years ago."]

THERE is a stately beauty in thy brow —

There is a quiet pride in that dark eye :
No daughter of a peasant race wert them,

No rose, in hamlet reared, unseen to die ;
And on thy lip there sits a shade of scorn,
As at this mean abode,— thou fair and gentle born !

Wert thou not cradled in some ancient hall,
Where dark escutcheons roof and arch emboss,

And faded banners shiver on the wall,
And the grim pictured champions of the Cross

Looked down austerely on thy childish play,

Nor deemed their haughty name could with thy smile decay ?

What wonder then, so closely circled round

With fair memorials of a noble line,
That pride its chain within thy bosom wound,

And stamped its signet on those lips of thine :
How might they speak a lesson sad and strange,
And tell the young and fair how pomp and glory change.

Thine eye shone bright amid the festive throng,
When lutes were tuned to mirth, and hearts to joy,

When swan-like beauty swept the dance along
Nor dreamed that time her lustre could destroy.

Thine was a mother's smile — a lover's vow, —

Flattered — caressed — beloved — how changed thy fortunes now !

Yes, here amid a homely, simple race,
Who never learned to prize the painter's skill,

Mournful it is to meet thy speaking face,
Made by the flashing firelight brighter still ;

Mournful — and food for many thoughtful tears,

To see thy haughty smile — and think of former years!
'

[ 678 ] [JUNE,

THE CHARACTER OF CASIMIR PERIER,

THE late premier of France was the son of a banker, Claude Perier,
who owed his wealth, in a great measure, to the misfortunes of those who
suffered from the consequences of the first revolution of France. Claude
Perier was one of the celebrated bande noire, who engaged to destroy the
castles and domains of the ancient nobles. Until 1816, Casimir
Perier was quite unknown to the world as a politician, and as a banker he
had the renown of being one of the most cunning, most interested, and
generally successful in his speculations. He owed his celebrity, partly to
the anti-national administration of M. de Villele, but chiefly to the friend-
ship of General Foy, who caused him to be elected member of the
chamber of deputies. In private life his conduct to his family, his wife,
his brothers, his children, and all who were in any way his dependents,
was that of a tyrant, and Casimir Perier could justly have claimed for his
motto,

Sic volo, sicjubeo, statpro ratione voluntas.

We must also add that if Casimir Perier had died five years ago, posterity
would have been greatly misled with regard to his real character ; for at
that time he undoubtedly evinced all the apparent qualities of a friend of
the people, and of an independent member of the French senate.

But Casimir Perier has been for the last fifteen months the premier of
France, the champion of the reigning^ws/e milieu, and one of the most active
members of the New Holy Alliance. It is in these characters that we
have to consider him, and to weigh his pretensions as a statesman. We
commence them with an odd question — What was Casimir Perier ?

Were we to believe only half that the Moniteur, the Debats, and the
Journal de Paris have said of the late President of the French council,
we must regard him as the " foremost man of all the world." Berlin
de Veau has placed him above Napoleon, and Leon Pillet has called him
un puits de science politique. But if we would trust the contrary
party, we should pronounce him to have been — accord ing to the National,
the Tribune, and the Mouvement — the vilest of mankind, even viler than
Metternich, Wellington, and Polignac.

What we here say of Casimir Perier, we say from personal knowledge ;
and we can truly declare that we always found in him a man of a despotic
and tyrannical disposition — one possessed of a superficial general know-
ledge, of little classical and political instruction, but of great financial
talents.

What were the political principles of Casimir Perier ? The defenders
of the Juste Milieu style him the true constitutional minister. Odillon
Barrot, Lamarque, Dupont de L'Eure, and all the most popular members
of the French senate, have often called him the secret agent of the
legitimate party of Europe, and the Mannequin of Metternich and
Nesselrode.

Both these opinions are exaggerated ; in our belief, the late Premier of
France had no political principles of his own ; he was the mere executor of
the dictates of the doctrinaire party ; whatever was proposed, and adopted
by M. M. de Broglie, Guizot, Dupin, and Villemain, not excepting the
son of Egalite', was the political creed of Perier, and as his was unquestion-

1832.] The Character of Perier. 679

ably the most obstinate and persevering mind in France, it was Perier that
was chosen to put this system into execution.

Wlmt were the administrative talents of Casimir Perier ?

The Juste Milieu have named him the administrates par excellence.
The mouvement party have declared him the subversive administrator. But
putting aside all party feelings, we say that Casimir Perier has given
striking proofs of great ability during his administration, notwithstanding
that he has often had recourse to base means. We must however condemn
the maxim he had adopted with regard to his ministerial dependents ; here
it is — Ceux qui acceptent des places sous moi ne doivent avoir que ma
conscience. This inhuman maxim has been strictly and literally observed
during his reign. All who have shown in the least degree the possession
of any independent principles, have been immediately deprived of their
offices ; and Casimir Perier, when accused of despotism, has always
answered — that no government can exist without it ! ! !

Was Casimir Perier a good Minister of the Interior ?

Here, without mentioning the eulogiums of his paid-defenders, and the
accusation of his opponents, we will only relate the historical facts : —
When Perier entered into office, France certainly was in a state of agita-
tion, and movement, but the greatest crisis had passed. Polignac and his
satellites had been tried and condemned, the Buonapartists and Republic-
ans had promised to support the government of the new dynasty, provided
the institutions of France should be improved. The Verideans, the Ver-
dets, and the Carlists of the South of France, were plunged in a sort of
stupor. The public press maintained an attitude of defence, but refrained
from assaults. Commerce was suffering, but it still existed ; no civil war
had taken place in any province of France, and all seemed to promise the
consolidation of the era of Liberty.

Casimir Perier, " with good intentions," as his friends say, instead of
ameliorating the interior of France, did all that man could do to render it
worse. Lamarque was -soon deprived of his commandment of Vendee,
because he was no friend of the doctrinaires ; a few weeks had scarcely
elapsed, when civil war began in that province, and altho' fifty thousand
soldiers have been employed against the Vendeans, murder, degradation,
and revolt still continue to prevail amongst them.

Casimir Perier " with good intentions," has established a sort of Cabi-
net Secret, where his censors scrutinise the political articles of the opposi-
tion journals ; and it is a fact, that the press never had a greater enemy
than the late Premier. " With good intentions," he has imprisoned two-
thirds of the political writers of France.

Casimir Perier has also renewed the barbarous system of the domiciliary
visits, and perquisitions, and in this he has boldly manifested his arbitrary
disposition. It is a fact, that M. Vivien left the Prefecture of Police, be-
cause he saw that he was the mere instrument of the despotism of Perier.
His successor did the same, but Perier subsequently placed in this situation
one of his ancient satellites, and from that hour the police of Paris has exhi-
bited all the characteristics of the most odious inquisition. Mock conspiracies
have been invented, mock insurrections have been excited, and checked,
human blood has been shed, and all the prisons are overloaded with the
victims of the snares of Perier.

Casimir Perier, " with good intentions," has re-organised the system of
Rovigo. Spies are to be found everywhere, and in order to administer to their

680 The Character of Perier. [JUNE,

wants, the doctrinaires have granted Five Millions for this honorable
object.

Casimir Perier, " with good intentions," has bought two journals; and
with the public money has made a continual war against the public, and
in defence of his administration.

Casimir Perier, " with good intentions," has given situations and im-
portant commissions to all his relations, to the fifth generation. His sons
and neveux have left the counting-house of the Rue du Luxembourg,
and are all of a sudden become diplomates, prefets, and secretaries of
legations.

Has Casimir Perier been a good President of the Council ? No ; he has
been a despot, but not a man of utility. He has always promised pros-
perity, and has produced distress ; he has spoken of the honour of France
when the French nation was disgraced. He has disregarded the demands
of the Poles and the Italians, and has favoured the interests of the
despots. The monument of Casimir Perier was long since erected at
Warsaw and at Modena; a mausoleum may also be dedicated to his
memory at Lyons, at Nimes, at Grenoble, at Marseilles, and — but the
catalogue is to long too be proceeded in.

Has Casimir Perier ever been a sincere liberal ? Until 1827 he was so
esteemed; but when Martignac governed France, Casimir Perier lost the
lustre of his reputation. It was reported — and Benjamin Constant was no
stranger to the report — that Perier had entered into some conditions
with the ministers, and that his financial affairs, which were at that
period in a very precarious state, had been arranged. The fact is,
that, during the administration of Martignac, Perier became dumb in
the house, was one of the most assiduous attendants at the parties of
Charles X., and became an intimate friend of that monarch, and of the
Dauphin his son. Besides, when the late revolution took place, Casimir
Perier was the last to join the national party ; he would not subscribe his
name under the protest of deputies against the ordonnances; and, what is
still more worthy of remark, the last act which Charles X. signed before
his abdication, was the nomination of Casimir Perier to the same post
which he has fulfilled under Louis Philippe, — with what honour to him-
self, and with what advantage to the noble French nation, we have
already seen.

As soon as Casimir Perier was appointed to the post of President of the
Council, General Lafayette and Dupont de 1'Eura, manifested the greatest
disappointment, and on being questioned why they were so disheartened,
they answered, " Because we are convinced that Casimir Perier connected
himself with the opposition, during the restoration, in order to be made a
peer and minister ; and if he did not succeed it was not his fault, but that
of his friends, and of the periodical press." The last words which Ben-
jamin Constant pronounced on political affairs before his death, were,
" May God save France, and may Perier never become a minister of
Louis Philippe ! " These words were addressed to the venerable Abbe'
de Pompierre.

1832.] [ 681 ]

A STOKY OF THE HEART.

[We warn the reader, before he commences the following paper, that it is a Love Tale.
For ourselves, we must confess that we love love-tales of all descriptions, particularly
where there is a broken-heart or two in the case ; but as these are not the current com-
modity in our Magazine, we feel bound to explain why we insert this story. We do so
then for this reason, — that there are hundreds of fair faces bent monthly over our pages,
and it is fitting that they should find now and then some sign, like the present, that we
are conscious of the fact. The grave, but " courteous" reader will not begrudge a few
pages, even though political and philosophical discussion should halt for it— which it
will not. Let the impeachments of Lords give place for once to softer impeachments, and
let our consistency give way before a chapter on constancy. — ED.]

IT is not our place to account for the perversity of the human heart, or
our intention to excuse the inconstancy of human nature. As for the
fickleness of love, it is the old woman's axiom, time out of mind ; as if
love, to prove that it is so, ought necessarily to evince itself incapable of the
changes to which all the material and immaterial world around us is alike
liable. We say no such thing. We have seen, we have known, we can
imagine j and without further argument on the passion or no passion — the
affection or no affection which produced this or that consequence, we are
content to draw our own conclusions. Therefore, without any sweeping
denunciation against the race of man — without any libel against the law
of love — without raising one man to the elevation of greater or better
spirits — without degrading the species to the level of this one — we shall
sketch a simple picture, in a simple way, and let the moral, if there be
any, rest with the reader.

The precepts scattered to the young are as seeds sown on the bosom of
the earth j time shall roll on, but the season shall come, round to shew
that the husbandman has been there ; and so it was with Delacour.
Wealth, emolument, and self-interest, had been the lessons of his youth,
and he had profited by them. On the death of his father, a respectable
tradesman, he found himself in fair circumstances ; and — by aid of his pro-
fession— for he was a lawyer — on the high road to reputation, and, it might
be, to riches. Possessed of a fine person, a graceful demeanour, a
majestic figure, pleasing voice, lively conversation, and easy vivacity, it is
no wonder he got into good society, and, from thence, into some notice as
a professional man. He was now turned thirty, and in the full career of
fortune ; still unmarried, still sought by anxious mothers, and wooed by
forward daughters ; but he was not in love, or scarcely dared believe it
himself. The father of Emily Sidney was a merchant, who had been
mainly instrumental in the good fortune to which Delacour had attained ;
she was the heiress of a supposed large property, and the beauty of her
circle. This was enough to depress a less ardent admirer or a more cal-
culating man ; but Delacour had owed much to chance, and perceiving,
as he thought, something not altogether unpropitious to him, he com-
menced his secret suit.

Ah ! I remember her as yesterday. She was then eighteen, — youth
scarce mellowed into early womanhood. The face, as it peeped from the
chastening chestnut ringlets around it, was worthy the band of the painter,
though the smile that played on the lip might have defied his skill ; the
small and well-rounded figure vied with sculpture, but marble had vainly

2 Z

682 A Story of the Heart. [JUNE,

essayed to express the grace and dignity of that demeanour. And this
was the least part of all. She knew what was kindness and charity, and
practised what she knew. She — but let her story delineate her character.
It must be presumed that Delacour was, in his way, ambitious, and this
was the object at which he now aimed. He had imagined beauty ; here
was beauty unrivalled, unexcelled ; virtue, — here was virtue the most
alluring ; modesty, simplicity, truth, love, all combined in one ; and for
fortune, here was such as he could never have anticipated j connexions the
most to be desired, and influence the most to be coveted. But why rea-
son upon it ! She should be his in any condition of life, — her beauty
were alone dowry fit for a prince. In all stations alike lovely, alike to be
desired. In such ecstacies he passed his hours 5 when a new suitor
appeared in the person of a young baronet of considerable fortune.
Money was nothing to him, and happiness every thing. Equally hand-
some and agreeable, and more rich than Delacour, he was, in every
respect, no common rival ; besides which, all the arts of a true lover were
devised to secure the treasure to himself. About this time, Mr. Sidney
incurred a great loss 'of property by an unlucky speculation. The affair
was stated to the baronet — the carriage was put down — but he was not
to be changed by time or place j the same accomplished suitor, the same
unchanged admirer — nor did he fail to shew the preference he felt. But
what will love not effect ! Emily Sidney was an only child, and with all
the sweet ignorance of affluence, she wondered what riches had to do with
content. The old question of " love in a cottage, or a palace without,"
this eternal young girl's theme, was pondered upon, but all thoughts
leaned to the same side, — the predilection she felt, happily or unhappily,
for Delacour. He protested disinterested affection — total disregard of all
future or present expectations — and could she do less than believe him !
The father consulted, the mother advised — but Emily wept, and it ended
in the refusal of the baronet. A v/eek after, Delacour made his offer, and
was accepted ; and who could fail to be flattered by the preference ? From
that time they were all the world to one another — for ever together — he
the most attentive of lovers, she the happiest of women.

As no man, by looking in the glass, is likely to form a just estimate of
his own defects, or his own peculiar perfections ; so no man discovers his
true character by gazing, however intently, in that inward mirror of the
mind — his own imagination. For as our shadows, seen in the sun, are
most defective representations of our own forms, so are these mental
likenesses like the bright shape of fancy, too airy and too heavenly, and
too perfect to be aught but ideal types of what we would fain believe.
Delacour had his vanity. He bad hitherto been a happy and prosperous
man ; he was much sought, and, moreover, was beloved by one whose
opinion most men had been pleased to have gained. And if he deceived
himself, or believed too firmly in himself, what are not the deceptions
that we practise on ourselves, and on others— and this, when we would be
true to all parties. It was, however, no deceit that he was in love, though
the manner of his loving might be another thing. Here his heart was
fixed. The world might go round, and the seasons change, but each and
the other could not affect him. All his feelings, his associations, were
here combined, and nature must change ere he could. But why descant
upon, or question, his emotions ? Who, in a dream, ever dreamed that
he should awake again in five minutes, or five hours, or ages, or cen-

1832.] A Story of the Heart. 683

turies ! For us, we have oftentimes stood on the utmost height of a
green and glorious hill, and there have seen nature's most awful might
spread out around us. The vale, the sloping mead, the verdant lawn, the
bloomy garden ground, the river, the lake, the slender stream, all blessing
and giving glory to the darkness of our thoughts within ; and when the
golden sun broke out, we hailed the earth as joyous and happy. We do
not know that the cloud was noticed, or the tempest heard to mourn,
though in the deep forest its voice might have been heard deploring. We
must confess, that when the rain came down, we were taken unawares.
Our thoughts were leading on hope, not treading after servile despair.
And when the landscape was effaced, the brightness of the heavens gone
away, then we could have wept, but that tears were denied. So Delacour
had before his eyes some such gorgeous scene ; it was still bright, and
without shadow, as if never meant to fade.

It was a delightful evening at the latter end of summer when, mount-
ing his horse, he took his usual way to the mansion of the Sidneys. His
easy and fashionable lounge, his fine person, set off by the splendour
of his attire, as well as by the beauty of true content there depicted,
might alone have attracted the passengers ; but then his steed, as if
proud of his duty, contrived by certain coquettish knaveries and ambling
graces, to fix the attention. Declacour was born to be admired, " the
observed of all observers," and many were the remarks as he passed
onward. He had been riding thus for some time, when he was over-
taken by an acquaintance.

" What ! Delacour on the old road again, in spite of the news. Why,
Sidney is in the gazette."

"Impossible," cried Delacour, "I would have wagered my life against
it — you joke." " Incredulous as a lover," replied the other, "Look and
be satisfied.'7

The paper was handed to him, a glance was sufficient, and murmuring
a hasty adieu, he set spurs to his horse, and was quickly lost to the view ;
the cloud of dust that followed his flight, alone told of his passage ; and
those who now saw him, pale, agitated, and flying desperately forward,
might have well mistaken him for the messenger of more than common
woe. A dagger, indeed, could scarcely have caused a greater revulsion of
the heart.

He no sooner entered the house, than the voice of the domestic pro-
claimed that something had happened ; he met Mrs. Sidney on the
stairs.

" You will find Emily," said she, " in the drawing-room. This affair
has agitated us all — you will excuse Mr. Sidney to-night."

He whispered a polite reply, and hastened forward, but was, for the
first time, unheard. Emily was seated at the table, lights were in the
room ; she was gazing at something — it was his picture, the one he had
himself given her ; he drew nearer — the lip quivered, and tears were
trembling in the eyelids j she sighed and sighed again -, he advanced a
step farther, a slight cry escaped her.

" Oh ! it is you," she exclaimed, but there was something tremulous
in the voice, half joy, half anguish : " I knew you would come, that is,
I thought you would." " How could I do less than come, when I have so
often come before," was the answer. " You are very good," she sighed,
" but my father's misfortunes, oh ! Delacour, you can guess my feelings."

2 Z2

684 A Story of the Heart.

" Your feelings are perhaps peculiar to you," he returned, somewhat
coldly, " you are very suspicious to-night."

" I hope not," she replied meekly, " but you are tired, we will have
some refreshment, and tune the harp : you were always fond of that."

The refreshments were brought, she helped him with her own hands ;
but when she turned to the instrument,, the full and surcharged eyes —
the flushed face — the heaving of the bosom — the trembling speech — the
look wandering to and fro on the face of her lover, too plainly indicated
that she had perceived something more or less than usual in the manner
of his address. She seemed to Delacour, as she touched the strings, to
have the finest figure in the world, and indeed her soul was on the chords.
She felt that she needed some other person to make all he had once been
to her -j she was a gentle and excellent girl, and Delacour, who was an
admirer of all excellence, was quickly won to her side. She had never
played with such execution, and now attentive, and now wavering, he
listened, and was now impassioned and now cold as ever — and now he
dreamed himself back to all his former adoration of her. At length he
snatched a kiss — said something of forgiveness, and all was forgotten j
but another hour was over — he was silent and more cold than death, at
least, to the heart of Emily. It was now getting late, and he declined, on
plea of business, staying the night, which was his usual custom. She
sunk into silence and despondency.

" You are sad, Miss Sidney," said he, " or angry, but my Emily used
not to be either." " I am sad," she murmured, " but not angry — you
are full of mistakes to-night." She smiled faintly.

" I am surely not mistaken," he returned, " not a word has been
spoken this half hour; but some people mistake temper for feeling."

" Excuse me," she cried, and as she was seated by his side, she placed
her hand gently upon his shoulder : " you do not understand me ; there is
no temper in me but sorrow. I am not angry," but he arose and hinted
that he must depart.

" Good night, Miss Sidney," said he, " good night, Emily, — we shall
meet to-morrow."

His hand was upon the door- — she looked up — blushed — and advanced
towards him. " I am not angry," she added, " you mistake me. Let us
be friends." The last gush of feeling burst from his heart — and he caught
her in his arms. A scarcely audible, " God bless you," came from his
lips — an instant— and he was gone.

In her bosom was left sorrow — and anguish — and repining -, the red
blush was on her brow, but she sighed not, neither did she weep. The
next day she received an apology for not waiting on her, as his business
was urgent, but a promise so to do as quickly as possible. But day
after day past on, and he came not, — she watched in vain. It was late
one evening, she thought she saw him leaning as usual against the garden
gate. She went to the window, but it was delusion, — she looked more
intently, answered incoherently some questions addressed to her, and fell
senseless to the ground.

Let us pass over the rest. — It has been said that the father waited on
Delacour, but all that could be elicited was, that his views were changed,
his mind, but not his affections, altered. With these words he left him :
" Young man," said he, " may the sorrows of this young creature fall a
hundred fold on your head !"

1832.] A Story of the Heart. 685

How strangely we decide our destiny ! Led by appearances, even mis-
led by truth. Yet why arraign the Providence of Heaven ! For we walk
like the wayfarer of the desert, when no star is out to guide us. With
the blessing of happiness in our hands, we cast it aside and determine on
misery ; and when weighed down by the burden of care, we would still
seek to be happy : and this, because nothing is desirable we possess, and
all to be coveted we can never hope to obtain. Vile weakness of human
nature ; that we who would, in truth, believe ourselves perfect, should yet
allow ourselves, wilfully and willingly, to be so base ! One would think
that " the wisdom of the serpent" — the cunning of true selfishness, might
teach us selfish peace : if "the gentleness of the dove" — the artlessness of
true nature, might not teach us disinterested love. As for Delacour, he
resolved to be wretched, because he feared to be so ; and then sought to
be happy even while resigning his greatest of human good. But what if
the affections we feel, or others feel for us, be true or false : the falsehood
or the truth may be equally miserable — time can alone shew us the reverse.
In the mean time the world goes on, and we must go likewise, lest, thrown
from the channel — broken on the rock of hope — while catching at
some other or firmer hold than the reed within our grasp — lest, finally,
we be drifted down the tide of time — and left to perish. So Delacour
pursued his avocations — rushed into society — and believed himself con-
tented. But the canker of the heart eats not away so soon. If he had any
feelings — ariy sentiments — he had forsworn the better part. As it is never
too late for a man to grow wise, so it is never late to love honor. Had he
then lived for this ! He remembered his debts of obligation — of gratitude
to his old friend ; but then he recalled also the prospects that might yet be
open to him — the increase of wealth — his expectations of the future — he
thought but once and no more ; he hastened into amusements, into dissi-
pation, and while he forgot his affection, he forgot himself. Some have
remarked that his person became altered, his spirits changed, that it was
natural depression and forced hilarity ; but if he ever experienced wretched-
ness, or sighed in the full emotion of regret, he was the last to believe that
his sorrows, his vexation, his self-reproaches, were of his own creation.

But a few months had gone by, and another lady caught his attention,
of his own years — handsome, accomplished, and of desired wealth. He
soon imagined himself to be in love, for in false hearts no flame is so easily
kindled as false passion ; and the lady was in love with him, just such love
as a calculating woman may bestow, who thinks more of herself than of
the world beside. She knew, indeed, of no feelings out of the sphere of a
drawing-room, or any emotion but such as might lie in the compass of a
carriage. Again family, future, friends, and connexions were canvassed,
and were found fitting ; again he pictured uninterrupted peace, unclouded
days ; again he was in possession of all his dreams 3 again hoped,
was again happy ; again constant, again, in fact, a lover.

Time rolled on and on, and he saw no reason to regret his choice. He
became restless, for others were in pursuit of the same prize as himself,
and then he grew impatient and more impassioned, and, at length, made
his offer, and was successful. He was now more gay than ever — more
fashionable — more splendid. In all public places and private parties he
was the acknowledged suitor, and congratulated by his friends on the fortune
he would acquire— on the conquest he had made ; he was not backward in
boasting the favour in which he found himself, in exhibiting the influence

686 A Story of the Heart. [JuNE,

he had over her, and in talking of the brilliant prospects that he anticipated
in the future.

It was with this lady hanging on his arm, that he first again beheld
Emily Sidney. The bloom of youth was gone, the form wasted, the ringlets
confined beneath a gauze cap ; the figure no longer joyous with content, but
shackled by despondency and disappointment. She arose as she beheld
him — the young Baronet was at her side.

" I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you well," said Delacour, with
his unchanging eye fixed full upon her face. She blushed, faltered, and
murmured an assent. " I beg your pardon," he added, " but I hear you
only indistinctly. You say that you are well, surely." She fixed her ex-
pressive look reproachfully upon him. " I am better than I. have been,"
she returned, " indeed — quite well," and so they parted. The words that
had been spoken were the common compliments of the day : but oh ! the
manner said everything. On that night she burnt a little likeness she had
drawn of him from memory ; she cast aside all embarrassment, she quitted
her sick room, dressed, sung, laughed, danced and played as she was used
to do 5 she hurried into company, into amusement, was as much admired
as ever, as usual sought as when she had a fortune : but her parents saw
the dark side of the picture, — the young girl's heart was broken.

Can it be possible that Delacour went home that night in remorseless
complacency ? That no compunction dwelt within his breast — that no con-
science visited his thoughts — that the faded form of nature's loveliness —
the sweet confusion that pleaded, like the tongue of mercy and of truth —
that, last of all, that look — had spoken nothing ! It is impossible. He knew
he was to blame — he writhed under the infliction of secret regret — he thought
he had not acted quite honorably — quite tenderly — but for all that he
would have started at the name of villain. Yet it was for his good he
should act as he had done ; she would marry the Baronet ; his destiny, and
not himself, was to be reproached, and, shifting from any further argument,
he hastened to conclude affairs with the lady in question.

Now came the confusion of preparation. Parties were given and
received, and the round of reciprocal introduction took place, and, in the
sudden rush of coming events, Delacour lost all recollection of the past,
and sacrificed its memory for ever on the altar of futurity. The world
was determined to make him pleased, and he was resolute to be so. The
house was taken, furniture, table-linen, the elegances of a lady's comforts,
all were procured, and all in the exact taste that might best suit both
parties. Business was no longer attended to, for Delacour was at each
and every hour of the day prosecuting his love-suit, and the lady was, at all
times, his attentive listener. The marriage deeds and the settlement were
next talked about, for marriages, at least such marriages as these, gene-
rally end as they begin, in a very business-like manner. But now, on the
exposure of the absolute property, on the explanation of the contingent
prospects of Mr. Delacour, he was found, by the father, or might it be
by the lady ? — he was found deficient, that is, not quite the exact bargain
that was expected. They tell that the lady, hearing he had boasted of her
preference, fearing too easy a conquest, adopted this pretty piece of
coquetry, in hopes of being over-persuaded. Be this as it may 5 at the
moment of doubt and denial, at the moment when the lady hinted that her
decision had been entirely in obedience to her parents, not that she had in
the least changed, then it was that Delacour perceived he had been a

183'2.] A Story of the Heart. 687

dupe — cheated, betrayed, and made the very ridicule of fortune. He
rushed from the house, where he had passed two years in the pursuit of a
shadow, as worthless as it was frail, and hastened homeward.

lie had pride, he was not quite without feeling, at least for himself; but
when he recollected the heaven he had cast away, how he had smote upon
the heart that loved him, to be smitten in return, conscience was his
accuser. The affair of Miss Sidney was known to his acquaintances ; he
himself had given publicity to this ; here was the deceiver himself deceived,
the betrayer himself betrayed — and he heard the laugh of derision go rou id
about him.

It is hard for the brave and the good to part with the lasting hope — the
living1 impression — the unfading aspirations of their every-day existence ;
but how much more difficult for the calculating — the base, to separate,
upon even terms, with their desires. This one expectation, this aggran-
dizement, perhaps, the lady herself, had been the stamina of Delacour's
late actions and life. To have been climbing, with struggles and anguish,
the steep of fortune — bewildered among the brushwood — torn and defaced
amid the brambles, — to find one's foot upon the last elevation our won-
dering gaze might discover, and no sooner to find ourself there than the
foundation gives way, the basement is scattered, and we and all our tiny
hopes hurled headlong into the abyss, or into the humble vale from which
we first up-sprung, — this may well demand patience; but when inflicted
on the strong, when suffered by the proud, then comes the sting of mad-
ness— the writhing of passion — the gnawing of the heart — and all that
despair may suffer under, and philosophy deride.

While torn by conflicting emotions, there seemed no resting-place
whereon the thoughts of Delacour might repose. He had held himself
above the world, as one whom no storm might reach, no breath might
touch : he had walked in pride, he was therefore more open to scorn. He
looked around him, and one fair form, and one alone, was seen in the fat-
expanse, and to her he turned. To this being he vowed to resign all false
ambitions, all theories of self-emolument, all speculations of self-interest.
He had grown in riches within the last two years ; she might still love
him — he had lost honour in losing her — well, he must repair the loss — but
then her reproaches and scorn, — he deserved them, and humbly and faith-
fully he could avow it. He thought of her angel ways — her maiden kind-
ness ; he thought, and wondered at the monster he had been. But the
mind forms schemes, after the body is tired of action, incapable of im-
pulse. A fatal malady, the effect of his disturbed spirits, now made its
appearance. Day after day passed in ineffectual attempts to obtain an in-
terview with the being he had injured. The wretched young lady, on whom
their last meeting had made a lasting impression, suspicious of his ad-
vances, fearing to avow her real sentiments ; her delicacy offended and
pride wounded, fled his secret approaches, or with cold insensibility met
his more open attentions. It was enough for her to know that he was on
the point of marriage with another, and though he was evident y an object
of horror, yet, more eager than ever for some explanation, something to
subdue or excite the anguish within him, he continued his vain pursuit.
Baffled at all points, and sick in body and mind, he yielded to his depres-
sion, undetermined in what way to act that might yet amend the past. A
fortnight was over, and he was the shadow of his former self, the wreck of
his own weakness and folly. He now determined, cost what it would,

688 A Story of the Heart. [JUNE,

to see her and to speak to her. Was it reason or was it madness that
led him to act thus ?

It was a fine and sunny afternoon, when he quitted his sick chamber,
in the wild and neglected attire of one who had, indeed, forgotten him-
self; and jumping: on the top of a passing stage, he quickly found himself
in the neighbourhood of the cottage where they now dwelt. This was his
last attempt, and he was resolved it should not be unsuccessful. Some
time he lingered, till, growing impatient, he sprung over a small fence at
the bottom of the garden, and made his way, stealthily, to an arbour that
was near. His hand touched the foliage round the entrance ere he per-
ceived, reclining on a seat, the figure of Emily herself. An involuntary
sigh escaped him, but her thoughts were elewhere, and it was unheard.
He gave one fatal glance, and, in another instant, rushing forward, he
clasped her in his arms. It was not a shriek, or a groan, but something
more terrible than either, that burst from her lips, the living sound of
anguish and of sorrow. In vain he called upon her in all the desperation
of agony, repentance, and affection ; in vain, with presumptuous lips, he
dared the purer touch of hers ; she lay insensible, or only recovered to give
back a blind look of horror, as he embraced her. Here then was the con-
summation of his villany — the height of all his despair. At this moment
he heard a footstep. Scorn, contumely, and insult, were all he could
expect ; he felt himself a wretch who merited no more; and, with one last
embrace — one last respectful pressure — he fled he scarcely knew where,
and the morning had risen before he found himself at home.

And now he would write to her, reveal all his heart, and rely upon her
generosity, and in the energy of desperation the epistle was penned. But
vain the designs of man ! On that very day he heard that she had ac-
quired a large fortune, by the death of a distant relation. Thus then
the barrier was placed for ever between them. To return was now denied
him. Fortune had been the aim of his life, and it now stood, for ever,
between him and all he valued from this to the grave. How, without the im-
putation of the meanest of motives, how dare he now return ? What had
once been generous, would nowbe base. No — no — the springof lifewas over,
the wilderness of the world gone through, and death lay alone open to him.

The tide of feelings will have way, but with Delacour it now bore upon
its passage the freshness and the vigour of life. It might be truly said of
him, that, from this time, he was a broken-spirited man, — one not to be
reconciled to himself, — one who condemned himself beyond aught or all
iii the world beside. His happiness he had cast away, his wealth he had
rendered worthless to him, and the malicious have said (and the best
of us are not free from malice) that what his own folly and emotions might
have failed to effect, his dissipation — his recklessness — shall it be said — the
profligacy of a wounded mind — more easily contrived. Disease had now
laid hold upon him. His friends came round him, all attentions were paid
him, and he received a note from the last lady of his choice; she had
heard of his illness, she would receive him again. Delacour could just
afford a smile, and with hands chilled in the coldness of coming dissolu-
tion, he tore the paper and scattered it around.

At length the hour and the moment drew nigh that was to give him free-
dom ; his thoughts had truly become a burden to him, and he was happy
to resign them. He had made peace with earth, and pleaded for peace
with heaven ; and now he could willingly go his way. " This is the last

1832.] A Story of the Heart. 689

bitter pang, my dear girl," said he, as his favourite sister drew near, " but
it is the last, and let us pass through it bravely." It was after he had
blessed her, and kissed her, and bade her adieu, that he called her back
again. His noble face was changed to the marble of the grave, and those eyes
shone with the last burning flame of nature and of life. He dashed away
the tears that gathered till they flowed, and dashed them away again.
The impressiveness of death was on his tongue. " If ever you see Aer,"
he sighed ; " if ever you meet, tell her — but no — I can say nothing. — If
she knew all she would know too much — my silence is enough." With
this he sank backward, and lay calmly ; a long drawn sigh was heard —
and Delacour was dead. But the sorrow he had caused neither was ended
or died with him. His faults had been without extenuation, his errors
without excuse, and the world had not been backward to censure him ;
yet one heart was found that could pardon, one soft enough to pity his
frailties. All the mercy he could hope was there, and tenderness that
surpassed all he might imagine. The shriek that burst from Emily Sidney
while reading the news of his decease, was the knell of another untimely
end. The woe of years was ended, the link of past emotions broken. He
was then gone — for ever and irrevocably gone. The pride of her thoughts
— the friend of her heart —the Jover of her youth. No scorn or maidenly
reserve could now uphold her. Modesty might fear to reveal the last fond
truth, but death wipes away all blushes.

If sighs might speak of grief, or tears, or inward sorrowing, a broken
sleep, a restless and unenjoyed existence, — if all these were the emblem
of woe, all this had been past, though in the last few years, and it was
over. <f Mourn not, my child," urged the mother, " he is happy, and has
long been a stranger to us/' " I am sensible of no grief," was the answer j
" yes, he has long been a stranger, at least to me, — yes, yes, — to me he has
been a stranger." This was the last time she ever spoke of him ; but the
thoughts will utter what the tongue never tells. She dreamed upon the
scene in the garden, that faint and indistinct recollection of something
most blissful and most wretched. He had thought of her, had returned
to her, it was enough, he was forgiven ; yet why had she not spoken to
him and soothed him, and parted in friendship, if not in love ? The idea
was fraught with madness, and here the fatality of all her misery was seen.
In the meantime she evinced no more than common grief. The day of
his funeral she took her usual walk ; she saw the sad procession pass,
speechless, tearless, and without a murmur. And yet after this she was
seen in company, and, to the same eyes, the same as ever. Is woman's
pride so delicate, or is it so unconquerable that it may feign all this !
Yes — sad necessity, that the last humility of disappointed affections can
only stoop thus low.

At many public places, scenes of fashionable resort, or haunts of
fashionable invalids, she was afterwards met. The baronet was in constant
attendance, the parents hinted their hopes. She had never, willingly,
given sorrow to any one; she consented to accept him, received meekly
his attentions, smiled at the delighted congratulations of her friends, and
seemed happy. — The sober twilight of morning just shadowed the apart-
ment where she lay ; it was her own accustomed attitude ; her arm
gently supporting her head, the long hair hanging luxuriously on the
bosom and veiling the hands. Her mother drew near and stooped to kiss
her. Enough; what would you more ! That cry might have well told the
rest. W.

[ 690 ] [JUNE,

OUR ANNIVERSARY !

THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE AND THE PUBLIC A MYSTERY.

LORD BYRON'S Cain is not the only mystery of modern times. The
course of every thing great and magnificent, is almost constantly enve-
loped in a sort of solemn gloom and uncertainty. When the JDuke of
Wellington concerted with Lord Lyndhurst the ingenious plot " to trip
up his majesty's ministers," it was with the most impervious secrecy ; and
when Harlequin catches the Clown by the skirt in the pantomime, it is
with a stealthy and noiseless footstep. Thus the birth-place of Homer,
the prince of poets, and Bamphyld Moore Carew, the monarch of beggars,
are alike doubtful and unknown. Every thing around us is a mystery.
The Niger has been rolling along its mighty flood, arid the Monthly
Magazine diffusing its beauty, in equal silence and solitude. The charm
of our articles is universally acknowledged ; we speak, and Lady Caroline
Seymour's eye brightens into hope ; we are silent, and Mr. Peregrine
Stubbs is urgent for the last number of Blackwood, to soothe him into a
melancholy repose. The sweet balmy air of our poetry is continually
flowing over the parched and feverish surface of society, yet no man can
say whence it cometh, or whither it goeth. Our editor is veiled from the
gaze of the profane like the Oriental Mokannah j and our contributors
are only guessed at as they walk in their unearthly loveliness along the
streets of the city.

This mystery will soon be at an end for ever ! The veil that hides the
resplendent features of our editor will be rent asunder, and the names of
our contributors lifted up in their golden beauty, before the wondering
and enchanted eyes of the multitude. Yes ! what Richard Lander has
performed for the African river we will accomplish for the Monthly Maga-
zine j — we will discover the source of its power to the public !

Since the foundation of the new dynasty, (whom the muses grant long
to reign ! ) our efforts have been unremittingly directed to the improve-
ment of our internal policy, and the extension of our correspondence with
foreign countries. We need not say that our endeavours have been
crowned with the most triumphant success. We have an uneducated
poet in every village from Clapham to the Land's End, and a contributor
and friend in every town from the commercial money-getting Amsterdam,
to the sunny and voluptuous home of the Neapolitans. Lander has been
appointed our agent at Timbuctoo, and Captain Pogson among the Chitta-
gongs. The present season has been styled particularly the season of
knowledge. It has been our object to direct our attention especially to
those quarters where instruction, though most needed, is very seldom
adequately imparted. We allude to that class of men who, by some sati-
rical writers, have been designated Crowned Heads.

Here we rejoice to say that our success has far exceeded our most
ardent anticipations. Louis Philippe has ordered twenty copies of our
magazine every month from Galignani, and the Shadow of the Universe,
the celestial Tsing-tan-zea, has learnt English on purpose to read our
miscellany. In China, the effects of our influence are becoming rapidly

1832.] Our Anniversary. 691

manifest, both in a political and literary sense. Not only our own readers,
but the British public generally, and Oriental scholars particularly, will be
delighted and astonished to hear that Ma-twam-lin, the lineal descendant
of the illustrious Ma-twam-lin, who compiled the great Chinese Encyclo-
paedia, has actually signified his readiness to become a contributor. A
short notice of this celebrated man, who has been introduced to us by that
famous sinologist, M. Klaproth, will appear presently. We have no desire
to occupy the reader's time with this preliminary introduction -} but before
we proceed to offer a list of some of our principal contributors, we would
briefly mention, that, in order to facilitate the arrangement of our widely
diffused correspondence, and for the more speedy consideration of the
proposals which are now so frequently made to us, by the most distin-
guished literary characters of the day, we have come to the resolution of
appointing Monthly Meetings, to be holden, until a suitable building shall
be erected for that purpose, (for which we are happy to state his gracious
Majesty has, with his usual beneficence, presented us with a large plot of
ground in the Green Park,) at the rooms of our excellent friend, Mr.
O'Gorman Morgan, in Pump-court, Temple. The business of the Maga-
zine requiring the constant attention of one gentleman, we have the grati-
fication of announcing, that Henry Fitzgibbon, Esq., who recently
obtained the highest honours of the University of Cambridge, has, in the
most generous manner, accepted the office of Secretary j henceforth,
therefore, no letter or other paper, to which the signature of H. F. is not
affixed, will be genuine.

A brief abstract of the resolutions which were unanimously agreed to at
our last meeting, may not be uninteresting -, and, indeed, it is to a certain
degree necessary, for the understanding of our future proceedings.

Resolved, — I. That thanks be voted to the Editor and Contributors, for their
unwearied assiduity in the promotion of the interests of the Monthly Magazine.

II. That the dutiful and bumble thanks of tbis meeting be presented to bis
Majesty, King William IV., for his beneficent grant of a piece of ground, in the
Green Park, for the erection of a house for the Contributors to the Monthly Maga-
zine.

III. That a number of the Magazine, printed on superfine paper, be forwarded
every month to bis Majesty, and that Messrs. Whittaker and Co. be especially
directed so to do.

IV. That Mr. Blore be requested to draw a plan for the proposed bouse, and that
Mr. Haydon be engaged to paint some historical scenes on the walls of the ban-
quetting chamber.

V. That a certain number of the Contributors do form themselves into a Com-
mittee, in order to receive the report of Mr. Blore, and determine accordingly.

VI. That Miss Fanny Kemble and Signora Rosa Mariani, be admitted honorary
Contributors, and that the Secretary do acknowledge the Dramatic Fragments
enclosed by the first-mentioned lady, and assure her of the respect of the club.

VII. That M. Meyerbeer be requested to convey to Mademoiselle Taglioni
Mr. Algernon Sydney's warm gratitude, for the Italian poem so kindly addressed to
him, and which, with the permission of the beautiful authoress, will be inserted in
an early number.

VIII. That Mr. Varley, in consideration of his extraordinary talents, be appointed
Astrologer to the club.

IX. That Mr. Pickersgill be appointed Portrait Painter, and Edward Finden
Engraver, and it was ordered moreover that they do attend the next general meet-
ing, for the pin-pose of receiving their appointment.

X. That no Contributor to * Blackwood's ' be admitted into the club.

XI. That no anonymous contributions be inserted.

692 Our Anniversary. [JUNE,

XII. That Messrs. Drummoncl and Company be the Bankers of the club.

XIII. That Algernon Sydney, Esq., be nominated Poet Laureate, and that Messrs.
Brothers and Richards, of Milton-street, Cripplegate, be desired to furnish him with
fifty dozen of claret, and the same quantity of champagne, annually, and send in
the bill thereof to the Secretary.

XIV. That the Epic poem, in fifteen books, upon the Origin of the Christian
Religion, be returned to the author.

XV. That G. M.'s article upon Lord L 1 and other horned Animals, be declined,

as personal and libellous.

XVI. That £20 be presented to Mary Colling, on her approaching marriage with
John Jones, and that a copy of Alison upon Taste be forwarded to Dr. Southey and
Mrs. Bray, with a request that they will glance at the chapter which treats of
poetical talent.

XVII. That a reward be offered for the apprehension of any person who has
read through Francis the First, except Professors Milman and Wilson, and Dr.
Magimi.

XVIII. That Mr. Montgomery's forth-coming (or rather fifth-coming) poem, be
immediately reviewed in the Magazine.

XIX. That the author of * Cavendish ' be invested with the command of the
Club's pleasure vessel, and that he be desired to have every thing in readiness for
the coming season.

XX. That the Secretary do procure suitable apartments for the Club, at Cowes,
during the Regatta.

XXI. That the Marquis of Londonderry's invitation to a Masqued Carnival, at
Hold ern ess House, be declined.

XXII. That the Duke of Devonshire's invitation to a grand dinner, on Wednes-
day next, be accepted.

XXIII. That Lord Chancellor Brougham's present of his forthcoming edition of
Paleifs Evidences of Christianity be placed in the library, and thanks for the same
voted to his Lordship.

XXIV. That thanks be voted to Mr. Secretary Fitzgibbon, for his attentive and
gentlemanly conduct.

(Signed)

HENRY FITZGIBBON, SEC.
Pump-Court, Temple, May 15, 1832.

In pursuance with the resolution just quoted, we proceed to subjoin the
following list of our contributors, and we recommend our readers to per-
use the characters very attentively, as in the course of papers of which
this is the introduction, their several opinions of men and things will, of
course, bear the impress of their several peculiarities, and for which the
editor cannot be held altogether responsible.

PEREGRINE MARMADUKE WENTWORTH, ESQ.

F.* R. S. F. A. S. M. R. L. B. A. S. S. F.* L S.

Astronomer in ordinary to the Emperor of China, and Corresponding Member of the
Imperial Academy of Sciences of St. Petersburgh. Fellow of the Physical Society of
Bonn. Grand Cup Bearer to the Incas of Peru; and Secretary of Legation from the
Emperor of Tartary to the Court of Great Britain, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &cc.

PRINCIPAL CONTRIBUTORS.

Mark O' Gorman Morgan, a barrister, is a Bunyan in politics, and a Quixote

\vith more eloquence than sense, and in religion. He would please his friends

more enthusiasm than prudence, and better if he wrote nothing but poetry,

more creditors than either. Mr. Morgan and himself if he wrote nothing at all.

1832.]

Our Anniversary.

693

Thaddeus Melagounchz is a learned
Pole, who may with truth be said to
possess the Gift of Tonyues. He reads
in thirty languages, and speaks in twenty.
He knows Hebrew, at least as well as
Professor Hurwitz, and is as intimately
acquainted with the niceties of the
Sanscrit as Rammohun Roy himself. The
acquirement of language has always
been his ruling passion. He has re-
cently spent nine years among a certain
tribe in the most unexplored part of
India, and has made himself master of
their literature, for it seems that they
abound in works of poetry, &c Of these
he intends to publish a translation,
which, seeing that no European save
himself understands a word of the dia-
lect in which they are written, will be
attended with little difficulty.

Algernon Sydney , the most beloved
of all our contributors. He has the
face of Adonis, with the muscularpower
of Hercules, and unites the sublimity of
Dante to the tenderness of Moore. His
life and conversation form one long
amatory poem. He has a friend in
every house, and a mistress in every
street. He has written more poetry than
would serve to make the funeral pile of
an Indian woman, and said more beau-
tiful things in one hour, than Coleridge
and Southey in a week. His conversa-
tion, therefore, like his friendship, is in-
valuable, and we shall think that day
the most mournful of our life in which
we are deprived of either.

Ebenezer Muckleivrath is a perfect
contrast to Sydney. He was dismissed
from the Scottish church by a decision
of the General Con vocation, on account
of the heresy of his opinions. He main-
tains the coming of the Millennium,
and thinks that he shall then be rein-
stated in his former honours. But he is
very learned, and unaffectedly pious,
and in an article upon the Fathers, or in
the examination of church property and
interests, he is unrivalled. To a maga-
zine like ours, upon whose exertions
the happiness of 24,000,000 of human
creatures (being the entire population of
the United Kingdom) chiefly depends,
such a contributor is of great value.

Oliphant Maxwell, like Captain Mar-
ryat's Pacha, is chiefly remarkable for
the number of his tales. Sometime ago
he entertained the idea of contracting
with Mr. Colbum to furnish all the
novels for the season, and we fully be-

lieve the negociation would have been
satisfactorily concluded in favour of our
friend, if a petition, signed by the ma-
jority of the romance writers of the day,
had not induced him to alter his inten-
tion. Mr. Maxwell is far superior to
the ordinary novelists of the day. If
he could never have risen into the
grandeur and metaphysical beauty of
the " Disowned," he certainly could never
have sunk into the inanity of" Almacks.''
As a magazine writer he is inimitable.

Mordaunt Harrison, sumamed the
Woman Hater, is the able contributor of
our historical and antiquarian articles,
which Mr. Hallam pronounces almost
equal to his own. Mr. Harrison is a
fellow of the Society of Antiquaries,
and recently presented a most valuable
present to that Institution, in the auto-
graph copy of Caesar's Commentaries,
accompanied with a dissertation, proving,
beyond a shadow of doubt, the genuine-
ness of the MS. We shall return to this
able scholar presently.

Gerard Mortimer, the Pythagorean '.
We think it necessary to state that Mr.
Mortimer is not Dr. Macknish, or in
any way related to that gentleman. He
never studied drunkenness with sufficient
enthusiasm to enable him to publish an
anatomi/ of it. Mr. Gerard Mortimer
is, it may be confidently asserted, the
most extraordinary character in ex-
istence. He has been now upon the
earth, and taking an active share in its
turmoil and misery, more than tico
thousand four hundred years. He was
born at Athens in the same year as
Sophocles, and in his youth was parti-
cularly distinguished by the friendship
both of the author of the Odyssey, and
his graceful and seductive rival, Euri-
pides. He travelled with the latter
poet into Egypt, and has preserved some
very interesting memorials of the illus-
trious Plato, during his visit to that
country. Unlike the wandering Jew,
the Pythagorean's immense age has
been passed under all the variations of
nature, as well as of climate. For more
than two thousand years he has been
undergoing a continual succession of
changes ; at one time sitting with So-
crates and Plato at the representation
of the Orestes, and at another in the
situation of a slave assisting to carry the
baggage of the Persian army. II is
history is a perpetual antithesis !

He was by the side of Alexander the

694

Our Anniversary.

[JUNE,

Great when that triumphant warrior
entered Babylon, and in a few years after
a menial servant in the museum which
Ptolemy (once his friend and companion
in the train of the Macedonian monarch)
had instituted at Alexandria! Thus his
conversation is like a panorama, for he
paints every incident of his life with a
vigour and strength of colouring which
carry back the listener, or rather the be-
holder (for the Pythagorean makes you
see his descriptions) into the very age
and among the people of which he is
speaking. The efforts made to induce
him to write his own history have at
length proved successful, and we believe
an arrangement has been concluded with
Mr. Murray, for the early publication of
The History of a Pythagorean.

Meantime Mr. Mortimer will occa-
sionally favour us with a few of his re-
miniscences, and one who has a memory
of twenty centuries, is not likely soon to
tire either himself or his auditors. We
shall not be accused of presumption in
asserting, that such a contributor as this
has never been hitherto known in the
literary world.

Samuel Middlcton, better known
among his friends by the appellation of
Old Mortality, is one of the most amusing
and intelligent creatures in the world.
He has attained his present age (ninety-
eight) without the loss of any faculty by
which he was characterised in his youth.
Having flourished during the period
which has been styled, par excellence,
the Augustan age, his fund of anecdote
is almost as entertaining as it is inex-
haustible. He belonged to that cele-
brated club, of which Sir Joshua Rey-
nolds, Samuel Johnson, and Oliver
Goldsmith were members. Of the au-
thor of the Deserted Villagelie preserves
many interesting memorials; we may
notice one particularly, viz., the iden-
tical pair of crimson breeches in which
Goldsmith arrayed himself on the day
appointed for his ordination, and which
called down no very gentle rebuke upon
the unfortunate poet. Old Mortality
keeps them carefully folded up in silver
paper, in a drawer strewn with lavendar,
and which is also honoured by the pre-
sence of Thomson's wig and Johnson's
walking-stick.

Mr. Middleton possesses, likewise,
many precious inedited MSS. of Pope,
Goldsmith, arid Gay, and last, though
certainly not least, a discourse of consi-

derable extent, by Sir Joshua Reynolds,
upon the Colouring of the Grecian
masters. We have had the pleasure of
perusing this singular composition,
which is not more marked by the learn-
ing and ingenuity which it displays,
than by the grace and elegance of the
style. We have several papers of Mr.
Middleton's in our hands, which are
perfectly delightful, and running over
with remembrances of the great men
who are passed away. He well remem-
bers the night the celebrated Person was
present at a ball given in the Lower
Rooms in Bath, where his lank and un-
combed tresses, and the peculiarity of
his general appearance, made him an
object of universal wonderment. Mr.
King, the master of the ceremonies, en-
tertained at one time serious thoughts of
turning out the old Greek scholar, of
whose name, it is needless to say, he
was altogether ignorant.

The Honourable Adolphus Volant
writes too little to entitle him to the
fame of a contributor, but he is a glo-
rious fellow, and we delight in num-
bering him among ourselves. Few per-
sons have walked in the fire of temp-
tation with so little infamy. It pleased
the father of Adolphus Volant to leave
him a handsome fortune, and Provi-
dence to endow him with a disposition
capable of enjoying it. At the close of
the year he has frequently not 201. re-
maining at his banker's out of his 6,0§0/. ,
but then he has spent the money and not
squandered it. And this we take to be a
very logical distinction. He is voluptu-
ous without being sensual, and a Syba-
rite without being effeminate. He de-
corates his person and improves the
charms of his face, (which are great)
not from vanity, but principle. He
thinks that any gift of the Divine Maker,
whether mental or corporeal, ought to
be religiously cherished. A man of
pleasure, but not a libertine, the Hon-
ourable Adolphus Volant derives his sen-
sations of joy from the purer and least
earthly feelings. Loved at Eton, and
admired at Oxford, he has only to apply
his talents to one particular object, in
order to obtain the highest reputation.
We confidently hope to see that day
speedily arrive.

Janus Weathercock was a school-fel-
low of Volant's at Eton, and " kept " in
the next rooms to him at Christ Church.
If ever there \vas a man whose name is

Our Anniversary.

695

symbolical of character, it is Mr. Wea-
thercock. His mind is a modern Pro-
teus, which is continually assuming some
new shape. He hates every thing old,
except his wine, and wishes every thing
to be perpetually young, except his uncle.
At Eton, the last edition of the Greek
Grammar was in his opinion always the
best, and at Oxford the wine-party which
he attended on Saturday far exceeded in
gratification that of the preceding Wed-
nesday. .This strange peculiarity has
grown with his growth and ripened with
his years. He idolizes the memory of
Keats and Kirke White, because they
died early, and has made up his mind to
hate Godwin, because he hath completed
his eightieth year.

No man ever had so many amuse-
ments and occupations as Mr. Janus
Weathercock, or changed them with so
little apparent difficulty. He puts off an
old habit of thought or feeling, as Mr.
Yates does a lady's maid's dress, and
comes forward immediately, without the
least hesitation, in a totally different
character.

At Eton he was the first of his dame's
" Eleven,1' and played in the matches at
Lord's-ground. Day after day he might
be seen with his large brimmed straw
hat, toiling along the burning road to
the cricket-ground, with two miserable
fags carrying his bat and stumps. He
was never, unless during school-hours,
without his cricket jacket. He had six
bats, all of which were christened by
some endearing name ; one was Mer-
candotti, another was Brocard, a third
was Rosa, and a fourth Angelica. When
he came to Oxford he was asked to be-
long to the University club, but he re-
fused. Mr. Weathercock had given up
cricket ! He played at chess and read
Pool's Synopsis. The abstract and me-
taphysical studies were alone, he said,
worth the trouble of pursuit. He voted
the river a bore, and laughed aloud at
Milton and his mulberry tree. This was
in the winter, and the following summer
found Mr. Weathercock rowing against
time from Westminster-bridge to Ham-
mersmith, and writing a laudatory poper
about Milton and his recently-discovered
Treatise of Christian Doctrine in the
Oxford Journal.

The mass of discordant information,
thus obtained, could not be expected to
act favourably upon the mind of Mr.
W'eathcrcoek. And it did not — he be-

gan, like Milton, by belonging to every
sect, and ended by belonging to none.

In what manner Mr. Weathercock
subsisted during his early residence in the
metropolis we do not know, but as he con-
tributed to three magazines and seven
newspapers, it may be fairly supposed
that he could not have been many removes
from starvation. When our acquain-
tance with Mr. Weathercock commenced
a change had come over the spirit of his
fortunes. A relation, who had amassed
an immense fortune in the East Indies,
suddenly died upon his return to Eng-
land, (which, seeing that he had been
absent for 36 years, was, to say the least
of it, very unpatriotic) and most unac-
countably left Mr. Weathercock sole
heir to his fortune and estate. The ef-
fect produced . by the intelligence upon
the feelings of our friend may, in the ex-
pressive language of the newspapers, "be
more easily imagined than described."
His first act was to throw an article he
was then writing for some magazine
into the fire ; and his second, to take a
splendid mansion, which happened for-
tunately to be then vacant, in Grosveuor-
square. Almost all Mr. Weathercock's
peculiarities returned with his good
fortune, and many new companions
were added to the company. But
upon these we cannot stop tu dilate.
In every room throughout the house
you recognise the extraordinary, and,
if we may so speak, antithetical taste
of the accomplished proprietor. His
library is, perhaps, the most sump-
tuous in England. It has been built,
under his own superintendence, by Mr.
Nash; and the windows, which are
beautiful, have been painted from draw-
ings expressly made by Stanfield and
Grieve. Yet you cannot help re-
gretting the want of harmony observa-
ble in the furniture. In one part, for
instance, you see a magnificent marble
table, with elaborately wrought gold
legs, and exactly opposite to it an old
shabby-looking arm-chair, which Mr.
Weathercock says belonged to the poet
Gay, and was purchased by him at
Barnstable. His writing-table presents
a similar scene of picturesque confusion.
A ragged copy of Ovid's Metamorphoses,
without covers, is lying upon Lady
Emily StraUon's green morocco album :
and a recently published Treatise on
the Art of Conversation is neatly bound
up with Zimmerman on Solitude.

•Our Anniversary. [JUNE,

We called upon Mr. Weathercock the sketch, being assured that no person

other morning, and we found him with will more enjoy the recital of his pecu-

Jeremy Taylor's Holy Living and Dy- liarities than Mr. Weathercock himself;

intj open upon his knees, and one of who, however he may change towards

Etty's naked females in his hand ! others, and however he may alter his

VVe trust that our readers will pass opinion of literature and authors, has,

many happy hours in Mr. Weather- we are proud to say, never ceased to

cock's society, and we therefore the entertain the same sentiments towards

more readily break oft' abruptly in our ourselves and the " Monthly."

The sunshine looked kindly in upon us like a friend, and right glad
were we to welcome it. From the reader we can have no secret, and we
willingly confess that our sufferings during the past month have been
considerable. Nothing but the " Monthly Magazine" and the public
anxiety have kept us alive. The East wind and the Duke of Welling-
ton's protest gave us a tertian ague. — But still we wrote on. These are
not days, said we, for " singing men and singing women " (always except-
Mrs. Wood and the German company, whom it is very improbable the
Psalmist could have alluded to). The watchman must be continually
going about the walls of the city, and trying all its bulwarks. Day after
day our cheek grew paler, and our step more heavy and feeble. But
the people of England were anxiously waiting for the Reform Bill and
the Magazine, therefore we continued to write on unceasingly. We
even for some time underwent tbe affectionate persecution of our friends —
" My dear Marmaduke," said Algernon, " you should take some relaxa-
tion, you are quite exhausted — Canning is gone, Byron is gone, Sir
Walter is going — we cannot afford to lose you."

" For my sake," softly whispered Lady Emily Seymour, " for my sake,
dear Marmaduke, I beseech you to take care of your health," and as she
pronounced these words, we felt an arm softer than the silver bloom of
lilies upon our neck, and tbe beating of a gentle heart against our bosom.
No man, save our friend the Woman-Hater, could refuse Emily anything,
so we at once promised to join the party at the Star and Garter.

And the 2 1 st of May is come at last, and tbe sun is laughing aloud with
joy, and Hell-fire Dick, the celebrated Cambridge coachman (whom the
club have hired to drive tbe omnibus) is shouting lustily at the door.—
Then away to Richmond.

It is a very old saying, and a very true one, that pleasure is always
accompanied by pain ; and in tbe present case the saying was verified,
for we had, in a moment of good nature, unwittingly promised to take up
the contributors as we went along : we accordingly delivered a list of their
various residences to the coachman, and off we went to Grosvenor Square.

A knock from the hands of our excellent conductor

soon brought Mr. Janus Weathercock's " gentleman" to tbe door.

To our great surprise and delight, Mr. Weathercock was ready, and
away we went to Algernon Sydney's.

The moment we crossed the threshold of the poet's bouse, we seemed to
breathe a different and purer atmosphere. — The air appeared to come
from plantations of orange-trees, and to have been cooled by the up-
thrown silver of oriental fountains. Algernon was in his library, and so
directing the servant not to announce us, we stepped gently along ; as
we approached the door of the library, we recognised the voice of Sydney
in apparent conversation with some person. The servant had assured us

1832.] Our Anniversary. 697

he was alone, so we stood still and listened for a moment j our friend was
soliloquising to the following effect, as nearly as we remember.

" So thou art come at last, beautiful, beautiful May, and thine eyes are blue and
thy tresses golden, and the sound of thy speaking honey-sweet as when I last be-
held thee ! Many a dark-plumed bird that hath long pined for thee in the cold wet
grass by the field-side will lift up its little head, and open its bright brown eyes
with joy at thy coming, and pour out its song of gladness at thy feet — but no heart
can love thee more sincerely than mine, beautiful, beautiful May ! Like a gentle
and meek-faced sister dost thou visit me in the lonely and mournful cell of my
earthly prison house ! Sweetly hath the poet said of thee that thou shalt live for
ever ; age cannot dim the lustre of thine eye, years cannot hush the music of thy
footsteps. Thou are still" —

Rhapsodising as usual, said we, breaking into our friend's library and
his poetical apostrophe at the same instant.

Algernon Sydney (the reader could not hesitate for a moment in
assigning the foregoing passage to our poet-laureate) was standing with
his back to the door, with a bunch of flowers in one hand, and Spenser's
Fairy Queene in the other. The abruptness of our salutation made him
turn round, and he came forward to receive us with all the warmth of
manner by which he is characterised.

" Hush ! my dear Marmaduke, my favourite robin has just perched
upon the window." —

" The omnibus has just driven up to the door," was our reply.

Sydney first looked at his robin and then at us j and having put the
Fairy Queene into his pocket, and the bunch of flowers into his waistcoat,
we descended the marble stairs together.

We will not stay to enumerate the difficulties we encountered in our
kind office of taking up our contributors. — Some were not ready and
some were not up ; — Mr. Oliphant Maxwell was just finishing a romance,
and the Pythagorean was occupied in an essay upon the Transmigration of
Souls. At length, however, all was arranged, and we galloped along
Piccadilly full of joy find anticipation. Old Mortality had brought Dr.
Johnson's walking-stick with him, and the antiquary had kindly put in
his pocket the manuscript of a very learned and lucid paper upon the
Physiognomy of the Nations of the Earth which existed before Adam, and
the dissertation was rendered still more interesting by some illustrative
drawings from the pencil of the celebrated Blake.

" I have just thought of a riddle," suddenly exclaimed Mr. Wea-
thercock.

<( Let us hear it," we all cried.

" Why is Mr. Patrick Grant like a certain Hebrew Lawgiver ?" An-
swer— " Because he commanded The Sun to stand still."

" I object to that pun as blasphemous," shouted Mr. Ebenezer Muckle-
wrath, rising with great warmth, " the judgment

" Don't tread upon my stick, Mr. Muckle wrath," said Old Mortality,
" my late friend Dr. Samuel "

" There is a very erudite and in every way delightful prolusion on this
subject in the treatise of that illustrious Russian scholar Bowerskiwinz,
De Solis Ortu, which — " the Antiquary was interrupted in his discourse
by a loud shriek from the Woman-Hater.

" Treason and death — let me get out, that horrid Hell-fire Dick has
taken a girl on the box — I have been ready to faint for this last half-hour
without being able to divine the cause — let me out — let me out !"

M.M. New Scries.— VOL. XIV. No. 78. 3 A

Our Anniversary. [JUNE,

After some difficulty we succeeded in pacifying Mr. and having

covered up his face with his handkerchief, he remained in silence during
the rest of the journey.

The harmonious voice of Algernon broke upon the stillness — we were
at the Star and Garter at Richmond !

A considerable number of the nobility and gentry who resided in the
neighbourhood were waiting round the doors of the hotel to receive us,
and testified their respect by waving of handkerchiefs and similar demon-
strations of joy. Among the company we noticed Lord Leveson Gower
and the Earl of Mulgrave, both of whom we invited to dine with us,
which of course they gladly promised to do. After having partaken of
a cold collation, we walked out into the fields, and having found a very
beautiful beech-tree whose giant branches made a pavilion over our heads,
we determined to sit down for a. season.

" It reminds me of" — said Old Mortality.

" Bloomfield's May-day with the Muses," cried Algernon, finishing
the sentence. " The scene around us is very picturesquely described in the
following stanza —

Laid at the foot of some old tree, whose boughs
Leaf-laden, bent, their softened shadows wed

In the clear water, on whose surface ploughs

His venturous way the midge, with trailing thread :
The dusky spotted moth, his wings half-spread,

Goes flagging drowsily across the mire,
The Druid Echo slumbers over head,

A shrunk leaf wavers down untimely sere,
No sound that silence hears, but the rapt senses hear.

" Beautifully read," exclaimed Marmaduke.

" Deliciously written, you mean," returned Algernon, " to me it seems
almost as good as that famous picture of summer silence by John Keats,
the Endymion. I have extracted it from a poem called The Solitary ,
which is evidently the production of a young man and a poet. You know
that I am fond of antitheses, but in this instance the figure is allowable.
The Solitary is fuller of faults than beauties ; but then the beauties are
precisely of that order which is above the mediocrity of the day. The
principal objection I take to the poem is, that it is not natural. I am
quite certain that no person ever felt for so long a period, such extreme
and unmitigated wretchedness. Mr. Whitehead, the author of the poem,
may not, indeed, lay his head upon a pillow fringed with gold — few men
of talent do ! — but I confidently hope and trust that he is not so destitute
of happiness, present and to come, as his verses would lead us to suppose.
Let him read the Pensees de Pascal, particularly that article entitled
Misere de I'homme, and if," continued Algernon, with a burst of feeling pecu-
liar to himself, " the perusal of them shall be as influential upon his mind
as it has been upon mine, I shall have reason to rejoice in my advice.

" But let me return for a moment to the poem itself, in order to gather
a few flowers which I had marked out as especially deserving of being
woven into a garland of true poesy.

"An evening scene —

Hark ! the sad nightingale begins the strain,
** And Echo, like a weary anchorite.

Sits crouching in the ivoods, mute in her own despite.

Our Anniversary. 699

" And is not the following very picturesque ?

All living things that own the touch of sleep,

Are beekon'd as the wasting moments wear,
Till one by one, in valley, or from steep,
Unto their several homes, they and their shadows creep.

" But I will send you a short paper about The Solitary, for though I
write verses myself, I thank God that I am not jealous, and above all
things I love to write a young poet into reputation."

" By the bye, Marmaduke," said Weathercock, pulling a paper from
his waistcoat, " I have a hunting song here, which, I think, deserves a place
in your magazine — shall I read it to you ?"
" Oh, certainly."

TURNING OUT.

There's a gathering of men, by Runny Glen,

The music of hound and horn,
And the gallant cry of a hundred men

On the merry wind of morn.
There's a trampling of feet, a shaking of reins,

As the cheering sound rings past :
The wild breeze plays with the horses' manes,

The forelock with the blast.
Each heart is light, each eye is bright,

Not a shade of grief or care ;
Voices and songs — but ere fall of night,

Not a whisper will be there.
Playfully soft is the filly's bound,

Her rider a lovely girl,
She looks around at each gleeful sound

Of the breeze that fans her curl ;
Her spirit is gladsome and fancy-free, r

Her journey of life is new —
She thinks not what earth in its winter may be,

Whowalkethinitsdew!
Away ! Away ! the cry is breaking

From meadow and wood and tree ;
Sweetest bird, of the morning's waking,

My heart says — away — to thee !
They are pouring down the green hill's side.

With a sound like far-off thunder,
Or an army with banners floating wide,

Beating the fresh grass under.
The branches quiver the hedges beside,

As the living whirlwinds go ;
Not a word — not a look— not a breath, as they ride

On their foaming steeds— Tally-ho ! Tally-ho !
(Here, ice regret to say, four lines are wanting.)
They are out of sight — and I stand alone,

With no voice of love to cheer me ;
The huntsman's echoing cry hath flown,

And no human form is near me.
Thus in the joy of our boyhood day

For the glory of life we run,
And we roam a long and weary way,

And we deem the guerdon won ;
But we gaze around, and they who started

Laughing aloud in hope and pride —
Oh, where are the merry band departed? —

They are vanished from our side.

700 Onr Anniversary. [JUNE,

It was now three o'clock, and every thing around us appeared to be
lulled by the balmy influences of the weather ; ever and anon the soft
south wind gently agitated the branches of the old tree, and then the
light was shaken from the leaves like silver rain upon our faces, but we
closed our eyes for a moment and the wind died away, and the green sha-
dows of the foliage were about us like a curtain. Sydney lay on the grass
by our side, with the Fairy Queene spread open before his eyes.

For a few minutes we were again silent, and nothing was heard but the
voice of the thrush in the distant wood, and the sound of Old Mortality's
stick as he sought to beat down a party of gnats which pertinaciously
persisted in buzzing around him.

*' Have you written any poetry lately, Algernon ?"

" I have a little song with me which I will read to you," and our friend
incontinently read, or rather recited, the following.

Oh, gently passed the hours along,

I had no thought of care or sorrow,
I lulled the night to sleep with song,

Till sunshine woke it on the morrow.
I saw you, and I soon forgot

To sing the night to sleep, Mary —
When thy sweet eyes were closing not,

How could I think of sleep, Mary

I used to be at summer time

Upon the grass, while in the flowers
The birds did chaunt their pleasant chime

To evening's silver footed hours.
I saw thee, Mary, and the bird

And the song are gone together ;
Ho\V can my pining heart be stirred

Away from thee, by bird or weather ?

The other day I learned to dream

Upon the poet's golden book,
While ever o'er each leaf a gleam

From her bright urn my fancy shook ;
But thou art with me—minstrel's thought

Is all an idle thing to me.
Alas! how can I think of aught

By poet sung, when watching thee.

Algernon had scarcely finished the last verse, when we heard the tramp
of a horse coming at full speed along the road, and, on looking up, we
beheld, to our consternation and dismay, one of the messengers of our
Printer ! Leaping from the grass with an impetuosity that brought back
the Antiquary from the antediluvians, we ran forward to meet the man,
who put the following epistle into our hands :

" Mr. Bradbury's respects to Mr. Marmaduke Wentworth, and begs to inform him
that the press is standing, and that time is pressing ; Mr. B. hopes Mr. M. will send
back the Anniverswy by the bearer. — Mr. Bradbury is particularly anxious to have
the Magazine ready in time, because he understands that additional orders for
1000 copies have been received by the publishers."

We could not help thinking our printer's note more punningly pleasant
than was necessary — but, however, we had no alternative but of sending as
much of our Anniversary as was finished. If there be time enough to
digest our dinner, and write an account of it, we will of course forward
it (the account) immediately.

1832.] [ 701 J

.
jfto* ddl >

NOTES OF THE MONTH.

THE transition from the fool to the bully is neither so violent nor so
uncommon as some people imagine. The small rubicon of a bottle of
port once passed, and the ci-divant blockhead becomes, on the instant, the
foul-mouthed boaster, who, for the opportunity of venting his abuse, will
go as far out of his way as the drunken fellow who reels from the Free-
masons'Tavern, and makes for St. Stephen's Chapel by the route of
St. Giles's.

It was amusing, to say the least of it, to remark the other night the
impotent fury of two more illustrious lords than any since the patents of
Noodle and Doodle were made out. My Lords Winchelsea and Kenyon
consider it most atrocious of Lord Grey to think of acting upon principle,
or to resign his post as Minister when he found he could no longer hold it
with honour. Lords Winchelsea and Kenyon had no idea of such a thing,
and we devoutly believe would never have acted as Lord Grey has done.
One of these specimens of aristocracy would not be questioned, and the
other cannot suffer himself to be interrupted ; as though impudence and
scurrility were to be passed over because the wine is bad, or my Lord is
the worse for it.

If these two noble lords were to form the standard of respectability,
talent, and decency, by which any choice of new peers was to be regulated,
we think that the creation would be a very small one. It was, doubtless,
an intimate knowledge of some of his noble friends, that suggested to Lord
Carnarvon the possibility that Lord Grey would have recourse to the bell-
man, when he made a new batch. By such means alone could he procure
an opponent of Winchelsea or a rival to Kenyon.

THE SCHOOLMASTER AT HOME, — We are continually hearing of the
schoolmaster being abroad, but he now appears likely to be at home, as
we read the other day of a benevolent Quaker having established and en-
dowed within the last five years a number of schools, principally in the
county of Bucks, containing upwards of five thousand pupils. Now that
such a number of children should have been without a prospect of education
in a county over which so enlightened a statesman and legislator as his
Grace the Duke of Buckingham exercises such paramount influence,
appears to us enigmatical. All the world knows that the second best Duke
in all the world, and his family, have received more from the government
annually than the whole county pays in taxes, although his Grace is forced
to be destrained upon for his poor-rates. But perhaps the Noble Duke's
motto is

" Darkness, be thou my light,— evil, be thou my good."

However, leaving the Noble Duke out of the question, we think this grim
Napoleon of the realms of education, ought to make the Education Socie-
ties blush most prodigiously in the midst of their ratiocinative argumen-
tation, respecting expediting proselytism and the rights of the church. We
have a NATIONAL School Society, with an income of £50,000 per year,
and an anti-national with five or six thousand at their command, and
yet there is room for the exertions of such a jnan in one county within
twenty miles of the first city in the world. Surely there is something
indeed rotten in the state of Denmark, to permit this — and we fully ex-
pect to hear that the truly noble man who has been so busy in teaching

702 Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. [JUNE,

the young idea how to do as the sporting parsons do, (i. e. shoot,) has
been poisoned, for he

" Blurs the very blush of modesty,

Calls parsons hypocrites, takes off the rose

From the fair forehead of an innocent church,

And plants a school-room there ; makes bishops' vows

As false as dicers' oaths. Oh ! such a man

Would from the body of the hierarchy pluck

The very soul, and state religion make

A rhapsody of words."

Bishop Porteus said that education was the palladium of civil and reli-
gious liberty, and the bulwark of the constitution. The tories say he
meant university education — education in high church doctrines — rights
of tythe — the ninth shock — the tenth sheaf.

KING WILLIAM'S SOLITUDE. — We have read of a mighty monarch,
who, in the very summer of his prosperity and power, retired from the
pomp and magnificence of a court into the silence and humility of a
monastic institution. Even in the present day, when the schoolmaster's
legs are outstretched, like those of the Colossus at Rhodes, from Shad-
well to the Land's End, it may not be altogether unnecessary to say, that
we allude to Charles the Fifth. With the secret politics of the Spanish
court we are only partially acquainted, but we think it reasonable to con-
clude, that the Emperor's retirement was caused in a great measure by
the unkind and unexpected resignation of his ministers. If Apsley-house
had stood in Madrid, this would not have been the case. The Duke of
Wellington would not have suffered his royal master to remain alone. We
are brought to this conclusion, by the magnanimous conduct manifested
by his Grace upon Lord Grey's resignation. Our excellent King was
left alone ; he experienced in his own person the force of Byron's descrip-
tion of solitude. Where then should he look for succour and assistance ?
The arms of the hero of Waterloo were open to receive him ! The Duke
of Wellington had read the bible, (in his school-boy days) and knew that
it was not good for man to be alone 3 he remembered the saying of Bal-
zac, that solitude was a pleasant thing, but that it was far more delight-
ful to have some one to whom we might say that solitude is a pleasant
thing. Said the Duke to himself, " I will be that man to his Majesty !
The King is alone, and I will be with him ; he is deserted, but I will com-
fort him — he is surrounded with dangers, but I will protect him !" Yes,
he who had professed himself averse to all reform, now declared his readi-
ness to bring in a strong measure of reform ; he who had designated the
Bill, in his protest, the commencement of revolution, was willing to
receive it with the kiss of brotherly love and fellowship. And why ? — •
not because the Premiership of England is any thing 5 not because the
patronage in the Church is any thing—not because the government of the
army, and the consequent ability to reward long tried bravery and moral
excellence in Major Dundas and his friends is any thing. No ! — simply
because the King was left alone ! Down to the dust, Lord Chatham 1
Cover up your face for ever, Sir John Pym ! — what have ye to do with
patriotism ? The Duke is the only true patriot— the only apostle of justice
and truth in the land. Sir Robert Inglis did certainly hesitate to become
a member of the noble warrior's administration ; Sir Robert Peel did cer-
tainly somewhat demur to the Secretaryship of the Home Department;

1832.] Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. 703

.

Mr. Baring was not very enthusiastic in his attachment to the Exchequer.
What does that matter ? The Duke of Wellington lias achieved a greater
victory than that upon the plains of Waterloo. He has persuaded his
mind to consent to its own degradation. He has bound his remaining
virtue in an everlasting chain of evil fellowship to his ambition.

MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCE AT MARLBOROUGH-STREET. — We beg
not to be considered responsible for the perfect truth of the following
occurrence : —

A cabriolet driver, according to the newspaper report, was brought before Mr.
Laing, charged with being impudent. The man called his master, who gave him
a good character, and accounted for his present ill-conduct by the fact of his having
taken too much liquor, adding — " when the liquor's in, your Worship knows the
wit is out."

" I know the proverb," replied the Magistrate, " but it is my duty to see that
the liquor is kept out and the wit kept in."

We could much sooner suppose the reporters guilty of falsification, than
Mr. Laing the author of the foregoing remark. It has a naivete about it
which never could have emanated from Marlborough-street. We have
heard of a miser whose friend actually saw him put some money into a
plate at the church -door, but yet could not believe the circumstance.
Had we been in the police-office at the time, we should, in like manner,
have doubted our own ears. No, it cannot be true ! When that wander-
ing vagabond intellect has reached Marlborough-street, its march will
indeed be at an end for ever.

REGAL PASTIME. — Of all the extraordinary fancies with which the
brain of Royalty has teemed to forward the rising generation in the grand
career of moral and intellectual improvement, none appear to us so little
likely to answer such gracious and benevolent intentions as those several
annual congregations of the younger scions of nobility, known by the
endearing epithet of juvenile balls. This description of philanthropy we
believe may date its origin from the known good taste of the last reign,
and certainly a more ingenious system could hardly be devised, for instruct-
ing a child in all the elaborate mysteries of coxcombry and exclusiveness.
To those who delight in the study of human nature, and more particularly
the more amiable portions of it, such an unnatural exhibition must be inex-
pressibly painful. The early development of the most hateful passions
which such unprofitable rivalry invariably calls forth, is sufficiently
manifested by these petticoat princes ; while the seeds of coquetry and affec-
tation thus early sown in the bosom of the infantile female, exhibit them-
selves in a manner of which the following instance will convey the best
idea : — One of these Lilliputians in long clothes, throwing herself languish-
ingly upon a sofa, on her return from church, cried to her mother, " I really
must decline going to church in future, at least we must have our places
changed." " Why so, my dear ?" asked her astonished parent. " Because
there is a person in an adjoining pew who stares at me like a pest, and I
do assure you, Mamma, I never gave him the slightest encouragement"
This incipient coquet had attained to the respectable age of seven years.

The example of royalty has of course produced a crowd of imitators.
The eldest daughter of a gentleman in Russell Square, aged six, received

a card which ran thus : — " Miss B , at Home at 7 — Punch at 8 —

Quadrilles." It was for the same evening, — rather short notice to be sure,

704 Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. [JUNE,

for a fashionable assemblage. It elicited the following reply, the father

being somewhat of our way of thinking in these matters : — " Miss R

presents her compliments to Miss B- , and regrets to say, that she is

to be well whipped at 7 and in bed by 8 !"

ROYAL RESPECT TO ANCIENT RIGHTS. — At the recent levee an
address was presented from the conservatives of Richmond j and his
Majesty, having graciously received the address, was pleased to return an
answer in the following words : —

" GENTLEMEN, — Having understood that an address was this morning1 to he
presented from my loyal subjects of Richmond, I have put on this uniform to receive
it ,• a uniform which I have a right to wear as Duke of Lancaster and a descendant
of Henry the Seventh, from whose title as Earl of Richmond your town derives its
name."

Thus we see how eager royalty is to assert even the least important
and the longest dormant of its rights, even down to the right of wearing
a particular uniform, as a descendant of Henry the Seventh. To keep up
a uniformity of right respecting uniforms, we should recommend those
who address his Majesty to insist upon putting on caps of liberty, which
they have doubtless a right to wear as descendants of the subjects of
Alfred the First; notwithstanding the change that has come o'er the spirit
of the dream, in which we saw a new Alfred shaking off the fetters of the
nobles, and throwing himself upon the generous affection of a too-con-
fidine: people.

;qo!)

ORNITHOLOGY AND OLIGARCHY. — " The attacks," says a modern
naturalist, " made by swallows and all manner of small birds upon hawks,
shrikes, polecats, and indeed all animals of prey, must have met the
observation of almost every person ; all the weakest and most helpless
birds of a neighbourhood uniting in a body to drive the invaders away."
Buffon further remarks, " Were we only to study nature, and take hints
from her most wonderful operations, we should be surely both happier,
wiser, and better." Shall man be less wise than birds ? The " bishops''
in society may be compared to the cormorant among the class aves. The
rector, tearing his tythe from the poor famished, half-ruined farmer, is he
not like the " great shrike/' or butcher-bird, impaling his victim upon a
thorn, and plucking it piece-meal ? And the owl, gorging upon

" Rats and mice and such small deer,1'

is he not like the surly boroughmonger, entrenched in his rotten burgh of
ruined stone, falling upon his human prey, and feeding his young upon
the life, sinews, " marrow bones and all/' of his countrymen ?

The political unionists and reformers of all classes seem to have taken
the hint at last ; but nature has been preaching this self-same doctrine
for six thousand years. They have found the secret of success ; they
have combined and clubbed their powers ; and the flocks of " swallows
and small birds" have at length prevailed over the rapacious and the strong.

THE PATH OF DUTY. — "The path of duty," says that coadjutor of
Bishops, the pious Mrs. Trimmer, in an exordium upon one of the thirty-
nine articles, " is the same for rich and poor, for serf and lord. Authority,
delegated by God Himself, creates the law, power upheld by God sustains
the same, and rank, which is some sort of a semblance to thrones and
dominions in heaven, dignifies it — and it is as much the duty of the rich

1832.] Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. 705

and powerful to be zealous in the enforcement of the law, as it is for the
lower orders to obey it. But, let it not be forgotten, the virtue of obe-
dience is greater than all other virtues.1" Here we have the essence of all
ethics, and the patriotic razor grinder of Maidstone, who refused to
sharpen the swords of the dragoons, is, consistently with this doctrine,
placed in the situation of the clown in " As you like it," damned all on
one side like an ill-roasted egg. In accordance with these divine princi-
ples of " passive obedience and non-resistance," is the reply of Lord
Grimstone to Mr. Varney, who wrote to his lordship as captain of the Herts
Yeomanry, to inform him that on the rejection of the Bill by the Lords,
he " never, if ordered, could raise his hand against his fellow countrymen,
who are seeking their just rights and privileges." This was the reply:

«SiR, — I am extremely glad that you wish to leave the Cashio troop of Yeo-
manry, as it appears that you never intended to perform your duty if called upon.

"I have written to Mr. Warwick, of the Woolpack, to receive your arms and
accoutrements.

" GRIMSTON."

Of course it is the duty of every man bearing arms, and all yeomanry
troops in particular, to imitate the yeomanry of Manchester, and to cut
down the people, sans ceremonie, — to carve the ic path of duty " through
the bosoms of Englishmen. We should advise the noble lord to publish a
new edition of the " Whole Duty of Man," for the benefit of the Herts

yeomanry.

THE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS. — The following clerical advertisements,
copied from a respectable Tory print, and the succeeding paragraph, will
give a slight idea of the beauties of our episcopal system :

" A choice collection of sermons, original, and in MS., which have not
been recently used, the author having for some time retired from his
sacred duties. Also a superior capital double-barrelled gun, with deto-
nating locks, by Romford, and duplicated common locks, fitted in a
mahogany case : they will be sold a great bargain, and left for inspec-
tion, &c."

" Wanted an immediate presentation to a living, value not less than
£600 per annum, in a good sporting country, where there are at least
three twins out per week, and other conveniences to an admirer of the
turf. Any nobleman or gentleman having such at his disposal, may find
a purchaser, by applying by letter, post-paid, to G. G., Post-office,
Windsor."

Having shewn the beauty of Holiness, we shall, in the succeeding
paragraph, show the reward of Piety.

The curate of one of the most populous parishes in the diocese of
Durham, who is still living, has occupied that situation for thirty years.
During nearly two-thirds of the time he read prayers every day, and read
prayers and preached twice every Sunday, sometimes thrice, and performed
all the occasional parochial duties, both on Sundays and during the week.
It is calculated that he has baptized and buried, in propria persona, the
•whole population, 20,000, once over ; he has had nine children, has been
forty-one years in the church, and for three-fourths of that period never
received more on an average than £40 per annum.

Now we have as great an objection to see a minister of religion ill
used in the performance of his duties as any one, but in the face of such
facts as these, who, as a professed upholder of such iniquities, could
say « Lovest thou me ? " and expect in the present times patient hearing.

706 Notes of the Month on Affairs in General. [JUNE,

But when in addition to this we have the abominable system of tythes, of
pluralities, and simony, and at the same time a bishop, a professed friend
of such iniquities, steps forward into the pulpit, and takes for his text
"Lovest thou me ?" is it at all wonderful that his hearers should mani-
fest a negative. Who could resist answering such an appeal ? — The
very stones, save those of Gatton and Old Sarum, would have risen arid
mutinied.

THE FUSIL EER AT FAULT. — THE Fitzclarences are to be ranked among
the most striking features of the past month. The part which her Majesty
has been foolishly and mischievously persuaded to take in the political in-
trigues of theCourt, first called the public attention to the family of the King
— a circle in which the Earl of Munster was observed to move as conspicu-
ously, as superior tact in dissembling, and a more than courtly degree of
duplicity, could render him. We are far fromagreeing with thosewho have
judged it necessary, — first because she is a tory, and next (which is held to
be by far the foulest crime) that she is a German — to heap insult on the
Queen's head. We conceive her Majesty to be only " labouring in her
vocation," and can readily forgive her both for her folly and her foreign
breeding. But we are not so ready to extend endurance and pardon to
those, who, having been bred in this country, and fostered indirectly, if
not directly, by its bounty, are now rapidly climbing into " bad emi-
nence," and forgetting in their miserable half- royalty the rights and feel-
ings of that people, from an humble class of which they have been
enabled by great good luck to rise. The Fitzclarences, we look upon with
no "favour," but can only wish for a "clear stage" of them. Of their
arrogance and presumption, private instances are not wanting to add to
the public examples which, so far as the Earl of Munster is concerned,
the past month has abundantly supplied. We shall relate a specimen of
the manner which these demi-royalists carry with them into society, and
of the spirit of reprimand which it sometimes engenders.

One of the Fitzclarences, who holds a high rank in the Seventh Fusi-
leers, happened to be dining with the mess of that regiment, when the
adjutant — a gentleman who had not acquired that dexterity and precision
in the art of carving, which, among other important accomplishments,
are possibly essential to complete success in certain of the higher walks of
life — was called upon to perform some anatomical ceremony of the table.
The deficiency of the non-professor of carving caught the eye of the cul-
tivated and court-bred colonel, who judged it gentlemanly immediately to
display some little indications of contempt for a person so sadly wanting
in the grand art of dissection. Some particular instance of failure at last
prompted him to say, with a flippancy worthy of the folly of the senti-
ment,— " My father says, that he considers excellence in carving to be the
criterion of the habits of a gentleman." The insult was not suffered to
pass without its reply ; for quietly pausing in his labour, and significantly
fixing his eye upon the colonel, the unpractised carver proceeded to shew
that he could speak " daggers," if he could not use knives, by coolly
inquiring, " And pray, Sir, what may be your Mother s opinion upon that
head?"

1832.] [ 707 ]

MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE.

KLOSTERHEIM ; OR THE MASQUE. BY THE ENGLISH OPIUM EATER. BLACKWOOD,
EDINBURGH; AND CADELL, LONDON.

THE scene of tins tale is laid in the thirty years' war, a period admirably adapted
for the romance writer ; since war in its most dreadful colours desolated the land,
superstition had gained a strong hold upon the minds of the people, and the most
extraordinary events daily occurred, of which a sufficient idea may be formed by a
perusal of the burning pages of Schiller.

We hardly know how to give an analysis of Klosterheim with anything like
brevity and distinctness, since the events of the tale are so numerous, and succeed
each other so rapidly. The language in which it is written is very beautiful ; the
plot is deep-laid, — in fact, it becomes intricate ; for the author so completely enwraps
his subject in mystery, that he finds considerable difficulties in its development.

The Landgrave of X is master of Klosterheim, which he obtained by the

murder of a relation ; and the chief interest of the tale arises from the numerous
plots that are formed against him ; and more particularly from the mysterious
agency of an unknown individual who calls himself the masque. This masque was
sometimes seen, but more generally revealed his purposes by his proclamations.
He enters houses whenever he pleases, neither doors nor bolts obstructing him ;
persons disappear, no one knowing in what manner ; in fact, the whole city is
panic-stricken. At a grand masqued ball given at the palace, this mighty indi-
vidual is at last revealed ; and as his description will serve to convey some idea of
the style of the work, we will extract it.

' He had been leaning against a marble column, as if wrapped up in reverie, and care-
less of every thing about him. But when the dead silence announced that the ceremony
was closed, that he only remained to answer for himself, and upon palpable proof —
evidence not to be gainsayed — incapable of answering satisfactorily ; when in fact it was
beyond dispute that here was at length revealed, in bodily presence, before the eyes of
those whom he had so long haunted with terrors, the masque of Klosterheim — it was
naturally expected that now at least he would shew alarm and trepidation ; that he would
"epare for defence, or address himself to instant flight.

' Far otherwise ! — Cooler than any other person beside in the saloon, he stood, like the
marble column against which he had been reclining, upright, massy, and imperturbable.
He was enveloped in a voluminous mantle, which at this moment, with a leisurely motion,
he suffered to fall at his feet, and displayed a figure in which the grace of an Antinous met
with the columnar strength of a Grecian Hercules, — presenting, in its tout ensemble, the
majestic proportions of a Jupiter. He stood — a breathing statue of gladiatorial beauty,
towering above all who were near him, and eclipsing the noblest specimens of the human
form which the martial assembly presented."

LETTERS FROM THE NORTH OF EUROPE. BY C. P. ELLIOT, ESQ. COLBURN
AND BENTLEY, 1832.

WITH certain letters of credit in his pocket-book, an inkhorn in his pouch, a ream
of paper in his portmanteau, and a calm determination to fill it before his return to
England, our author reaches Amsterdam on the 24th of June, 1830; and lo! about
the 31st of October in the same year, finds himself again in London, having, in
the space of four months, travelled over Holland, Denmark, Norway, Sweden,
Finland, Russia, Prussia and Saxony ! And now a bulky volume is presented to
us, for no other reason that we can discover, except the laudable desire on Mr.
Elliot's part to pay his travelling expenses.

We do not mean to say that Mr. Elliot's book is not readable ; but ere it stand
any chance of complete perusal, it will be necessary to find some one who has
never happened to meet with a single book of travels in the countries so hastily
visited by our author. But there is a class of readers who, either from a defect of
memory, or an earnest desire to authenticate the previous statements of others, are
never weary of volumes of this description. To such we especially recommend
this volume.

708 Monthly Review of Literature. [JUNE,

CALABRIA, DURING A MILITARY RESIDENCE OF THREE YEARS; IN A SERIES OF
LETTERS. BY A GENERAL OFFICER OF THE FRENCH ARMY. FROM THE
ORIGINAL M.S. EFFINGHAM WILSON, 1832.

THE volume before us consists of a series of Letters addressed by a French Officer
to bis father, during a period of three years, viz. from November, 1807, to October,
1810. The title-page of the work gives us to understand that they were written by
a General Officer of the French Army. This statement, which may be true, is,
nevertheless, calculated to deceive the public. The boyish epistles of Sir Arthur
Wellesley might, with equal propriety, be published as a series of letters by Field
Marshal the Duke of Wellington.

The period of our author's residence in the Calabrias, however prolific of inter-
esting events — from the abdication of Joseph to the accession of Murat, and from
thence until the abandonment of his expedition against Sicily— is one upon which
the writer expends very little additional information. The battalion to which he
belonged was sent into the Calabrias for the purpose of exterminating the brigands,
and the present letters are devoted almost exclusively to a description of the wild
and romantic country through which he passed from Naples to Reggio.

We have no doubt whatever of the faithfulness with which the author has
sketched his descriptions, although we cannot pay him the compliment to call
them vivid, as the translator in his preface has chosen to designate them. The
reader will, however, be repaid by a perusal of these letters ; and when it is
remembered how little of this wild and mountainous region is known, we may well
be grateful for any account of a country endeared to us by so many classical
associations.

MANUAL FOR EMIGRANTS TO AMERICA. BY CALVIN COTTON, A.M. OF AMERICA.
WESTLEY AND DAVIS, 1832.

A LITTLE book worth the perusal of those who feel the necessity of leaving the
homes of their fathers to seek a better fortune on the other side of the Atlantic.
We would, however, advise the author, should the public demand a second edition,
to deal somewhat more in a matter-of-fact way ; and to omit many of those very
general remarks which are better suited to such professional works as school
geographies and gazetteers.

A little more attention to consistency would, also, not be amiss. For instance,
we are told in one place, that " the government of the Canadas is, probably, the
best and most grateful of any of the British provinces in the world ;" and he pro-
ceeds to inform us, that the government at home has endeavoured to remove, as
much as possible, all occasion of dissatisfaction, and to make their own subjects
contented with a comparison of their own condition with that of their neighbours
of the United States. And yet in another place he tells us, that from present pro-
babilities, the number of emigrants to the Canadas in the present year, (1832), will
be not less than 100,000 ; of whom much more than a moiety, he considers, will
pass directly through the Canadas to the United States, principally from the dis-
appointments and discouragements they are likely to meet with on their first arrival.

We have a right to expect more minute information than we meet with under
the head of " The Value of Labour and General Expenses of Living in the United
States," which are not to be comprised in three small pages ; and we think there is
very little use in informing the emigrant, although the truth of the assertion cannot
be questioned, " that if a man disburses £5 a week for his food, lodging, clothing,
and other needful comforts, and receives for his services £15, he can lay up 10!"

THE EXTRAORDINARY BLACK BOOK. LONDON: EFFINGHAM WILSON, 1832.

THE Black Book is, indeed, " an Encyclopedia of English Politics." We know of
no work which contains so vast a body of information alike useful to all classes —
from a " Patriot King " to the industrious operative. The present edition is greatly
enlarged, and the errors unavoidable in a work of this nature and extent have been
carefully corrected.

1832.]

Monthly Review of Literature. 709

GLEANINGS IN NATURAL HISTORY. BY. EDWARD JESSE, ESQ. 1 VOL. 8vo.
JOHN MURRAY, 1832.

THE study of natural history is at once a source of delight to the curious, and of
satisfaction and comfort to the devout. If a contemplation of the works of nature
supply the sceptical physiologist (if such a man there be) with incessant food for
reflection, and afford exhaustless objects, whereby the mechanical arts may be
improved and increased ; how much more important and interesting must the study
be to him who beholds in all things — from the wonderful creation of the human
being, to the fleeting ephemera of a summer's day— types, and symbols, and proofs
of the existence, of the power, and of the mercy of God.

We have been much pleased with Mr. Jesse's little book. In his very modest
preface, the author says that his work has no pretensions to science, and fears that
its arrangement may be considered defective. There is no cause for any fear of
the kind, and we thank Mr. Jesse for his non-pretension to science. Unfortunately,
subjects of this nature are often treated too scientifically, and with the exception of
" Mr. White's Natural History of Selborne," and " the Journal of a Naturalist,"
we know of few books that can be put into the hands of those previously ignorant
of the subject, with a certainty of their entire perusal.

This small work, however, is calculated to become extensively popular, and we
have no fear lest any one should be found to whom any part or portion of the book
would be of no interest. If such a being could be detected, we should forthwith
proceed to examine, and, if possible, ascertain the idiosyncracy of the animal ;
and should eventually class him as one of a genus whose appropriate designation
had as yet not been ascertained.

THE RADICAL; AN AUTO-BIOGRAPHY. BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE MEMBER," &c.
JAMES FRASER. LONDON : 1832.

WHEN a man assumes the ironical, the sarcastic, or the satirical — it is indis-
pensable to his success that he appear to be at home in his new vocation. Medi-
ocrity damns — twaddle extinguishes him. Marsyas was not scourged with a skein
of thread, by a palsied elderly person with the cramp in his elbow — neither is Lord
Chancellor Brougham to be sneered into insignificance by Mr. Gait.

Two hundred'pages of more wretched stuff we never had the misfortune of
reading, than the nauseous mixture prepared for us by the author of " The Member."
Mr. Nathan Butt, the supposed auto-biographer and " Radical," is no more a
radical than an ultra-tory. He is a poor creature, accountable to Mr. Gait for all
the nonsense he utters ; and they may divide it between them in equal shares, if
they are so disposed.

The thing may do well enough as a means of currying favour with the Conser-
vative Club — conservative of its own interests at the expense of the nation ; but
Mr. Gait may depend upon it that such contemptible trash is welcome to none
beside. If the author fondly hopes to impede the progress of a steam engine with
a straw, we recommend him to search the stubble for something of a sterner
material.

THE ELEMENTS OF MECHANICS. BY J. R. YOUNG. John Souter. 1832.

MR. YOUNG is already well known to the public, as the compiler of several
highly esteemed works of arithmetical science. Foreigners are continually boasting
of the great inferiority of our works of this kind, compared with their own ; and
with greater reason, perhaps, of the little progress made among the mass of our
countrymen. We must partially admit the truth of the latter stigma, but the fault
has been in the enormous expense attendant on the production of such works, con-
trasted with the outlay required to get them up on the continent.

Mr. Young is entitled to the best thanks, and to the liberal patronage of the-
public for his labours. He has condensed into a small volume as much as, a few
years ago, have occupied four times as much space, and at one-fourth the expense
to purchasers.

710 Monthly Review of Literature. [JuNE.

THE MICROSCOPIC CABINET. BY ANDREW PRITCHARD. LONDON : WHITTAKER

& Co. 1832.

THE object of the present work is to describe a number of select Aquatic Larox
of Insects, Crustacea, and Animalcules, and to present accurate delineations of
them, as seen through the microscope. The principal merit of the book is this —
that it selects a variety of living objects that have never been before described, and
depicts faithfully many others that have hitherto been most incorrectly represented.

The plates are beautifully coloured, and the descriptions are elaborately written
in a plain and familiar style. The author need not solicit indulgence for any " want
of finish" in his writings.

A very excellent memoir on " the Verification of Microscopic Phenomena," and
another " on Microscopes and Engiscopes," occupy a considerable portion of the
volume. They are contributed by Dr. Goring, a gentleman in conjunction with
whom Mr. Pritchard published the Microscopic Illustrations.

It will be sufficient to observe, that the present work is in every respect worthy of
its predecessor.

A QUEER BOOK. BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. W. BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH. 1832.

MR. HOGG has published so many queer books in his time, that it is somewhat
hard upon the present volume to call it by a name to which many of his previous
productions have a much better claim. The worthy shepherd has collected into a
very seductive and eye-enticing volume, a variety of poems, of all degrees of merit,
except the first ; a great many of which we have met with before in Black wood's
Magazine, and in the several annuals to which he has contributed.

Although Mr. Hogg is no more to be compared to Burns, than the latter is to be

S laced with Shakespeare, yet is the shepherd a man of undoubted genius. It is
npossible to read this book without a conviction of his being so. He is gifted with
an extraordinary fancy, and with some imagination — but the result of their opera-
tion is manifested too often with the vague indistinctness of a feverish dream. His
colours are vivid, but he draws a poor picture. There is a world of fine things
spoiled in every thing that the shepherd attempts, and he has cultivated a sorry and
dismal doggrel instead of a significant and harmonious versification.

Nevertheless, there are many poems in the volume that will repay the reader
the expense of the book, and we heartily wish the author success. We fear that
the shepherd has hardly found the trade of literature a source of more profit than
vexation. If he has, we congratulate him upon it.

THE BIRDS OF EUROPE, BY I. GOULD.

THE Birds of Europe form one of the most interesting portions of Ornithology,
that can engage the attention of the student. In defining the birds peculiar to
our native island, it is difficult, if not impossible, to draw a line, the boundaries of
which shall be strictly circumscribed ; but we are, as it were, naturally and una-
voidably led by following so many of our own across the channel, as well as by
the occasional visits of strangers to our own shores, to break down in our minds the
wall of partition, and collect into one view the kindred species — thus making our-
selves not only acquainted, in a better sense, with our own birds, but enabling our-
selves to follow, through a wider circle, the links by which species and genera are
connected. Such is the object of the splendid work, the first part of which is now
before us ; — a work which we have long desired to see, and which could not have
been undertaken by an abler individual than the author of " the Century of Birds
from the Himalaya Mountains." Beautiful as is that work, it is, we affirm, far
exceeded by the present, which moreover possesses the double advantage of giving
a sheet of most interesting descriptive letter-press with each plate ; thus pre-
senting to the student at once the bird and all that science and research have
hitherto ascertained respecting it, together with those original remarks which
the author's extensive and accurate acquaintance with the subject, so well qualifies
him to offer.

1832.] Agricultural Report. 711

In truth to nature and spirited delineation, the plates exceed any thing of the
kind as yet offered to the scientific. We select at random the red-legged falcon, as
pre-eminently distinguished by ease, vigour, and chasteness of colouring ; nor, as
we turn the leaves, can we refrain from pausing to admire those most interesting
of our summer visitors, the wrynecks ; every mark, every fine and mazy line of the
plumage, is given with unrivalled exactness, and so felicitous is their attitude, as to
speak not only to the eye but the fancy also. We mnst not attempt to enter into
the details of every plate ; but, at once, congratulate the author on the success of
his labours.

THE CHURCH OF GOD, A SERIES OF SERMONS BY THE REV. R. W. EVANS.

SMITH, ELDER, AND Co.

IT is not in our power to do justice to this very able work this month. It arrived
after our labours had closed. We have, however, glanced through the volume,
and see so much originality of thought and clear comprehensive reasoning through-
out, that we cannot help strongly recommending it to our readers.

MONTHLY MAGAZINE AGRICULTURAL REPORT.

THE old saw, — ' May, early or late, doth make the corn to quake,' has been fully
verified during the present month. It set in, indeed, with the favourable circum-
stances of a change of wind and of weather, producing an almost instantaneous
improvement in vegetation of all descriptions. Unfortunately, however, we were
allowed but a few days' rejoicing at this happy change, when the wind returned to
its old chilling and ungenial quarters, continuing but too steadily therein unto
nearly the present date ; out accustomed as we have been to perpetually succeeding
reverses, we dare not entertain much confidence in the continuance of our good
fortune in the present improved and mild temperature.

Doubtless considerable mischief will ensue to the crops of all kinds, from the long-
continued ungenial state of the weather ; yet, after all, perhaps such a long suc-
cession of northerly and easterly winds was never known to be attended with so
little damage to the crops and fruits of the earth, as in the present spring; and this
we attribute chiefly to the present commixture, so to phrase it, of those chilling airs
with the mild and vivifying breezes of the south. The blight, in any considerable
degree, was first discovered about the middle of last month, when the wheats, parti-
cularly, began to assume a yellow and sickly hue, chiefly those upon poor cold soils,
though those on the most fertile and in the best heart, were by no means entirely
exempt. This affection has of course proceeded since, with its cause, and in those
wheats which have suffered most, no doubt but some of the usual atmospheric
maladies have taken root, and the rust is already conspicuous in many parts. In
our next Report, we shall be able to speak more decidedly on this subject. Most
of our letters yet give a flattering account of the strength and luxuriance of the wheat
plant, rivalled though it be by weeds of equal bulk, and are sanguine as to our
prospects of a crop, and an early harvest. One correspondent, however, agrees
with our idea in the last Report, that our prospect of great plenty lies rather in the
extensive breadth sown, than in the actual produce to be expected.

As we have so often remarked, complaints arrive from every quarter of the country
of the tremendous excess of weed vegetation, so detractive from the quantity of the
useful and profitable, and so exhausting to the soil ; yet we hear nothing from the
complainants of any effectual remedy for so fatal a grievance. We were lately
amused by the lamentation of an old friend from the south-west, that lie had been
this season prevented by the weather and other causes from clearing the red weed
or poppy from his extensive farm. Now, we recollect to have heard similar com-
plaints and threats of eradication of the self same weed from his grandfather ; yet

712 Agricultural Report. [JUNE,

the poppy has ever since continued a flourishing annual crop upon that farm,
though it has never been found in the garden. This, and certain other weeds,
peculiar to poor light soils, have probably abounded thereon, from their earliest date
of culture, and never can, or will be, eradicated by broad cast husbandry. Much
the same may be averred of the couch grass upon soils of another description.

The lent com has also suffered generally from the blighting effects of the cold
winds and drought, waiting for recovery from a steady warm and seasonable tem-
perature. The barley and oats came up very irregularly, part lying dormant in the
soil for a greal length of time, a prey to birds and insects. Much of the lands in
this state will make crops of different growth at harvest, unless a highly genial and
beneficial temperature succeed. The barley, both early and late sown, has been
much injured by the wire-worm, and the peas by the slug. The breadth of barley
is not so extensive this year, as in the last, from the reduction of the price on ac-
count of the great quantity of molasses used in the distillery. Oats have become the
general substitute for barley. Beans, oats, and tares, are at present deemed the most
promising crops. Clover and all sown grasses, retarded by the ungenial tempera-
ture, yet promise to be highly productive on a favourable change. The clover being
kept back is held to be favourable, as it was very strong and forward, and otherwise
might have outgrown and exhausted itself, or have over-run and choked the barley
with which it was sown. We are, however, not greatly favourable to double crops,
viewing that system as one of the usual deceptions of the old established custom.
Comparative experiments are wanted. Of hops we, as yet, hear nothing. The
success of the fruit season is said to depend on the future state of the weather,
though it cannot have escaped a certain degree of injury ; and that important part
of it, the apple, is not spoken of in very flattering terms, in the cider countries,
where the latter blossoming fruits afford the greatest promise. The culture of
potatoes, as well in this country as in Scotland, will be much reduced in the present
season, from their late superabundance and unremunerating price. We noticed in
our last Report, the strange transition from abundance of winter grass to its equal
scarcity in the spring, there being since scarcely a bite for a sheep on May-day,
when shoep and cattle were wandering over the lands in a state of half-starvation,
in want of their chief support from dry food ; that also, so abundant in the early
months, nearly exhausted. The accounts from Bedfordshire and its vicinity, are
particularly distressing. Backing the oats is now going forward, and the price of
the article expected to advance. The culture of turnips, Swedes and common, with
the mangel-wurtzel, or field-beet, was completed early in the month, on the for-
wardest soil, and the uhole of the spring crops are in a fair way of an early comple-
tion on all. Little or nothing of novelty remains to be detailed concerning live stock.
As usual, the markets and fairs are well supplied, and things of the best quality
meet a ready sale, though at a price which the feeder universally declares does not
render them a sixpence of profit. Pigs, particularly small ones, have again
advanced, and in the bacon districts, large stores also are in much request, ft is
remarked, as usual, that tegs fetch a price equal to that of sheep a year older.
English wool is little quoted in the country, but in the metropolis, the foreign meets
a ready sale. Emigration is becoming a general resource ; but there is a complaint
in the country that the most steady and useful labourers migrate, leaving the pro-
fligate and useless at home. It is greatly extending also among the farmers, who
declare that they cannot live in their own country, and must leave it before the
remains of their property shall be absorbed in the general vortex of ruin. The
long standing aversion to the tithe system is getting to a great height in the coun-
try, and revision is loudly called for ; under which, it is confidently said, there
lurks a stronger and more pithy term, that of ABOLITION.

Misprint in last Report — for Sir Henry Hankey, read Sir Henry Bunbury.
Smithfield.—Reef, 3s.2d.io3s. 10d.— Mutton, 4s. 2d.to4s. Wd — Lamb. 5s. 6d.
— Veal, 4s. 5d.— Pork, 4s. 2d., 5s. 2d., 55. Sd.— Rough fat, 2s. Wd.

Corn Exchange.— Wheat, 485. to 74s— Barley, 24s. to 36s.— Oats, 15s. to 28s.
The London 4lb. loaf, Wd.— Hay, 50s. to 95s.— Clover ditto, 65s. to 120$.—
Straw, 30s. to 39s.

Coal Exchange.— Cods, in the Pool, per ton, 14s to 2 Is.

<-» r\ f~ rv 4 A A f\

INDEX

VOL. XIII.

ORIGINAL PAPERS, &c.

PAGE

A Ramble with the Travellers . .138

A Merry tale with a Merry moral . . • ^ 298

Auto-biography of Polinario, the Spanish bandit . . • 434

Abolition of Imprisonment for Debt . . . . . 441

Address to the Statue of Mr. Pitt . • 495

Anecdotes of German Courts . • • 625

Auto-biography of St. Simon .... 654

A Story of the Heart . • 681

Agricultural Report . . 127, 274, 367, 487, 599, 711

Brevities . . - 15,216,264

Byron critics, a mystery for ... 291

Clubs, an attack on . . . 33

Calamities of Carving . . . 156

Cobbett, a lyrical letter from . ... 273

Cicero in the Dungeons of the Inquisition .... 303

Church (The) put in its true light . ... 371

Currency (The) and the Bank of England . . . .178

Criminal Justice in France . . . . 413

Cicero's work on the Republic . . . . .521

Conversation with the Double-sighted Youth . . . 577

Classic Mottos for the Tories . . . . .614

Cuvier and his Cabinet •. . 660

Dramatic Monopoly . . 210, 455

Don Pedro and his adherents . . . . 375

Dreary wit and his Friends . 401

INDEX.

PAGE

Diamond District of the Serro del Frio . . . . . 418

Dramatists, Rights of ...... 559

Drama (The) . . 129, 357, 479

Elliston and the Ass's Head . . . . . 1 85

English Nobility, natural depreciation of . . . 646

Francia, Dr., the Dictator of Paraguay . . . .17

Fantasia, a-la-Hood . . . . . . 67

Field of Monuments, the ..... 426

Fresh Water Whale . . . . . 503

Fine Arts' Publications .... 244, 363

Exhibitions ... . . 361, 483

Goethe's Visit to Beireis . . . . .57

Gibbs the pirate . . . . . . 455

Galley Slaves . . . . . .542

History of the Humbug family . . . . 332

Hints to Portrait Painters . . . . .610

Human Cuckoo, the . . . . . 650

Ignorance, a project for the Diffusion of . . . 131

Irish Church Establishment .... . . 424

Inconveniences of an Independence . . . .572

Jean Jacques Tardee , . . . . 338

Lines on a Portrait of Roscoe ... . . .16

Literary Puffing, a defence of . . . . . 161

Legend of the Egean ...... 187

Lay of a Lost Minstrel . . . . . . 217

Legal Monopoly . . ... . . 538

Little Great, and the Great Little . . . . 557

Moore's (Tom) Prophetic Almanack . . . .3

Magazine (The), Hints for the management of . . . 39

Mount Blanc . . . . . .337

Meditations on a Scene in Summer . ... . . 463

Memoir of James Sheridan Knowles . . . 549

Military Resources of Austria . . . 533

Medicine as a Science and as a Trade . . . . 630

Music, Review of .... 121,360,482

New Bill, the ... .10

New Year (The), by a Liberal Whig . . . 79
Notes of the Month, on Affairs in General . 99, 218, 34 1 , 465, 584, 701

Nature and Books . . • . . 331

Notes on America . . • 640

Oyster Day in London . • 27

Ode to Colonel Jones . . . -54

Old Year (The), by an Ultra Tory . . . . . 78

INDEX.

PAGE

Ode to Sir Charles Wetherell <, , , . .145

Original Autograph Letters . .* . . tfd/tk . 500

Our Anniversary. — The Monthly Magazine and the Public . . 690

Parliament, re-assembling of *.- .• *» ..* . •-••; .137

Parisian Newspaper Press * '^ t ' • . . .166

Polish Widow and her Son . * .- .-' - • • 19§

Parliamentary Pastorals ; r. ** . . 208, 310

Parliamentary Movements .- . t* • ' • • 251

Petticoat Parliament % v ','i ' . . • . 275

Plague of Gibraltar • v ^J- 'KM •!».»* ' . . .281

Political Zoological Garden v •••;-• -£?u1 > • jr/> e .380

Prentice boys of Derry . - / • gJa-- . . . 393

Pigs, addressed to those about to leave business . 4/J0ii . 395

Pericles, a Tale of Greece .- .- .• . .. . . .ii tia & .547

Political Education (' ,% . . . . . 603

Poet's Person, the . . . . . 609

Pyrology . . '. ' . .663

Poriote Doctor, the . . . . . 671

Perier Casimer, character of . V • " . . . 678

Rivers . ;u. m . t tw:,.i ;•; . . 174

Reform in China ','*v- • -;* : . . .254

Russia in 1832 . . ^ . . . . 313

Reigning Vice . ... ". . . . .556

Rambles in Germany .' . > . . .569

Refuge (The), a Dramatic Sketch . . . . .667

Specimens of Latin Comedy ; .- . . 147, 323, 445

Sonnet from Petrarch . j ."i- . . . .194

Shortest Road to Distinction ..... 260

Shakspeare, Suggestions for celebrating his Birth-day . . . 398

Song for the first of April >, . . , . 433

Sonnet to a Dead Leaf . . *' . . . 520

Sonnet . . j - . ' • . . . . 565

Surrey Zoological Gardens . . . . . 590

Song, by Sheridan Knowles . . . . . 613

Scenes in Cunnemara . . . . . 617

Song of the Transformed . . . . .629

Sonnet to Noon . . , . . . . 649

The Cambridge Freshman . . : ?..;> •, . .52

Tithes versus Rent . . ,<.,.,„ *i; . 69,199

The Procrastination » . . . . .89

The Portrait, by Sheridan Knowles . . . . .265

The Wreckers, by Sheridan Knowles . . . . 374

The Convalescent . . . 397

INDEX.

PAGE

Taxes on Knowledge . . . . . . 496

The Seals, by Sheridan Knowles . . . . 499

The young Poet ...... 510

The two Professors . . . . . 511

The Fairy Morgana's Wedding ..... 555

The Cottage Picture . . . . . 677

Ugo Foscolo, and the Italian Poets . . . .80

Unreported Cases . . . . . 650

War-Song, for the Army . . . . .43

Wysocki's Narrative of the Polish Insurrection . . . 44

Warrior of the Nineteenth Century . . . .195

Winter Evening with the Poets «. . . . .383

Windlass Hall . ... 528

Women are the Devil . . . 634

Works in the Press and New Publications . . 125, 245, 364, 484, 597

•

, .

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} 87£ , tauixfll/!. •

floiteftiiw'
'

.

INDEX OF WORKS REVIEWED.

Page
,235

, 357

, 475
, 476
, 478

Anthologia Sacra .

Akenside, Life and Writings of

Album Wreath

Arundale's Edifices of Palladio

Akennan's Numismatic Manual

Blunt's History of the Reformation

in England . . . .113
Byron's Works, by Moore . . 234

Brown's Poetical Ephemeras . . 236
Black Book, the . . . . 708
Cicero's Select Orations . . 244

Chantilly 351

Caractacus 474

Carr's Classical Scholar's Guide . 475
Cunningham's Painters and Sculp-
tors . . . . . . 595

Calabria, a Residence in . . 708
Daughter of the Air . . 237

David, a Poem . . . .244

Eugene Aram 233

Elliot's Letters from the North of

Europe . . . '. .707
Emigrant's (The) Manual to America 708
Evans's Church of God .711

Page
Fletcher's Chozar and Sela . .113

History of Poland . .117

Family Classical Library . 235, 477
Garrett on Proportion . . . 357
Geological Manual . . .478
Gleanings in Natural History . . 709
Hogg's Queer Book . . . 710
Gould's Birds of Europe . . . ib.
Histoire Des Campagnes de Hohen-

linden et de Marengo . .116

Hood's Comic Annual for 1832 . 121
History of the Jews •„ . .353
Hayter's Perspective . . 356

Klosterheim j or the Masque . . 707
Last of the Sophis, a Poem . 114
Lardner's Cyclopaedia . 236, 237, 356
Murray on Pulmonary Consumption 115
Mental Recreations . • .116
Murphy on the Forces of Gravity . 476
Newton Forster ... 120

Nicotiana, orthe Smoker's Companion 243
Parry's History of Woburn Abbey .111

Probation 236

Producing Man's Companion . 240

INDEX.

Page
Pennie's Britain's Historical Drama 240

Pritchard's Microscopic Cabinet . 710
Romance and Reality . . 1 10
Roscoe's Novelist's Library * . 1 12
Real Life .... 477

Southey, Selection from his Poems 240
Sir Ralph Esher . . . 350
Saturday Evening .... 447
Stocke's Song of Albion . . 594
Swaine's Poems, the Mind, &c. . 596
The Cameleon . . . .115
The Pirate of Bonne . . . 117
Tales of my Landlord. Fourth Series 118
The Phenomena of Dreams . . 241
Theological Library . . . . 242

Page
The Opera . . . . .352

Tayler's Records of a Good Man's
. Life . . . . . . 354

The Member . . \ . ib.
The Georgian Era . . . . 355

Tour in England, &c. by a German

Prince 593

Tod's Antiquities of Rajast'han . 595
The Rent Day . . . . . 596
The Radical . . . . 709
Village Blacksmith . . . . 476
WakeSeld on Punishment of Death 239
Waverley Novels . . . . 243
Young's Mechanics . . . . 709

PRESENTEID
= 8 DEE 1948